#( I am not a coward I will do aLL THREE OPTIONS )

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, smut, NSFW, sex & intimacy, praise kink, brief thoughts of exhibitionism, p-in-v, fingering, hand job, some sub/dom dynamics, sub!Simon for a bit, soft!Simon, property damage, bike crashes (wear helmets everyone), violence, past toxic relationship, sabotage, attempted murder, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your fingers tighten around Simon’s waist, the helmet you’d been given pressed into his shoulder as the both of you slice through wind—an engine roaring below you from the Honda Rebel 500. The fit was a tight one, Simon not having a proper second seat beside the passenger kit he’d been quick to install not a few hours before when you’d hesitantly asked for a ride into a neighboring town. Your body was directly above the back tire, and Simon had been firm in his words when he’d been adjusting the back suspension in the bustling shop.

“You’re not lettin’ go until we get there, copy? I feel your grip loosen, I’m pulling over.”

You had begrudgingly agreed, needing the high-quality art supplies a twenty-minute drive away. The stores here didn’t have what you needed, and, not owning a car as this town was entirely walkable if need be, this was your only option. 

Once you’d gotten on that bike though, Simon hadn’t needed to reiterate himself about holding on—you did that all on your own. Yet, that wasn’t to say you weren’t enjoying this.

Lips peeled back into a smile, your eyes stare out across the unfolding hills and mountains in the distance; fields of verdant grasses and trees. The vibrations of the Rebel left your head jittering, but this view was the clearest you’d ever seen. 

Chuckling, the driver under your rib-cranking hold blinked at the nearly missed sound, only able to tell from the movement of your chest at his spine. Simon’s sunglasses glinted over the thin sliver of flesh that would otherwise be the only piece of his face visible, and his fingers twitched as he stared ahead at the open road. The man had given you his leather jacket, taking a spare of black coloring like an all-dark cat, his boots and pants matching the theme that carries over. 

You shout above the whipping of the airways. 

“This is amazing!” Simon puffs a laugh at that, though his heart patters ever faster like a dog at the turn of a key. He doesn’t answer, even if his lips itch into a smirk to tell you he’s appreciating the spinal re-adjustment you’re giving him. 

Your laugh echoes out through the scenery, and your heart has never been more full. 

It had been a decent amount of time since Simon and the others had come into town—three weeks since you’d been hired on your off days to go and paint the mechanic’s shop. A base coat had already been applied, then the secondary and the final with the help of a very animated Soap saying that no one could get to the tops of the walls better. Gaz had seen him hit himself with the soggy paint roller not five minutes later after trying to flip it, and that had been the end of the interference on your work.

All that was left was to start the mural.

There hadn’t been a peep from Graham or his goons—they’d even left you alone on your walks back home. As much as you wanted to be elated about it, there was a brief stint of paranoia in the days that had followed the party. Graham Whitaker was a coward, but he didn’t…let things go. 

But holding onto Simon Riley as he pulled into the nearby town made that sharpness at the back of your mind flee in an instant. The mountains and fields dissipate to tiny houses and long stretches of connected businesses—sun-washed bricks surround you as Simon shifts the tires to dodge potholes. 

His head moves slightly to the side, and you hear the call through your borrowed helmet. 

“Where am I headed?”

“East side!” You rest the bottom of the helmet on his shoulder, seeing a sliver of his October browns through his sunglasses as he rips his eyes back to the road. “Look for the rose bushes!” 

“Makin’ me go deaf,” Simon mutters to himself, but he does as you instruct. Parking in the street outside of the art shop, he moves out the kickstand with one foot—the other resting on the ground so you don’t tip. He gives you a look over his shoulder to get off first as the engine cuts and the jungle of keys comes to silence inside of his pocket.

Giggling, you let go of his hard waist and step out to the concrete of the sidewalk, turning around and fixing the strap of your carry bag with a hidden grin. 

“I think I just found a new form of transportation.”

“Then you can forget about it,” Simon smirks, taking off his sunglasses and sticking them to the neck of his compression shirt. “Helmet, Sunshine.” He reminds, looking around for a moment. 

You slap your hands to the side of the item around your head as you continue to giggle like a child, elated and feeling the throws of wanderlust—you’d never felt so alive than when watching the world pass by at your sides. How quickly you can form a routine of boring days, one after the other. You felt…light again. 

A finger grabs at the visor, flicking it up as your crinkled eyes come into view for the gruff man and his raised brow. 

“You drunk?” Simon stares, tilting his head as he looms closer, studying you up and down. 

“No, Brown-Eyes,” you roll your eyes teasingly, waving his hand away as you unclip and pop the helmet off before it’s leveled back to him. He takes it and holds it loosely in one grip, blinking at you slowly. “I’m excited. Can I not be excited, then, huh? Not happy seeing me enjoy your company?” 

“Let's get this over with, yeah?” Simon shakes his head but his amusement is heard, slipping past as you eagerly follow after, expression airy. 

You hum, leaning into him and smirking. 

“C’mon Simon, you’re completely taken with me—I can see it.” There was no question that the two of you had become close. There was rarely a night when he didn’t come to visit you at the bar; had even taken up walking you back home too, though there was little need to. Simon had said it was because he had nothing else to do, but you doubted it. Since the shop had opened, there had been no shortage of work.

The man grunts as he opens the door for you with a shoulder, sending you a blank eye. “Taken aback.”

“Fucking jerk,” you grin at him as you slip inside, face loose with banter. Simon chuckles lowly and follows, standing behind you as his boots clop to polished tile floors. 

This place was exactly how you remembered it—holding an old feel with the beams in the ceiling and the raw brick walls. There are tables with paints and brushes, all neat and orderly with unique looks and designs to them, even the wall has shelves of old wood holding hidden nicknacks and unique wonders. 

Simon gazes around with a glint of interest in his eye, understanding now that the painting was better off in your hands. He has to wonder how you managed to find a place like this. 

“Over here,” you say. Walking to the very back, your hands are already reaching for the quality brushes you’d need for the mural. Simon’s hands slip into his pockets, stance casual in a way he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago. 

It was no secret that Simon trusted very few people. It wasn’t just because of his past military experience, it was his life in general—each turn led to something that could go wrong like a gun in the hands of a criminal. But you had been nearly sly in the way you’d grown on him. 

The quick-witted comments, the way you spoke and carried yourself; your light and unapologetic attitude. He was ashamed to admit how many times he’d stared at the bar from his shop’s garage—under the body of some car with grease up to his elbows, legs dangling as his back was on top of the creeper. Brown eyes that can pinpoint your form before his mind blanks and sweat pools at his collarbone. 

It was something that Simon was afraid to name.

“Bloody expensive,” the man mutters in the present, fingers pushing at the price tag of some paints nearby. “You sure you need this shit?” 

“It’s not shit, Riley,” you scoff, grabbing two large brushes and three smaller ones from wall buckets, pointing one at him. “But I have to agree on the expensive part. You should see how much I would spend when I was really into art. You’d puke your blackened guts up.”

Simon hums, giving you his attention as you peer at a table of rich paints in smaller cans a few feet away.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, the soft tinkling of piano music coming from somewhere in the back. 

You pause, your back turned to him as you look at the label of a small aluminum container of enamel paint for vehicle detailing. Licking your lips, you clear your throat and ease out a nonchalant, “Graham,” and end the conversation there with less blood spilled. 

Your Ex had almost sucked all of the individuality from you—you’d barely made it out as you are. 

Simon’s eyes darken, clenching his jaw after a moment as looks away. It's only when you put back down the enamel paint can that he speaks again. 

“He wasn’t worth your time,” he eases out, giving firm advice like orders. As if he wants you to believe what he’s saying to the fullest degree. “You know that?”

You snort, turning back around. “Yeah, I know it. Why do you think I threw the guy out? He ran through women like a damn kid with a stack of new playing cards.” 

Simon blinks from over his mask as you walk to the counter, putting down your brushes and adding in a few containers of nice pigment. As your fingers ding the bell up front, your free hand digs for your wallet. 

Before you can pull out the wads of cash that you’d need to pay, smelling of booze and all, a credit card hits the table. You stare at it in silence for a moment. 

“Simon?”

“You’re putting it on my wall,” he rolls his shoulders to dispel tension from the previous conversion as the employee comes out from the back. “M’not going to make you pay for the tools to get the job done. Not a fuckin’ heartless bastard.” 

“Heartless? No,” you tease, though your face burns and crashes with a fiery inferno of adoration. Inside of you, your stomach flips and your throat tightens. Oh, it was coming on bad, wasn't it? “A bastard…?”

“Shut it,” Simon glares from the corner of his eye as you raise your hands innocently. 

“Alright, alright. A very handsome and generous bastard, better?” You hear a hum, a huff of breath. 

“Getting there.” 

The ride back was much the same, but it still filled you with awe. Your hands were looser now, even with the added weight from your filled bag, but that didn’t mean you weren’t aware of Simon’s presence. Once more your helmeted head was set at his shoulder blade, resting as your lungs pulled in fresh air even if it was a bit heated from the barrier. Simon had pushed the thing back onto your head the minute your leg was about to straddle the bike, firmly grabbing your chin and tilting your face forward as he shoved it on.

“Safety first, Sweetheart.” You had sworn you nearly went weak-kneed at that. 

But the sturdy presence before you made a very comfortable headrest even if the longer ride was beginning to make your legs ache and give you a migraine from the noise. 

Your hand was flat to the man’s covered flesh, the oversized jacket around your frame, and in that moment you discovered that you were almost entirely submerged in Simon Riley until it became impossible to remember who you’d been before him. You were drowned in his scent—his presence an ever-present weight of purpose and prospect. 

Blinking over the view and feeling Simon’s pulse under your fingertips, you realize with a start that Graham had never made your stomach fill with butterflies over a simple word; never made you pause or have to re-think your thoughts because you’d entirely lost them when he entered a room. 

With so much going on, and at the same time so little happening…what exactly were you supposed to make of it? There was no question you liked Simon—there was no question he liked you, either. It was obvious by the looks Price would give the two of you when you came by with lunch for them all; free drinks. 

How the both of you would sit and talk, exchanging stories while Simon showed you the adjustments he had made to his bike. The issue was that you and Brown-Eyes were stubborn. Pigheaded.

Emotionally constipated.

Your eyes drag along the view, but they always shift back to the body that’s stuck in your grip; how his heat moved through his clothes, warming your wind-beaten hands. You’re right there at his back, hanging off him and you feel…good.

There just had to be something to make one of you snap.

Entering the garage, Simon once more parks his bike and lets you get off first, and you unclip your helmet and slip the object from your head with a puff of air. 

“Thank you, Simon,” you breathe, watching him stand. “Drinks on me tonight, okay?” 

“No need for that,” his brows pull in, confused. “If I didn’t want to, I would have told you.” 

Your hands pass the helmet, which he takes as your fingers brush one another's lightly. You repress a sharp inhale, scoffing playfully at him as your eyes soften.

“I’m not going to leave without saying thank you and you taking it, Brown-Eyes.” 

“Well, then I just took it, Sunshine.” Simon motions his head outside. “Now get going ‘fore I come to my senses.” 

Laughing, you shrug and take your leave, all of your items safe in your bag for a time when you could use them next. 

“I’m already gone,” you breathe, and a soft brown gaze sticks to your form as you cross the street and slip inside to clock in. 

A truck parked down the street has its window glinting in the sunlight. It seems to agree.

—

Simon tipped back the last of his bourbon and sighed, putting it down on the bar top as you polished glasses. 

“Anything happen today?” He asks you as you put the sparking material to the light, tipping it to try and find smudges before it passes your acute inspection. 

“Nothing interesting,” you respond, humming. “Had to kick a few guys out, but it was nothing big.” 

Simon’s interest makes his eyes shift to you like a wave, head tilting to stare as the warm light cascades over your figure. He waits for you to continue, but when you don’t, he prods with a slightly concerned undertone.

“Why?” Your lips twitch as you turn to look at him, exasperated. 

“Put a cork in it, Big Guy, it was just a few who had too much to drink—I cut them off and sent ‘em home.”

Simon grunts, “That’s a girl.” 

You ignore the way your heart jumps to your throat and the tingling of your arms. “Anything with you?” Your voice is higher than it should be. “Beat off any bartenders from your property?”

“Can only think ‘o one,” he speaks slowly, his voice wafting about as the both of you were the only people here. Your chuckle makes his heart constrict in on itself.

“Oh,” you tease, face pulling in with mock confusion. Your body moves closer as it leans into the wood. Simon’s lips twitch from where they're visible, the fabric of his balaclava pulled over his nose. “Tell me about her.”

“Yeah?” He speaks in a low murmur, eyes half-lidded in that dead-and-buried kind of way—only he could pull that off and still look so handsome. You had said once that he felt like danger, and you suppose that had to be true. Simon Riley was danger, and you had taken those snake fangs and put them directly in between the cross-hairs of your neck and your pulse, waiting, wanting for that fatal strike. 

You had bet that the sting of those fangs might just be the best pain you’d ever felt.

Simon Riley was unabashed freedom.

 “She likes to think that she’s the bloody boss o’ me,” Simon grunts, scars, and tattoos on full display; there’s blackened grease on his fingers, under his nails. You listen with bated breath. “Comes ‘round all the time now, hangs like she’s under a noose. I can’t figure her out. Not for the fuckin’ life of me.”

Simon doesn't know what he’s saying, but he can’t quite help himself when you’re looking at him like that. Your eyes going wider, your usually snappy and quick tongue silent as you take his words in like law. It was addictive to see you gobsmacked—the man has to stop himself from thanking Graham Whitaker for being such a fucking fool even if the thought of ever being near that man again made him want to clench his fists.

“And?” You push, trying to force your mouth into a playful smirk, but anyone can see it for what it is. Your faked emotion falls short, leaving behind only that which Simon can claim to be the sole owner of. 

Astonishment. Admiration down to its base form—a woman gazing at something that should not be, and yet is here among the ashes and ruins of broken earth and open roads. A sliver of sky between the rain clouds.

“And?” Simon mirrors, that numb mock. 

The both of you are closer now, puffs of air hitting the other. Everything in this bar became a backdrop, shifting colors and images like some dream. The dart in the ceiling was nothing to you—the tables that needed to be buffed, the bottles restocked; even the trash that you usually took out at this time was only a shape in the corner of your vision. It all blurred around him, and while you spoke again, Simon understood that he had left the city for something new; something that he could revel in and worship like he had his guns and his duty. 

Your sentence is whispered. 

“Why did you come here?” To this town? There was no answer for that. It was picked at random—even Price knew that. It was nothing special, not even to the bugs. But here…

Simon parts his lips and utters on the lightning of the air particles, all rushing past as if he was still on his motorcycle with you—your hands around his waist and your nails digging into his flesh.

“For a bartender that keeps making my damn head spin.” 

For a long minute, there’s nothing that happens. The AC whirs and the lights outside flicker over the stretch of the empty street. In your chest, your heart hammers with the strength of the Titans. A mechanic, a veteran; a man with broken, October eyes. 

How could he be the one thing you were looking for? 

Your eyes stay locked, those shredded flecks of color holding secrets that you want to know instantly—you want to learn his tattoos and the way he thinks, know Simon's dreams and aspirations. To you, that was better than any physical destination or journey because it was one in and of itself. 

Simon was an enigma. 

“Keep talking,” you mutter, lips so close now that they brush the man’s own. He doesn’t blink as he watches you, his lungs unsteady in his chest as he takes down a deep breath. 

“Why’s that, Sunshine?” His voice is raspy, and his accent makes you shiver. 

Simon’s tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his mouth, sneaking back in as your gaze flickers down to watch pupils blown. “Because I like it when you speak to me like that,” you have to admit, a whine trapped in your throat that you won’t let out.

There’s a low chuckle that makes your legs close together, moving like honey through your veins. 

“Can do more than talk.”

This is a game—a test—can either of you go this far? Is it more than lust, is it more than some strange attraction between two people who don’t belong here? A relationship of need rather than want?

You don’t care enough to test it, because if there’s one thing that this town taught you, it's that you don’t need to worry about the future so long as there’s something promising right in front of you. 

And Simon Riley was as promising of a man as you had ever met.

Your lips meet his, and his hand is eager to snap to the back of your skull, pushing you into him as your eyes pull shut and the edge of the counter digs into your guts. Air is exhaled from your nose, mouth heavy, and skin hot as it digs and molds to the rough scrape of Simon’s stubble. His fingers pulse into your scalp, waves of something sawing you open as he stands quickly from his stool and pulls away only to push right back in. 

Your hands move into fists on the counter, stuck in this dance of wet lips and shaky legs. 

Simon groans into your mouth, shifting his head as a purr emanates from his chest and makes you respond with a silent gasp that he takes advantage of. A tongue slips to run over your own as the lights glint outside, pushing itself in before retreating just as swiftly before teeth nip at your swollen bottom lip. Your eyes snap open, locking with deep wells of brown that seem more endless than the depths of space. 

You both breathe heavily, the bar silent to the two souls that seep into one another. Not once do either of you look away from one another. 

The man seems hesitant, and before he speaks, the rasp in his voice is felt as he blinks. 

“These parts in me have been shuttin’ down, Sunshine.” Your brows slightly pinch in for a moment, confused at this turn in tone—cocky had gone to still-stone as if Simon had laid eyes on Medusa herself. 

But you know what he means. You’d seen it in his stature and how he spoke to others; you knew nothing much of his past beyond a handful of stories from his service and none of them had been pretty. And of his childhood, you knew nothing. 

You know it can’t have been good. 

Your head softly tilts, a small, delicate smile forming the words of some long-lost deity.

“I’m sure you have the tools to fix them, Simon.”

He blinks at you, fingers still stuck to your head. “Don’t know if I remember how to use ‘em.” 

Simon’s giving you a way out of this if you want to take it; you know that he thinks you should. 

“...Then you’ll just have to teach me, won’t you?” You whisper, stubborn as always. “I told you I was good at keeping secrets, right?” He hums, eyes the most open and soft you’d ever seen them as he melts—forehead connecting to yours as your smile grows wider, truer. “Then I’ll keep yours closest, Brown-Eyes.” 

You both kiss once more, more delicate as the man takes a deep breath of you. Your smirk pulls along his flesh like a brand as he holds in a quiver. 

“What’s a bartender without a bottle of Bourbon on her shelf?” He growls into you, and not wasting a moment rips his lips from yours and wipes at his face with the back of his arm. 

“Such a mouth,” he mutters, moving as you stand there to push open the half-door to let him get to you. You stand waiting, pulse wild and lips tingling. “Cameras?”

Your head shakes without you knowing it, and a finger is hooked under your chin, maneuvering it as he sees fit. Another grabs onto your hip, kneading it slowly as you melt into him. Your hands grasp into the back of his belt and his eyes spark—hips canting instinctually.

There’s a hard prod at your inner thigh. 

“Only one at the door.” You set your chin to his chest, gazing up. “Back room?”

“Won't have you on the floor,” Simon says bluntly, unphased. Your core pounds, stomach tightens as you have a sudden need to get rid of your pants and touch yourself as dampness pools through your underwear. 

“Such a gentleman,” you’re breathless, voice airy. “Guess I’ll have to be on top.” 

Simon’s breath gets caught as you slip past him, sauntering to the back door and pushing it open as you slip inside. You had already started fumbling with the zipped on your pants as the man pushed on the barrier just before it could close, coming in and letting it slam behind him as the click of a lock could be heard. 

With your shoes off, you can feel Simon’s eyes burning into you as your fingers send the zipper down your navel, the sound of the metal teeth being separated from one another a call to action. When your thumbs hook the top, ready to send the fabric down, you let the man watch before your eyes shift back up to lock together. 

Simon’s gaze was intense—unblinking and unmoving beyond the slam of his heart and the pulse of the erection in his pants, begging to be palmed as you stood only feet away. The man’s hands clenched, knuckles going white. 

While holding eye contact, you let the pants—and your panties—drop to the ground with a whoosh of fabric. Simon tenses, but doesn’t look away.

You smirk, taking a few steps forward.

“I’m surprised.” Your hand captures his waist, one moving to stroke along the prominent v-line that’s hidden by his shirt. Simon’s heavy breath meets your head as his blown pupils make his eyes look black entirely. He’s almost in a trance. “Usually I’d be having to snap my fingers.” 

“Better than that,” he grits out raggedly. You have to agree. 

Your mouth finds his neck as he leans back against the door, letting you do what you wish as his hands settle on your hips once more, rubbing up and down as your own eagerness drips from you. Simon clenches his jaw as you bite down, taking and sucking on the skin as he hisses when you give him hickeys, eyes fluttering. 

“‘Such a mouth’ you said,” you comment, hand falling lower to hear the jingle as you unclip his belt. He stares off as your hand rests and cups him, sharply inhaling when you rub your palm over the large tent. Simon fights the sway of his hips, but the widening of his legs is telling enough, pelvis knocking forward as you groan, a line of slick falling down your thigh. “I’d bet you’d like my mouth, Brown-Eyes, wouldn’t you?” Your joke and your teasing of his dick—your hickeys and your sly eyes—they all at once snap something inside of him. 

You find yourself manhandled with a squeak of shock and a jump in your gut as your legs dangle, moved back, and pressed into the very door where Simon had been moments before. Your feet settle as his figure descends.

“Your mouth, Sunshine?” Brown eyes glint, staring you down from where he taps your legs open to the air, kneeling with an open belt and pre-cum staining his pants. “Want to see what mine can do?”  

There’s no more than a dangerous smirk before his face slots itself into the clutch of your pussy. 

You gasp, hands going down to his covered hair as his nose slides along your clit, making lightning go up your spine as you push down on him, grinding as a long stripe is licked, tongue flattening out at the nerve before a loud groan makes Simon’s mouth vibrate as it attaches itself to you. 

Giving you your own medicine, teeth lightly bite, tongue flicking as your cunt clenches over nothing, fingers grasping guilty as your head knocks back with a loud whine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, toes curling as your hips move back and forth. 

Your body can feel his smirk, your juices leaking out to drip at his chin, falling down his throat as this beast of a man sucks and mewls around your clit like he’s possessed. Hands grasped your thighs, holding them open. Well, one anyway. 

Lost in the movements of his mouth, cursing and gasping as he keeps trying to build you up to the point of rapture with every hard flick and measured nip, there’s no way your dopamine-addled brain can comprehend the fingers at your cunt before they’re already inside and curling outward. 

You moan out his name pleadingly, the pace of your hips instantly increasing as Simon’s chuckle makes your lungs constrict. A separate heart-beat lives in your navel, skin sweaty and slick making its way down his fingers. 

“Being so good,” your voice breaks as Simon’s wide eyes from below meet you as your head lolls forward. He stutters, hearing the wet squelching of your pussy as his movements cease for a moment. You whimper, face pulling in, and he instantaneously gets back to it with increased fervor and ferocity as if he’d never just felt his cock twitch in his pants and his abdomen bunch up.

Your eyes widen, rapturous moans falling from your lips in blown-limpness as his mouth and fingers do sinful things to you.

The sounds coming from below were feral and animalistic at best, sopping wetness and loud groaning—it makes it all so much better. 

“So thorough for me, Simon. Making me feel so good Brown-Eyes,” you babble, tightening your core and palming hands shoving him impossibly farther into you. “Such a fucking perfect mouth—perfect fingers, knew you could make me cum on ‘em, please, Simon, fuck, oh God right there,” you break off of the praise into desperate whines. Your quivering body shakes and ruts faster, Simon’s stubble making it all burn in such a way that leaves you gasping, back begging to arch as everything comes to a tipping point.

Simon can feel it by the way your walls flex and pull in, how their slipperiness gets so loose it’s not even a problem to finger-fuck you even as your cunt bares down like a noose. Your fluids drip past his elbow, falling to his pants as his pelvis involuntarily tries to get friction from his zipper by humping the air in broken intervals. 

He’s breathing heavily, but not as much as you are, broken up by groans, grunts, and his open mouth licking of your engorged clit. He’d never admit to you how much your praise was making him want to bust in his own fucking pants. 

“S-Simon,” you knock your head back into the wall, eyes going glassy as the knot in your navel goes painful, a vile itching so very close as your spine begins to arch for the man’s viewing pleasure. “So close, oh God, so fucking good. Need it, Simon, need it from—”

Your breath hitches, fingers twitching into tight fists of fabric and the hair underneath as your walls clamp down. 

Orgasm ripping through you, your voice lets out broken, airy, moans of Simon’s name like a prayer, hips continuing to spasm and toes curling inwards. Not letting up his assault, the smug man’s tongue and fingers draw the entire experience out until your legs are too weak to hold you, having to be pressed back into the wall by white knuckles and fingers stained with your cum. You hear it drip to the floor and see it when your half-lidded eyes blurrily make out the ragged appearance of an arrogant Simon, clear beads falling off of his chin and his lower face decimated by your pleasures. The bottom of his balaclava is stained—sopping with absorbed juices. 

You both stare—you, lust-blown, and Simon, ready to grasp at himself and stave off the near-painful erection that needs to be taken care of. 

But you’re true to your words.

Not seconds after your release had flooded him, your hands pushed at his chest and shoved him to the floor. Simon grunts but lets your hands quickly fiddle with his zipper and send it down. Not a moment is wasted, and the man’s hands move your hips higher as you pull his pants and boxers down just enough to let his dick spring free and slap his abdomen. 

Your hand curls around it and he groans long, pushing up into your hand as you stroke him quickly and mercilessly with the spread of his weeping tip. Simon’s words come out as a way to steady himself, but the work of your hand is easy to get lost in as his voice is a growl.

“Tase so bloody good, Sunshine, yeah? Be needin’ that every day,” his mouth is taken in a kiss, and you tase yourself on his tongue as he shakes and his fingers flex into your flesh. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says as you lick his lips, panting below you as he quickly loses himself. “Not gonna…”

Simon’s orgasm builds incredibly fast—and not once does your hand slow in its course. He blinks in a blind panic, mouth letting off soft sounds of confusion as he looks down to see his red cock and how you play with it like a toy. You chuckle at him as his sounds get louder, legs rising, and the slapping of skin on skin addictive. 

“You are good with your mouth—and your hands. Should have guessed really, you are a mechanic after all. Got yourself all worked up.” Simon's hand comes up to your head pressing your lips back to his as his abdomen tightens and quivers, thighs shaking as his hips try to meet your break-neck pace but just can’t.

What were you doing to him? Why can’t he last longer than a few mere minutes? 

You break off and connect your forehead to his, brown eyes fighting to not go blurry and his mouth open with fast breaths. You push out as you feel his tip twitch and spurt prematurely, “Be a good boy and cum, Simon.”

He groans loudly, eyes fluttering as they try to stay locked to yours before the wet splatter of his rapid ejaculation layers yours as well as his abdomen sticky and soaked. It keeps going, not stopping until Simon’s eyes have come back down from where they had fled to the back of his head and his small grunted whine lets you know you should stop pumping him so violently. 

You release his member and go to rub along his abdomen, massaging the skin and laying kisses on his clothed chest slowly. His hands loosen on your hips, thumb pulling back to carefully run circles into the flesh as you hum in appreciation. 

Simon's quivering slows to a stop.

“You sure you only work a bar, then? Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Simon hisses, looking down at himself. “Made a fuckin’ mess, yeah?” 

“Only fair,” you mutter, moving up to press your lips together as you both sigh. Simon’s breath hitches as your stomach rubs him. “I like having you under me. It’s nice to see you look confused.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, and a red sheen comes to his flushed face. “Won’t happen again.” 

Your face goes mischievous, head tilting. Simon growls a weak, “Don’t.” You chuckle and hide your face into his neck. 

“Don’t test it?” You ask into his flesh, your body still pulsing and needy at the display you’d managed to pull from the stoic man. Your tongue licks over your placed hickey with a newfound appreciation for the black and blue mark, blowing on it as Simon feels himself harden again. “Or don’t acknowledge that Simon Riley has a praise kink and when a woman tells him what to do he—”

Your spine settles to the floor, hands stuck on either side of your head and digging into the wood. Simon’s eyes glint primarily, and you keen to him as your arms move to wrap around his neck as your cunt tightens.

“Thought you said you didn’t want me on the floor?” He grasps your chin, moving his face to be above yours so he can speak plainly and dead-like. A surge of power takes over his voice, and you yield with a rising of your legs and a shiver as his fluid-slick abdomen slides over top of yours.

“That was before you made me cum in a matter of fuckin’ minutes by just stroking my cock. Now,” he breathes, “now I’m going to fuck you how you deserve.” 

He grasps your legs and pulls them around his waist, locking them as he lines up his half-hard dick and bullies it inside of you, your arching back bends into him, but your shocked moan is cut off as Simon starts to move. The pressure inside of your pussy is tight enough to feel like it could snap—your gummy walls taking the curve of his veins and the grate of his head as the tip curves upward. On girth and size, Simon is the largest you’d ever taken, and your face pulls in with a mix of pain and pleasure before the latter takes over completely. 

“Get me to be your toy, eh, Sunshine?” Simon keeps your chin grasped, not letting you look away as you try to garble words over the heavy slap of wet skin. “Keep me ‘ere so you can play with me like you’ve been doin’ from the start?” 

“So full,” you seem to have lost that edge, staring up into brown eyes as your spine digs into the wood below you, your cunt taking the fast slaps of Simon’s prod as it reaches every part of you that you could ever ask. Every trust makes your legs tighten, clamping down to keep him there and ring pleasure like water. “Such a big cock, Simon.”

He huffs, but his pace increases, panting at you as your lips meet for a sloppy and slobbering kiss of teeth and saliva. Sweat falls from both of you, coating your faces and lower halves with more liquid to make this dance easier—staining already ruined clothes. 

“Splitting you open, am I? So tight,” Simon grumbles, grunting as his elbows shift to stay beside your head. “Gettin’ me off so easily, need ta return the favor for making me feel so good, Sunshine. Bloody perfect cunt, takes my cock like it was made for it. Hear that?” Your skull moves to push into the side of his face as he bites at your neck, ravishing you as the forward and backward motion of his body makes your mouth hold back mewls of raw need. So many sounds—so loud and wet it was lewd, borderline obscene with every pump of the man’s hips that more just spilled out of you, pooling with every back and forth spreading of your hole. 

Simon bites a long whine back and angles himself higher, making you shout and cry as a burst of white light explodes in your eyes.

“Making me want to fill you full of myself. Over and over, make you drip with it—go until you can’t walk. You’d take it too, yeah? You’ve got such a good look on your face, you bloody love it when I stretch you open like this—takin’ my dick so well, Sweetheart.”

You were both animals trying to get fix after fix—drunk off scent and a biological urge. 

At the words, your pussy tightens around him even more, Simon holding back a loud groan and letting your little puffs of air grace his ears along with the ravaging dig of his fucking.

“You like that?” You whine, face burning as a hand descends to play with your clit. You gasp loudly and moan, not hiding the way your hips jump and rut and fight to keep Simon’s cock taking you raw.  

“Simon!” You call loudly. “I like it—fuck I love it, Brown-Eyes. Keep touching me, please, please keep going. Keep talking, love it when you talk like that.”  

“Makin’ fun o’ me,” he scoffs, “but the little temptress has the same bastard kink, eh? It’s alright, then. I’ll just help me get you off—”

The front door of the bar opens from beyond the wall. 

The both of you stop all carnal desires instantly, wide eyes snapping back and locking with each other. A pin could drop, fast breaths and fast hips held back even as you both quiver and your nerves plead to keep going. The need doesn’t last long. Simon's fat hand covers your mouth as your eyes glint with panic before getting right back to it. 

You try to speak, to get the words out that you should go out there, but it’s all cut off by the way he rubs you every right way. Your hand anchors to his back as someone walks around the bar, their voice muffled just like yours is, but this person has no idea you’re getting railed in the back room by the mechanic from across the street. 

Simon’s eyes are dark and urgent, but his hands can't as the slap of skin that’s still incredibly loud, and the wetness that follows all but telling. Your moans and whines are hidden, kept back by a tight palm as he smirks down at you. His hips are bruising yours and you can feel the hard bone of his pelvis as it slots itself fully into yours.

“Good girl,” he whispers, accepting the words with hard thrusts that make you whine like a dog, pawing at his gargantuan shoulder blades. “Keep quiet. I’ll make you feel good.” 

Your heart hammers, walls flexing and clamping at the words. Outside the walking continues, searching for you, no doubt. Simon's hips increase, almost cruelly, and your cut-off cries spill from between his fingers. 

The bastard chuckles and watches, letting your hips meet his as your release builds with the added need to finish quickly. 

It was rabid now your back arched, how the person outside mattered so little to you now, in fact, maybe you even wanted them to hear you like this—being fucked so perfectly to the point where you had tears in your eyes and your body was growing numb; mind blanking to only pleasure and the grating press of a foreign entity all the way to where it digs at your cervix and makes you see starts with every addictive thrust.

You can’t hear anything over the previous sounds, that and rough breathing are the only things in this hot room—the air tense and ready; anticipation a drug of the highest order. 

“C’mon,” Simon grunts into your ear, hand flexing as his lungs burn. He wasn’t far away either. “Let me see it—how your face screws up all nice and pretty for me.”

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you can only stare at the ceiling as the door of the bar slams shut once more, whoever there leaving. Simon releases your mouth and you fall apart with a spine-breaking arch and a high, feral, keen.

Your release is subsequently followed by Simon’s own, his body spasming as he gives three more violent pumps before the warmth of his cum seeps into your womb with a loud groan and a pound of his fist into the floor. He grinds you both through the aftershocks, the sparks of electricity that make both of your hips jerk just a few more times before you fall limp and useless. 

Simon stays inside of you as he shifts to the side, hooking one of your hips over his thigh as you stay face-to-face as your bodies gasp and pant for air. 

When the two of you come back to yourselves, some delirious minutes later, the first thing that you both notice is the tightness of your clothes and skin. Glancing down at the mess you’ve made of yourselves, you both slowly look back into each other's eyes, pausing.

You’re the first one to snort, before you have to hold your loud laughs back behind your hand. 

“Well, I sure do have some more secrets to keep,” you say through your fit, knocking your head to Simon’s chin. The man is smiling, his eyes crinkled and mouth jerking in a series of chuckles.

“Proper few.” The laughter died down to a simmering emotion of amusement. 

You smile at Simon, and he stares back, a hand coming up to touch your cheek delicately before it traces the lines of your face.

“You know I meant it, right?” You ask him, and those browns blink at you in question. “What I said before we decided to fuck. About keeping your secrets.” Simon’s face gets slightly more serious. Your hand cups his cheek, feeling the stubble on your fingertips. 

“Simon,” you say, “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing, okay?” 

He watches you for any glint of hesitation—of a lie. But there is none.

“Why,” Simon asks. Your answer is simple as you smirk, recalling words from a while ago. 

“You’re just going to have to stick around to find out.”

Simon shoves his lips to yours and drags you back on top of him.

—

You both exit the back room two hours later, clothes ruffled and bodies far dirtier than ever. You have a limp in your step, a pulsing ache between your bruised legs, and yet you’d never felt better. 

Simon presses a kiss into your temple. 

“Walking you home,” is what he says, and you sigh through an adoring look. You were tired, incredibly tired, and you hoped that Simon would share your bed tonight so he could hold you like he did back there. 

“Deal,” you wink, and the man huffs a chuckle, back to that same stoic mechanic that you knew. 

It’s only then that you realize that Celina had never shown up for her shift. Pausing behind the counter, you blink and look around, confused as you flatten out your clothes. Simon catches on quickly, brows pulling in with concern. 

“Something wrong?”

“Celina,” you tell him, “she never showed up.”

A beat. 

“...Probably kept away,” Simon tries to lightly say, implication enough to make you scowl. 

“No,” you utter. “She would have tried to break the door down if she actually came in. She never would have walked away.”

The man hums, pulling down his balaclava and looking about. 

“What do you want to do about it?” It wasn’t mocking—he was being honest. Your lips thinned out in thought. 

“Well…I can’t leave the bar unattended, she needs to be here in order for me to go home.” You motion a hand helplessly, shaking your head and walking forward. Through a sigh you grumble, “I guess I have to call her or I’ll—” A shadow darts from across the street and your head snaps to the dark window. 

Words coming to a swift stop, you gaze outside with blank eyes, mouth open in confusion. Simon stands taller, not having seen the strange event but not liking the shock on your face as he pivots to the view to study it. 

Brown darts over the street lamps and the closed body of his shop, along the sliver of the obsidian street and the tops of bushes in the plant boxes. But there was nothing there and Simon glanced back at you from over his shoulder with furrowed brows. 

“Thought I saw someone in a…” you frown, eyes not leaving the window as your heart tightens. “In a mask.” 

“Mh,” Simon watches for a moment before he grunts and tension seeps into his muscles. “Mask?” 

“Like yours,” you say quietly, suddenly very still. “Without the skeleton.” 

Simon moves back slowly, one foot backing up before he’s behind the counter again and shifting nearer to you—your eyes flicker upward but swiftly return to the view. He pulled out his phone from his wrinkled pants, and no sooner had he put it to his ear that you saw the individual again. This time it wasn’t just one shadow, it was three, and there wasn’t just a flash of black mist and then poof gone again—it was worse than some schoolyard prank. 

There was a bat. There was the swing of a strong arm. The glass explodes with a resounding shatter and the shrill yell falls from your mouth not milliseconds later.

Getting tackled down, Simon keeps your head to his chest as he shifts to hit the ground first, body sliding slightly before you’re forced under him and protected by his bulk. Grasping at him, you clench your eyes shut as large projectiles are hurled through the broken window and make contact with the bar shelf right above the two of you. 

But Simon doesn't move for a second. Not as the bottles shatter and drown him in alcohol and colored glass, not as the bricks fall back from gravity and strike his spine with a loud thump. He holds you to him, curled over your body as if in reverent worship, grunting as he takes the beating without thought to anything else but your safety. Loud shouts and laughter echo in from outside, but your wide eyes only stay and focus on Simon, his fingers gripping across your back and creasing your shirt. You flinch as a spec of glass knicks your arm, slicing through it with a sharp drag of an uneven edge. 

Simon growls into your scalp, but as he attempts to squish you farther into him, the barrage, just as it had come, entirely stops. 

Staying there, breathing heavily and your mind panicked, you have no time to think before Simon shoves himself up and snaps his enraged eyes forward. Like a large beast, his hands are in shaking fists, alcohol dripping from his shirt and glass pinging against the wood. You can smell blood. 

“Simon,” you say in concern, moving to stand up quickly as you try to get your breath back.

What the hell had just happened?!

“Stay there!” he barks, eyes tight as they dart back and forth to nothing until they find something. 

No one was there anymore, but in that absence, the true damage was brought to light. You ignore Simon’s words and shift until you can peek over the top of the counter, fingers shaking and mouth dry. The man beside you is stone-still, his darkened eyes lighting like fire and brimstone as the anger can all but be tasted in the air. 

The mechanic’s shop across the street. Seen through the broken remains of the bar as if a tornado had come through on the dusty air. 

It had been ransacked.

—

The illumination of the police lights takes over everything, pushing the dark away as Sheriff Russel tries to get statements from the two of you. But your attention keeps getting brought back to the stiff-standing presence of Simon. 

He hasn’t spoken beyond clipped sentences, even when he’d called Price, Johnny, and Gaz to explain the situation. 

“Can you explain what you saw?” The Sheriff eases, and your attention is drawn back. 

“It wasn’t much,” you stutter, shaken. “Shadows—men wearing masks. One had a bat and hit the window before they started throwing bricks.”

Simon’s eyes shift over the damage, numb gaze finding more broken glass, thrown paint, and dents in the garage door. The front had been trashed with garbage, and the lobby was ruined—it was by some miracle that the bikes had been left alone for whatever strange reason. 

It didn’t make him any less full of wrath. 

Your hands are still shaking, and your arm still leaking small droplets of blood down your flesh. Simon’s injuries were worse; he’d taken the brunt of it, but he didn’t seem to care at all, even as the crimson liquid stains his wet back.

“Simon needs medical attention,” you speak lowly to the Sheriff, head moving forward. “Can we do this later at the station?”  

“I’m fine,” the man in question grunts, voice deep with anger before turning and walking back to the two of you. Not once do his eyes stop searching the area; on high alert even now and not eager to be out in the open. Those old instincts were creeping back over him, and he wanted to get you somewhere safe so he could handle this situation himself.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who was responsible and while property was one thing, your comfort was another. 

How dare anyone do something like that to you. 

“You’re bleeding,” you explain, eyes tight. A hand brushes over your arm, taking it up and inspecting the small cut that you wear. 

Feet shift, and through a clenched jaw Simon utters, “So are you.” 

“You know what I mean, Brown-Eyes,” you try to make him listen, but it’s fruitless. 

“Don’t worry about me,” the Sheriff walks to assess the damage, letting the two of you speak in hushed whispers and firm looks. 

“You sound stupid,” you hiss, and Simon’s fingers rub your skin softly, his study of your body taking place in a slow sweep. “Of course I’m going to worry.” 

“Need to stop shaking.” Your face creases at the comment. 

“I’m not shaking.” Simon grabs your hand and puts his fingers through yours, raising it between you so you can look. Your eyes shift down, and your limb can clearly be seen vibrating like an engine in his hold; the fingers unable to close fully. 

Not speaking, Simon cups it with his other hand and presses, grounding you as your lungs take a deep breath before you can clear your throat. 

“I’m fine,” your words barely make it to the air. 

“...Now who’s sounding like me?” The man mutters eyes creased as he stares. “Breathe.” 

You listen, taking another deep breath and staring at Simon’s chest.

“Up ‘ere,” a finger moves out to tap under your jaw, making you tilt your head up to lock with his browns. “There we are, then. Focus. M’right here.” 

“You’re good at this,” you grumble, put off by your own separation from your body. 

Simon tilts his head. “Had to be.” 

You spare a strangled huff at that. 

How quickly things could go wrong—you had thought that tonight would be the best night of your life, but now it was just one single instant that things had made sense, the rest a stain on your memory. 

“You know it was Graham and his friends?” Simon nods, still watching you and making sure you’re calming down properly, waiting for that adrenaline crash. He knows. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Right now?” The man pauses. “Nothing. You’re coming down with me to the Bed and Breakfast. Staying there.” 

So that was how Simon shifted his priorities, walking you down the road as more and more police showed up—there would be more talking in the morning, you had given them everything you’d known so far. It was also how you were mobbed by three more concerned mechanics as you entered their temporary living situation until houses were purchased, blue and brown eyes blinking at the two of you quickly. 

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Gaz had asked, but you were much too tired to speak beyond leaning into Simon’s shoulder and grunting. 

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny had muttered, only in boxers as he’d shoved out of his room. “Heard the sirens—what’s been happenin’ without me?”

Price had been the one to finally settle everyone and push out a stiff order to leave Simon and you alone for the night. With various glances and tense looks, you were both allowed into your room with little more trouble. 

It was tiny but clean, and Simon had locked the door with a grumble and moved you over to the bed so you could sit, moving off to run a bath. 

You heard the pipes squeak—the whoosh of water as it entered the tub. 

Your mind has still not entirely caught up to itself as Simon leads you forward and begins undressing you; taking off your top and letting you shift out of your own pants. The bathroom tile is cold, and you wrap your arms around yourself when you’re entirely bare as you can’t find the words to speak. That is, before Simon takes his shirt off and you see the damage that’s been done. 

You gasp, hand reaching out but stopping above the cut skin surrounded by a million bruises and large welts. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper, delicately touching the skin. None of the slices were deep, but the horror was still there. “Simon…”

Brown eyes soften, and the balaclava is removed as well before a kiss is dug into your forehead. The shade of his hair matched his eyelashes, and now with the full picture, he was as handsome as you imagined him to be, though to all others the scars and the crookedness of his nose might be a shock. You hadn’t expected anything different. 

“Just bruises, Love,” he pets your neck, thumb running over your pulsepoint. 

“You’re all cut up,” your eyes water, but your stubbornness holds them back as you try to take everything in from his willingness to show you his face to the events of tonight. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know that he would do something like this, really, he was always a jerk but he was never…never bold like this.” 

Cupping his cheeks, you kiss his jaw, salty water tracking down your face as you hear Simon take in a breath. He pulls you closer and hugs you tightly, curling over you as if another barrage of bricks was imminent. 

But there wasn’t going to be any danger here. Not with three other veterans down the hall.

“He ever…?” You shake your head, shakily uttering a quick response to Simon’s trialed-off question.

“No. No, I’d never stand for that.” The man’s broken body loosens, a long sigh exiting his nose in blatant relief. 

“Good,” is all he says. “Deserve better.”

You sniffle, getting a reign on your emotions. “I’ve got better.” 

During the shared bath, you clean the others’ wounds, your back to the wall as you run water over the stretch of Simon’s shoulders, washing away the blood. Your nails drag over his skin as he shivers, not looking back at you as he reaches behind and takes one of your hands into his. The black stain of his tattoos rubs along your bare arm as fingers intertwine, your limb moved and held to his abdomen as you kiss one of the knobs in his spine softly and hum to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin. 

Simon doesn’t respond, only leaning back into you more. 

—

Two days pass with no sign from Graham or his friends—Celine, either. Everyone in town was on edge, and in that time you’d been put on paid leave from the bar on account of your involvement and the potential involvement of your coworker. So, you spent most of the time at the shop with Simon, as he’d asked you to so he could keep an eye out.  

You had thought that maybe this was a one-time event, and had believed it, as well. Graham had made a point, and being the idiot that he was, he’d pay for it. If he was smart, he’d be out of the country by now—there was no mistaking Simon’s vendetta now. Price had to reel him back in the day after the vandalism. 

You’d woken up to an empty bed, having been fitted into one of Simon’s incredibly large shirts and sweatpants for pajamas, and heard arguing. Feet padding like a cat, you had pressed your ear to the door and listened with held-back breath, as if only a peep would make the heated conversation stop.

“He made her bleed, Price. He put her in danger!” 

“Get your head on, Simon, you aren’t in the service anymore,” Price had hissed, shadows slinking along from under the door. “You can’t do anything about it.”

There had been a low growl, an aggravated breath. 

“I can’t sit ‘ere when he’s waiting like a fucking robber. This is my responsibility— happened on my watch.”

“Since when did that fucking happen, Simon, eh? What’s been going on with you two?”

A pause. “...It’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it—you’re thinking like a damn soldier.” 

So here you are, fixing the streaks of miscolored paint that had been spattered over the mechanic’s shop as Simon comes out, wiping his hands with a rag. 

“Good thing I didn’t start on the mural yet,” you comment to him, stepping back and putting your roller down. The rag is offered and you take it with a small smile while you slide it over your fingers. “Else I would have tracked him down myself.”

“Would ‘ave helped.” October eyes flicker along the drying paint—the marks still visible. “M’sorry.”

“If you won’t let me apologize,” you raise a brow in challenge. “I won’t let you either.” 

Simon’s eyes crinkle from behind a new balaclava, missing the skeleton details. “Cheeky.”

“It’s called being truthful, Riley.” You sigh through the tilt of your head. “But the bad news is that I had to use up the paint, and I’m not even halfway done with this. It didn’t help that they used a darker color than what I wanted as the backdrop.” 

“Want to take a drive out, then?” The question is swift and honest as it's aimed at you like a distraction from the anxiety. Simon motions his head to the garage. “Got a bit before I’m needed, m’sure you could use a break, yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” you utter, moving to rest a hand on his bicep. He almost purrs at the touch, leaning in. 

“Want to,” Simon grunts slowly. “Bikes are still good. Bastards knew I’d skin them if they touched ‘em.” 

“I’m sure,” you chuckle, teasing him through a smirk. “Big Bad Simon Riley.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes at that, turning back around as you follow after, laughing. 

You both get onto the Rebel, and the brown leather jacket moves your way along with the helmet, slipping it over your head not seconds later as Simon grabs his spare. 

“Are you sure you shouldn't ask for another helmet?” You had brought it up the first time as well—the prospect of a crash. 

“Only a small ride—I’ll go slow, Sunshine.” Knuckles tap the top of the helmet in reassurance. “Matters more that you’re the one wearing it.” 

Your face creases up, but you sigh and nod, wrapping your hands around Simon’s waist and tightly holding on as the engine starts rumbling below you. Moving your feet up to the rests, you scoot closer as the man pushes off the ground, flipping the kickstand back up before he leans forward slightly and lets the bike do the work.

As before, the two of you get out of town and nature opens up—but as soon as you really start to let your worries slide away and focus on Simon’s pulse and the freedom he gives you, there’s a cold wind from the west. Coming up and dragging along with it, a dark rain cloud sits over you both about a seven-minute drive in.

“Should we pull over?!” You shout in question as raindrops begin to patter off your helmet. The bike makes a strange chirping sound, and you blink over Simon’s shoulder until your attention is taken away by his answer. 

“Soon!” You nod, trusting him to know, and ease back. Your fingers trace the small bulge of scars at his waist, shivering. 

One minute later, you’re about to say you can see the town ahead when that chirping starts again. Brows furrowing, you grunt in the back of your throat and yell, “What’s that sound, Simon?”

He glances back briefly, unable to hear you.

“The sound!” Simon’s fingers flicker, head moving down to the bike below him—the hum of the engine was too strong up here, he can’t hear anything out of the ordinary. 

“What are you—?!” 

There’s a great shriek of black metal, and the Honda Rebel 500’s front wheel breaks off from the motorcycle fork and the bike flips. 

TAGS:

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[sidthedollface2]

A Crown fit for a God  (Part 5)

Part 4

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Ch Summary: Elain tries to hold on to whatever relationship she and Azriel have left. Will he submit to her desires? Or seek you out instead?

Or

You accidentally discover what the inside of a cell looks like. 

word count: 4.3k

Ch warnings: SA (groping, not graphic and no p in v), thoughts of murder, drugging, cheating (don't worry), slight pregnancy talk. 

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,  mentions of SA, angst, hurt/comfort, war, murder including injuries, fighting, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, soft Az with a little temper, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: I had something totally different planned but decided to take this little detour. Lol. I believe after this chapter we will see more of Azriel and reader interactions. I think. Idk. maybe. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

The following day Lucien had gotten into a fight with Eris, what was at first a screaming match turned physical, as fists flew left and right. Both males stubborn in their decision, Lucien adamant that he already had planned to run away with you to the Spring Court and Eris tried to explain that a life on the run was no life at all. He promised Lucien you’d be well taken care of and that you’d be a wonderful High Lady when the time came. “No! I’d rather die than watch her marry you.” Lucien roared, angering his brother even more. “We will leave in two days' time and you will not seek us out.” Two days. Eris had two days to figure out how to make you stay.  

If Eris was to be the next High Lord he’d have to do dishonorable things to get what he wanted. This was the first of many. “Gods forgive me for what I'm about to do,” he whispered to himself as he mixed the sex pollen into the cake batter. He placed the round tins in the oven, just like his mother had shown him many times before. Once the cake was frosted and decorated he hand delivered it to an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long while. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again Azriel watched as you walked away, a lone shadow ordered to follow and keep you  safe trailing behind you. Shame filled his guilty heart. He had never acted this way before, not with Mor or Elain or any other female he had in his bed. It was foolish to judge you when he’s had more than enough partners in the 500 plus years he’s been alive.   

Was he going to apologize by fetching you contraceptive tea from The Night Court, so you could sleep with someone else, while he pinned after you? 

Yes. Yes he was, and he certainly wasn't thrilled about it. 

The following morning you stumbled upon a small box on the front steps of your cottage; adorned in navy wrapping paper and secured with a golden bow. A small note was attached along with a violet flower, its stem carrying bulb-like flower buds waiting to bloom and berries as black as the midnight sky. You recognized the plant as Nightshade. 

My Queen of Death,

 I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive my ignorance. I'm ashamed that I've allowed my jealousy to transpire into hurtful words. Words that no female should ever hear and I truly apologize for judging your actions when my own are not very admirable. I realize that actions speak louder than words and I aim to show you just how sorry I am.  

Yours, Azriel

A small smile pulled at your lips as you unraveled the bow and looked inside the box. Three jars of finely crushed herbs, each labeled individually accompanied by a beautifully crafted infuser were neatly placed within the box. Along with healing salves for your wounds, and seeds to grow your own Nightshade. 

“What is that Fawn?” you didn’t hear as Eris winnowed to the cottage, his glare immediately finding the gift box in your hands. You had two options: lie and say it's just tea from a merchant or tell the truth and enrage the future heir. You were no coward, “It’s contraceptive tea from The Night Court,” you declared with not a hint of hesitation. Eris clenched his hands in a fist, taming the lingering flame that threatened to burst free in his rage. His nostrils flared in distaste for your actions. You knew the plan was to pretend to marry Eris and produce an heir, granting his fathers wishes. Somewhere along the way those pretend lies blurred into truth, at least for Eris. 

“Who did you get the tea from?” he asked, deeply inhaling the air around him, scenting for another male. Thank the Gods you had glamoured your scent, “My friend gifted it to me.” 

“You don’t have friends, I need a name now!” He seethed, clenching his jaw in anger.

You scowled at him, turning your back to him with the gift in your hands, heading back into the cottage. When he suddenly reached over, snatching the note from your hand. 

“Hey!” 

“My Queen?” He questions, reading over the note in a mocking tone and a furrowed brow, “your Azriel?” Eris smugly chuckles, "My Gods he really does know how to work the females doesn’t he? He doesn’t want to be your friend Fawn, he just wants to fuck you. I bet that's the reason he got jealous wasn't it?” He states, crumbling the note in his fist and setting it on fire with his magic. When he opens his fist again a small amount of ash floats to the ground. 

Eris had done what he always does. Place doubt in your mind that no one would ever want you more than a fuck buddy and no one has ever been friends with a Death God. The others were locked away in the prison, the weavers cottage, and the lake. Soon enough the other High Lords would come to know of you and your powers and lock you away like the rest. 

“You're right, but I still want the tea.” 

Eris stalks closer, taking the gift from your hands, “I’ll get you some new tea. This one probably has sex pollen in it. You can never trust the males of The Night Court. I’ve already told you, they share their females. And you're too precious to share.” 

Eris throws the box over this shoulder, setting it aflame before it even hits the ground. 

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, walking you inside the cottage, “Mother requests you at the Forest House. She wants you to wear a dress to Helion's celebration.”

~~~~

Azriel thought about your last words to him and it hurt him to admit you were right. No one had ever loved him. At least not as deeply as your love for Lucien. He wondered what your love would feel like. Would it be as fierce as you were, with power surging through your veins? Were you a hopeless romantic where you’d hold his hand and kiss him in the middle of the street on the rainiest day of the year? With how he was acting, that idea seemed so far off. So far each encounter with you was met with his illyrian ways of being a territorial, possessive, jealous male. He was man enough to admit he was jealous, Lucien had a piece of your heart, if not now then before. He had no right to be jealous, he was sleeping with Elain afterall. A situation he needed to end once and for all.

His curiosity was heavy enough to seek out the male and question the depths of the relationship. Not long after he landed back in Velaris, he found himself knocking on Lucien's apartment door, hoping to catch up. 

Lucien opened the door and he immediately regretted it. He wasn’t exactly fond of the illyrian who had been sleeping with his mate. Knowing very well Azriel’s appetite for beautiful females. He’d figure once he grew bored of Elain he’d find another female to bed and another and another, leaving those poor females a shell of their former selves. Lucien had no patience for small talk and he wasn't exactly interested in what the shadowsinger had to say, “whatever it is, I don’t care.” Lucien moved to close the door in Azriel’s face, unamused with the sudden visit.

“Wait!” Azriel pleaded, hand splayed over the door that was about to close on him. “I’m not here to talk about Elain, I’m ending it with her today. I’m here to talk about Khaos.” Lucien sighed, letting the shadowsinger enter his apartment. “Is she safe?” Lucien's worried eyes scanned Azriel for any hint of deception. “Yeah, she's safe, I just wanted to know how she was with you and now Eris. More importantly, what happened between you two? ”

Azriel walked over to Lucien's couch, Mid bend to make himself comfortable, “don’t sit. I don’t plan to entertain you,” Lucien spat, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel let the weight of his body plop down on the couch, arms stretched wide across the back cushion. His unwavering stare indicating he would get the answers to his questions. Lucien gritted his teeth in annoyance, “ I’m not telling you shit. What happened between us, remains between us.” 

Azriel nodded, understanding his hesitancy to give any details regarding a former lover, “It’s just that I’d like to get to know her bett-”

“Haven’t you had your fill?" Lucien interrupted with a scowl, “must you take every female that I love?” He scoffed. “You don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her.” 

There it was, his opening. Exactly what he was hoping for. Azriel didn’t hesitate in prodding further. 

“If you loved her, why did you leave?” 

Lucien shook his head, running his hand through his long locks, “No, not past tense. I still do. I’ll always…” Lucien swallowed, he couldn’t finish that sentence, it hurt too much. Azriel narrowed his eyes, Gods, he still loved you he thought to himself. He knew his next words would reopen a healed wound, but he needed more.  “You love her so much you let Eris fuck her too.” Azriel internally flinched at how tasteless the statement was. 

Lucien winced at the Shadowsingers clear attempt to rile him up, those crude words grating against his heart, “Get out!” 

Azriel smirked and threw his mud covered boots on top of the coffee table, rattling the few cups that lingered. Crossing his legs at the ankle, “the faster you tell me what I want to know, the faster I'll leave.” 

Lucien rubbed the space between his brows and let out an annoyed groan. His gaze fixed on a burgundy cloak that was thrown over an armchair. A cloak that once belonged to you, after all these years he still held onto it. Lucien's eyes glazed over in sadness as he recalled the reason he left, “after my father wished for Eris to court her, I tried to take her away to The Spring Court so we could be together. I went to our friend Jesminda's house to say my goodbyes. She invited me in for cake and tea, one thing led to another and I made the biggest mistake of my life. I couldn't tell her, so I left for Spring alone. ”

“You cheated on her?” Azriel asked. 

Lucien nodded, clearing his throat from the knot of emotion that threatened to break free. 

“You’re a fucking coward,” Azriel glared as he stalked towards the door, “she thinks the world of you and you couldn’t even tell her of your betrayal.” 

He opened the door to the apartment, leaving Lucien to sulk in misery,

“You said I don't deserve her, but it’s you who doesn't deserve a place in her heart. I’ll make sure she knows of your cowardice and infidelity.” 

Azriel slammed the door behind him and as he walked away he heard the cries of a wounded fox, shattered to pieces by a guilty conscience.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stood in front of a full length mirror, its reflection one you didn't recognize. Your eyes lacked the stars that once circled your pupils, your once moon like orb was no longer crisp and bright. No longer did you look like a God that brought blood and gore to those who deserved a painful death. How did the Goddess of Life succumb to a female with nowhere to go but beside her betrothed. To obey his every wish with a smile on your face. Only speak when spoken to and never voice the thoughts that lingered beyond those of dresses and motherhood.

Was your life to be on your back while Eris spilled his seed inside you, producing heir after heir until your very womb decayed. “Aos? Which color would you like the dress?” you shook your head, riding yourself from your detached thoughts. You met the eyes of Auren through the mirror, a seamstress tasked with measuring you for Helion’s Celebration. “Blue would look lovely, Thank you Auren.” 

“The Prince is wearing a deep cadmium red, it be wise to match with the future heir.” Auren explained as she struggled to wrap the measuring tape around your waist, placing her finger against your body, noting the inch at which her finger fit snugly against your skin. “Make it a royal blue Auren, it reminds me of home.” 

Her heavy breathing took you out of your thoughts and your eyes widened at her swollen belly, the reason for her struggle to reach around you. “Oh Auren, I didn’t realize. It’s not polite to comment-” 

“It’s alright really, just got harder to bend and move,” she laughed, rubbing her round stomach soothingly. You beamed as she cradled the life that was growing inside her. A warmth so familiar bloomed inside you. You knew all too well the reason pregnancy was difficult in the fae lands, ever since you fell from the sky procreation had severely diminished. Not forgotten or misplaced just pointless in a cruel world. You couldn't say you had nothing to do with it, you had everything to do with creation. So it was quite a shock to see Auren pregnant, “a miracle really. Congratulations Auren, you make a wonderful mother.” 

“It’s always been a dream of mine. Thank the Gods for this fertility tea.” She took a sip from her cup and as she set it down you glanced inside, “whole nuts?” you questioned with a raised eyebrow. “Mhmm, it tastes gritty when they’re crushed down to a powder.” She grimaced as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Gritty?”

Weekly dinners with the Vanserras, you were served tea.

It couldn’t be. 

It was.

You paled. 

~~~~~~~

At dinner everyone moved around you carrying their conversations like you weren’t slowly dying inside. Like you were invisible. You sat unmoving, hands clasped within your lap as you burned a hole into the mug that accompanied your dessert. How long had you been drinking that tea? How long were you going to pretend to be Eris' lover? How long were you going to put on this mask of compliance and docility, when in reality you could rip the flesh from their bones with a blink of an eye. Slaughter each and every member of the Vanserras without a single ounce of remorse.

The more you dwelled on it the more plausible it seemed. Yes, you’d remove them all at once with the snap of your finger. Each death exactly the same as the next, painful in the way they’ve caused pain to others. No, tortuous. Starting with the slow removal of each fingernail, pulled directly from the nailbed followed by severing each finger until nothing remained of their hands but a bloody useless paw. You wouldn't stop there. Next you’d remove their feet below the ankles, better yet, below the knee, so that to move they'd need to drag their meat sack of bones across all the painful textures of the land. Each and every pull against the earth would reopen thin healed skin, leaving trails of crimson blood mixed with pus and torn flesh.

The cries of a once feared family would bring their citizens out only to shriek, and gasp in horror at the sight of the disfigured thing. As a mercy you’d allow them to keep their eyes and ears so they’d hear each vulgar degradation aimed at how mutilated and disgusting they looked, visualize the moment they made someone so ill all that could be done was vomit the contents of their stomach. No one would pin it on Eris if he was among the deformed. Though you weren’t so cruel, they did help you somewhat. Provide you with shelter, food, all the means that you’ve needed to survive thus far. Asphyxiation would be painless, you smirked.

Eris placed a panicked hand to the base of his throat, glancing around the table at his family; he noticed their glossy widened eyes. Their mouths hung open in a silent scream, opening and closing like a fish out of water, gasping for a breath of air. Utensils clattered to the ground as Lord Beron attempted to stand only to stumble clenching the table cloth for fear of falling. Eris’ amber gaze landed on your morbid stare. Eyes cloudy and pale with the promise of death in their unfocused glare.

The room spun round and round although he remained seated, knuckles white from gripping the wooden table. He felt himself slowly losing consciousness, the lack of oxygen to his brain pulling him under, a swipe across his nose made him nearly pass out as he felt blood drip down, coating his lips. Eris chanced one last look into the soul of beautiful death and found your lifeless eyes already claiming his beating heart. 

With a last ditch effort to reclaim his soul he struggled through the pounding inside his head. Placing a trembling hand against your thigh, conjuring the remaining power he had into a lick of flame. Burning against your thigh brought your thoughts back to dinner. Those heterochromia eyes morphed into the vibrant colors of the galaxy with a single blink. The sharp inhale of air surrounded the table as your mind released them from the claws of death's grip. “Must be the tea,” you challenged, voice dripping with insolence as your cold eyes met those of Lord Beron. “We’ve been poisoned!” Eris's younger brother Janus reported, pouring out his cup of tea showcasing the darkened goop that splattered to the ground. Eris’ gaze traveled from the cup to you and back again. A look of shock and hurt in the way he studied your indifference. Once everyone cleared the dinner table, Lord Beron ordered the guards to sweep the halls for a breach and check the tea imports for tampering. 

~~~~~

You made your way to your bed chambers when a rough hand tightly gripped your arm; shoving you against the stone walls with enough force to knock the sense out of you. Lord Beron lowered his mouth to your ear so no one else could hear his vile words. “If I have to chain your legs apart and force him on you, so be it! But you will let Eris fuck a babe into your pathetic cunt!” He snarled, voice dripping with the rot that plagued his evil soul. You stared at the grip he had on your arm, a bruise in the shape of fingertips already forming around your bicep. 

“Threaten me all you want-"

The back of Lord Berons palm landed across your cheek with an audible slap, whipping your face so hard you stumbled to the floor. Your fingertips sparked with electric current, adrenaline running through you, tempting you to act, to destroy everyone that got in your way. And Lord Beron would be the first to witness your fury. Defiantly, you stood to meet his stare, chin held high with pride, “I bow to no High Lord.” 

Lord Beron didn’t bother to strike you as he signaled for a guard to escort you below. Where they kept their murderers, thieves, and those that needed a reminder of who their High Lord was. Lord Beron didn’t know how powerful you were since you kept most of your magic to yourself and those close to you, so it came as a shock when a stainless steel collar dipped in faebane was locked around your neck, made to look like a simple necklace with the only key belonging to High Lord Beron. 

You were dragged down the cold halls farther than you knew existed, down a spiral of stone steps, passed the cells that housed the criminals of Autumn and last through a hidden wall disguised as an unassuming bookcase. Your heart rate spiked as you realized this area was one you had never seen before and it worried you that maybe that was the point. You tried to summon your magic despite the collar releasing its poison onto your skin, but with nowhere to release the rage, the opposite happened. Your power turned to its host and acted like a sedative, pulling you into a sleep-like state. 

In your near-unconsciousness you didn’t feel the rough hands of a guard help himself to the curves of your body, groping your breasts and grabbing your ass before he kneeled at your feet, shackling your legs apart just as Lord Beron promised. The guards were instructed to not penetrate you but that didn’t stop them from standing around your cell to gawk and fist their needy cocks to the sight of your spread pussy. 

~~~~~~~~~

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief as he entered his room. A welcoming comfort no one could grant him, except perhaps you. 

He neared his four poster bed, large enough for his wings and a lover or two. Just as he was about to throw himself onto its pillowy top a sweet scent engulfed him. Too sweet for his liking and definitely not your scent.  As he looked to the illuminated light escaping the bottom of the  bathing room; Elain emerged from a cloud of steam, casting her in a hazy glow. Azriels eyes trailed the length of her nude body, drops of water tracking down her thin legs.

Azriel couldn't deny what a beautiful female she was, both inside and out. He was lucky to have been with her no matter how short their fling was about to be. What Elain assumed was lust in Azriels eyes was actually reflection. Seeing her bare before him reminded him of what she offered time and time again. Her physical body. He knew that's not all she had to offer, deep down she had goals to be met and hobbies that he didn't understand, but physical intimacy is what she offered to him.

Azriel couldn't believe he had gotten to the point where sex was no longer enough. He wanted more. He wanted it all. He wanted that body, mind and spirit love. A soul connection so deep not even death would be able to pry his heart away. He felt it in his bones that that connection was not with Elain, so he’d decided now was as good a time as any, to let her go. 

Without another glance Azriel walked to his closet, which held an assortment of her clothes. He pulled out her favorite pink robe, and draped it over her shoulders. Elain took the hint and tied the robe around her body at the waist, covering her completely. The act alone brought her to tears as his rejection flooded her with shame and embarrassment. 

“Who is she?” Elain muttered, crossing her arms over her stomach in an attempt to hold herself together. Azriel shook his head, a soft sigh leaving his lips. 

“Did you sleep with her?” 

“No. I wouldn't do that to her - to you,” he shook his head, “I wouldn't do that to you.”

“Do you want to sleep with her?” Elain asked with a wobble in her throat, not sure if she could handle his answer. 

Azriel turned his back on Elain and placed his hands on his hips. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he hung his head. Yes, he did want to bed you, but more than anything he wanted to hear the sound of your soft breathing as you slept nestled against his chest. He wanted to trace the beauty marks along your back and see how many constellations adorned your soft skin. 

“Azriel!” 

“Yes! Is that what you wanted to hear? He snapped.

“NO! I want to hear that you love me, not that you want to fuck someone else!” Elain sobbed, her tears freely flowing down her cheeks. “It’s her isn't it? The one you’ve been looking for all these years? The female you said I shouldn't worry about?” Elain continued to wipe away her tears. 

“I never meant to hurt you, and for that I’m sorry. If there's a chance that she’s who's destined for me then I have to explore that. You know how much I want what my brothers have, that special someone made for me!” Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his wavy hair. 

“I thought I was made for you Az?” 

A scoff leaves Azriels lips, “you were made for Lucien, he's your mate Elain, not me.” 

Elains stunned silent. The truth of his words piercing her fragile heart, “but I chose you.” 

“And I’m choosing her.” 

“Azriel, she's a Death God,” she pleads, kneeling in front of him with her hands on his knees, “she’s threatened Velaris and Rhys hates her. You met her one time as a child. You don’t know her!” she yelled, hurt laced in her words as she tried to make sense of his actions.

“I want to get to know her!” Azriel yelled back, standing abruptly from his position on the bed, making Elain stumble slightly, catching herself with her palms on the floor. 

“I’m sorry, this thing between us. It was never –”

Azriels shadows interrupt him as they swarm the room, darting erratically from side to side in alarm. Goosebumps form along his arms as they whisper in his ear, ‘In trouble, hurry.’ Azriel didn't need to ask who was in trouble. Somehow he could feel your despair in the pit of his stomach. You needed him and he would go to you. However far you were, he would walk miles to reach you, fly through the toughest storms to be by your side. Risk his own life if it meant you’d survive to see another day. Without another word he raced out of the house, leaving a broken hearted Elain to pick up the pieces of her fractured heart. He couldn’t be there for her any longer, not when his heart was calling out for you. 

A/n:  I’ve had a crazy week with my daughter being sick and planning her birthday party. I expect the next ch to take me some time. As always thank you so much for reading and for your sweet comments.  

Taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @going-through-shit @dr4g0ngirl @mybestfriendmademe @isa1b2h3 @julesofvolterra @scooobies @thisblogisaboutabook @lilah-asteria @glitterypirateduck @acourtofbatboydreams @5onedirection5

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x fem!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #azriel #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Yellow Shy Guy

Debut: Certainly not Mario Kart Tour! (It was Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island)

Yeah yeah yeah this is a very Regular Mario Enemy. Yes, you are on the right blog! But this is a Regular Mario Enemy, in a Weird Mario Situation... yeah, it’s another post about the specifics of character alt colors in Mario Kart Tour. I hope you like those!

Shy Guys come in all sorts of colors! They always have! Red may be default, but yellow can always be counted on to make an appearance if other colors are present. It makes sense, since Yellow is one of the main characters of Colors. Do you consider the primary colors to be red/blue/yellow or magenta/cyan/yellow? Doesn’t matter! Yellow is there! Please do not bring up RGB. But if you do, I will simply retort that the powers of red and green light must combine to give rise to the mighty Yellow!

Yellow Shy Guy is also very often playable! In older, more limited games, the default red may be the only one playable, but these days you can confidently expect Yellow Shy Guy to be an option. If you were lucky in Mario Kart DS download play, you might be assigned Yellow Shy Guy by random chance! Yellow Shy Guy finally became selectable in Mario Kart 8′s DLC, which to me is more appealing than any of the added characters. While my favorite color is light blue, I am a big fan of Yellow Shy Guy, and find his green shoes more fashionable than Light-Blue Shy Guy’s red ones!

But then, along came Mario Kart Tour. Red Shy Guy was the first one present, no problem with that! We all knew the rest would come soon enough. But they came in a weird order! Black, pink, green, light blue, blue, white, orange... At the time of Orange Shy Guy’s release, it had been nearly three and a half years since the game launched. And yet, still no sign of that classic yellow fellow? I’m normally mellow, but that makes me want to bellow! Even a gold Shy Guy was added... gold. The coward’s yellow!

On the wiki’s list of Shy Guy colors, Yellow is among the only ones not using a render from Tour, instead being shown using one from Dr. Mario World, in a different pose. Yellow looks like an impostor among all these others! I’m here if he ever needs to vent.

According to Mario Super Sluggers, Yellow Shy Guy loves to steal. Hey! Stealing is bad! Is that why you’re not allowed in Tour, Yellow Shy Guy? Green Shy Guy loves to hit and run, but that’s okay. Mario Kart is all about vehicular violence. They love that kind of attitude!

This all being said, Yellow Shy Guy is technically playable in Tour, though as a variant in the form of Yellow Shy Guy (Explorer). This is an act of community service, as Yellow Shy Guy is graciously role-playing as an old-timey prospector as seen in the new version of Sunset Wilds, replacing the racist usage of Shy Guys from the GBA version of the track. Thank you, Yellow Shy Guy! But still, he should not have to hide himself behind a costume to get a place in the roster. Or I guess a second costume, in this case. When will being a humble Yellow Shy Guy be seen as enough...?

Poor Yellow Shy Guy. But oh? What is that, under the read more of this post? Wow! I can’t believe it! What a thing to behold! You should click Read More, so you can see it!

Donkey Kong is finally getting a costumed variant, and about time too! Congratulations to him! Sorry to Yellow Shy Guy though. Yellow Shy Guy is not Donkey Kong, you see. Unless he IS Donkey Kong under his robes and mask, and gorillas can be compressed into much smaller states than I was aware of.

...Huh? What’s that, live studio audience of children? There’s something I’m missing? There’s something else of note in this tour? Oh! Thank you for letting me know! Let’s see...

HOORAY!!!!!

Yellow Shy Guy loves to steal, it’s true. And he is especially great at stealing the show! I am so proud of Yellow Shy Guy for finally making it into Mario Kart Tour! #YellowShyGuySweep! It makes me want to play as Yellow Shy Guy in Mario Kart 8, which is a much better game where you can access Yellow Shy Guy quickly and easily.

To celebrate our friend’s victory, if you have Mario Kart 8 Deluxe, you could play the custom Yellow Mode I made up! Here are the rules:

1. All humans must play as Yellow Shy Guy, and use only the yellowest of kart parts!

2. Only yellow items may be used! This means Coin, Banana, Triple Banana, Golden Mushroom, Star, and Lightning!

3. Only yellow courses are allowed! There are not that many yellow courses, so you can use your imagination here. For example, Toad Circuit features a big Yellow Toad balloon, and untextured Yellow sand! Wario’s Gold Mine is about mining some Yellow Minerals! Ice Ice Outpost features a whole yellow track, but don’t even think about driving on the green one!

And speaking of yellow tracks... I hope everyone’s looking forward to the Simpson Tour, featuring the new Springfield Streetrace track! Mario Kart Tour? More like Mario BART Tour! Aye carumba!

#yellow shy guy #mario kart tour #mario #mario enemies #mod chikako

[dreamylittlesugarcube]

Clickbait

Genre: EXO AU

Characters: Kyungsoo x Female Reader

Warnings: Kind of some swearing? 

Word Count: 1000

Summary: You meet your long-term pen pal and it’s SURPRISE, Kyungsoo. 

A/N: This was a request and a fun one at that! I hope you enjoy it. Don’t forget to like and re-blog if you do. How would you react if this happened to you? Leave me a GIF in the comments!

Also note: This is my own original work, if you’d like to share, please re-blog. Do not re-post. Image used is not mine, credit goes to Soompi. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crouched behind a hip-height brick wall, you carefully checked your phone, watching as the seconds ticked by, second by second closer to the appointed meeting time. 

55…56…57…58…59…60

7:00 AM

Behind you, the giant hands on the clock tower advanced and the bells chimed, each dong seeming to say MOVE YOUR BUTT, COWARD! You peeked around the corner, careful to stay hidden as you scanned the mostly-deserted park, wondering if any of the strangers walking by happened to be your stranger. Though perhaps ‘stranger’ wasn’t the right word. More like ‘person-I’ve-told-all-my-inner-thoughts-to-but-actually-never-met-and-might-

be-a-scammer’. 

Not for the first time, you wondered if you were foolish. Foolish to have joined a cooking community on Reddit. Foolish to have responded to a post from soogoodmykimchispaghetti. Foolish to have spent over a year messaging a person you only knew online. Day by day, falling for the kind, witty man you exchanged food porn photos with. 

If you’d learned anything from MTV’s Catfish, it was to be skeptical of young, seemingly attractive, well-spoken men online. Especially ones who avoided video chatting and changed the topic every time you asked for a picture. You’d sent him one of yours, hoping he’d respond with one in kind. But he hadn't. And yet somehow he’d still talked you into flying to meet him in Seoul. Which was precisely how you found yourself in your current position, hiding within sight of the meeting place, unsure of whether you actually wanted him to show up or not. 

From your point of view there were three options ahead of you: 

Option 1: He ghosts you and you can quietly pretend this never happened

Option 2: He’s nothing like you imagined

Option 3: He’s everything you thought he’d be and more

Option 4: He tries to extort you for money or join his MLM scheme.

Honestly, 75% of those options sucked. 

“Um…puffypancakegirl29?”

You startled at the sound of a voice behind you, losing your balance and falling flat on your butt in the process. On the ground, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before you looked up. You had time to register dark brown eyes, fluffy black hair, and full-looking lips before instant recognition hit.

Your ult bias, EXO’s Do Kyungsoo, extended his hand to you.

“Puffypancakegirl29?” he tried again. 

Your throat felt tight as you nodded mechanically, managing to grasp his hand and allow him to pull you up from the dirt. You made a show of dusting off your pants as you thought about what to say.

Hello Soo, nice to meet you, by the way I love you and your voice makes me melt? Or Nice to meet you Soo, by the way I really enjoyed that low-cut white pirate shirt you wore on Music Bank the other week?

Both of those options sounded like excellent ways to freak out the K-Pop idol who was apparently your long-term penpal. 

“Are you okay?” Kyungsoo asked, dark brows knitted together in concern. 

You swallowed hard. “Yeah, yep, totally fine, all good,” you sputtered. “Just waiting for you.”

“Behind a wall?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow in amusement. 

You shrugged, murmuring something unintelligible. Fighting the urge to run, you made a beeline past Kyungsoo for a bench you spotted just down the path. 

“Wait,” Kyungsoo called after you, stooping down to pick up the phone you hadn’t realized you’d dropped. “Your phone…”

Now in front of you, he stood, staring at your lock screen with an expression you couldn’t quite read. In horror, you realized what he was seeing: a close-up of him wearing that god-damned pirate shirt, looking sexy as hell during his “Cream Soda” promotions. 

You quickly snatched the phone out of his hands, hiding it behind your back to try and bury the evidence, though you knew it was already too late. 

Kyungsoo sat down beside you, hands folded calmly in his lap. 

“So…I take it, you know who I am then?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Yeah, I know who you are. But only now, I swear I didn’t know before.”

“How would you?” he asked gamely. “I never sent you a picture…which I’m sorry about, by the way, I just–”

“No, I get it, Kyungsoo. I do. With your job, you have to be careful…and sending pictures to some random girl you met online–”

“You’re not some random girl–”

You laughed. “I’m the definition of ‘some random girl’, Kyungsoo. I mean, we met on a cooking subreddit thread, for pete’s sake.” 

“True,” Kyungsoo chuckled. “It’s nice to meet you, by the way.” He extended his hand for you to take. “You know, once we decided to meet, I’d been thinking about how to reveal my identity to you, but I guess now I don’t have to.”

You took his hand, pumping it up and down. “I swear, I’m not a weirdo. I just really like your voice, that’s all.”

“And my chest, apparently.” 

You felt your face get red. “I would love it if you would forget about that,” you said, wondering if there might be a sinkhole nearby for you to fall into. 

“Not a chance,” he responded, sporting a grin that said this would definitely come up again in the future. 

“Um…so…what should we do now,” you asked dumbly, trying to shift the conversation to literally anything else. 

“I was thinking maybe breakfast? Get to know each other a little more?” Kyungsoo replied. “I know a great place near here that serves those fluffy, souffle pancakes and I assumed maybe you–”

“Is that why we had to meet at the crack of dawn?” you blurted. 

Kyungsoo laughed, his eyes squinching in a delightfully cute way. “Well, partially. That…and I’m…well, me, so–”

You smiled at his words, holding up a hand to cut him off. “Breakfast sounds good.” 

Kyungsoo got up, putting on a black baseball cap and face mask. His “on the down-low” gear, you assumed. You walked together through the park in companionable silence and once on streets, let him guide you down some surprisingly quiet alleyways towards your destination. A bright yellow awning greeted you, along with the sweet smell of baked goods and maple syrup. 

“Kyungsoo?” you said, stopping him just outside the restaurant. 

He turned to smile back at you and your heart thumped loudly in your chest. 

“Thanks for being Option #3.”

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading Clickbait! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Don’t forget to leave me a meme or GIF in the comments. How would you react if this were you? Inquiring minds must know!

XOXO,

Emmy

#kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo exo #do kyungsoo #exo fanfic #exo #kyungsoo #exo fic #exo fiction #exo scenario #exo fanfiction #exo scenarios #kyungsoo fluff #exo kyungsoo #kyungsoo scenarios #exo request #cream soda #exo imagines #kyungsoo x reader #kyungsoo x you

[starryjuicebox]

Beloved (7) - Coward

Summary: The beginnings of a much-needed conversation.

Pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Tav

Word Count: 638 words

Masterlist | Ao3 Link | Next Chapter

Nightal 1492

My eyes are red, my skin is cold, and my heart no longer beats. These fangs feel foreign in my mouth. I have become an abomination - a disgrace to the Oak Father himself. Surely, I can no longer call myself Faithwarden. I could have refused Astarion’s offer, and left our love a sweet, happy memory. Indeed, I could have. But…I was also the one who helped turn him into what he has become. By doing this, turning my lover into a monster, I surely have given up all rights to return to my kingdom. I can only hope Mother, Father, and Aelia will forgive me in time. I simply can’t bear to kill nor leave him; he, who wears the face of the man I once loved so much. 

…I still hear seven thousand screams in my trance every night. I can barely meet Karlach’s eyes. Her genuine concern for me cuts the deepest. 

And Astarion, my Starry, what have we become? 

Stella Lunaris

“Free?” Astarion scoffed. “We have been together for three hundred years, and he wants you to be ‘free’?”

Ruby pools sparkled with unshed tears as his consort shook like a leaf, before raising her voice at him for the first time in three centuries. “Yes, he wanted me to be free! Do you? Can you?” 

Rage bubbled up from deep down inside him, thick and suffocating. How dare she?! Freedom? What freedom could she possibly yearn for? He would give her almost anything she wanted, if she would just ask. He clenched his jaw. “I give you wealth, power, pleasure - every decadence that can be afforded to a person? But you’d rather - what - sleep in the dirt again?” 

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the rite had changed their relationship. The expression of sheer horror and then despair that had crossed her features as he took what was rightfully his pushed its way into Astarion’s mind. 

In all of the years they had been together, she had never even once brought up leaving his side. He couldn’t even remember seeing her change form. Astarion shot a glare towards the window. That damned Archdruid would pay for planting such a ludicrous idea in his wife’s head. Freedom. What a joke. 

Stella just shook her head. “I don’t need wealth, power, or pleasure. I just wanted you. For these past few centuries, I’ve always just wanted you. Part of me kept hoping that perhaps you would come back to me. The other part knew it was my fault you couldn’t.”

Astarion froze. “What do you mean? Do we not spend nearly every night together? I am always with you, aside from when I must attend to business matters.” 

They both knew that wasn’t what she meant.

Falling to her knees before him, she clutched her chest. His confusion gave way to panic, and the Ascendant immediately reached out to help her up. Was his precious treasure injured anywhere? 

She ignored his hand.

“I’m sorry I did this to you. To us.” Her voice came out brokenly. 

He opened his mouth to argue, but she continued without giving him a chance to intercede. “All those years ago, I begged you to reconsider. My pleas fell on deaf ears. I could have refused to help, tried to interrupt the ritual, or…hells, even sided with the Gur afterwards. I had so many options to prevent things from coming to this.”

She shuddered for a moment, before carrying on. “But how could I? You have everything you ever wanted. Your eternal hunger is gone. The sun cannot harm you, crossing rivers and thresholds are but child’s play. I may hate what you have become, but I can’t even bring myself to leave." 

Her unshed tears finally spilled over. “Somehow, I still love you. I’m a coward, aren’t I?”

#fanfic #ascended astarion #ascended astarion x tav #astarion #angst #fanfiction #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #depressed tav #astarion x oc #astarion fanfic #lord astarion

[hehehereliesmysanity]

time travel wilmon au

inspired by this post i shared today

Wille has just seen Ayub's story, has seen that Simon, probably the love of his life, is on a date with someone else. He has lost him completely because he was a coward, there is nobody but him to blame. It hurts so much. He wishes he could just take it back. Take it all back.

When he wakes up the next morning, he feels different, almost out of place. He exits his room, to take a walk around the lake, to get some fresh air so that he could forget it all for a second. He sees a silhouette over there, he is surprised because there is usually no one there, that's his place, when he wants to be alone. And because he doesn't have Simon so that's the only option now. Being alone.

As he comes closer, the figure seems familiar but yet a stranger at the same time. The figure turns around and Wille is rooted to his place, shocked to his core.

Because the person standing opposite him is... well, himself. He blinks a few times but other-Wille一he still can't believe his eyes, he is probably still on his bed, dreaming一is smiling. It just feels so strange, he can't even recognize himself. Okay, he looks taller and more muscular, almost just older but what is more strange is that he looks almost happy, serene, and blissful. He looks like he was waiting for him.

"Hey," he greets him as if this is an every-day occurrence.

"Hey," he mumbles, unsure.

"I remember how surprised I was. You think this is a dream, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"I know you are so confused right now," Wille, older Wille, says with an empathetic smile. "Would you believe me if told you I was the future you?"

"No," Wille laughs dryly. "Are you shitting me? It is one of those masks, right? This must be a prank. I really can't deal with this, right now."

"No, it is not." older Wille shakes his head. "You have just seen Simon with someone else, right. I know you would be here because I was you, remember?"

"How can you possibly know that? I haven't told that to anyone here yet." What the hell?

"You just said "what the hell?" to yourself, right?" older Wille raises an eyebrow, almost smug.

This is getting creepy.

"This is getting creepy." older Wille says. "That's what you are thinking."

"Okay, stop, I believe you."

"No, you don't."

"That's... true." he mumbles. "Okay, tell me something only I would know."

"Easy," older Wille shrugs. "Because there are so many. You have always felt so alone and you kept most of the things to yourself. You even didn't tell Erik because you didn't think he would understand. Even though you had the same parents, you actually didn't. Erik's mother was more understanding and forgiving than yours. That's how you felt anyway. How we felt, I mean."

"Oh," Wille stands there frozen.

"So when we were five一"

"Not necessary. I believe you." he swallows and goes to sit down on the ground on the lakeside. Older Wille comes and sits beside him.

"And?" older Wille asks, expectantly.

"What do you mean?"

"You have questions. I know because一"

"You are me," he rolls his eyes. Older Wille laughs. That's the first thing that caught Wille's attention. "You look happy."

"I am." he smiles and it looks weird. Good weird but his face probably forgot how to laugh. "You can have three questions, but I can't talk about big things because butterfly effect and all." he says, "And no, I am not a genie." he laughs.

Wille laughs, too because that's exactly what he was going to say.

"So you are happy, that's good because I feel miserable right now." he sighs. "Is Simon happy?" there goes his first question. "If he is still in our life, I mean."

"Of course, that's your first question." older-Wille laughs hard. "I forgot how much of a loser we were about him." he shakes his head disbelievingly. Then he mumbles something under his breath Wille can't quite catch. "Yes, he is happy. He is very happy and you can say that he is still in our life, yes."

"Okay, that's still something." he thinks about for a second. "Do I get to come out in the future?"

"Hmm, that's a big thing to tell but I can say that you are living your life as you want. Whatever that is."

"Sound impossible." Wille sniffs. "It hurts so much. I wish this pain would just go away. I wish it never happened. If you could take back everything一coming here, meeting Simon, starting something even though you know it wouldn't end well一would you?"

"No, I wouldn't. Not in a million years." older-Wille says without skipping a beat. "And who says it doesn't end well?" he says with a glint in his eyes, as if he knows something he doesn't but well, obviously, he does.

"I just can't believe it, you know?" Wille chews his lip anxiously. He has lost Simon forever. How could it even end well now?

"It will get better, I promise. Just do what you gotta do." older-Wille says unhelpfully.

"Thanks," he deadpans. "That helps a lot." Older-Wille laughs again. He must be enjoying this a lot. "You look so different. Also, this pink sweater. It was something I would never be allowed to wear. It's almost you are trying to tell me something here."

"I don't know what you are talking about." older-Wille grins suspiciously.

"Are you really happy?" Wille can't help but ask.

"You have used all of your questions." he levels him with a blank look.

"But you already knew I was going to ask you that." Wille says smugly.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "I am very happy. I know it is hard to believe it but I am happy. Also, I have the most amazing, sweet, caring person by my side right now. So I can say that I am very, very happy."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Older-Wille just shrugs. "We have to go back now. You need to remember our conversation because you will have to go back and find your younger-self when you become me and have this conversation with yourself. Make sure you go back in time. It is the morning after you find out about the date."

"My brain is about to collapse."

"I know. We all have been there."

"How will I go back?"

"You will know."

"What if I can't find my younger-self? Will I lose everything?"

"No," older Wille chuckles, as if Wille is being dumb. "It will give you hope. You obviously need it."

"Oh," he mumbles. "Thanks."

"You are very welcome."

Wille gets up and starts walking away.Just when he tries to wrap his mind around this, because it is still crazy, older-Wille calls out to him and he stops in his tracks.

"Make sure you go to the Valentine's Day Ball. I don't think it will change the ultimate outcome if you didn't but make sure you go. You will thank me later."

#young royals #wilmon #young royals fic #yr drabbles #time travel au #yr s3 spoilers

[pyropsychiccollector]

Natsu Harem: Fairy GET! 4/14

Let's see... Pink, brown, white.... We'll go with blue. Yes, blue. (人◕ω◕)

Juvia will be the next here. (人◕ω◕)

When did they meet?

During the Tower of Heaven incident. (人◕ω◕) Admittedly, Juvia's "love at first sight" thing with Gray is... Well, it happened. Even with this series having fanfiction in its veins, I won't pretend the crush never existed. I already acknowledged Chelia's crush on Lyon, and Cana's dabbled around with men... Might as well touch on Juvia's obsession with Gray. I am no coward. I will overcome this hiccup with relative ease~... Not that Gray doesn't deserve a girl. ... I'm just not crazy about Gruvia. Navia is much more interesting. Fite me. (人◕ω◕)

So, Juvia goes and helps Team Natsu infiltrate the Tower of Heaven to save Erza. (人◕ω◕) She's jealous of Lucy's bond with Gray, so she makes her air bubble smaller out of spite. They all manage to make it into the Tower, so no harm no foul~...

To be perfectly honest, however, Juvia and Natsu interactions are fleeting in canon. So I'll skip the long-winded review of canon events and just give a bare-bones look back at it. Even if Juvia's whole shtick is supporting and orbiting around Gray, the fact remains that she does help Team Natsu and Fairy Tail as a whole... Even joins the guild. (人◕ω◕)

When did they grow closer?

This is a million yen question, folks. While there's a ton of flexibility and options, strictly going by canon Juvia would never give Natsu the time of day. Good thing I was never a canon purist. (人◕ω◕)

Juvia's thing is Gray, yeah? So it follows if she wants to be as close to him as possible, she'd hafta join Team Natsu. Cuz for better or for worse, Gray is nice and cozy on a team with his hotheaded rival, Lucy, Erza, Happy, and eventually Wendy and Carla. (人◕ω◕) That said... If Juvia does join up, I can see Erza wanting to attempt some team bonding exercises to get to know one another better~... This means not just bonding as a group, but in two- to three-person units. This means sooner or later, Juvia will have to team up with Natsu and be properly introduced.

... Do not be fooled, however. (❋•‿•❋) Juvia is a stubborn, faithful woman. Bonding with Natsu is her least favorite ways to pass the time... He's loud, has no manners, always picks fights... Oh yeah. And he always beats up her Darling. (❋•‿•❋) You can be sure that in their early interactions, Juvia-chan attempted to order Natsu to stop picking fights with Gray, if only so that her Beloved could better spend his time.

It doesn't work out, of course. Natsu's just as much of a free spirit as Juvia is. And moreover... Natsu and Gray both confirm for Juvia that they get plenty out of butting heads with each other; in their own quirky way, they're making sure the other isn't slacking off, and constantly measuring their strength against one another. (❋•‿•❋) Juvia might not like it... But it is what it is.

So once the initial cold shoulder phase is over and Juvia does some jobs with Natsu, she begins to see his caring spirit. Whether it's her, Happy, a client, or someone else being threatened... Natsu gives it his all to defend them. While Juvia finds it admirable, she does still think Gray is leagues above Natsu. And really, she's besties with Gajeel. She knows Dragon Slayers are strong and have big hearts. She knows that. ... They just don't appeal to her on a romantic level. (❋•‿•❋)

Here's something a little interesting, though. (❋•‿•❋) Lisanna befriended the Edolas Juvia. So when the S-Class trials come up, she volunteers to be Juvia's partner, even though Juvia is severely down in the dumps about being a rival to her Beloved. She doesn't mind Lisanna's companionship, Juvia's just got Gray on her mind. Always. (❋•‿•❋)

But the Lisanna connection really is a possible way in for Natsu. An additional way for him and Juvia to be connected. After the trials and the seven year gap, Juvia does grow closer to Lisanna, and consequentially she and Natsu get more time together little by little. (❋•‿•❋) The Navia ship is often a slowburn, folks. Natsu isn't romantically attracted to Juvia, not for a long while, and you know Juvia is a faithful woman. And you know Lisanna won't be telling Juvia to jump ship, no, no. Lisanna-chan can be a bit... greedy like her neesan. (❋•‿•❋)

Still, the Grand Magic Games goes to show Juvia that Natsu is remaining as tough as ever. Which is good for her Darling, cuz Gray needs a strong rival. (❋•‿•❋) Juvia also enjoys participating in the games...even if for the first while she was technically a rival to her Beloved. Again. But then final day of the games came up, and Juvia replaced Natsu's spot so he could go save Lucy. Then she was a teammate with Gray-sama. (❋•‿•❋)

After the games and the stuff with the dragons... Juvia-chan thinks Natsu has earned a reward for helping give her time with Gray-sama, not to mention the destruction of the Eclipse Gate. (๑╹ω╹๑ ) They're just friends, but Juvia has come to accept time with Natsu is not time wasted anymore. She winds up knitting Natsu a new scarf... Not that Natsu is willing to accept the thing, cuz the scarf he got from Igneel is more precious to him.

... This depresses Juvia a lot, considering she put a lot of thought into her gift to Natsu... On top of being rejected by Gray constantly, it's like being turned down in stereo with Natsu joining in. Natsu picks up on this, and resolves to cheer Juvia up despite not understanding what's wrong. After Mira walks him through the problem - to which he only half-listened, half-understood - Natsu decides to get Wendy's help in enchanting the scarf to have some of his Magic. He'll hafta "recharge" the scarf every now and then, every few months, but he gives the scarf back to Juvia and she's amazed at how toasty it feels. (๑╹ω╹๑ ) At first she thought Natsu was just throwing it back at her, but once he explained what he and Wendy did... Juvia's touched at Natsu's thoughtfulness. ... Even if she still hasn't given him a proper gift yet. Juvia feels bad about that. But. Natsu-kun isn't a complete blockhead of a friend, and Juvia will take this as a win. (๑╹ω╹๑ )

Do we even need to go over Juvia and Meredy? (๑╹ω╹๑ )

... (๑╹��╹๑ );;;

When does friendship turn to something more?

After Tartaros, Juvia can't think of anything except how she hurt Gray by helping "kill" his dad... She doesn't even know or think about Igneel dying... So whereas Natsu's off cavorting with the Strauss Siblings during the year hiatus, Juvia's with Gray-sama. (๑╹ω╹๑ )

... It's not exactly everything Juvia wanted, despite how she puffs it up as all that. (๑╹ω╹๑ );;; Natsu's Magic ran out months ago in the scarf, and Juvia has felt... empty without it. Plus, even with Gray treating her as a good friend, he still edges away from romance. Naturally this bums Juvia out. And when Natsu sees the scarf and just charges it up for Juvia without being prompted... That sticks in Juvia's mind. (๑╹ω╹๑ )

She's there when Fairy Tail's all reunited. And Juvia goes with Team Natsu to save Makarov from the Alvarez Empire. The subsequent war brought to Ishgar is... overwhelming. A lot happened. There's several points Juvia isn't sure how they'll make it through the day.... But they do.

And in spite of everything that's happened... Gray still turns her down for a relationship. Of course he was overly apologetic about nearly killing her, and Juvia is a precious friend to him... But Gray can't force something that isn't there. He carried his dad's wish to hunt down END and kill him for the past year, and now he's just not sure what he's gonna do from now on. Sticking with Fairy Tail and Team Natsu is obvious, protecting his friends is "no duh", but he just... His head's not in the right place for a relationship. He needs time to unwind and figure out his own personal goals in life.

Not that this more decisive rejection doesn't rattle Juvia to her core... She keeps insisting she'll wait for Gray, but her insistence only makes Gray all the more resolved to keep his answer as "no"; cuz in his mind, Juvia deserves better after the mistakes he's made. And she shouldn't put her whole love life on hold, let alone dedicate herself to someone that just may never reciprocate...

That's when Gray decides to get Natsu, Lisanna, and Meredy's help on this one. They're all friends with Juvia, and if anyone could get Juvia off this tunnel vision thing, it'd be them... It's not easy. Juvia is tenacious, committed, and really, does anyone like admitting it's over when it's over...?

After some prodding from Lisanna and Meldy, Natsu takes Juvia out for dinner. He even gets dressed up with the girls' help, and go to a nice restaurant. Sure, it's not this perfect outing that Juvia envisioned, and she's even more devastated when she perceives Lisanna and Meldy's intentions to get her to try a date with Natsu...

But at the end of the day, Juvia only realized the outing was a "date" after it was nearing its end. Despite the high class restaurant, going to a nighttime festival, doing whatever Juvia was up for... Juvia just took it all as Natsu trying to cheer her up. When she realized it was a date, Juvia was certainly revolted at first, that she enjoyed herself with someone other than Gray-sama...

... But after all this time with Natsu, Juvia knows he never meant any ill will. Natsu knows her feelings for Gray are strong, and he's not trying to erase them out of spite. He's helping out because even the Stripper is concerned for Juvia, that Lisanna and Meldy are worried for her, and they all just want Juvia to be happy.

It's still a bitter pill to swallow, to just give up on Gray after all this time... But Natsu-kun has always been there, as have Lisanna and Meldy. They've been great friends... And Juvia supposes she can learn to love Natsu more "properly". (๑╹ω╹๑ ) For Natsu's part... He never has to complain about Juvia being "fired up" for jobs or much of anything. Their mutual passion for life bounces off each other quite nicely~... Yes. This couple has all the good vibes. \(๑╹ω╹๑ )/

#Fairy Tail #Juvia Lockser #Natsu Dragneel #Natsu x Juvia #Navia

[razorblade180]

Streamer au 3

Pt2 <-

Weiss:Hi chat. Glad to see some familiar names this late into the night. First things first, if you hear screaming in the distance, assume Ruby is playing Jump King.

“You should play Jump King.”

Weiss:You see I would, but I love myself. You all are already making me play something I don’t like; let’s not add more.

xxxx

Weiss:*focused* Huh? *pauses*

Yang: “Let me in the call you ninny”

Weiss:Don’t be fucking rude to me! *adds her*

Yang:Yooooo what we playin?

Weiss: “We” she says. It’s RE2 Remake.

Yang:Ah, so that’s why you invited me. How the hell did you get tricked into playing a horror game!?

Weiss:It was a stream goal! Just entertain chat.

Yang:Hey chat. What did I miss?

Velvet: “Mr. X made Weiss scream.”

Yang:Where’s the clip!?

Weiss:Who clipped that!? Chat I had trust in you!

xxxxx

Weiss: *deathly silent*

Yang:You’re so tense right now.

Weiss:I hate this game so much. Who makes a police station out of an old museum!?

Yang:Raccoon City. Are you allowing yourself to cheat?

Weiss:Cheat how?

Yang:I remember the pad locks.

Weiss:….If I run low on ammo, I will let you know.

Yang:Alrighty then. Your next horror game should be RE7 or Outlast.

Weiss:Never again. No money in the world will sway me. I’m not even making a goal.

Yang: Haha, Feline Fine with five dollars says “play a visual novel you coward.”

Weiss:Blake, if I don’t want to co-host you streaming one then I don’t want to play one! Also thanks for the five.

Cardin: “Why does an heiress need a stream goal? SMH”

Weiss: “Why does-” *pauses* Listen, okay? Everyone is about to learn something crazy. What if…a company’s money was primarily used to sustain said company? Perhaps, you know, I just can’t use it? Shocking I know.

Yang:Y’all are gonna make her rant.

Weiss:I won’t rant. It’s just crazy to me how people don’t ever think about that. It’s like when people think if I date them then they’re getting a steak dinner. No. You get home made tacos. I am not in charge of the company and we aren’t married. I barely have an allowance!

Ren: “Chicken or beef?”

Yang:Ren is asking the important questions here. It’s chicken by the way. Weiss is still rich enough to think ground beef is disgusting.

Weiss:*smirks* I just hate ground beef, shut up. Also grilled chicken is the only thing I’m good at. *unpauses*

Yang:She’s not lying. It’s sad.

Weiss:If you want steak dinners then go flirt with Coco.

[10 minutes later]

Coco: *donates 100$* “Get yourself a prime slice, Queen.”

Weiss:….Now I feel like I have to get a steak!

Yang:Unpopular opinion, well done steak is the best.

Weiss:You’re so lucky you’re modded.

xxxxxx

The dogs are let loose

Weiss:Fuck this game…

Yang:Hahahaha!

Blake:*hops in* Hello chat. Why is Neptune timed out?

Yang:Ada showed up for 5 seconds and said “thicc”

Blake:*restores him*

Weiss:Hey!

Blake:We don’t punish facts. Anyways, I’m surprised your boyfriend isn’t helping you through this but you got Yang to.

Yang:How dare you.

Weiss:I’d be streaming with face cam off.

Blake:Pumpkin Pete with three gift subs and says “I’m 1000% sure plenty know who he is.”

Weiss:Be that as it may…it’s his call. He can show up if he wants to. If he back seats then I’ll be pissed. All up to him.

Cardin: “Bet he’s fake”

Weiss:First you question my income, now my relationships!? Honestly that’s a worse take. I can get a date!

Fox:*hops in*

Weiss:…Fox?

Fox:Can you get a date if you only know how to make tacos?

Yang:Hahahaha!

Weiss:You jumped in to say that!?

Fox:*leaves*

Blake:Thank you Fox. Truly the best of us.

Weiss:I can’t with you guys.

Yang:I’m surprised nobody’s made a taco joke.

Weiss:Chat, listen to her and suffer consequences. Remember, she’s modded. You’re not.

Sun: “Weighing options”

Blake:Baby don’t do it. I can’t save you here.

Weiss:Now I’m hungry. This is your fault Yang. Buy me food.

Yang:Order that steak.

Weiss:I’m not throwing a hundred dollars at steak for a bit.

xxxxxx

Weiss:Yang, how the heck do I get past-Ah!

Ruby, a room away:FUCK! NO! *crying* WHHHHHYYYYY!

Weiss:*startled* That little- she scared me more than the game!

Yang:Is she still playing!?

Weiss:Hold on.

She takes off her headset and briskly walks out of her room.

Blake:Hehe, you know she’s ticked off when she’s walking fast.

Yang:I just assumed it’s because she’s short. I’m opening Ruby’s stream real quick.

Blake:Chat can hear it from here.

Yang:Oh but I want to see it!

Weiss:Take a break! It’s been two hours.

Ruby:I was so close Weiss! Just a little more!

Weiss:Get water, stretch, and take a break! You’re stressing me out. *pulling Ruby’s chair*

Ruby’s Chat: “Hiiiiii Weiss!!!!!”

Ruby:Don’t do this to me! Chat says hi by the way.

Weiss:Hi Ruby’s chat. She will be right back in like 8 minutes.

Ruby:Penny, Nora, entertain while I’m gone!

Nora:Okay so one time during lunch Ruby-

Ruby:No embarrassing stories!

xxxxx

YOU DIED

Weiss:*leans back in chair*

Yang:You know the Pale Heads and basically insta death right?

Weiss:You know that doesn’t mean I’m good at avoiding them right? I-eep!

Annoyed, she didn’t notice someone walking into her room from off screen and jolt the moment they get close. All chat sees is an hand give her mug of coffee then a very delicious looking sandwich as Weiss blushes. She tilts her camera down just enough that Jaune is able to kiss her out of view before leaving. Though it clear to chat she just kissed somebody.

Weiss:I love you. *readjust camera* Sup.

Yang:Gross.

Weiss:Shut your face. Bless him. I was about to order food.

Blake:You’re chat is scrolling too fast to read, holy crap. Chill guys.

Multiple people flood the chat with “who was that!?” Or a bunch of hearts.

Yang:Cardin should donate for being wrong and foolish.

Coco: “Agreed!!!”

Blake:Pay up! You heard to the woman.

Cardin: *donates 10$* “Only because you said chicken is better than beef”

Weiss:If that’s where we meet in the middle, I’ll take it.

Yang:Ground beef is still better.

Punsexual has been timed out for five minutes.

Yang:Petty.

Weiss:*sips coffee* Yep okay let’s get back to it.

Mr. X appears

Weiss:*pauses* I’m eating first

Blake:How brave of you…

#streamer au #rwby #ruby rose #jaune arc #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #rwby whiteknight #rwby au

[lollipencil]

In The Pale Moonlight: Part 2

OK, didn't think I'd be doing more of this one so soon nor in this way, but this idea wouldn't leave me be. All I am going to say is @harleyification, I'm addressing the elephant in the room.

Enjoy and be gentle.

---

One year. Steven trudged on forward in the bitter cold as he reflected. It had been one miserable year since his littlest brother had died. One year of grieving, of arguments, of nightmares. Of longing.

An icy chill filled Steven's lungs as he stopped. There, full moon over head, was his destination. Steven didn't dare speak. None of the words he could think of felt right. So, in their absence, he had turned to actions. Slowly, a disc of moonstone was lowered onto the gravestone. Perfectly smooth apart from engravings around the edge. The meaning known only to him.

Even as tears filled his eyes, Steven smiled. Lowered himself onto the firm earth, pulled out a well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice, and began to read aloud.

---

Marc sighed as he heaved himself through his window. It had been a long night, even without the knowledge that hung in the air like smog.

Nearly four years.

The sound of the window sliding shut seemed to echo into the shadows of their shared apartment. Something was wrong. "Don't bother hiding. I know you're there."

At that, he flicked on the living room light. At the same time, a chair spun around. And revealed The Red Hood.

"Well," came the heavily filtered voice, "good to know that's not an option." "Why are you here?" "Ah, straight to the point, I like that," Red Hood nodded to himself, "You see, I have a bit of a problem. I've been looking for someone, someone...very memorable. Nobody's seen them in, about three years now." "And what's that got to do with me?"

At this, Red Hood stood up, a gun in his hand but by his side. "Where is he?" "Give me the body, Marc," Steven suddenly said. "No, this guy would kill you-" "And you will stop him if he does," Steven cut off Jake's objection, "Let me talk to him." Before Marc could object himself, Steven pushed his way in front and held on tight. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I came here to make sure that bastard suffered for what he did to me, and I can't find him." Each word was tainted with anger and the imminent promise of violence. Strangely, he didn't seem to react to the switch at all. "You know why that is," Steven cooly stated, "or you wouldn't be here. Which told you?" "Ivy."

Steven nodded, even as Marc and Jake's questions flew about their head. "And you truly wish to know?" The Red Hood nodded. "Fair enough."

Steven sat in the seat opposite The Red Hood who, in turn, lowered himself back down. "We had a little brother. You probably know this already, but Jason was killed by the Joker, a couple of months after he'd paralysed a family friend. It destroyed us. In so many ways.

One day, an idea pops into my head. I'm not like you, I'm not the kind of person that can kill. Call me a coward if you must, but I'm just not. But this idea isn't that.

Harley Quinn had broken up with the Joker since...his death, and was making genuine efforts to make it permanent. Her and Poison Ivy, they made each other really happy. But everyone knew that she could go crawling back to him if he said the right things.

I managed to acquire a powerful paralytic, don't ask me how. Full-body, you know. I got a burner phone and a blow dart kit. And happened to find him, alone, in a warehouse.

I took my chance.

Once he'd stopped trying to move, I called Ivy's number. Don't ask how I got that either. 'Right now, the Joker is under a full-body paralytic. Won't be able to move until morning. If you want to ensure he'll never hurt her again, here's your chance. My only request is that, if you do leave him alive, that he never be able to move his arms, his legs, or laugh. Ever again. Harley can come to, if she likes.'

I gave the address and hung up. Dismantled the phone and threw it into the Gotham River. Tossed the pipe into the Wayne's manor incinerator. I then went to Jason's grave and read to him until the sun rose.

I never laid a finger on the Joker, and have no idea what Ivy did to him after I left, but he'll never lay his own on anyone else."

The Red Hood was silent. In his head, Marc and Jake were stunned. "I think, that you are the best big brother one could ever ask for," Red Hood slowly stated after what felt like an eternity. Then, he raised his hand to his helmet. Entranced, they watched as the helmet hissed and slid off to reveal an impossibility.

"And if I knew we were exchanging gifts," Jason Todd croaked out, "I'd have got you something real special."

In an instant, Marc had the body. With great care and speed, he threw himself over Jason.

"You're alive," he managed before his tears grew too strong, "You're her. That's enough." Nobody tried to stop him, hugging a dead man like he'd dissolve if not held together. Instead, Steven and Jake pushed forward as close as they could, while Jason's arms wrapped around them all with equal strength.

Together again finally.

#my fics #crossover fic #moon knight (2022) #batman #steven grant #marc spector #jason todd #jake lockley

[growling]

please give us the tea on the warrior cats ships!!!

I'll go first by saying Mothpool is overhyped and Leafpool had more chemestry with Cinderpelt. (in my opinion, ship what you like!)

:3c !!! Didn't think anybody would actually ask I am gonna gonna ramble now.. Separating this into pos and neg opinions

Positive:

I did think of leafcinder before and thought it was cute but not really something I'll get passionate about (i tend to be very picky on these kinda age gap/mentor x apprentice ships), now that I'm reminded of it I can really see it! They would have a great dynamic (taking tnp cinderpelt personality into account here. tbh her in tpb and her in tnp are almost different characters to me... where's your whimsy girl...), and honestly, there are almost endless options for Leafpool ships (she interacts with so many cats woagh that's crazy for this series she actually has friends??) that have more chemistry than crowpool. I mean it's fine I guess from a strictly plot perspective (and even that's well. bendable) but why is Leafpool, 30 cat years after their breakup, dead, in cat heaven, STILL deeply in love with cat Clay Puppington. I know they will get back together in StarClan because the authors absolutely love them and think they popped off writing their romance subplot they think they created a banger. Sorry this veered off into negative can't help being a hater.

hollyjaylion, leafsquirrel and bramblehawk are the three shipcest pairings I will never be able to be normal about. Canon to me. I say this as if I'm joking but I'm serious oughhh the goddamn dynamics. On a joking note though, graysky. there is no healthy nothing to see here just bro supporting his bro explanation for whatever the hell gray wing's problem was this entire arc

spottedtiger is cool it's interesting it's mindblowing it saves lives and it's haters are sooo silly I am sorry... "but spotted is his aunt according to the family tree!!!!" ok. and is this made relevant in the books at all? do they ever even acknowledge these two as kin. It's so pointless.. draw them making out

why's the fandom turning on darktiger suddenly now because they're still related (which is not even relevant or explicitly pointed out in the books and them being related was only decided way after both of their arcs together were done I. ughhhh.) wasn't this your favourite little henchman x fascist dictator toxic yaoi ship just a few years ago?? cowards. draw them making ou- ah wait that's just dark being obsessed with tiger, who on the other hand would RATHER NOT he wants that useless lickspittle OBLITERATED he doesn't CARE

ivyhawk good she could fix him. or he can make her worse. once again the fandom are major cowards for turning on it just like they did with darktiger, but much, much more aggresively so. like you people need to calm tf down just take deep breaths it's just a warrior cat ship...

people complaining about dovetiger's age gap (which are commonplace in the wc series tiger is not alone in dating apprentices) are so boring. they actually have the most wholesome dynamic in the current era/arcs I'd argue. they're in love and I love them. as a ship and both as characters.

fallenholly had the option to be one of THE best dubiously-canon wc pairings to come out of this series had they just went the direction of making fallen actually somewhat more messed up after being trapped as a ghost in the torment tunnels for cat centuries like. I remember someone else wording this really well earlier but I'm not really gonna search so just. Yeah. fallen leaves ships.

leopardtiger is hilarious I don't care. she thinks he's sooo correct and intelligent and truly the enlightened sigma worthy of the tigerclan podcast throne while also poisoning his food because he's fucking pissing her off in their side twitter dms and plotting his demise every night while he's snork mimimi'ing next to her in their kitty political marriage cuddle pile. ben shapiro x pragerU fucking ship I hope they kill each other

mudhawk... funny... seriously WHY is the fandom picking the most interesting goddamn ships to get pissed off at and call "problematic"??????? "age gap" THEY WERE BOTH ADULTS WHEN THEY MET WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU ON LET HAWK MANSPLAIN MANIPULATE MANFUCK THAT OLD MAN

I didn't read AVoS in it's entirety (and don't want to. it's... boring for the most part. I mean I love violet but is she enough to make me keep reading all that.) and don't remember if they even had any notable interactions but violetpuddle is very cute and my favourite (and, honestly, only) option for their ships. puddle's mother suckled violet but they don't consider each other "real" siblings just like how their mother doesn't consider violet as her daughter but try telling that to the fandom who can't distinguish between wet nurse arrangement, foster siblings and adopted siblings. Proud only resident of violetpuddle nation...... literally nobody else is here...

Negative: (gonna start censoring the cat/ship names now)

so correct moth.pool overhyped and their fans annoying. and also because I headcanon moth as aroace like there is not a single romantic thought in her body I cannot ever imagine her in a relationship moth don't care.

*takes a deep breath* mouse.fur is not aroace. tall.star, raven.paw and barley aren't gay. authorial statements made 10 years ago at some con ARE NOT CANON. IF IT'S NOT IN THE TEXT IT'S NOT CONFIRMED CANON. Also the latter examples also reek of biphobia lol. you can ship any of these characters with anyone forever, what is any of you people's problem.

long.fire, shadow.root, holly.cinder, bright.cloud, jay.kestrel are boring yaaawn I am falling asleep and do not see it. same with sandfire; these two did not have the groundbreaking dynamic (nor was sand that uh, well-rounded as character) you think they did you're just nostalgic. I actually prefer spottedfire and cinderfire over sandfire. anything over sandfire.

hawk.ash pisses me off because their shippers are always "hahahaha toxic yaoi sooo fucked up they make each other worse!!" but show them an actual toxic pairing and they immediately shit themselves and call you an abuse fetishizer. COWARDS you lot are COWARDS and this is why I cannot get behind hawk.ash at all like I associate them with the most annoying people so much I cannot sorry. I'm sure it's a cool ship or whatever

I actually got tired and now am too sleepy to articulate myself properly anymore but still here are the other ships that I either dislike or just plain out hate seeing: fern.ivy, alder.needle, crow.squirrel, bristle.root, bramble.squirrel (but that's a very popular one lol), lion.cinder.

thanks for the ask! :3

#ask #mine #seweryn's wc tag

[scleramotif]

My name is Patrick Bateman. I live in the American Gardens Building on West 81st Street on the 11th floor. This is my confession. I believe in taking care of myself, and a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I’ll put on an ice pack while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now. After I remove the ice pack I use a deep pore cleanser lotion. In the s hower I use a water activated gel cleanser, then a honey almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Then I apply an herb-mint facial masque which I leave on for 10 minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. I always use an after shave lotion with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead– murdered by Paul Allen. Paul has been building a meth empire for over a year now, and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 26th birthday, he asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded. I... I always thought Paul was a very moral man, and I was particularly vulnerable at the time – something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Paul took me in on a ride-along and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin, so I agreed. Paul had a partner, a businessman named Gustavo Fring. Paul sold me into servitude to this man. And when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Paul and Fring had a falling-out. Things escalated. Fring was able to arrange – uh, I guess... I guess you call it a "hit" – on Paul, and failed, but Paul was seriously injured. And I wound up paying his medical bills, which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Paul was bent on revenge. Working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring. The bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Paul had risen to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA. To keep me in line, he took my children. For three months, he kept them. My wife had no idea of my criminal activities, and was horrified to learn what I had done. I was in hell. I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Paul will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. All I could think to do was to make this video and hope that the world will finally see this man for what he really is. There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman. Some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me. Only an entity. Something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable, I simply am not there.

[ismelinor]

A Dustland Fairytale (10/12)

Read on AO3 | tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 10: Hold On (I Still Need You)

Scully fell asleep sooner than Mulder had expected, and he wasn’t ready to leave her. Not again. He watched her rest until he couldn’t bear the way her face contorted with pain. He’d known what he was going to do before he’d walked in the room, of course. There was no way he was going to let Scully die – just as there was no way Scully would have let him go ahead with his plan if he’d told her. For all their differences, they were at least matched in their devotion to one another. Perhaps he should’ve found a way to express that, instead of mouthing the three little words onto her skin like a coward. He figured she knew, anyhow. He hoped so.

He walked quickly to the king’s chambers. If he ran into Melissa, she’d take one look at him and know what he was planning. He couldn’t risk her trying to take his place.

Nothing stopped him, though.

He didn’t bother knocking. The old bastard turned and gave him that twisted smile of his. Mulder had never known what that expression meant. Was it a smile or a grimace? Did it signal victory or defeat? The asshole probably wanted them all to think he had grand plans to consider, when really the only thing he was planning was his luncheon.

“Is the boy dead yet?” he asked.

“No. And if Scully dies, I will kill you, Spender.”

The king smiled. “You know, I’ve always been proud of you. You see far more clearly than your mother or your sister. All that trouble I went to, having Samantha named heir, only for a better option to come along by chance.”

“I’m not here to talk, old man. I’m not letting Scully die.”

“I know about the work you do together. Your little quests: killing beasts and taking down wizards. I should’ve worked out years ago that the boy had magic – why else would you take a servant along? I just thought you were in love.”

Mulder pushed past Spender and started opening drawers. “Where’s the dagger, Spender?”

“You think that killing me will satisfy the laws of magic?”

Mulder looked over at him in surprise, and saw what Spender did not: his mother stepping into the doorway. She looked paler than Mulder had ever seen her.

“No,” Mulder said slowly. “I intend to give my life for Scully’s. Give me the dagger.”

“The boy is a servant and a sorcerer. Why would you give your life for his? I would have thought my son would know the difference between honour and stupidity.”

“I am not your son,” Mulder spat.

The king only smiled. “Oh, but you are. Your parents struggled for years to conceive, you know, and then you came along like a miracle. Did you never wonder why?” Mulder stared at him as his stomach lurched in horror. Surely he didn’t mean- “Your father could not have children. But I had no trouble.”

Mulder gripped the table and retched. He hadn’t eaten for so long that it was no surprise when nothing came up.

He couldn’t look at Spender. He couldn’t look at his mother, who had lied to him all these years. He shook his head. Scully needed him: he had to focus. He couldn’t think about this now.

“Give me the dagger.”

“You would really give your life for a servant?” He sounded genuinely surprised. It made Mulder sick.

“You have two children. You have a wife. Do you not understand love? Wouldn’t you give your life for Samantha? Or my mother?”

Spender appeared to consider the question. “For Samantha, perhaps I would. She is my heir; she will continue my legacy. But what would be the use in giving my life for the queen’s? This kingdom needs a firm hand. That’s what your father didn’t understand. He was becoming soft. Sympathetic to magic. He may not be your father by blood, but you’ve grown to be just like him, you know.” His mouth twisted as though the thought disgusted him.

Mulder felt like he’d been struck. “My father, he was going to legalise magic?” All these years, Sam could have been safe. Scully, Emily, how many others could have found peace? How many could have been free to be who they were if his father had lived?

“He’d spoken to the druids, and his head was full of the wonders of magic and oracles and dragons,” the king sneered.

Dragons.

It always came back to that impossible dragon.

Only, it wasn’t impossible, was it? Years ago, Scully had conjured the night sky to show a foolish prince the wonders of magic. His father had conjured a dragon to show-

In a second, Mulder had drawn his dagger and had it pressed against Spender’s neck.

“My father wasn’t just sympathetic to magic, was he? He was using magic.”

Spender didn’t reply and Mulder pushed the dagger harder into the wrinkled skin of his neck.

“Yes, he was using magic.”

“He confided in you. You pretended to be on his side. He conjured a dragon in his chambers to show you how beautiful magic could be, and you killed him for it.”

“This won’t bring your precious servant boy back.”

Mulder pushed the blade deeper, until blood prickled at his neck like little jewels.

“Admit it, you killed my father.” He could hear the hysteria rising in his own voice.

Spender met his eyes. “Yes, I killed him. And I saved Camelot in doing so.”

There it was, the answer he’d been seeking for fifteen years.

It didn’t feel good. It didn’t even feel like a relief, to finally have the truth. It was odd, how it was only now that Mulder had a dagger to his throat, that Mulder realised Spender was human, and not the monster of his childhood nightmares. His blood was red and warm and Mulder could see it pumping angrily in the vessel on the side of his neck.

He tried to think of Scully, tried to remember what Spender would do to her if he lived, but all he could think of was her imploring eyes: how she’d put a gentle hand on his arm, tell him to think this through, not to do something he’d live to regret. He dropped the dagger.

The king sagged in relief.

Too soon, though.

In a flash, Mulder’s mother pushed between them, grabbed something from under Spender’s pillow, and plunged it into the king’s heart.

Mulder stared, open-mouthed. Spender looked no less shocked, blood gurgling up and out of his mouth. He fell to the floor, clutching at his chest.

The queen pulled the dagger out for him, and held it above her own chest, ready to strike. Mulder cried out and wrestled it from her grasp, serket venom and blood dripping onto their arms. His mother gave up the fight quickly, and began to cry.

She looked up at her son with wide unseeing eyes. “He killed William. He killed my husband.” She was looking right through him, like she didn’t recognise him at all.

Mulder brought her into his arms, and watched his father bleed out on the floor over her shoulder.

Two fathers, dying on the same floor fifteen years apart. One son, still watching on helplessly, wishing the blood was his.

~~~

Mulder opened the door to Scully’s room. She looked to be sleeping peacefully now. That was good. The magics were satisfied, then: the king’s life for Scully’s for Emily’s. A morbid game of musical chairs.

He sat down in Scully’s chair to begin his vigil. He didn’t think he’d be getting much rest anytime soon.

[puppybytes]

Even though I love base game Outer Wilds, I'm not having a good time with the DLC, and I think I know why:

There's a key few mechanical and aesthetic differences that makes echoes of the eye way less playable than Outer Wilds itself, small spoilers for both under the cut.

(Be aware I'm writing this only three loops in.)

For one, the DLC is in a whole different area, in which you cannot use your ship. Sure, I can accept this, but they are removing the whole flight mechanic for (what I feel is) little benefit. Just having the option to go back to the ship to read the ship log, or to refuel, or to Fuck Off (tm) is one of the reasons why Outer Wilds as a standalone game was manageable for me: you're always given the option to escape, or to do less scary things before taking on the main spooks of the quantum moon, dark bramble, or giant's deep's core.

Echoes also has a lot less ambient music than the base game, which I am aware is done exclusively because it's more scary to be left alone with your thoughts, but I feel like that is an unnecessary extra step considering dark bramble, the scariest place in Outer Wilds, also had ambiance, and giant's deep's core was (in my opinion) unnecessarily scary, but at least didn't contain any threats. They decided to extend this terrifying silence to the entire DLC, with the only relief from this tension being the boat sections.

another way Echoes of the Eye makes it hard to continue playing for me, is the lack of text. Any text I find I cannot translate, and only seems to appear on signage. I don't get to connect to the characters like I could with Pye and Solanum, for example, because I don't know anything about this species. This does lead to a quality of life problem as well, as the only way to know you've gotten the environmental clues from just walking around, is to check the ship log, which gets updated seemingly at random to me. This ship log, mind you, is in your ship! you know, the one that you had to leave outside of the Echoes area! This results in a lot less satisfying exploration than in Outer Wilds itself because in Outer Wilds itself, the ship log was not mandatory, and easier to reach. Now, this last point is just a personal problem I have with Echoes of the Eye, but it is one I will address.

I am A Coward. I don't like being scared, I don't like tense situations, and I cannot handle horror games of any kind, and that's just me, and that's fine, but it does make it hard for me to enjoy this experience because I don't know what's in the next dark room.

ALL OF THE ROOMS I HAVE TO ENTER ARE TOO DARK, AND TOO SCARY.

Overall, despite the lack of distractions from the horror, I hope to still finish Echoes of the Eye, but I'm not having fun, and I don't think I will have fun in the next long while with this game.

because that's the problem I have, I have to be scared, forcibly, instead of my curiosity scaring the shit out of me when I'm ready.

#outer wilds #echoes of the eye

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 49

Taglist:@mercedesdecorazon @stargaryenx

Gif by @alicenthightowerdaily

“Fiery one, isn’t she?” Cole has the audacity to jape as Aemond chooses the third option.

Aemma doesn’t escape on Silver nor is Aemma forced to accept Aegon as king, she just stays locked in their rooms.

She doesn’t like it, neither does his mother, but Aemond needs time to find a better way to resolve this.

“You are a fucking coward, Aemond Targaryen!” Aemma shouts as she throws things at the door.

“I like her fire.” Aemond answered as they follow behind his mother.

Should Aemma bend the knee, she will be given Driftmark as Laenor’s only child. She will sit on the Driftwood Throne; she will remain Princess Aemma Velaryon and both husband and wife will pretend they are fine with that.

But Rhaenyra will win the war anyways, so his mother’s promise to ‘give you what you are owed’ will come true in the way she refuses to accept.

They will rule jointly, he as king and her as queen, just as his father decreed before his untimely demise.

If only his mother could accept that.

“Out of all the ladies you could choose from, you just had to choose her.” His mother grumbled as they heard another thing being smashed to pieces.

“I didn’t want a lady, mother.” He tried not to smirk. “I wanted a queen.”

“Careful, son, one may think you seek to usurp your brother.” His mother warned.

What is another usurper in this family?

----

The moment she is completely alone, she tries for the secret passageways they used to explore as children with the help of the rat catchers.

There is one problem, she is no longer the three- and ten-year-old girl nor the willowy five- and ten-year-old one either.

“I’m sorry, your highness, but even if you could fit through it, you wouldn’t be able to get past the guard.” One of the new maids said showing her the narrow tunnel leading to the Dragonpit.

Willa had been an unlikely ally; her father was a rat catcher and had taught her all the way in and out of the Red Keep.

Maegor had killed the masons who built them, tried to cover them up once he knew his reign was over and one and eighty years after his death, the hazardous half-covered tunnel was too small for a heavily pregnant girl.

“My thanks, do you know a way for me to get to the docks?” she asked, and the girl lead her to it.

“The closest I can get you is to the River Row, Princess.” the Handmaiden whispered and took her by the hand.

“I will make sure you are rewarded, Willa.” Aemma said as he led her through the walkway leading out to the street that runs by the Blackwater Rush.

Once they appear inside the cellars of a small Sept, Aemma changes her tune.

“Thank you, Willa, you may go now.” The Master of Whisperers said as the girl curtsied and left. “The Queen Mother expected this to happen, and I, her most leal servant, was the one best suited to help her.

If I were you, I would bend the knee and be done with it, the Driftwood Throne is a good consolation gift, almost as good as Harrenhal.” Larys Clubfoot counseled as his mute guardsmen escorted them to a litter waiting outside.

She couldn’t run, couldn’t summon Silver with by whistling like father used to do with Seasmoke, Aemma couldn’t use her knife on the fucker without being killed first.

Fuck.

“The moment my mother wins the war, I will be sure to cut off your clubfoot before you are fed to Silverwing, Lord Strong.” The princess said as she gave up and shoved every instinct telling her to kill the bastard right now.

“Have it cut before you take my head, if you can find it in your gentle heart to be merciful, your highness.” He smiled as if they were friends.

“Let me go and I might simply cut it off and let you live.” She proposed.

He chuckled as his litter bearers returned them to the Red Keep. “You jest, Silver Queen, but I am afraid nothing you have will be able to entice me away from King Aegon and his lady mother.”

“Do you fuck Alicent?” Aemma asked wondering if that was the price the queen paid for his loyalty.

“Such crass words for a Scion of Old Valyria.” He tutted her like a child and answered her question, “I do not fuck the Queen, no, our arrangement is not one of that nature, your highness.”

Not fucking, alludes to it not being sexual in nature, but the words he used left it ambiguous.

Would Alicent be the type to use loopholes?

Although, if Alicent was doing non-penetrative sexual acts ---something Aemma had exploited during her short, short courtship and still enjoys doing--- she was wasting it on this fucker.

Cole was nearly forty and still half the women she knows would like to know him carnally, if Alicent was half-cuckolding her late husband, Cole would have been the more sensible choice.

If you ask Aemma that is.

“I will take that answer for now, Lord Strong.” The Princess will eventually find out, maybe after she alludes enough with vague threats to her lovely goodmother.

Even if she never gets the answer, she will get under Alicent’s skin which is a victory in itself.

“I may be persuaded to look the other way and let you escape if you answer my question truthfully.” Larys returned to the negotiation at hand.

Aemma could suspect what he wanted to know, but he is the last person who could know her secret.

Otto and Alicent were on the list, but this man in front of her was the most dangerous of all.

Balerion above, she was never getting out of this fucking place.

“I like being the center of attention and have faked an infirmity to get it.” The Princess of Dragonstone lies, it doesn’t matter if it’s convincing, the Master of Whisperers will see through it.

----

Aemee is eating assorted berries from a plate balanced atop her belly when he returns.

She is wearing only her shift, her feet are propped up to keep them from swelling again, and her lips are an adorable shade of purple from the mostly blackberry and mulberry plate.

The rooms have been tidied up, but the damage was extensive.

Her blood runs hot as dragon fire, and Aemond was too Targaryen to not find it arousing, but not once was he the object of her ire.

“Coward.” She greets him and Aemond fights the urge to yell at her for trusting the wrong person again.

What if Willa had been paid by someone who wanted her dead?

Her delightfully shaped head could have been on a spike instead of propped up by fine pillows.

“If am a coward for wanting to keep you and our babe safe, then you are a bloody idiot, Aemee.” He retorts enjoying her scowl because they know he’s right. “The moment a person shows you a hint of goodness, false as it may be, you believe them. I don’t know who to blame for that, your mother or your grandmother.”

She responds by throwing a decorative pillow she embroidered herself at him. “Fuck you.”

“Why, you did that last night, Ābrazȳrys.” He rolled his eye at her childishness. If she wanted to be immature about this, he could too.

“Helaena says Aegon will kill her. Her mercy wasted on a person without it.” Aemma tries her best not to cry, but whatever control she had has deteriorated into nothingness by now.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized for Aegon’s future atrocities. Aemond thinks he will spend the rest of his existence asking her to forgive him for the hell his family will put her through. “Aegon has no honor, and I doubt he will gain some in battle, anyone else would spare Rhaenys had it been them.”

He loves his brother, but if he had left instead of hiding in a sept, they would all have been better for it.

Easier to say Viserys wanted Aemma and him to rule than to say Aegon.

“Would your family care if the two of us miss the feast tonight?” his wife softened as she accepted his apology.

As much as he would like to join her in her earned laziness, he can’t. Duty demanded he be there to toast to his brother.

It would be dull without her, she was lively, her pettiness and wit made him hate events like that less and Aemond can’t use her as an excuse to leave if she is not there.

“Very much. If you went, we could use the babe as an excuse to leave early.” He suggested and then amended it to sweeten the deal. “After you have ruined a so called good dinner with a bad toast.”

#aemma velaryon #someone will remember us fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #asoiaf fanfic #hotd fanfic #ocappreciationtag #fyeahhotdocs

[meowcha-bee]

Alright, after receiving a death threat I have to respond to the statements made about me.

Number one: B’s statements. I know who this person is and I know both accounts they’ve said. The pool one first. Our relationship was very much centered around our sexuality and how comfortable we were with each other. Especially since (at the time of) they were a cis gay man and I was a non-binary person. Us being not attracted to each other was a way for both of us at the time to be comfortable in our own skin. Though I don’t remember saying what they said I had said, I may have. And I apologize for that. It was mean and inconsiderate of their feelings.

The second thing B said. At the time I was spending the night with a couple friends. They hadn’t planned for me to sleep there so my only options were to 1 sleep in a bed of three people at the foot of the bed (in which I barely knew two of the people in said bed), 2 sleep with my (at the time) best friend of 2-3 years, or sleep on the floor. I chose to sleep on the floor at first but as the night progressed my back started to seriously hurt. So out of the two options of either the bed or the small couch with my best friend, I took the second option. I didn’t speak to them, I didn’t wake them up. I did get under their blanket but I faced away from them (so I could get on my phone). I don’t know of spooning them or talking to them. I left before they woke up but after everyone else had woken up.

Onto the last statement the second B. I do not recognize the initial. I do not know anyone who was in 6th when I was in 8th with that initial. The only Halloween parties I went to that year were the Halloween party at school in which I was consoling a friend because they were having a panic attack. I stayed with them the whole night. And the other was at a close friends house with other friends of my age. I apologize for not knowing you or knowing what you’re talking about.

Last but not least, R. To start this night did happen, it was mid summer June or July. They wanted to spend the night like so many nights before. I gave them not one but two couches to sleep on (a floral older couch which I do not own anymore and my current couch). They chose to snuggle with me which was okay with me because we did all the time. Eventually I was on my phone talking to my current boyfriend when they wrapped their arms around me and propped their thigh on mine. They asked to kiss amongst other things and I agreed to do so. No hands went below the belt. I will agree, as the older person in the scenario I should have said no and I should have persisted in my no if they persisted. I did not. It was wrong of me as the older individual.

I won’t say I’ve done nothing wrong, because I have made some mistakes. I’m no saint. But lying on the internet like this after 6 months of silence is absurdly childish. Getting death threats is childish. Getting bombarded with getting called a coward, a loser, a pedophile, that’s childish.

The screenshots from messages are at least 7-8 months old and that’s only one of the most recent screenshot. The others are older than that. I am currently 17, I turn 18 in February. Most of those I was 14-16. Sending things about underage characters is wrong in a situation where you’re A.) not in a safe space and B.) an adult. I was neither of those things. As for the Menherachan art, I will not apologize for that. And the “fake claiming” I was doing was me saying that It was unlikely for multiple people who know each other to be systems. I never said they weren’t a system, just said it was unlikely for three people of the same age, at the same time, in the same town, who all knew each other.

That’s all I have to say. Thanks for taking the time to hear my side of the story.

[imfluentinfangirlandgay]

Surprise Adoption - Ch 10

Ingo held the crying Dawn in his arms, considering his options. He decided right then and there. She would stay with him and Emmet for the time being.

Word Count: ~2500

The sun was nice after the twins removed their hats, prompting Dawn to do the same. They sat outside at a shaded table with their spoils in silence for some time. Both brothers knew she would say something when she got her thoughts in order. 

She did eventually. A good portion of their food was gone before she spoke. 

“That’s Barry.” She paused, trying to think of the words to say again. Both brothers watched her expectantly. “He’s been my best friend since I was four. He was my rival on my Pokemon journey. He never really thinks before he does things and is always running off one place or another, but he’s really loyal and sweet. He didn’t take my disappearance well. The one to Hisui, I mean. The minute I got back and he found me, he wouldn’t let me go for a while. But then I found out about Mom and he was so supportive and just there. When I realized that I needed to spend some time away, though… he didn’t take it well. He’d only just gotten me back. It’d be like if Uncle Ingo moved off to Alola within a week of coming back because something had happened to Aunt Elesa.” She paused again, lowering her gaze. “He tried so hard to get me to stay in Sinnoh. In the end, I just flew off on Staraptor in the middle of the night because Twinleaf was too much for me. I couldn’t sleep there at all. Not without Mom.” Her lip wobbled. “I ran off like a coward in the middle of the night and didn’t even say goodbye…” 

“Dawn,” Ingo said softly, reaching around the table to take her hand. Emmet laid his hand over her hand, too. “You did what you needed to in order to feel safe. I would not call that cowardice. You did what you needed to, even at the expense of others, because you knew it was not a decent schedule for you. That takes an awfully large amount of courage to do, especially when your best friend is involved.” He used his other hand to brush away her tears with his thumb. “He seems quite eager to speak with you. Perhaps, after our shift ends, if he is still in the Subway, we can lead him back to the apartment and all sit down and hear him out. I feel that he is just concerned about you. In addition, he is young and headstrong. I am sure he meant no ill-intent with his actions, he may just not understand the pain he is causing. This can be rectified later. Does that sound alright to you?” 

Dawn sniffled and bobbed her head in a small nod. She didn’t say anything as the two brothers wrapped her in a hug. 

“We should finish lunch,” Emmet said. “It is almost time to return.” 

“Would you like to spectate us on the Multi Line? Or would you rather return home for the evening?” Ingo asked Dawn. 

She sniffled again, but managed to get a deep breath in. “I don’t want to be alone. Is it okay if I stay with you guys?” 

“Of course!”

“Yup!” 

The three finished their meal quickly and paid. They left. The twins reapplied their caps as they made their way back to the Subway. They led the way inside, greeting the Depot Agents as they brushed past their office to make sure nothing was out-of-sorts and went to the Multi Line, right on schedule. Dawn was nervously glancing around the crowd. It broke Ingo’s heart. He ushered her onto the train, into their cabin, calling out announcements as the train lurched into action and sped off. 

—---------

The last challenger left the Multi Line. The train began to slow to a stop. Ingo and Emmet flanked Dawn immediately, who gripped their hands tightly. She let out a shaky breath. 

The doors opened. The three of them stepped off the train last, watching the patrons leave the subway in droves. Not many people were left in this terminal specifically, as the Battle Subway was closing for the evening. They all looked around, seeing if they could spot a blonde head in the crowd. When none was seen, they silently moved to the main archway of the Subway. People still milled about here and there, looking at the schedule for their pedestrian rides to get around Unova. They maneuvered around patrons, making their way to the control room for the final report of the day. The three entered. 

“Good evening!” Ingo called cheerily to the few remaining Agents. The night crew should be there soon, Ingo reasoned. 

“Hey, Bosses.” A young man strode over to them with a clipboard, recording the stats and events of the Subway from the day. Ingo took it and glanced over it, Emmet peering over his shoulder. All seemed to be in order. “There wasn’t much that happened today, though one of the Agents mentioned something for you two.” 

“What is it?” Emmet looked up at the man. 

“She said there was a boy looking for you. He asked when you were off and said that you’d told him to talk to you after work. He’s on a bench just outside the entrance. He has a Torterra with him, too. I think he’s still sitting there.” The worker ran over and tapped on a screen, pulling up a live video footage of the entrance to the Subway. In the bottom left corner of the video was a familiar striped shirt and blonde head. “Yeah, he is.” 

“We did wish to speak with him, he is a friend of Akari’s. Thank you. We shall take our leave for the evening.” Ingo nodded politely at the Agents left in the room and turned, leaving with his brother and niece. She clung to them still. 

“Wh-what if he’s really mad at me? What if he just came to tell me he hates me-”

“Akari, I sincerely doubt that. He was hugging you quite fiercely when he saw you. I believe he is just concerned.” Ingo squeezed her hand. 

“Yep. He was upset, but not at you. He seems confused. He wants to help you but doesn’t know how,” Emmet added. 

“I hope so,” she murmured as they got to the upper exit of the Subway. 

Ingo and Emmet pushed open the doors to the outside, breathing in the night air of Nimbasa. It was warm with summer approaching so rapidly. A couple Trubbish still hung around. Ingo waved to the young ones as he passed by. He always had a soft spot for the creatures. “What would we like for dinner this evening?” he asked nonchalantly, in order to gain Barry’s attention. 

And gain it he had, apparently. “Hey!” Footsteps approached and there was a hiss and a light as a Pokemon was recalled. The three of them turned to see the boy running at them, skidding to a halt a couple paces from them. He looked at Dawn for a long moment, then glanced between the twins. “I just want to talk. Please.” 

“Of course,” Ingo quipped. “First, however, we should get something to refuel with. I know I am rather famished.” 

“We should get pizza from that spot on Ninth. It is on the way,” Emmet said as he began to walk, this time with another passenger trailing behind them. 

“I’d prefer the one on Sycamore.” 

“We always get the one on Sycamore!” Emmet whined. 

“Akari? Is there anything you would like?” Ingo looked down at his niece to settle the dispute. That was one of the many, many reasons it was nice to have her around. The twins would no longer go back and forth for long, drawn-on minutes about what to eat anymore. 

“Could we grab something from that Kalosian place? The one with the really good macarons? I don’t think we’ve had that in awhile.” 

“That sounds agreeable,” Emmet said with a sly grin. 

“Alright, then. Destination set!” The twins began walking with more pep in their step, Dawn having to jog to keep up. The brothers made eye contact and Emmet grinned. This was fun. 

They got food in record time, also buying some for Barry. Never would a passenger go hungry on their watch! Ingo made Emmet carry their purchase this time as they approached the apartment building, walking up the flight of stairs and unlocking the door, allowing everyone in. Emmet beelined for the kitchen table, tossing down the bags of food. Then he returned to the main room to disrobe his uniform. Ingo clicked his tongue at his brother and untied his tie as Emmet did the same for him. Dawn toed off her shoes and denim jacket, hanging them on the hook meant for her. Fraxure popped out of its ball once it sensed they were home, its metal body sparkling as it lumbered to her and rubbed its forehead against her arm. It made her laugh and rub its head. 

Once they were a bit more comfortable, they went back to the kitchen. The whole time, Barry stood in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do, nervously glancing around at the decor and the Joltik gathering around. Dawn gestured him into the dining area. 

Ingo and Emmet divvied up food, shooing Joltik away from the plates. “I will feed you after we eat, babies,” Emmet cooed to them. Regardless, some of them burrowed their way into hair, clothing, and onto counters. Ingo picked one up and placed it on his shoulder, scolding it for trying to get into his meal. 

They all sat and dug in. Barry seemed to like his choice and downed it quickly. Ingo and Emmet ate at their usual pace, with Dawn outspeeding them as always. They ate quickly and quietly. The entire time, Barry said not a word. He simply… watched. Ingo gave Dawn one of his macarons, as it was her favorite flavor. Emmet patted one of the Joltik and excitedly discussed one of the challengers from that day. “He had a Galvantula! I recognized that Trainer. He fought us five years ago! He nearly won, too. I gave him that Joltik and it knew Cross Poison! He put it to good use today, yup. It seemed verrry strong!” Dawn said very little, but did chime in every so often. Ingo and Emmet led much of the conversation. Neither of them minded much. 

“So,” Ingo spoke finally as they were finishing, “would you like us to give you some privacy? Me and Emmet can withdraw for the evening if you would like.” 

“I think it’s okay,” Dawn said quickly, before Barry could speak. “You already know most of it anyway.” 

Ingo understood what she was really saying. Emmet’s voice cut over him, “I will feed the Pokemon. Would you like me to feed yours, Dawn?” 

She nodded and handed him her Pokeballs, Fraxure following close behind Emmet’s heels as he whistled to the Joltik. All of them scurried out of the room, following him as well. Emmet was only gone for a few minutes, during which Ingo cleaned up from dinner. Dawn insisted on helping with clean-up. Barry continued to sit and stare around the room, unsure of what to do. 

Emmet returned as the pair finished cleaning and they all sat back down at the table. All was completely silent. Ingo could practically smell how awkward it was. 

“Barry, you’re never this quiet.” Dawn broke the silence first. 

“What am I supposed to say?” he asked quietly. “You seem happier here.” 

“Stop.” He looked up at the anger in her voice. “It’s not like that and you know it. I didn’t just up and leave on a whim.” 

“You still left, though!” He turned in his seat to face her. “I’d just gotten you back for a week and you still left! No goodbye, no telling where you would be. You just dropped off the planet again! I was worried that you’d been taken back in time again! Or worse! I was so worried about you, Dawn! I was the first time you disappeared, too! I looked everywhere for you and you were just nowhere and I was so scared it’d just be a repeat of that-”

“Barry, would you just listen to me!” Her voice drowned out his. He shut his mouth with a clack, holding back tears. “I couldn’t stay in Sinnoh. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going, but I didn’t want to be dragged back. I can’t go home.”

“But why?” He wrapped his arms around himself, still struggling to hold back his tears. “It’s right there. You have a place to stay. Why can’t you come home?” 

“Because it’s not the same anymore.” She looked away from him. “I spent so much time in the past that now all I can think about is the people who are all gone, when we used to walk the same paths and routes. All the people I became friends with in Jubilife two-hundred years ago. I can’t go there without thinking about how I’ll never see them again. When I found out Mom was gone, everything changed for me again. I didn’t get to say goodbye to her either. And everything in Twinleaf, in Hearthome, everything was so full of her and it hurt. I couldn’t just stay there and be reminded everyday. I had to leave. But I know Cynthia wouldn’t like it and you wouldn’t want me to leave and might stop me. I had to do what was best for me.” 

He did not speak for a long moment. He sniffled and a single tear traced its way down his face. “I missed you, Dawn,” was all he said. 

“I missed you too, Barry. I still do.” She reached out and gingerly touched his shoulder. “I want to see my friend again. I really, really do. But I can’t do it in Sinnoh. I just can’t. I’m sorry, Barry. But I can’t go back. I have a place here now and I like it here. Everyone is nice and I feel like I have a real family again and I’m not alone.” 

“You weren’t alone.” His response was weak. “We were there…”

“But you aren’t my family, Barry. You’re my best friend and I still don’t really know your mom all that well.” 

He was quiet again for some time. The twins said nothing, allowing them to have this moment. “So who are you?” the boy asked finally, looking up at the twins. 

“My name is Ingo. I fell to Hisui some time before Dawn did from here and lost all my memories in the process. As foreigners, we both bonded well and Dawn not only helped me restore my memories, but she allowed me a way home.” 

“I am Emmet. I am Ingo’s twin brother. He was missing for four years. I would not have him back if not for Dawn.” 

Barry watched the two of them for a moment longer. 

“I call them my uncles,” Dawn said quietly. “They took me in without notice and have been so kind and supportive. They have a sister, too, who treats me like part of the family. So does their uncle and cousin. They’re all really kind and I feel like I belong here.” 

Barry tackled her in a hug. He was not holding back his tears anymore. “I… I’m gonna miss you, Dawn. But I’m gonna visit, okay? I want to see you often and battle you again. I don’t care if its in Sinnoh or Unova or Galar, I just want to see you. You can show me around Unova sometime. Maybe we can battle again, like we did with Team Galactic.”

Dawn smiled. She hugged her friend back. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

The twins stood and patted the two teens on the shoulders, making them look up. Emmet smiled softly at them as Ingo spoke. “We will be in our room if you need anything. Barry, you are welcome to stay the night. We have an extra change of clothes if you require them. The bathroom is the second room on the left down the hall, Dawn can show you where it is.” 

His eyes widened. “Oh… thank you. Thank you very much.” 

“Of course!” Emmet chirped. The brothers receded to allow them a moment of privacy, now that the hard part had passed. Their Pokemon were waiting in their room, waiting for the door to be opened. 

“Go cheer Dawn up,” Emmet whispered to them. “She needs it.” Many of them bolted out of the room immediately, eager to see their Trainer. The twins got ready for bed. They’d be there for her, as they said they would be. 

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