#I mean I very much did gross snot cry but that's just cause it's good tv. if I was so distraught it impacted my real life like....

[originemesis]

@micsmasmuses cont. from xxx

“I’m the mood murderer sure” he gives him a critical look as he speaks before shaking his head. He pinches the bridge of his nose as Adam makes it about his dick again, does he tell him where they’re going? Maybe he should just leave it as a surprise now. “You’re disgusting” he sighs softly as he looks back up at him. But he still feels bad for the guy. Nothing has gone his way since Eden, most being his fault but this wasn’t him. This was just well… people leaving the first man behind again. “Yes I know what she is and what you two do. You talk about fucking all the time am I not supposed to think it’s her?” He gestures vaguely at him with a raise of his brow. But his look changes as he sees that look on Adam’s face. Now he feels even worse. Glancing to the stupid mask his nose twitches in disgust before looking back up at him. Another hand soon coming up to caress the other side of his cheek once his hand moved away. Hes not leaving… not now.

“It’s called having feelings… but nothing is wrong with you, people just don’t have good taste” he says as his hands soon land on his shoulders. Debating something before finally pulling the taller male into a tight embrace. He could easily get out of it if he wished but he keeps him close for just a bit. Something he did with Charlie when she was feeling down, something he still did. Another way for her to cry without being seen. Something to admit to each other. “Wanna know something stupid?” He asks him softly.

"So what? You're always bringing my exes up like it's the only level 1 crossword puzzle you know how to fill out." He'd snapped back, though the sound of his teeth hitting sounded a bit off without that equalizer inside the helmet helping him not only mask his looks, but also the very sounds he was capable of making. Hell, it even acted as a buffer against the very real differences between the soundwaves of omnipotent beings so that the constant exposure up there didn't leave him anymore addled than he already acted. "Sides...if she's not- that, 'just means I don't have to care so much about what she gets her cunt caught on tonight-"

But he still would of course. She was part of his flock, and they'd flocked together so much at this point that the others would likely appear out of portals of their own in the golden spirit just to come pigeon mob the mimic of a man before him if he so much as raised the right pitch. And he was very close to it out of instinct- but the involuntary quaver of sound that caused the cave-in of his vocal chords for the brief hiccup of a moment put a stop to it, his will to raise an alarm sent spiraling where it would sit stuck at his wet and sticky and possibly rotten core.

"Sounds made-up." The interject of an explanation was met with a side-spat scoff, but pressure on his shoulders snapped his gold-gilded and less guarded attention back- just not in enough time to make his company really second guess cracking the First Man's back some in the process of yanking him into a huddled over position, a mix between a protesting squawk of a sound and a stealthily held snivel spilling out of him in the process. Whatever glass had gathered in his eyes earlier shattered only after he'd been hurriedly hunkered down and scooted in no different than some emperor penguin would an exposed chick. Gross...he thought- about the concept of feelings the other was trying to spin him like he had on so many other things back in the day- back in the garden. That and, well...the very clear bit of glowing spit and snot mixed partially into the fabric of Lucifer's shirt after he'd taken a brief moment to rub his face inwards against it. While it wasn't great at fully clearing up all the telltale stains on his face, nor the fired up glow of freckles, it had served as a place to deposit a shuddery sniffle. Went and smothered it, really until he sort of felt like for a second the mask still swinging at his side was latched back into place.

His wings tucked under his arms, now trapped in the embrace give an uncertain flutter, but otherwise remain bolted as he deposited more attempts at even-ing his breath into the muddled must of the other's coat opening.

"...if you're gonna just say me, then no."

He grumbled, but didn't pause particularly long before he'd relent a sigh and a softer.

"-what is it?"

#//ofc he had to snot on your jacket some #//what og dick would he be if not #micmasmuses #long post #suggestive cw

[stevie-wicks]

red, black and blue

She’d taken the photo in some empty parking lot in downtown LA, sunlight two years younger glinting off the hood of the Camaro. Billy’s moustache was still a couple of stray gold whiskers on his upper lip; his hair just past the tips of his unpierced ears. A different Billy to the one Hawkins had seen, but post-California Billy hadn’t had much time for Max’s amateur attempts at photography. Or for Max, in general.

“It’s a good photo.”

Jonathan Byers was not a formal wear kind of guy. He looked stiff and uncomfortable in his ugly suit- or maybe that was just an extension of how he was feeling. How they all were.

Max wrapped her hands around her elbows, suddenly regretting resisting her mother’s attempts to usher her into a jacket. “Thanks. I know he looks- different.”

Jonathan looked for a moment like he might offer her his ugly coat; then he probably remembered the uglier shirt he wore underneath. “He looks happier.”

“He was.” Max dug her nails into her skin. “He hated it here.”

Jonathan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Listen, Max; I know it’s not- it’s not really the same, but when I- when I thought Will was gone, I-” He swallowed. “Will is my best friend. I know that sounds really lame, but I just thought that. Maybe you’d feel better, or, I dunno. I know what it’s like.”

He was trying so hard. Max almost felt bad for him. “I don’t think you do.”

She’d wanted to sit next to Lucas, but her mom hadn’t. Some murmured nonsense about Neil not liking it; some louder nonsense about how they were a family and that now, more than ever, they had to stay together.

El became the compromise.

Not that Neil was gung-ho about El, either; not with the oversized flannel and suspenders she’d refused to change out of. Light blue eyes bore a hole into the side of Max’s head as she shuffled into the pew next to El. They weren’t the same shade of blue as Billy’s; he’d had more green to his, more like Max’s own. Neil’s were like ice chips.

A bony hand reached over, and Max looked up at Joyce Byers’s warm brown instead. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she whispered.

Stupidly, Max said, “He owed you a plate.”

El stirred. “I owe him my life,” she said quietly.

The last funeral Max had been to had been for some distant Mayfield relative. She’d been six and she’d cried all the way to Glendale because she was missing Jabberjaw. Then Dad bought her an ice cream and she’d forgotten all about Jabberjaw. She fell asleep halfway through the service, and they got home in time for Speed Buggy.

Billy’s service took half as long and felt an eternity longer.

Mom had offered to do a eulogy. She’d brought it up over breakfast, nervous eyes darting between Max and Neil, as if either of them would put up a fight. She tottered to her feet now, shuffling awkwardly to the front, in a dress a few laundry cycles short of being grey. For a fleeting moment, Max wished she had put up a fight. Billy would’ve died-

Max bit her cheek hard enough to taste copper.

Mom cleared her throat. “Billy and I didn’t know each other for very long, but I wish we had. He was a wonderful young man.” She dabbed at her eyes with a ratty handkerchief.

Max sank back into her seat. Maybe it was for the best; she could never lie about Billy the way her mom did. Not when all she could think of was the blood- God, so much blood, his blood- his last scream torn out of his chest by misshapen claws- apologies on a dying breath-

She stood up. Mom paused midway between some crap about Billy’s ‘respect and responsibility’.

“Maxine,” Mom said, mortified.

“I have to go.” She tore outside, knuckling her burning eyes.

The breeze nipped at her skin. She leaned against the wall, rubbing her hands up her arms. It was mid-July, for Pete’s sake.

She should’ve worn the stupid jacket.

She wiped at her face roughly. When her vision cleared, Lucas stood in front of her.

“Your mom’s done talking, if you wanna head back inside.” He kicked at a pebble.

Max kicked it back. It skittered away, just out of Lucas’s reach. “Not really.”

He squared his shoulders. “Mind if I join you, then?”

She shrugged. He hesitated for a moment before sidling up next to her, arms barely brushing.

“Steve’s giving his speech now.”

Max’s eyebrows reached her scalp.

“For the basketball team,” Lucas clarified, then added, a little awkwardly, “None of the other guys showed up.”

It shouldn’t hurt, but. “Yeah, well. Didn’t think Steve would, either. He hated Billy’s guts.” She dug her heels into the gravel. “You all did.”

Lucas fell quiet. “I didn’t hate him.”

Max snorted. “’Cause you’re not supposed to hold grudges over people who are-” She blinked back a fresh wave of tears. God, Maxine; you’re such a goddamn girl, Billy would’ve said. “You should. He was awful to you.”

“I didn’t hate him,” he repeated. “I mean, he scared the shit out of me, sure. But still. He was your brother.”

“That’s not an excuse. And he was my step-”

“He was your brother.” Lucas had turned on his side, fully facing her now. “And I know you lo- cared about him. And I’m trying to tell you that it’s okay to cry.”

Her eyes welled with tears. She hadn’t allowed herself to; not since Starcourt, not since she’d read the twenty-eight other names in the paper, not since she’d come home in an ambulance and her brother in a casket and Neil locked up Billy’s room and tore down everything else that had belonged to his son and threw it all in the trash like he’d been waiting to get rid of it-

Lucas held out an arm. Max buried her face in his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt and turning it translucent with her tears.

She cried long enough for her tear ducts to run dry, and then stood sniffling into the wet shirt. She was probably making it all gross with her snot, but she didn’t let herself get too torn up about it. The Sinclairs could afford a washing machine.

“Maxine.”

Max went rigid. Lucas, unbothered and oblivious, kept his arms around her. “Hey, Mr. Hargrove.”

She turned around slowly, just in time to catch the flicker of revulsion that passed over Neil’s face. “And who are you, boy?”

There was a painful pause. Max’s nails carved crescents into her palms.

“Lucas Sinclair, sir,” Lucas said at last.

Neil’s eyes were glacial. Max barely suppressed a shiver when they trained on her. “Maxine; something you learn when you grow older that there are a certain type of people in this world that you stay away from. And this boy?” Neil cut his gaze to Lucas. “This boy is one of them.”

Max reeled back. “I-”

“You stay away from my daughter, Sinclair; do you hear me?” Neil hadn’t raised his voice once since he’d started speaking. To any passers-by, this would look like a normal conversation. “Stay away.”

He didn’t wait for Lucas to respond, tugging Max away with a harsh grip on her wrist. She didn’t dare to turn around.

“I don’t want you anywhere near that boy, Maxine.” His hold loosened the closer they got to the car- Neil’s car, a respectable Ford sedan. She didn’t dare tug her hand free, either. “I hope you learn your lesson with this. Billy didn’t; not at first. I’m afraid I had to use more- forceful- methods with him. I trust I won’t have to do the same with you.”

Max turned to Neil despite herself. It was the first time he’d said Billy’s name since the Fourth of July.

His eyes gave nothing away. “Do I make myself clear?” His fingers tightened again.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good.” Neil’s smile was a mirror of Billy’s; shark-like and vicious, moments away from tearing into your throat. “It’s about time you got some new friends, too. Girls your age shouldn’t be hanging around with boys too much.”

“El’s a girl,” Max told her shoes.

Neil scoffed. “Really? Did she show you proof?”

What happened to you, Mad Max? Billy would’ve asked. You’re not going to stand up for your little hick friends?

Or maybe-

I had to use more forceful methods with him - the bruises she’d see on Billy while his own knuckles remained unscathed- Mom whisking her away on impromptu shopping trips whenever Neil and Billy raised their voices- forceful methods -

- maybe he would understand.

★

Billy’s life couldn’t have fit into a garbage bag.

Max hadn’t gone into his room since she’d gone with El, but he had to have more than what Neil had thrown out onto the sidewalk. Outside the four walls of his room, it was like Billy hadn’t even existed.

She slipped out of bed in the quiet.

Billy had taught her how to pick a lock, back in California. “Use a hairpin, or somethin’- you got one of those?”

She unfurled her fingers. The hairpin was damp with sweat. She wiped it on her t-shirt, and slid it into the keyhole.

“Keep your big ears close to the door; you won’t hear squat that far away.”

She held her breath, pressing her ear to the cool wood.

“Wait for the sound- there, you hear that? That’s how you know the tumblers are in place.”

The door swung open with a soft click.

Max half expected to be assaulted by cigarette smoke and hair metal. But it had been almost a week, and all that Billy had left behind were stale air and silence.

She flicked on the flashlight. The blinds were drawn, the bed unmade, half his closet on the floor. Air the room out, and you could pretend he’d walk right in.

His schoolbooks balanced an ashtray; the desk was not for studying. Instead, he’d cluttered it with beer cans and tapes and a tree’s worth of loose-leaf.

She padded over and sat down in his chair, trying to imagine him hunched over the desk, scribbling on page after page in messy letters. Billy’s handwriting was just as angry as he was.

Her eyes flickered over song lyrics- snippets from the racket she’d been forced to sit through every weekday morning and afternoon. Somehow, silent car rides had lost their appeal.

Strange little doodles decorated the margins- band logos and cars and anatomically inaccurate depictions of women. “Gross,” Max said aloud, pushing the papers away with a theatric shudder.

The tabletop had not been exempted from Billy’s artistry; Max shone the flashlight on more band logos and cuss words and names engraved into the wood. Here there was a crude AC/DC logo, the lightning slash extending down to form the ‘t’ in ‘TWAT’. There was a ‘María’ right next to that, the accent mark angled in the wrong direction. Max remembered her; she’d gone out with Billy for all of sophomore year- the longest Max had ever seen him go out with one girl. She’d taught Max how to do makeup.

A few paces away was Tina- the prettiest girl in Hawkins High, everyone agreed- Laurie was a slut, but she’d complimented Max on her hair- and then Karen. Max traced the ‘K’; she didn’t know any Karens who went to Hawkins High- but then again, she barely knew all the kids in the middle school. There could be a pretty blonde cheerleader somewhere, talking to her friends over the phone. “Yeah, I went out with him a couple of times,” Max imagined her saying. She’d twirl a strand of hair around her finger, lips pulled down in a pout. “And now he’s dead. Spooky.”

She knuckled her eyes. The beam of the flashlight caught on the letter S.

She held the flashlight up, frowning at the name that made itself obvious. Stevie- except the ‘i’ was jammed haphazardly between the ‘v’ and the ‘e’, like it had been an afterthought.

She stared at it until the light flickered overhead.

“Shit!”

Max dropped the flashlight, head snapping back to the door. It hung ajar, just as she’d left it. Heart in her throat, she inched towards the doorway.

The hallway light flicked on.

Max held the flashlight close to her chest, knuckles bone-white and stark. She stepped outside, and the light turned on in the living room.

When she stood in the doorway, staring out at the lifeless room, the telephone started to ring.

Her feet felt heavy as cinderblocks. She plucked the receiver from its cradle, bringing it to her ear with shaking hands.

From the other side, someone breathed heavily.

Max pressed the phone closer, hard enough to hurt. “Billy?”

A crackle of static. Some peculiar noise.

Apologies on a dying breath.

Then, “Max.”

ao3

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #tw: death #tw: mentions of child abuse #tw: racism #max mayfield #billy hargrove #steve harrington #lucas sinclair #harringrove #lumax #el hopper #joyce byers #post season 3 #stranger things 4

[bots-and-cons]

How would Knockout, Predaking, and Ratchet react to finding out their fem human s/o had a relapse and cut herself because she was kicked out of her current home?

This is a bit fitting for me too because I've been struggling with staying clean. I hope you get through your struggles and I wish you well.

Blood and self harm warning

~Ratchet~

You took a few deep, wavering breaths, trying to calm yourself. You decided that you had cried enough for today, no more tears. You dialed the base and took a few more deep breaths.

"Hi Rat-Ratch, could you come pick me up?" your voice wavered and you cursed it in your head.

"I am a bit busy at the moment, can I send someone else?"

“Yeah sure, I guess that's fine” you sighed, sounding mildly disappointed, which Ratchet didn’t seem to pick up on.

It didn’t take long for Bulk to come get you and drive you to the base. The drive went in silence, only the faint sound of music coming through Bulk’s speakers.

Almost immediately after you got to the base, the team, excluding Ratchet, had to leave for a mission. The trouble trio had already gone home for the day so it was just you and Ratchet.

You dragged yourself up the stairs to the platform and sat down on the couch. Then you laid down and pulled the blanket that was on the couch over your head.

“What’s got you down?” Ratchet asked without taking his optics off the screen.

“Oh, the little things, like the fact that I got kicked out and I have no idea where I’m supposed to live now”

“Mmmhhmm” Ratchet muttered.

It took awhile for him to actually process what you said, but when he did he slowly turned towards you and went: “What?!”

“Yep” you muttered.

After a while of thinking, Ratchet just said: “You can stay here and sleep on the couch”

“Are you sure? I mean would the team be okay with it?”

“They’ll understand, but more importantly is that blood on your shirt?”

“Oh shit” you cussed under your breath.

“Have you cut yourself again?” Ratchet asked, sounding either annoyed or worried, you weren’t really sure.

You didn’t say anything, you just lifted your shirt a little bit, exposing your stomach and side, which were littered with little bloody cuts.

“(Name)” Ratchet sighed.

“I know, I’m a fragging idiot for doing this and you’re so disappointed in me, blah blah blah…”

“Actually, I was going to ask, if you need me to do something to them?”

“Oh…” you said, surprised.

“So, do you?”

“Well, if you have some wound disinfectant that’d be useful”

Ratchet went to one of the cabinets in the medbay and pulled out a first aid kit.

“Sit. I’ll take care of you” he ordered.

You sat back down without arguing with him and he did his thing. Cleaning your wounds and making sure your vitals were fine.

“Thanks… For putting up with me” you said.

Ratchet just nodded, but you could see the sadness in his optics. He hated when you hurt yourself, but he hated even more that you felt like this was your only way to cope. He loved you more than he had ever loved anyone and he hated seeing you in pain, he would’ve given anything to make you feel better.

~Knockout~

You had no idea where you would spend the night. You didn't want to bother Knockout, even though you knew he would be glad to provide you with a place to stay, but it was starting to seem like your only option. So you pulled out your phone and called him.

"Hey sweetness" he greeted cheerfully.

"Hi Knocky, can I ask you for a favor?"  you asked shakily, you throat still feeling raspy from all the crying.

"You don't sound so good, are you okay?" his tone changed to worried.

"Well, if getting kicked out and relapsing is good then sure, I'm peachy" you voice broke and you could feel the tears pooling in your eyes.

"Where are you? I'll come pick you up"

"I'll text you the address"

You ended up sitting at a bus stop and waiting for Knockout to come. You rolled up your sleeve and looked at all the scars and new cuts that marked your skin.

"So ugly" you muttered while you ran your fingers over them.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the revving of an engine as Knockout stopped in front of you. You quickly pulled down your sleeve and threw your backpack to the back seat hopping in the front.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Knockout asked as he started driving.

"No, because if I talk about it, I'll have to actually think about it and I can't handle it right now" you sniffled.

"You know you're always welcome at the Nemesis"

"I know, but you've got to admit it's not the most human friendly environment”

“Hmm” Knockout huffed.

He was worried for you. You had relapsed with cutting and he knew the struggles you had had with it before. It was so hard for you to stay clean and now you had been kicked out of your home, so that definitely didn’t make things easier.

“Did you bandage yourself up?” he asked suddenly as the thought appeared in his head.

“No, I didn’t get the chance”

“Well then I’m taking you to the Nemesis and doing it myself” Knockout announced.

“You don’t need to, I can handle it”

“Sweetness, this is how I know how to help, so please let me”

“Fine”

You got to the ship through the ground bridge and Knockout sat you down on one of the side tables in the medbay. Then he started rummaging around one of the cabinets.

“I swear to Primus I put the first aid supplies here” he muttered and threw stuff over his shoulder to the floor.

“Don’t you keep them in one of the drawers over there” -you pointed to your right next to cabinet- “I remember you putting them there”

“Yeah, I think you’re right, because they are not in this cabinet”

Knockout pulled open the drawer and pulled out the first aid kit he had made you buy for him. He was always worried you’d hurt yourself and he couldn’t do anything to help, hence the kit.

You rolled up your sleeve and you could see Knockout’s optics narrow just a little bit, he then sighed deeply, which made you feel like he was super disappointed in you.

“Oh sweetness, I hate that you feel so bad you hurt yourself like this”

Knockout pulled out the gauze from the first aid kit and placed it on the table. Then he got out the disinfection wipes and started cleaning your wrist. He didn’t say anything more and neither did you. He just wrapped the gauze around your wrist gently but firmly.

“I’m sorry” you muttered not even meaning for him to hear you.

“Why?” Knockout asked, as he packed away the first aid supplies.

“Because... I bother you with my problems all the time…”

“It’s not a bother for me. Of course I’m sad that these bad things keep happening to you, but I love you and I’d much rather hear about your problems than never hear your voice again”

You had managed to keep the tears away for so long now, but hearing him say that, just made the floodgates burst wide open. You started sobbing, loudly, with snot and tears running down your face.

“Don’t cry sweetness, you’ll get through this, just like you got through everything life has thrown at you before” Knockout said and wiped your cheek with his thumb.

“I’m so gross when I cry” you sobbed with a half a smile.

“You’re as beautiful as always” Knockout said and kissed your forehead.

~Predaking~

Predaking was recharging on the deck of the Nemesis in his predacon form, when he heard the doors to the deck open. He was ready to burn to a crisp anyone who dared disturb his slumber, but he was stopped by the noise the one who had entered was making. It sounded like you, and you were crying.

“What is it my love? What is wrong?” he asked as he transformed and sat cross legged on the deck.

You couldn't get a word out between your sobs and just walked closer to Predaking. You stepped onto his servo he offered you and lifted you to his shoulder. You sat down, and after a while your crying calmed down enough for you to speak.

“I-I cut myself again…” you sniffled. “And I know I shouldn’t but I just didn’t feel like there was any other option, I just wanted to feel something”

“Why is that?” Predaking asked, without a hint of anger or disappointment in his voice.

“I got-got kicked out and now I don’t know where to go” you hiccupped.

“You could always stay here, with me”

“I don’t think this is the best place for me to be, not a very human friendly environment you see. Besides Starscream would kick me out the second he found out”

“I would not let him” Predaking said seriously.

“I know, but I don’t want to cause trouble for you”

Predaking was quiet for a while, he knew you didn’t like to bother people with your problems, so he wasn’t going to make you, but he was going to make sure you were alright.

“Are the cuts bad? Do you need to go see that red medic?”

“His name is Knockout and no, I already put bandages on them and they’ve stopped bleeding” you sighed, brushing your fingers over your thigh where the cuts were.

“Could I do something to make you feel better?”

“No, I’m fine, as long as I’m with you, I’ll be fine, and thank you”

“Thank you for what my love?”

“Just being you and loving me even though it can be hard sometimes”

"It's not hard, only seeing you struggle is hard, but I wouldn't trade you for anything" 

You felt like crying again, he really knew how to tug at your heartstrings.

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #maccadam #decepticons #autobots #ratchet #predaking #knockout #transformers angst #transformers fluff #transformers scenarios #reader insert #tfp x reader #transformers x reader #selfharm tw #blood tw

[watchwithbee]

the fosters, s1e11

tw: brief mentions of (fictional) past r*pe and s*xual a*sault, foster siblings having romantic/sexual relationships, poor mental health, father figure fighting an alcohol problem, somewhat shitty commentary but that’s everything I post lmao

1k words

(started about 10 minutes in)

HELL YEAH JUDE 

PREACH

STAND UP FOR YOURSELF BBY BOY

ALSO HEY BRANDON YOU PIECE OF SHIT

WHAT THE FUCK DUDE

I’M STILL PISSED AT HIM

Ju: you’re no better than liam >:(

Me: FUCK HIM UP BABY BOY

B: I love callie

[egregious puking noises]

Look ship whatever you want

Just acknowledge when things are problematic

Ship brallie to your heart’s content as long as you don’t condone in*est IRL

I’m not here to police ppl, I’m just giving opinions no one asked for cause that’s the entire purpose of this blog

Oh no jude

Poor boy

I literally hate brandon sm he needs to get his shit together

[aggressive vibing to the theme song]

[weeping] you’re surrounded by love and you’re wanted

I used to think the theme was cheesy

Now i literally love it sm

The RUBBER DUCKY

THE HAND HOLDING

Ugh ads

I really think people are overlooking jude’s feelings rn

Omfg stef’s mom (her name is sharon, bee)

I love her

I love jude and sharon’s dynamic it’s 

Chef’s kiss

Immaculate

Sh: I’m not gonna break up with him cause I love his bed

“Subtext, by calvin klein ;)”

Oh right this is the bed that fucks up their marriage

Ju: I’m a taco :D

Me: [I can’t find it but the clip from b99 where boyle says I’m gonna need a minute

It cuts to a black screen that says one minute later than cuts back to charles tear and snot stained face after clearly crying a lot

Boyle: sorry for the sobbing and the wailing and the weird snorting noise I made at the end

But yeah that’s me rn]

Oh god not more jesus lexi drama

I wish mariana and jesus got along better

Also jake t austin jesus walked so noah centineo jesus could run

I love that typed out it looks like I mean jesus the religious figure

Oh shit 

Lexi needs to stop gatekeeping and mariana needs to stop taking the division of time as a personal offense

I mean she and jesus are both taurus so I’m not surprised they’re clashing

Oh god callie why did you run away w wyatt

I hate wyatt

I hate the aliens dialogue

W: the government is making it seem fake oOoOoH

Literally hate it

Callie “he’s better off without me” addams foster is getting on my last fuckin nerve

Like the insensitivity?????

The not actually caring about the people around you under the guise of caring about them??????

The only difference between martyrdom and soupyslide is press coverage

The whole Wyatt And Callie On The Run thing is getting old and it’s been happening for like 10 minutes

Self sacrifice isn’t cute sis

WYATT WHAT THE FUCK

He claims to care about her and yet

Deletes the fucking voicemail from her mom??????????

What???????

Christ stef is fucking crying

Sh: my love…

STEF AND HER MOM BOTH CALL PPL MY LOVE 

SO FUCKING CUTE

Now wyatt is playing the good guy???F???

Okay hold up

Look

Callie and brandon are both at fault for kissing each other at stef and lena’s wedding

which was SO cute btw

the wedding not the gross kiss

I will say that callie, who was literally r*ped by L*am, was incredibly emotionally volatile then bc everything with him had been stirred up and she just found out he wouldn’t go to jail

No one would be surprised if she did something impulsive and self destructive bc of the trauma, especially something related to having an inappropriate relationship with a foster brother

Brandon knew about all of this and he wasn’t having flashbacks or a bunch of trauma about anything 

He should have stopped her or at least pushed her away 

And he didn’t 

I’m not saying Callie isn’t at fault too, what I am saying is that brandon had more responsibility in that situation and didn’t do what a decent person would do

WYATT AND BRANDON ARE BOTH BAD FOR CALLIE

SHE DOESN’T NEED A RELATIONSHIP RN SHE NEEDS A LOVING SUPPORTIVE FAMILY

Callie is so clearly sprialing rn

At least Wyatt is actually trying to help her

No one can handle a stressful situation in this show

I can’t describe how much I hate the pseudo end of the fucking world energy they’re going for

At least wyatt had the decency to not immediately try to share a bed w her

I like how flustered he gets cuddling her

That’s cute at least

I don’t like that callie didn’t consider that sharing a bed would make him nervous or uncomfy

OH SHIT THERE THEY ARE

MOMS HAVE ENTERED THE CHAT

And now callie, feeling trapped again, is going to run away yet again

And do something impulsive

Yet again

Jfc

Look I have trauma and a strong fight or flight response too, but I dont hurt the people I love

Hitching a ride with a trucker??????????? She’s going to put herself in a very avoidable irreversibly bad situation

I love mike getting to be a good dad figure

It’s rare with the whole alcoholic plot

I really hate that too btw

He has a comforting presence

Let him be a good dad

Mariana you can want to be vegan but pls don’t be a toxic vegan

Let people make their own choices

I love frazzled mike trying to be a good dad

I wish mariana would be a little bit more of a problem solver

If she doesn’t want any animal products or peanut butter offer to make your own lunch maybe??????

I hate how fast Jesus and Mariana forgave brandon after the whole “We ToOk YoU iN wHeN NoOnE eLsE wAnTeD yOu!!! sTeF iS mY mOm!!!!” bullshit

“Mom’s car won’t start” lmao

What the actual fuck callie 

If she’s this at risk for such self destructive behavior she needs way more help

HOT GIRL WITH PINK MULLET

MARRY ME

Oh god not the begging for a job scene

I hate this part

I’m a little over half way done with the episode so I’ll cut it here, part 2 will be up shortly

#the fosters #anti brallie #netflix #show review #idk what else to tag this #s1e11 #the fosters s1e11 #watch with bee

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

I WAS GOING TO ASK YOU TO REBLOG THIS SO I COULD ASK. YAY. 1, 5, 11, 14 (WAAO), 17 (croissant croissant oui oui oui plus baguette), 18, 22, 25, 36, 49 and the most important of all, 50. ❤

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fanfiction?

It was more than half my lifetime ago—I was 10!

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why?

I only have a couple, lol, but I’d have to say We Are an Ocean. I’m not sure if I love it or hate it at this point, but I’ve put so so so so much effort and time and love into it! It’s my baby! 

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

Not on major plot points, but... About ten years ago, I wrote a oneshot based in the late 1940s, and someone pointed out to me that seatbelts in cars weren’t really a thing back then. I did go back and change that, lmao. Fly free, kiddos, you’re on your own in a car crash! 

14) How did you come up with the title for We Are an Ocean? 

I HAD SUCH A HARD TIME WITH IT. I knew I wanted it to be friends-with-benefits turned lovers turned partners in every aspect, but the gradual change there over the course of the story makes it hard to choose a single theme... and I almost always name my fics based on theme! I literally spent two days scouring quotes in about twenty different themes, and finally found the quote I used and decided it was good enough. It was defeatism more than anything, lmao! Here’s the whole quote from which I got the title of the fic: "Individually, we are one drop. Together, we are an ocean." -Ryunosuke Satoro. 

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on. (I cheated and did three from my ‘oui oui oui plus baguette’ story, as you put it, lmao.)

“Où sont lez… what was it, again?”

“Forget it. Stay close to me and avoid getting lost, because I do not think you will never be able to speak French, Tony DiNozzo.”

“Why would I ever need to, when I have you?”

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

I have one! It’s a long and sordid tale of heartbreak and drama, lmao, so I’ll spare you the details, but basically, I co-wrote it with someone I was very close to. When we had a falling out, I rewrote much of the story for my own sanity but didn’t post it—it was just for me. Eventually, when I’d gotten whatever closure I needed out of it, I stopped doing that, too. The story still exists somewhere in the format of text messages on an old phone shoved in a drawer somewhere, but what was posted back when that person and I were still close is all that will ever be published. (I did get a tattoo because of the whole experience of rewriting by myself, though... song lyrics from Hamilton! “I picked up a pen; I wrote my own deliverance.”)

22) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

SO MANY. Actually, I keep meaning to go back and delete pretty much everything I wrote prior to 2019, lmao. Thanks for the reminder! 

25) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

YES. As you know, I’m an incredibly easy crier. I usually don’t, though... I like to say that I hurt my own feelings instead. When I’m writing, I’m usually so focused on the forest that the trees can’t make me cry, lmao. There’s so much going on in my head—plot, dialogue, word count, staying IC, timing, descriptions, continuity, throwing in pianos to piss you off, pacing, grammar, keeping track of clothes if I’m writing smut, etc. It makes me a little removed from my story until I give it a read-through when I publish it. Once, though, during my RP days... my partner and I were writing a story that I KNEW would make me cry but I still wrote it when I was in public. I was on a long-distance overnight bus from London to Amsterdam with 100 strangers and there were NO TISSUES. I got snot all over myself. Gross. 10/10, would recommend embarrassing yourself that badly in the name of art at least once in your life!

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s?

Sure, I’ll give you a few! For WAAO, spoilers with no context: guilt/grief/fear/rage all wrapped up in one devastated character, the worst international trip in the world, a therapist, Anacostia Park, and a baby that wants to be passed from person to person every 90 seconds. 

49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

I can, lmao, cause I’m scarred for life. I was roughly 8 years old and even back then, I was very shippy... I was looking for a Harry/Ginny story to read. The one I found involved Harry cheating on his wife with Cho Chang and in the end, Ginny got pissed enough that she straight up murdered him. Wtf. I’m still not okay. 

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

WAIT THIS ONE’S HARD. WTF SOFIA. Ummmmmmmmm... shit. I guess I’m going to go with fluff, because angst is no fun if it doesn’t resolve into fluff anyway, and it’s hard enough to write the occasional smut fic without it being the only thing I’m allowed to write! Yeah, okay, my final answer is fluff. But I don’t like it and you’re on thin ice for asking this question, lmao. 

Fanfiction Writer Asks

#thanks for the ask Sof! <3 <3 <3

[gloomy-goober]

Baby Mine

Summary: When a side forms in the mind of a host, they form young. A child, new and impressionable. Without much purpose but to grow into a new facet of a growing personality. A cry in the middle of the night wakes Anxiety, the eldest of the aspects that live in Thomas' subconscious. It was not the first time he would have to take care of a growing facet. Still something seems different about this new side and it is not the fact that one of his eyes is glowing gold nor the scales that cover half the face. He just wishes he could figure out what it was.

Tag List: @emotional-mess-in-distress @daflangstlairde @whizzie72

AO3 

“I am going to strangle whatever keeps making that sound.”

Anxiety looked down at the young child beside him. Worried about how the orange eyes blazed. With every day that Wrath grew, Anxiety could not help but worry about what this seemingly innocent four-year-old would become once he caught up with Thomas’ age.

“It’s a baby, Wrath, you are not going to do that,” Anxiety said.

“Why not, it’s annoying and babies are stinky.”

The eldest side looked to his other side. Green eyes blazed bright in the dim light of the hallway, his arms crossed. The five-year-old kid looked even smaller in the large t-shirt he had stolen from Anxiety’s closet. Innocent almost, but Anxiety knew the greed behind those eyes.

“You were a baby once too, Jealousy, and I didn’t leave you to cry.”

Jealousy pouted. Both the children did not seem convinced.

“He won’t be a baby for long. Only a day or so, so stop-.”

Anxiety stopped talking as the trio turned the corner. A door now stood at the end of this hallway. It almost glowed in the darkness that surrounded it; a bright yellow with black designs painted around the doorframe.

“Why is that door so much brighter then mine! I want a bright door!” Jealousy stomped his foot and glared at the offending door.

“Too bright,” Wrath said.

Anxiety wanted to back away. Yellow was a sign of danger, caution, and poison. Thomas had seen it used on caution tape and saw it on the color of the bee that stung him.

But the crying was coming from inside. Loud and shrill; distressed.

The anxious trait took a breath and let go of Wrath’s hand.

“Stay out here.”

“Why do we have to stay outside?”

“Just do as I say, Jealousy!”

“But-“

Wrath sat on the ground and kicked Jealousy in the shin, “Shut up. The faster we get this done the faster I can go back to sleep.”

“Why did you kick me?”

“’Cause you are annoying.”

“I am not annoying!”

Anxiety tuned the argument out as he reached for the black door handle. He wanted to run. To flee. But the sudden end to the crying alarmed him more then the possible danger that could lie within.

What if I waited too long?

What if this kid just suffocated himself?

Oh God, I killed a baby!

Anxiety pulled the door open and stepped inside. The door automatically closed behind him; completely locking out the sound of the two younger sides that fought out in the hall.

The room was barren. The walls a grey color that was just slightly too dark to be comforting. A closet door was on one side of the room; painted black with yellow designs. A full-length mirror stood on a stand next to the front door. A single window broke the grey square that was this room; perfectly positioned above the crib in the corner of the room.

The white paint on the crib was chipped to show the dark-colored wood underneath. A light-yellow blanket poked out of one of the bars. Next to the crib a stuffed snake laid, button eyes two different colored. They stared up at Anxiety in a way that made his stomach curl.

The side took a breath and slowly moved forward into the room and he stopped next to the crib. His eyes darted to every corner to search for any possible trap. A tiny sniffle brought the gaze down into the crib and he could only stare down at the baby that laid there.

He was small, smaller then Wrath had been when he had first formed. Little feet snug in a black onesie kicked at the yellow blanket the baby laid on. Tiny mittens covered the hands of the baby to stop any accidental scratches from occurring. The tiny face was red and scrunched up, covered in tears and snot from crying. Blond curls were splayed out on the mattress; so different from the slowly darkening hair of their host.

But what caught Virgil’s attention the most was the left side of the child’s face. It was covered in light green scales. When the baby opened his eyes Virgil saw one yellow and one brown. So unlike the usual same color that he had seen in the previous sides.

The child’s eyes were filled with tears, but the sniffles stopped.

The two stared at each other. Silent. As if a breath could ruin the calm that had settled into the room.

Then it was broken as the baby started to whimper. Little arms reached up in a silent request that Anxiety answered without hesitation. The baby lifted and settled the child as comfortably as he could in his arms.

A cold, snotty face pressed into the anxious side’s shoulder. Little, mitten covered hands clung onto the hoodie.

“It’s okay, Kidlet, I got you. Don’t cry.”

Anxiety ran a hand through the curls in, what he hoped, was a calming gesture. As gently as he could, the side leaned down and picked up the toy. His hold on the baby did not waver; so scared of dropping something so small.

“It’ll be okay, no more crying.” He moved the toy to be in the baby’s view. A small smile appeared on his face when the child grabbed it. Squishing it against his face; eyes wide as they stared at Anxiety.

So much trust even as tears wanted to fall.

“Yeah, there you go,” a smile pulled onto Anxiety’s face, “No more tears. This place needs more smiles.”

The baby pushed the toy into his mouth.

“You probably need some food, huh? All that crying probably made you hungry. I know I get hungry after I have a big melt down.”

The baby just made a small noise as he shifted the toy to a better position in his mouth. Clearly the plush of the snake was much more interesting then the words that the older child was saying.

“Cute,” Anxiety mumbled the words as he pushed the door open. He had almost forgotten about the other two sides until he had hands trying to pull the baby out of his grip.

“What is it?”

“Why does he look like that?”

“What kind of side even is that?”

“Why is it so stinky?”

“I was cuter then him, right? I mean, obviously.”

Anxiety pulled back before the baby could be wrenched from his grip. Holding the child closer to his chest then before. A few sniffles came from the baby who was clearly overwhelmed by the sudden attention.

“Stop it, both of you.”

Jealousy glared.

“We just want to see the thing that woke us up,” Wrath snarled.

“He is not a thing,” Anxiety snapped. His patience always ran thin with the dark side. A tiny whimper made him check his tone before he continued.

“He’s a side. New, not yet fully formed, but he is a side.”

“Not a good one seeing as he is all scaly” Jealousy mumbled.

“Might I remind you about your feathers, Jealousy?” Anxiety shot back.

The kid pulled at his hair where a few blue-green feathers poked out. An embarrassed flush taking over his face. Wrath moved to stand next to the other side, orange eyes glowing as he glared.

“You both can go back to bed. I can take care of this.”

“But-.” Jealousy moved to protest but the glare he got made him silent.

“Some on, J, we don’t need to hang out with Anxiety and his dumb baby anyway,” Wrath mumbled. His hand was gentle as he led the other side away.

Anxiety only let out a breath when the two kids turned down the corner and disappeared into the darkness.

“Sorry you had to see all that, kid.”

He looked down at the baby in his arms. Mismatched eyes looked back up at him; toy now soaked in drool. A wet, mitten hand moved up and touched the side’s cheek.

“Gross, but thanks for trying,” he looked at the hall where the two other sides had disappeared, “I’ll talk to them in the morning. I promise.”

The baby’s yellow eye seemed to flash at the words. It was unsettling.

“Okay, you are weird.”

The baby moved the toy out of his mouth, “Ba!”

“Least you admit to it, Kidlet. Now, do you eat solid food yet or are you on a solely plush toy diet?”

Anxiety was slow as he moved down the hall towards his own room. His eyes rarely left the child in his arms. The response to his question was just a slow blink and the toy being pushed back into the mouth.

“That is what I thought,” Anxiety sighed, “We’ll try bananas anyway. Think you will like how they taste. Much more high end then a plush toy.”

Babies were not very good at conversations, but Anxiety did not seem to mind. He missed when the other two could only stare at him blankly and make small noises. Though Wrath was much fussier then the child in his arms now and Jealousy was constantly in need to be held.

“Let’s see how this round goes,” Anxiety whispered to the air as he pushed his door open. A wave of the hand had what he needed summoned.

The baby didn’t protest too much as he was placed into the dark black highchair and the spit covered mittens were taken off. The baby simply let the plush toy snake fall onto the high chair’s table and looked around the room. His focus seemed to stay on the clock that never seemed to stop spinning. Little eyes wide as he tried to follow the frantic hands.

Anxiety dug into a few drawers until he found what he was looking for.

“Alright, short stack, lets see if you are going to make a mess of my room.”

He pulled up his desk chair to face the high chair. A spoon summoned into his hand as he opened the jar.

The baby’s cheeks puffed out as he watched Anxiety closely. Little feet kicked back and forth as the baby adjusted to the chair. Bare hands hit the table. He seemed to like having free hands.

“You excited for some ‘nana?” He did not mean for the baby talk but the reaction was worth it.

The baby seemed to freeze and then almost looked disapproving at the baby talk that was attempted.

“Alright, alright.  No baby talk,” Anxiety chuckled as he scooped some of the bananas onto the spoon, “But can you try this? If not, I got a bottle somewhere.”

He held up the spoon near the baby’s face. The kid tilted his head to the side and then raised a hand to try and take what was being handed to him. Tiny fingers moved right into the food. The baby let go instantly and looked at his hand. Eyes looked to Anxiety to see if this was normal and okay.

“Not exactly what I meant you to do, but hey. Yeah, that is food.”

Anxiety turned the spoon to his own mouth and mimed eating it.

“Food.”

The kid watched closely and then stuck the food covered hand into his mouth. The yellow eye’s pupil seemed to take over the iris. The brown human eye seemed to sparkle. His little feet kicked as he reached a sticky, drool covered hand back to the spoon.

“I am gonna take that as you like it.”

“Ne!”

The baby kicked his feet faster as he tried to reach over the highchair’s tray for the spoon.

“Okay hold on,” Anxiety rolled his eyes and moved the spoon forward. This time encouraging the little mouth to wrap around the plastic spoon instead of sticking his fingers in it. “There we go. Big bite.”

The kid was too happy to care about more accidental baby talk. The little face having some banana squish out as he enjoyed his food.

Every bite that Anxiety fed the baby seemed to be an adventure in keeping it in the kid’s mouth. This baby was determined to play with his food as much as he wanted to eat it. Little hands and the onesie becoming caked with mashed banana.

“You know that this is food and not finger paint, right?”

Anxiety asked as he screwed the lid to the jar shut. The kid had been playing with the last three scoops and it seemed safe to say that he was done eating.

The baby just giggled and hit a nice puddle of banana so that it splattered. Anxiety fought the smile that wanted to appear. This kid had only been around him for an hour and already had him wrapped around his tiny fingers. Curses.

The older side wiped the banana off his cheek with a sigh, “You are lucky that we are figments in a mind and not real people.”

With a snap of his fingers, the baby was clean of banana and in a dark onesie that resembled a bat. The little eyes were wide at the sudden change and he started to poke at the fake wings. Trying to stick one in his mouth but it was just out of reach.

“Adorable,” Anxiety chuckled as he picked up the baby. His hand moved to pull the hood up over the wild curls, “A little flying baby puppy dog.”

The baby did not seem interested in the side that held him. His attention was on the toy that he had left on the high chair. A tiny noise being made as little hands reached for it.

“Alright, alright. I see how it is. I feed you and you only want the toy.”

Anxiety picked it up and then sat down on his bed with the baby on his lap. The kid seemed happy to have the snake back in his grip, little hands shaking the plush up and down. Giggling at the movements.

“If it wasn’t for the scales, I would believe you were a ‘light’ side or whatever the other sides are calling their group now,” Anxiety yawned, “You are just so happy, sunshine.”

The baby babbled to the snake toy. A tiny squeal left him as Anxiety moved them both to lay down; the child rested on top of him.

Anxiety was still gentle as he turned the baby over, so they were stomach to chest. The drool-soaked snake now rested on the bed next to them. Mismatched eyes looked at him with wonder at this new position.

“I forgot how cute your little things are when you experience new things,” Anxiety found himself whispering. A finger brushed a few stray curls out of the baby’s face, “You are so full of wonder and hope.”

The baby yawned and laid the side of his head on Anxiety’s chest. Seeming to be calmed by the sound of the heart he heard and the hand that rubbed his back gently.

“Yeah, it’s late isn’t it? Think we could both use some sleep.”

He did not want to fall asleep with a baby on him, but Anxiety did not have the heart to try and move the small figure that rested on his stomach. So he just laid there, amazed as their heart beats seemed to align. For the first time since he was formed he felt calm.

#Kidlet Series #Sanders Sides #my writing #my fic #sanders sides fic #sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders #anxiety sanders #deceit #anxiety #thomas sanders #baby sides #virgil sanders

[archbishop-bloody-vixen]

You didn't need to prove you're brave - you had touched a dead frog after all. But a candy that large requires a far greater dare and what more could be more terrifying than plucking that apple from the tree in the Church no kids are supposed to go.

It was a Cadbury Bar and you are going to win it.

Or that one time when a kid discovers that ghosts have churches and they have a skeleton for a priest.

It had sounded like a good idea at that time.

Well, it wasn’t because it wasn’t an idea and more like, “I bet you wouldn’t dare go near that spooky church!”

You wanted to ignore the taunt – you were six years old – and you just won a Snicker’s bar from touching that dead frog on the road. You don’t need to prove anything. You were the bravest – end of story.

You taunter – some kid who is like – four and half – gave you a glare as you continued to chomp down on your delicious sugar rush. Yeah your mum would throw a fit when she finds out but at the moment, you had just touched a dead frog.

You were trau-traumer-it was gross.

The thick golden bit melts in your mouth as you hummed, thinking about whether Mr. Yun and Lady Pretty would be up for some tea party later on. You wondered if you could somehow get that orange cake mum had made but said it was for grown-ups and that, “A young lady should never steal food. It’s unbecoming.”

Also because she’d use the spoon and you think she had found where you had thrown the latest one away. Which was why you’re out here, nibbling down the last bit of your bar while a brat follows you around. You could hear that tell-tale sound of, “YOUNG LADY!” And you bolted.

It’s tiring being old. You have so much responsibility. And you can’t even drive yet.

Bummer.

Suddenly a Mars Bars floats in front of your eyes.

Your hand jolts forward but your taunter snatched it back, his gap tooth sparkling – a tooth brusher! – as he grins at you.

“I bet you a Mars Bar.”

You think of that weird church down the street. The only place that looked like one of those Disney castles but scarier but you don’t think it’s any scarier than the church you had to go every Sunday.

You once asked your mum, why can’t we just go there because the one you do go to is like a bajillion light years away and smells weird but your mum knelt down, her face was so serious and told you to never, EVER, go near that place. And that if anyone asks you too, you must scream and run for a responsible adult.

She made you pinkie promise and that is very serious.

But Mars Bars though…

You frown, thinking of breaking a pinkie promise and how then Santa would never bring her that big fairy tale she wanted – the one Lizbeth said, has like blood and skeletons and the creepy real fairytale stuff.

Then he took out a huge slab of Cadbury.

Your eyes grow big and you think about how you’d be full for like, years. Pinkie promise is not match for that.

Now, according to the laws of economics the taunter said, Mars Bars if you touch the walls surrounding the creepy church but for the Cadbury bar, you need to climb the tree – the only one that with its branch hung low beyond the brick walls and grab one of the apples there. For some reason the apple is only growing on the other side – within the church and you had to stop and wonder if it was worth it.

Cadbury bar though. Your parents had told you that you could not have any chocolate of that size – the last time you did you threw a wicked tantrum and then vomited all over Aunt Lee’s carpet and she was so mad. I mean, she gave it to you, it wasn’t your fault.

And you wouldn’t be eating it alone, Mr. Yun and Lady Pretty would be sharing, so it’s not you eating the entire bar. After getting the Mars Bars because deal’s a deal, you started your climb. The tree groaned and crackled but you were a light-weight and it didn’t snap or anything and all you could think about is that Cadbury bar, that one red apple on that one branch and your feet moved.

It was hard, you think climbing in a dress, but you are a girl and you can do it, dress or not!

You were concentrating so hard you don’t hear your taunter gasping as he hears someone’s footsteps, you don’t hear him bolt away, because he is only four and a half and he’s just a kid – he suddenly realized. In another time, you would climb down and beat him with your slipper – because you were climbing this tree, breaking a pinkie promise and he didn’t even have the bravery to stay?

Yeah, he was getting your slipper. And yours have lights when you walk.

Sweat trickled down your back and into your face – gross but not dead frog gross – all you could think about is that Cadbury bar and how it’s gonna taste so delicious and you will be sick but you’re gonna eat them all.

Finally, at the last branch you slowly inched like some caterpillar – which is also gross but it can’t be cause caterpillars become butterflies somehow – that one stupid apple within reach when you hear it.

No, you hear him.

You looked down and down and down and down and you suddenly realized that you’re very much afraid of heights.

There’s someone down there, you could only see the top of his hair as he tossed a weird hat from his head. Yet, despite the fear shooting in your body, about – OH WOW the ground is really far, far away – you could not help but notice his face was too white and not just white people white but just white. He was stomping – like a kid – or as mum says, very rude and immature; young ladies do not stomp – before sinking against the tree trunk and his face slumped forwards into the knees he raised up his chest.

OH MY GOD – your last bit of bravery thought.

This church has skeletons for priests.

This church is haunted.

You wanted to scream but any sudden movement causes the branch – which felt totally huge and strong like a few minutes ago – to groan alarmingly and your arms and legs curled further, praying, hoping that it’ll hold cause OH MY GOD – this church is haunted and it has a skeleton priest and that is AWESOME.

Wait, no, that is bad. You read books; you know what living skeleton means. Lizbeth said they come after people to kill them and steal their skin cause they don’t have any.

You couldn’t see if this one has skin or not because he’s like covered in that dress and you could only see his face. It never occurred to you that maybe he won’t steal your skin because, despite your protests, you were like, barely knee high – something taunter liked to lord over despite your age difference.

You’re tiny and could barely fit his face. Surely Father Skeleton won’t steal yours, right? Cause you bathe every day and your mum never had to ask cause you love bathing and cause deep down you’re part mermaid.  But uh, you like your skin and you don’t want a skeleton to steal them.

You breathe – and mermaids can climb trees and climb down – you try to say. Your hands and body is shaking horribly though but you have to be brave. Slowly, you look ahead, you remembered Lizbeth saying not to look down if you’re scared – it’s all in the mind. You wish she was here but you can’t have that and your fear of losing your skin overran your fear of heights.

You breathed and then scoot backwards.

The branch creaked again and you muffled an ‘eep!’ before you realized something.

One of your slippers was loose.

The world slows down – like one of those gun movies you dad loves to watch and makes your promise never to tell your mum that you’re watching it with him – your slipper – pink and has real rubies were dangling from your toes. You whined, trying to flip it back but it only made it slip further and then…

…it was falling and you could only watch in absolute horror as it twirls, sparkling, like it’s some sparkling thing and down and down…

FWHAP

“CHE CAZZO!”

You were going to die. The skeleton man stared at the offending slipper and you could tell he was confused as he rubbed his head and looked up.

Oh, he has a face and skin. That’s good; he’s not going to steal yours!

“Cosa ci – what are you doing up there?”

You wanted to say, for a chocolate bar but the only thing that escaped your mouth was a tiny whimper. You’re not scared, it’s just – wow it’s so high up.

The man massages his head, his hand still holding your fallen slipper. You wanted to tell him that it’s made of real rubies and please, please sir don’t steal my skin, I like my skin, I bathe and shower everyday – NO, uh, I stink, my skin is awful and not good for stealing, please Mr. Skeleton, Sir, I promise I’ll never, ever come near your haunted church. I pinkie swear it!

The man just tilts his head as your silence and you noticed another weird thing. One of his eyes is like, white, just pure white and not like when your Pop Pops’ eyes, this one doesn’t look blind.

“Can you get down?” he asked and…he has a weird accent. He sounds like one of those Mafia men.

Oh no.

Oh no!

If he can’t steal your face then he’s gonna make you sleep with the fishes!

Something in you just breaks, you started crying.

Hot globs of tears and snot starts to run down your face as you pray and wish for mummy and dad to come save you cause you don’t want to die and you’re so, so sorry for breaking a pinkie promise. You swear on Mr. Yun, you’d never, ever, break them again.

The man’s face widened with surprise as you sobbed and heaved, words babbled from your lips as you wish for someone, anyone, to please save her. You scrunched your eyes shut, fear making you wish you’re at home when you feel something - a hand – tug your feet.

You peeked through your eyes, confused before looking back and you see the skeleton man, who had climbed up and is now perched gingerly on your branch, one arm stretched out to pat your foot.

“NOOOOOOO, MUMMY, MUMMY, I’M SORRY!”

“Wait, uh, shuu, shuu, darn it, kid, kid stop moving.” He said in what would have been a soft tone but he was eyeing you and the branch his knee was perched on.

You lost it, you were screaming and wailing, trying to move away from skeleton man, forgetting that you’re way high up and the branch you’re on is not as firm as it looked. You don’t see his eyes widening when a loud thunderous crack came from the tree and the world goes action movie.

The world falls beneath you and you let out another loud shriek before his arm shot out and grabbed your hand. You swung away from the ground and smacked into the trunk with a loud ‘oof’. You stopped crying, half stunned from the impact and another half from not being dead.

You blinked, mouth gaping when you hear the skeleton man grunt, pulling you up with surprise ease. He tucks you beneath his armpit and you blinked again before he muttered, “Right.” And jumps off.

You gasped but like an acrobat, his feet bounced left and right against the trunk before landing safely onto the firm, solid, ground. You feel him carefully placing you on that sweet, sweet ground, his hands brushing away the random twigs and leaves cause in your dress. Part of you wanted to flinch, to scream STRANGER DANGER, STOP TOUCHING ME, but you had just survived a near death experience.

You could see ghosts now.

Well, no, it’s just Mr. Skeleton who had knelt down and still had to lean forward to reach your eyes, and he looked…

“Are you all right, signoria?” he asked gently. And oh wow.

Mr. Skeleton is very pretty.

“Uh,” wait, mum said a lady is always thankful and uh, you nodded and then did a curtsy. You tried to remember how Ariel and Belle curtsied, one foot out and hold your skirt and bow.

“Thank you Mister Skeleton, for saving my life.” As you stood back again, you could see his face twist in confusion, when you decided something. You can’t give him a kiss, no, mum said that is for your husband and when you are married, and sadly you are not married, so a Mars Bars would have to do.

You patted your pockets, hoping you didn’t lose it. If not you may have to get taunter to climb up and give you his Cadbury bar. It was the least you could do. After a while you found it, still unsquashed before standing straight and offering it to Mr. Skeleton. He blinked before slowly, as if unsure, he raised his hand and you placed the Mars Bars onto his open palm.

“This is for saving me.” You explained as his fingers curled around the candy. “It’s the big one though, so you can’t have them in one go.” You quickly added and the man blinked again before taking the bar and carefully placed it into his pocket.

He gives you a shy smile, “Grazie.”

You frowned and your mouth moved before you could stop yourself, “My name’s not Gracie.”

He giggled before he covered his mouth, “I meant, thank you. Grazie means thank you in Italian.”

“Oh.” Well, now you sounded stupid and rude. “I’m sorry. My name is –” and you stopped, your mummy’s words ringing in your ear about revealing your name to strangers and although Mr. Skeleton had just saved her, he is still a stranger.

“Uh, um, I’m sorry but my mum says I can’t tell strangers my name.” you said, “B-but, it’s not Gracie!”

He chuckled and it sounded so nice and reminded you of bells and you started to blush.

“Forgive me, that is true. It’s rude of me not to introduce myself. Hello, not Gracie, my name is Emeritus the Third. This is…” and his brows frowned before he smoothed it back again, “This is my father’s church.”

Your eyes widened because his name has ‘the third’ so that means he’s royal or rich cause only they would name a kid ‘the third’ and WOW his dad owns a church?

“That’s so cool! Your dad owns a church?”

He laughed again but this time it didn’t sound like bells, it sounded sad. “Yes, he does.”

Then he trailed off, his eyes, so odd with that white one, seemed to stare into nothing. Like how, Uncle Mike would get whenever he thinks no one’s looking. You remembered your Uncle Mike, how he’d always try to slip a candy or two or take his time to read you books. There’s no Aunt Mike, but there is Uncle Mike’s Uncle Manny, who mum said passed away before you were born.

You used to think you had done something to upset him when he gets like that, but mum explained that it wasn’t your fault, it’s just Uncle Mike is grieving. You asked if it’s like a boo-boo? Mum shook her head, then continued, “It’s like one, but it’s something deep inside and you can’t kiss it to make it go away. You just have to be there and listen for them. They will come back.”

Deep for a four year old, and years later you’d realize it wasn’t to you she was explaining but you tried; when you see Uncle Mike trail off you’d shuffle to him and just sit down and place your tiny hand on his.

“Uncle Mike, I’m here and I can listen, if it’s okay?” And Uncle Mike’s eyes would widen before he’d give you a sad, smile.

“No, my darling princess, you’re young.” And he’d pat your tiny hand, his hands so large and warm, “You just need to be happy and enjoy life. Now go, play with your cousins, Uncle Mike’s just tired.”

He was lying – even as a child – you knew he was lying, but you’d wait, maybe you’d try next time. You can show him, you could listen and be there and maybe he won’t grieve so much.

Except you don’t see him again, a few days later, a date you’d find out was Uncle Manny’s death anniversary, Uncle Mike passed away in his sleep. He just went to bed and then…simply did not wake up. You hear some Aunt and Uncles said, his heart just broke.

The grief had killed him.

Mr. Emeritus had that same, tired, sad look and before you knew it, your hand moved to touch his.

“Mr. Emeritus, if, if you’re sad, I can listen,” you said quietly, impressed that you kept your voice steady. His eyes snapped back at you, his lips opened with surprise and he tried to move away but you held firm.

“NO!” And he freezes, “Um, I, you are sad. I – I can listen.”

You looked into his eyes, they were green and white and although he was still painted like a skeleton, he doesn’t seem scary anymore.

Just…sad.

Mr. Emeritus’s browns furrowed and his face seemed to twist before, suddenly, he collapsed, his free hand clutched his chest and then he started crying. You were taken aback because you had never seen a grown man cry this way. This was like when Lizbeth broke her arm and she was wailing and screaming. Well, Mr. Emeritus wasn’t screaming, but he was gasping and shaking, clutching his chest, like it hurt.

You tried to remember what Mummy would do, and you moved to hold him, just rubbing his back, like Dad does, saying, “It’s okay.”

Mr. Emeritus shook and trembled as he bent down to the ground, his fist clench and unclenched but the longer you stood there, carefully patting him, like your Mummy would, he gradually stopped shaking, his sobs became more and more hiccuppy before he finally wheezed and pushed himself from the ground.

You kept your mouth shut as he surfaced, his skeleton face – no, his makeup, was now streaked with tears. You could see pink skin underneath and you realized he wasn’t a skeleton at all. He was just wearing makeup. You patted your pockets again, hoping for a tissue but Mr. Emeritus pulled out a handkerchief and began rubbing his eyes, sniffing and hiccupping before he finally composed himself.

You gave his back one final rub before stepping back, watching as the tears dried up before he turned up and smiled at her.

“Thank you, not-Gracie,” he said. You nodded, hoping he’s not so sad now, you know you felt the same after crying like that.

He sat there on his haunches, staring at the stained handkerchief, trailing off like Uncle Mike and you just placed your hand on his.

“Today would have been my mother’s birthday.”

You tilted your head – a birthday is a happy occasion, right? So why is Mr. Emeritus so sad? As if hearing your thoughts he continued.

“She died when I was about your age. And I just, it’s silly, I miss her. It’s been years but I still miss her.”

You could understand that. Your Mummy could be scary at times, but she was also there when you injured your knee or when you had a bad dream, holding you safe and whispering funny stories and telling you how to be an elegant lady. You couldn’t imagine a life without Mum and suddenly you felt like crying too.

But as Mr. Emeritus smiled, rubbing his nose, you held on. You shouldn’t cry, Mummy was still here but Mr. Emeritus’s mum isn’t.

He chuckled again before stretching his arm behind his back. Leaning as he stared at the sun.

“She’d be furious to know I cried to a young child.”

You couldn’t help but respond, “I’m six. I’m not a kid you know.”

Another giggle and then he sits back, placing his elbow onto his thighs.

“Forgive me, not Gracie. You are indeed a grown up.”

Finally, someone understands.

“It’s true. I once walked two blocks down and bought myself an ice cream. I’m the only one who did that in the neighbourhood. And next year I’ll be in school!” You don’t mention Lizbeth but she’s like, practically an adult and you don’t want to look like an idiot in front of Mr. Emeritus. Especially, when he laughs like that: like bells.

“Two blocks? I guess your mother was very angry when she found out?” He teased, propping his hand onto his chin.

You remembered the spoon and how it hurt to sit after that.

“Y-yeah. I was grounded for a long, long time.” Two weeks, you had like, to clean so many plates after that.

Mr. Emeritus smiled and it was a very pretty smile before he turned to look at the tree. The broken branch laying on its roots.

“My mother planted this. She said it was the only thing she planted that grew. What were you doing up there?”

You explained that someone dared you to get the apple because Cadbury bar was on the line. Also because everyone thought the church is haunted and stuff and you thought it was because why were you wearing a Skeleton makeup, Mr. Emeritus?

He smiled and explained: at his father’s church all his sons must wear the makeup. It’s a sign of rank. Why skeleton makeup? Because they are the Emeritus Church of Ghost and the skeleton is their symbol.

Your eyes must have widened with awe because you had never heard of a Church for Ghosts before. But that does make sense, after all some ghosts are Christians and they probably still have to go on Sundays before going to heaven. Mr. Emeritus gave you a funny look before shaking his head and just giggled again.

“Ah, to be a kid again…I mean…young adult.” He amended when he saw your expression.

A comfortable silence passes between you as Mr. Emeritus stares at the tree. Then it hits you.

“Mr. Emeritus, can I have my slipper please?” The man tilted his head but stood up and picked up your slipper. You made to grab for it but he knelt down again, like a prince and held it out like it was Cinderella’s glass slipper. You held his shoulder for balance before he slips it into your feet.

“Thank you and…” then you bent down and started tugging one of your rubies. You were going to save it to buy a new bike but you think this is way more important.

Mr. Emeritus looked curious before you held up the ruby to his hand. He holds it up with awe.

“It’s real, you know, and um, maybe you could buy your mum something for her grave. My mum planted a rose bush for my grandma and I think, I think it’d be nice for your mum to have something on hers.”

You thought about how beautiful grandma’s roses were, she had loved them and mum thought it’d be nice to plant one on her grave.

“I will treasure this, not Gracie. Thank you.”

You beamed, he was not grieving, you hope when you hear a bell, a real life bell, ringing in the distance.

“Ah, I’m afraid you must go home soon. Your mother would be worried.”

And oh boy she would. You brushed off whatever dirt and twigs, because the last thing you need is to come home dirty. As you did, Mr. Emeritus snapped his fingers, “Ah, wait. You came here for a reason, no?”

You wanted to ask but before the words came out, Mr. Emeritus walks back to the broken branch and plucked the apple from its stems. He rubbed it on his shirt before offering it to you.

AW YES. THAT CADBURY BAR IS YOURS.

“Thank you, Mr. Emeritus!”

“It’s the least I could do,” smiling once more before the two of you walked towards the imposing church entrance.

Mr. Emeritus opened a small gate by its side and you stepped out, back onto the streets.

“Thank you again, Mr. Emeritus.”

The man gives you a warm grin before bowing once, “No, thank you and be safe.”

“I will! And bye!”

The man gave you a wave, watching you walk off before closing the gate and vanishing inside. You yawned as you neared your house, feeling so tired and – your stomach growled loudly.

Oh, no. You looked at the sky and saw that it was turning red. It’s must be almost dinner time. It felt quaint to think of such things like dinners, when you just survived a near death experience, found out that ghosts have to go to church (bummer) and that you had also touched a very gross dead frog. But you also helped a person not grieve and you are so going to track down taunter and get that Cadbury chocolate.

And…you realized…you made a friend.

So, with a hum in your voice, you skipped back home, thinking that today had been a very good day.

#the band ghost #fanfiction #papa emeritus iii #reader #papa emeritus iii & reader #fluff

[abra-ka-dammit]

AU That Should Never Happen Pt. 3

:-)))

(pre-warning for some horny scenes, but that’s just par for the course in this AU)

[Part 1] [Part 2]

“And who might this be?”

The Grand Warlock was strewn lazily across his gilded stone throne, one leg hanging off the side and kicking back and forth idly as he eyed his surprise guests.

General Catfeetz grinned wide, his sharp white teeth shining from behind dark lips.

“I’ll tell ya who it is,” he said, pride obvious in his voice. “This here’s the Steelknuckle boy.”

“Oh?” Gremix’s brows rose and he flipped himself upright, landing softly on his feet and striding down the steps to take a closer look at the prize.

This “Steelknuckle boy” was, at best, pathetic. The son of a trade princess? No way. Short but beefy, one would think the guy tough; but there he stood, sobbing loudly, hardly coming off as an adult with tears and snot streaming down his face. Gremix grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the characteristic Steelknuckle family flower tattoo emblazoned on his chest. Yep, he was the real deal. Somehow.

“How did you get him?” Gremix asked in fascination.

“Scouts caught him tryin’ to steal a boat, probably meanin’ t’ escape th’ harbor.” Catfeetz snickered. “Easy catch, too. This guy’s a joke. Didn’t even fight back.”

“Hm,” Gremix muttered, scooping the prisoner’s chin with his fingertips to lean his face up to his own. “Identify yourself.”

With a loud, disgusting sniffle, the crybaby choked out “Zubert, sir.”

Gremix smiled ever so slightly. Not often they came in pre-respectful.

“He should be a good bargaining chip for taking down Zippa. If I remember anything about that bitch, it’s that she only has one family member, and it’s this bozo.”

“Seriously?” Catfeetz scoffed. “She should’a had another after this loser popped outta her cooch. Li’l “Zubert” here ain’t fit to lead a cartel; can’t even escape from an island in the dead ‘a night, shit.”

“Please,” Zubert muttered, giving another sniff and peering with frightened, watery eyes between the two overlords, “I don’t have any money, Ma cut me off. There’s no point to keepin’ me.”

“Money?” Gremix barked a laugh, Catfeetz in turn grinning his nefarious grin. “Please; I melted down all the gold I owned to gild my palace.” He raised his arms, gesturing to the room around them, where not only his throne but all the pillars and even the stairs had intricate golden designs decorating the stone. “Money means nothing to us anymore.”

“Who needs money when ya rule th’ world, eh?” Catfeetz said with a chuckle. “Nah, we don’t want yer momma’s dough, kid, we want her dead.”

“Wh-what?!” Zubert’s eyes widened. “Don’t kill my mom! There’s gotta be—I mean, can’t ya jus’ negotiate, or, or…” He swallowed hard, the tears welling up again in an instant.

Gremix rolled his eyes. “What’re we doin’ with him for now?” Gremix asked.

Catfeetz tugged the ropes that bound Zubert’s hands in front of him, leading him closer to the warlock. “Don’t ask me, Boss figured I should give ‘im to you. You got a much less, uh,” Catfeetz squinted one lichlight eye in thought, “open floorplan at your base.”

“I see.” Gremix considered Zubert for a moment. What was he supposed to do with the bawling young man? There was plenty of dungeon space, of course, but if he wanted to use Zubert to negotiate with Madame Steelknuckle, he’d need to stay in decent condition—at first, at least. More could come if she refused to cooperate; but for now…

“Drixzy,” Gremix said flatly. “Come to me.”

The fel-infused rogue was nowhere to be seen in the throne room, but within moments the fast clicking of boots echoed from one of the stone halls and she entered.

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, stopping at Gremix’s side and kneeling into a bow. He patted her gently on the blonde head and Catfeetz gave a sharp whistle.

“Well how’d you train her t’ do that? You psychic now too?”

“Hardly,” Gremix laughed, motioning for Drixzy to stand, which she immediately obeyed. Gremix took her hand in one of his own, lifting it to display the golden cuffs that decorated her wrists. “I’ve been working on some fun toys, however.”

Catfeetz gave a vaguely impressed nod. “You’re weird as fuck, brother,” he said. “But whatever floats yer boat. Now take this idiot so I can get back t’ important stuff.”

Gremix turned his head ever so slightly, peering at his faithful servant. “I have a pet for you, my Drixzy.”

Drixzy’s light brows could be seen rising just above the cloth tied over her fel-glow eyes. “For me?” she asked.

“Yup,” Gremix said, Catfeetz handing the confused woman the rope that bound Zubert. She rolled the rope around in her hands, face tilting as she looked at the young man through the unnatural sight granted by her Master. He seemed pretty cute for a guy that had all sorts of gross fluids running down his face.

Gremix raised a hand, placing it gently on one of Zubert’s cheeks—Zubert flinched, but stayed in place, squeezing his eyes shut in fear of whatever the hell was going on. But to his surprise, the hand was warm and inviting… perhaps almost supernaturally so. His body relaxed, his mind emptying of all those worries that had plagued it merely moments before, a warm bliss expanding through his body from his cheek. The longer it stayed there the more unfocused he became, until he felt almost as entranced as he would during a really good fuck. There was a snap in the back of his mind and his focus returned, Zubert finding suddenly that he had been so lost in pleasure he’d almost forgotten where he was. Gremix’s hand had lowered, which he determined to be the cause of the abrupt end to that bizarrely wonderful feeling.

“Wh… what?” he asked, blinking slowly. He wasn’t sure what was going on anymore; but at the same time, he did. The faces around his blurred and came back into focus repeatedly until finally settling into normalcy and he focused on something concrete—Drixzy. She was staring straight at him, Gremix having already left to return to his throne and the general already out the great stone doors. Or, he thought she might have been staring, but surely she couldn’t see him from under that blindfold.

“Take good care of Zubert, child,” Gremix said. A sly smirk sneaked onto his lips as fel-tinged magenta eyes watched the silent exchange. “He’s yours; do as you wish with him in your idle hours. But keep him in okay condition for me, alright?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, giving a curt nod. “I am ever grateful for your gifts.”

Zubert could do nothing more than blink in puzzlement, his mind still trying to reconnect the dots that all fell apart the moment Gremix touched him. The rope around his wrists tugged him forward and still in a minor daze, he plodded along behind Drixzy as she led him away.

Gremix watched them leave, then casually flipped himself around to lay upon his lavish throne once again. Maybe this will be good for Drixzy, he thought. She’d gotten so moody since his own little “pet” had shown up, after all. Maybe having a little boytoy of her own would keep her quiet, considering how little interest he found in “playing with” her these days. Oh, forget the smooth curves and soft skin—all he could think about was the dark path of tummy hair leading down to the unmentionables of the ex-rebel Rusco; who since leaving, permanently collared, had not shown hide nor hair around the palace. But Gremix knew he’d be back. He bobbed his foot up and down once more, humming a tune to himself as he stared up at high ceilings, lost in pleasantly distracted thought.

Drixzy had brought Zubert to her quarters, but she puzzled over what exactly to do with him. Gremix had never left her a charge, after all. Zubert quietly peered around the room. It had stone walls like the rest of the palace, lit by torches that displayed floating, glowing green crystals instead of fire, a soft blue carpet on the marble floor and an impressively large, luxurious looking bed draped over with sheer canopy… but very little sign of character. There were no wall decorations, no furniture aside from the bed and a dark wooden wardrobe, no knick-knacks, nothing. Was she just a really boring person? Oh, no, it was probably because she was blind, right? Zubert shrugged, turning his attention to his captor.

“Uh, Miss…. Miss Drixzy?” he asked quietly.

Drixzy glanced at him, frowning.

“What?” she snapped.

Zubert flinched at the cold, careless tone of her voice, swallowing.

“Uh, I won’t…. I promise I won’t try nothin’, I swear; so could you untie me?” He raised his bound hands in front of him to emphasize. “My shoulders are crampin’ somethin’ awful an’ I’d love t’ get a good stretch in.”

Drixzy considered him with distrust. “I’m not an idiot,” she hissed. “Now be silent. I need t’ think.”

Zubert wilted a little. “But I—okay…” he muttered. He looked around again but finding no furniture had magically appeared since last time, he just flopped down onto the ground, folding his legs and staring down at his lap miserably.

Drixzy paced the room, her demonic hoof-design heels not issuing their characteristic clicking steps in the downy carpet of the room, leaving the two in an eerie silence as she thought.

What was Gremix expecting her to do? Was this some sort of test? Or was he really just letting her have a person? But why? She was naught but a servant herself, surely she didn’t deserve such a thing. There had to be something else…

A sniffle interrupted her thoughts, Zubert still suffering mild sinus drainage from his earlier cry. She sighed in annoyance.

“Alright,” she said, conceding and striding over to him as she pulled a large dagger from her hip. Zubert perked instantly, holding up his hands with grateful eagerness so she could saw through the rope. As the bindings fell to the ground, he stretched his arms out to his sides with a huge sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Miss Drixzy!” Zubert said with a big smile, continuing to sit. She watched him, but he just… sat there, smiling like a doofus.

“If you so much as raise a hand to me—” she started, but she was cut off quickly by a startled “goodness, no!”

She cocked her head questioningly.

“I’m sorry, that was rude a’ me t’ interrupt, but I swear I wouldn’t ever hurt you, miss. I mean, I know I’m like, a prisoner a’ war or whatever right now, an’ most people would try an’ get away, but, uh…” He chewed his lip a little bit before continuing. “Ma kicked me out, so I wasn’t livin’ nowhere anyways. I don’t got anywhere to run away to, so I think I oughta jus’ comply an’ make it easier for both of us. You don’t gotta worry about me pullin’ nothin’, I’ll jus’ do whatever you tell me to, an’ get to sleep under a roof again.”

Drixzy’s face screwed up in befuddlement. “What? You’re just… acceptin’ your capture?”

“Yup, pretty much,” Zubert said. “If I try ‘an run for it, I’ll definitely get attacked an’ maybe even killed, but if I listen t’ you, I don’t, right? I’m not the best thinker, but even I can see what my best option here is.”

Drixzy nodded slowly, re-sheathing her knife. “Yes. But I don’t trust you, nevertheless.”

“Fair,” Zubert said almost understandingly. “You jus’ met me, after all. But I’ll show you, I’ll be a real good, uh…” he squinted. “D-did that warlock guy say pet?”

Drixzy pursed her lips. “That warlock guy is my master—and by extension, yours as well—The Grand Warlock Gremix Rivensoul, and you will address him with proper respect.”

Zubert hunkered down a little in shame. “Oh, sorry. But th’ question remains… what exactly am I?”

Drixzy let the question bump around in her head for a while. What was he, indeed?

“We’ll see what you prove yourself to be,” Drixzy decided. “It’ll be up to yourself to determine how you are treated, so act mindfully.”

Zubert nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll do my very best!” he said with a big, stupid smile. Why did he keep smiling? It was almost annoying Drixzy; yet at the same time, there was something about the dopey face and big kind eyes that she couldn’t help but find kind of cute.

“Can I ask you some stuff?” Zubert inquired. “T’ get used t’ the way things are here an’ whatever.”

Drixzy sighed. She had nothing to do right now anyways; the family was between ambushes and waiting on something she wasn’t told of (upper management info only, after all). “Fine,” she said, crawling onto her bed until she could plop backwards into the lush pillows. “Ask what you will.”

“Cool!” Zubert chimed. “So firs’ thing’s firs’… uh, can you…. see?”

“Yes, and no,” Drixzy said. “I can see normally, but blindfolded I hold a special form of sight much more intricate than what your own eyes will show you; yet it also conceals some things from me that you can see.” She shrugged slightly. “It’s hard to explain, but for all intents and purposes, just keep in mind I am watchin’ you.”

“Oh!” Zubert exclaimed. “That’s pretty cool. So what do I look like under there?”

Drixzy scoffed. “If you aren’t gonna ask relevant questions, then just keep yer mouth shut.”

Zubert wilted a little again. “I’m sorry, I was jus’ curious.” He pondered a moment. “So what was, uh—” he squinted, trying to find the right words—"what th’ heck happened t’ me out there? Th’ Grand Warlock guy touched my face an’ I got real dizzy an’ weird feelin’.”

“That was a gift,” Drixzy said, her voice softening as though the words were a happy sigh. “The Master’s Blessing is the promise of sheer bliss as reward for obedience. All who follow him melt at his tender touch.” Drixzy’s voice wandered off dreamily, the goblin seeming to zone out for a second. Coming back to herself, she continued, “when you do good, he rewards you with more. If you do poorly…” Drixzy frowned. “Well, just don’t anger the Grand Warlock and you’ll never need to find out the rest of that sentence.”

Zubert gave a curt nod. “Noted,” he said. He thought for another moment, then posed his next question. “Who’s that guy that brought me here?”

“General Catfeetz leads the military side of the family,” Drixzy said, crossing her legs comfortably. It was strange, but she was finding herself enjoying talking to Zubert—she couldn’t remember the last time she just had a conversation with someone that wasn’t instructions, commands or other work issues.

Zubert stifled a laugh but a pfffft escaped his lips anyways. “C-catfeetz? That’s the dude’s name? Really?”

Drixzy scowled. “He’s no laughing matter.” Her face dropped once more into a stern serious look. “General Catfeetz is powerful, ruthless, and cruel. He leads through fear—his soldiers know that dyin’ in battle is a merciful end compared to what he’ll do to them if they fail or betray him.”

“Yikes,” Zubert muttered. “Okay. He was pretty buff so I didn’t wanna mess with him anyways, but that’s probably good to know.”

Drixzy breathed a laugh, then tilting her head back such that she would be looking at him down her nose, she said “come up here,” patting the bed beside her with one leisurely hand.

Zubert’s ears flicked upwards, the tips noticeably reddening along with his cheeks. “Oh! Uh. Are you sure? I mean, that’s your bed and—”

“NOW.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Zubert leapt to his feet, almost falling over in his haste before scrambling over and onto the bed. Crawling over, he warily laid beside her–not because he was scared, but rather, uncertain of her boundaries.

“Do you have any more questions?” she asked him.

“Lots!” he said with another dumb smile. And those… cute dumb… biceps. A thought crept into the back of her mind. Did Gremix hand over this tiny beefcake to preoccupy her? She wasn’t sure if she should be hurt or happy for the gesture if that were so; sure, maybe he was trying to make her feel better about his own lack of attention, but shoving another man at her to do it for him? She rolled onto her side, leaning her head into a hand to look at the guy as he went on with another question about the palace. There was something so nice about just talking, though—she would worry about that all later.

To Drixzy’s surprise, the young Steelknuckle heir did in fact stick to his word. She left him untied in her bedroom for hours at a time and when she would return, he was sitting there waiting patiently for her. Sure, she’d left a guard at the door just in case, but it became clear in short time there was no need. For some reason, Zubert was genuinely just going along with it all. She was baffled, having seen so much resistance against Gremix’s rule from those who were brought in since the uprising. But here was this guy, brought in against his will, just cheerily doing as she said without batting an eyelash over it.

Oh, and she told him to do things. Before long, he was following her around the palace to do her bidding at a whim—lift this, move that, and for the love of the Light, please take off your shirt first. Over time she chose to decorate him: clasping a sparkling gemmed leather collar tight around his throat, combing his hair up however she liked, painting his nails, and dressing him in tight pants and minimal other clothing. Slowly but surely, she became accustomed to the idea… he was hers. Her pet. Her toy. Hers to do with whatever she pleased. And she wanted to do some things, admittedly. But a thought nagged at her.

She was Gremix’s.

And so it came, an awkward conversation she was about two convincing words away from not going through with:

“May I have sex with him?”

Gremix stared blankly at the blindfolded blonde from behind the war table, where maps and notes and other miscellaneous papers were spread out and pinned with meticulous planning.

“What?” Gremix asked. “What do you think I gave him to ya for?”

Drixzy’s shoulders rose in embarrassment, her ears pinning. “O-oh!” she said quietly. “It’s just that, Master, my body is yours, an’…”

Gremix strode around the table, approaching her and laying his hands on her cheeks, drawing her face close to his own, his touch enough to make her hitch a breath.

“You are, and always will be mine,” he agreed in a low voice. “And since you are mine, you are mine to treat; and the Steelknuckle boy is your treat. I care not what you do with him. Sleep with him or hang him upside-down from the ceiling with a burning candle shoved in his ass for 12 hours, it don’t matter to me.”

Drixzy swallowed, giving a tiny nod.

“After it all, you will still be mine,” Gremix said, dropping his hands to her waist and moving his face in closer until their cheeks brushed together and he could speak directly into her ear in a near-whisper that sent a shiver down her spine, “because I do it better.”

Drixzy gave a nervous laugh—the closeness had her heating up in an almost pavlovian response to his physical attention. Oh, why Zubert? Why Zubert when her master was here, so warm, so gentle, so full of that delicious power that seeped in through her skin and made her sigh in pleasure and press her body into his. Gentle kisses on her neck were enough to drive her crazy normally, but oh, when he put his Fel into it… She simply wanted to dissolve into him where they stood.

“Master,” she said breathily, “please…”

A quiet chuckle in her ear denied her request, and Gremix backed away, to her massive disappointment. She felt so hot and her heart was pounding, and she wanted him so badly—but he shook his head.

“I’m very busy, silly girl. You’re hot an’ bothered now, ain’tcha? Go use it on your little pet. I bet he’ll appreciate it.” He gave her a smile that almost seemed kind, and in that moment, she thought of the doofusy grin of the foolish loyal man set away in her boudoir, no doubt cheerily awaiting her return. She gave a quick nod.

“Thank you, Master,” she said quietly, and left him to his planning.

Probably needless to say, Zubert had no complaint when the woman returned, her calm steps devolving into a near sprint when she had the door closed behind her, then becoming a leap that resulted in her tackling him onto the mattress. He only blinked up at her and gave one of those stupid, cute smiles of his. Damn that smile! She would be rid of it, by pressing her mouth to his.

And oh, what a kiss—at least, for Zubert. There was that feeling again. That dizzy, almost orgasmic fuzziness that Gremix’s touch had caused. There was no need to convince the more-than-willing young man, but had he been resistant before, he surely would have caved in to her desires as the wave of pure, unadulterated, unnatural bliss came over him.

She pulled her face away only barely, and without bothering to catch her breath as his eyes dazedly cracked open, she panted out a simple command:

“Fuck me.”

“H’okay.”

Didn’t need to tell him twice.

And so things continued; Drixzy freely indulging herself for satisfaction from the frustration that Gremix’s continued general absence caused, with whom she decided to call her “attendant”. After all, he did attend to her every need, there seemed no better term. Zubert liked it better than “slave”, anyways.

But it wasn’t just his servitude, sexual or otherwise, that kept her interest. For some reason, he liked to just talk. And it continued to seem so strange to her, just talking, about anything. Zubert talked to her about ships, about Steelknuckle isles in their heyday, about the ocean and fish and food he liked and something funny his friend said once… She herself kept quieter, content to just listen to him and interject when he asked her something. She would openly answer most things about the family but wouldn’t speak of her past. He’d only brought it up once, but her sharp, instant demand that he never inquire again ended that line of curiosity right quick.

Months passed by as such. Zubert became a palace-wide spectacle: guards would snicker at his slutty outfits as he passed by, plodding along behind Drixzy as she went about her daily business. Others whispered rumors of who he might be or where he came from—perhaps simply a hapless commoner Drixzy found attractive? A relative of one of the generals? One such rumor that wasn’t held by many as true said he was in fact the heir to an entire cartel. Nobody asked, however. After all, nobody dared talk to Drixzy about anything besides work.

“New batch of prisoners, here!”

Catfeetz’s lieutenant arrived with a posse of guards to the castle, a string of captured rebels in tow to be offered up to Gremix’s forces. As per the usual routine, they were brought to a dungeon and stripped to their underthings, chains around their necks hooked to the stone floor ahead of them, keeping them kneeling uncomfortably as a pair of shackles attached to their wrist from another short chain behind them kept them forced upright. It was a pretty typical bunch of rebels, some jeering and spitting when their gags and blindfolds were removed, the others solemn and quiet. One by one, Gremix offered his “Blessing”, and they either accepted it or were killed. Drixzy stood by—and as she did, so did Zubert—much to his horror, as he watched those who rejected the Grand Warlock quickly offed by a skilled slice of Drixzy’s poisoned blades across their throats. Luckily, it seemed the more common answer to “do you want to die or live in heavenly bliss serving me” tended to lean to the latter, but the blood oozing over the stone floors from the first who’d denied the gift was enough to make him feel ill.

The Grand Warlock was halfway through the set of rebels when the next one he approached was a rather tall, fluffy-white-haired goblin who was sobbing hopelessly into his gag, hiccupping and rocking himself back and forth the little amount the chains would allow. Gremix rolled his eyes, and removing the gag and blindfold from this one, was met with what was probably the most terrified face he’d ever encountered during a conversion.

The goblin didn’t jeer or spit; in fact, he said nothing, only making a tiny throat squeak as he tried uselessly to liquify into the floor and away from the green glow that pulsed within the warlock’s pupils.

“Don’t be afraid,” Gremix started, gently, as usual, but he didn’t get very far before the captive broke into full bawling again. He gave an agitated sigh, standing and patting dust off the robe at his knees.

“This one’s defective,” he said, waving a hand at the crying mess to signal Drixzy to end him as he stepped over to the next goblin.

Drixzy drew her blade and started towards the young man, who was all but balled up now. But she only made it one loud-clicking step before she felt a tug—a hand on her arm. She looked back to see Zubert with a panicked expression. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, and even if he did he didn’t think he could get words out without puking at the moment anyways, so he just shook his head over and over, beseeching her with pleading eyes.

Gremix, noticing the uncharacteristic hesitation, looked back at the two with a scowl. “What’s keepin’ ya? Get to it, Drixzy." Drixzy glanced at Gremix briefly before inspecting Zubert’s desperate head-shaking once more.

“Yes, Master,” she said, brushing Zubert’s hand from her arm, the musclebound servant wilting in hopelessness as she left his side to do the deed.

The crying captive lifted his head only slightly to see his oncoming killer, and for just a moment, his eyes met what would have been Drixzy’s, were they uncovered—but the moment was the same regardless. The tearstains streaking his cheeks, face and eyes red and puffy, afraid… Drixzy suddenly understood why Zubert wanted to stop her. He was just another Zubert.

“Master,” Drixzy said, tentatively. “I’m sorry if I am oversteppin’, but…”

Gremix’s eyes narrowed as he eyed her with suspicion.

“May I have this one?”

The suspicious look fell to make way for one of surprise instead.

“What?” Gremix peered down at the chained goblin, who was still apparently attempting to burrow into his own being, head once more tucked down into his chest. Gremix made a disgusted face at the wretch before letting his gaze return to Drixzy. “You… want that pathetic thing?”

Drixzy fidgeted with her dagger. “Do you… remember when your Rusco was here?”

Gremix remained silent, so she continued; “He was defiant, but you didn’t have me kill him, because you looked at him and saw something you liked, right?”

The sobbing continued, but tear and terror-filled eyes were once again barely peering up at the people openly discussing his fate. His gaze wandered the room, where it then met that of a person the bound goblin hadn’t noticed before—Zubert stood back in the shadows, wringing his hands anxiously and giving the guy a forced hopeful smile before he burrowed into himself again.

“So you’re saying you see somethin’ in this trash heap that you like?”

Drixzy’s mind buzzed as she flipped through every explanation she could think of, trying to find the one that was truest.

“I have a thing for beta males,” she decided on, pointing behind herself with a thumb directed at Zubert—the comment said so flatly that Gremix couldn’t help but bark a laugh in return.

“Fine, fine.” Gremix said, shaking his head in bemusement. “You’re not getting another until one of these ones die, though, got it?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, glancing back at Zubert who had perked up significantly, and was now eagerly bouncing in wait for her word.

“Take him to my room,” she said to Zubert. “Chain him and return to me here.”

Zubert stood up straight, puffing out his chest and giving a firm salute. “Yes, ma’am!” he said, then hopping over to the person whose life he had just saved to unlock the chains.

“Wh-what?!” came the first words from the mouth of the crying but otherwise until now silent prisoner.

“Gag him,” Gremix said with an apathetic wave of his hand, and Zubert paused, picking up the cloth that had been dropped to the floor and re-tying it around the head of a now somewhat struggling goblin.

It took some doing, but he got it on, trying to reassure the frightened goblin that he would be safe and shouldn’t worry… but panic set in, and the captive was having none of it anymore, now desperately pulling against the chains he had no chance of escaping from. Zubert held the chain key tightly, giving an uncertain glance to the others.

“Oh, for the love a’…” Gremix sighed. “Hold him still.”

Zubert nodded, obediently moving behind and holding firmly the shoulders of the soon-to-be “blessed” man. Wide eyes watched in abject horror as hands rose to his face—he tried to jerk his head away but a strong grip from behind turned it back to the Grand Warlock and his warm hands cupped sharp cheeks.

The prisoner choked some sort of noise from behind the gag as green flames burst from the hands on his face, squeezing his eyes shut just to reopen them in confusion a moment later when he felt no burning.

Zubert watched in fascination—he’d never seen the Blessing from a third-party perspective, only having experienced it himself. The flickering flames looked terrifying, but no sound of pain came from the unwitting convert; of course not. After all, it didn’t hurt when it happened to him, either.

“It’s alright, see?” Zubert said quietly, a slight flick of ear the only indication he had been heard.

The flames seemed to be sucked into the held skull, a bright green erupting from behind tear-filled eyes as the convert stiffened—muscles in his shoulders and back twitched feverishly, but it was as though he could not move. The flames gone, Gremix lowered his hands, and the guy slumped forward into himself once again; but this time from sudden wooziness. Heavy, deep breaths came from him like convulsions and with one last horrified glance up, the Fel glow faded from his eyes. A calm seemed to come over him, the shaky anxiety and fear all but nullified.

“I don’t like blessing unwillin’ parties,” Gremix said, rising once more. “You will repay me for havin’ t’ do that later.”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said. “Anything, any time. I thank you for allowin’ me this gift.” Her attention turned to Zubert.

“Take him now. And be back quickly,” she said, “you will need to remove the bodies of these insolent rebels when Master finishes the conversion.”

Zubert swallowed hard, not entirely enthusiastic about that specific task, but ever faithful, he unlocked the chains and led the dazed and confused stumbling beanpole of a goblin out of the chamber.

It was quite a while before Zubert returned to Drixzy's room again. When he did, however, he came with a tall glass of water in one hand and a crumbly buttered biscuit in the other.

“Hey!” he chimed as he closed the door behind him with one stubby leg's foot.

Chained to the stone wall in the corner of the room, pressing himself as far into the joint of two walls as he possibly could, the goblin Drixzy had spared eyed him warily.

“Don’t worry,” Zubert said, approaching slowly such as not to startle him. “I’m not gonna hurt you or take you away anywhere. This is where you’ll be staying now.”

The bound goblin shook his head indignantly. Zubert shrugged.

“I mean, you don’t have much choice, y’know? If ya just behave an' listen to Drixzy and the Grand Warlock's every command, you’ll be perfectly fine, like me! Drixzy might even unchain you if you prove you won’t pull any tricks.”

The other man did not look convinced, but Zubert, a few feet away, placed the water and biscuit onto the soft carpet and raised his hands slowly in front of himself.

“Look, don’t kick me or nothin', okay? I’m gonna ungag you, Drixzy said I could. I also snuck you some water an' food, an' it’s the cold water I’m not supposed t' take, too. Figured it might be nice after havin' that thing in your mouth so long.”

A wary nod signaled that Zubert could come closer, though there was still a untrustful stiffening of his shoulders in preparation for some sort of trick… but the cloth loosened and Zubert pulled it away like he said he would, then backed up a few steps and gave him a goofy smile.

Zubert looked him over—the guy was scrawny, and not entirely impressive sitting there in threadbare boxers, but Zubert had to admit he had a thing for tall, lithe people. But more importantly, this dude clearly couldn’t feed himself, arms bound behind his body, so Zubert concluded he had to assist. Well, that was his job, according to Drixzy, right? Helper.

It was a clumsy event, Zubert tilting the glass to a very dry, desperate and eager mouth, such that between the two of their efforts a notable amount of water ran down his chin and onto the carpet; but with a relieved sigh and smacking of finally moistened lips, it was obvious that he’d had enough to satisfy, at least.

Zubert sat beside him, taking the biscuit and breaking off a piece to offer up. The captive sighed, but opened his mouth such that the crumbly bread could be popped into it.

“I’m Zubert, by the way,” Zubert said. “Zubert Steelknuckle.”

Swallowing, his companion simply said “Stix.”

“Nice t' meetcha, Stix!” Zubert said, breaking off another bite-size piece of biscuit. “We’re roommates now, so I hope you’ll stop lookin' so scared of me soon.”

“I don’t wanna stay here,” muttered Stix. “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know who any of these people are n' I wanna get outta here!”

He looked the muscley and… tightly panted goblin over pleadingly.

“Y’ have the key, don't'cher? Let me outta here, c’mon.”

Zubert frowned. “No, Drixzy has it. And even if I did, I’m not allowed t' let you leave. If you try to run, I’m just gonna have to escort you back.”

Stix made an agitated sound, opening his mouth for another bite of biscuit, which he chewed in thought for a silent moment.

“Sho then, yer jusht one of ‘em, choo,” he decided, food still in mouth.

“No,” Zubert said with a chuckle. “I’m being held for ransom!” He paused, the cheeky smile on his face slowly dropping until he sort of just looked distressed. “Y’know, t' get my ma out of hidin', so they can kill her.”

Stix balked. “Why do they wanna kill yer mum? And who are they?” He really did seem genuinely confused about everything going on.

Zubert scrutinized the tone of Stix's voice, brows lowering in concern. “You mean, you have no idea about th' Gutshot Takeover?”

“Th’ what? No!” Stix looked appalled.

“Where the heck have you been?”

Stix nodded upwards. “Zeppelin. In fact, I was riding one jus' yesterday for a delivery, and then…” He scowled. “We we’re just passing by th' harbor when a ton of flyin' machines showed up outta nowhere and shot us down!” The goblin's ears lowered slowly. “I… I don’t even know if anyone else…”

Zubert perked; oh no, was Stix about to cry again?

“Hey, hey! Don’t worry. They uh, they like taking prisoners more than jus' killin' folks, cuz they make them join the troops, an' then there’s more of 'em.”

Stix looked horrified. “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” he groaned.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Silence befell them for a few minutes as Zubert fed Stix the rest of the biscuit. As he finished the last bite, licking crumbs from his lips, Stix decided to speak again.

“So, er… explain this whole takeover thing?”

“Oh, sure,” Zubert said, sitting and leaning back against the wall nearby Stix. “I don’t know all the details from their side, but, uh… I guess there was this mafia my ma was makin' deals with, an' they got a little weird an' started talkin' about takin' over Bilgewater's whole thing. Ma cut ties with 'em cuz she thought they were bonkers! But she was a big financial investor, so I think they got mad at her.” He scratched at the side of his face with a ponderous look. “Guess they were serious about takin' over, cuz the Grand Warlock and General Catfeetz are somehow ridiculously powerful, an' all the Bilgewater guys started following 'em because they were toutin' that they would slay Gallywix an' make things better for goblins everywhere. But then it just twisted more 'til they straight up decided they were jus' gonna take over th' whole world, an' now everything’s a big, scary mess. They’ve taken basically all of Azshara, killed Gallywix, an’ I’ve heard some of the followers say there’s a big plan coming to fruition soon.”

Stix looked as though the blood had completely drained from his face. “What the fuck?” he said under his breath.

Zubert shrugged. “I dunno, man, but I didn’t get too bum a deal outta it, so I’m jus' mindin' my own business here, y’know?”

Stix looked pensive for a moment, squinting down at the soft blue carpeting beneath him. “So… if I stay here, I’ll be safe?”

“Yeah!” Zubert said. “Miss Drixzy’s real good to me, an' I know she’ll treat you just as nice. Just you wait.”

Stix nodded, then gave a sigh and sunk into the corner.

“My shoulders hurt,” he grumbled.

Zubert tilted his head, peering at Stix. “Want me t' give 'em a rub?”

“No.” The reply was instant, and Zubert got the feeling Stix wanted minimal contact, so he shrugged it off.

“When's she get in?”

“Miss Drixzy?” Zubert pursed his lips in thought. “Heck, I don’t know. I haven’t seen a clock in so long, I don’t even know what month it is anymore. She don’t have a regular schedule though anyways. Jus’ kinda shows up when she shows up.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell once more, and Stix zoned out, staring at nothing on the ground, probably lost in thought. Zubert figured so, anyways. He certainly didn’t seem to want to talk though, so Zubert just sat there with him quietly.

“You. Up.”

Zubert snapped awake suddenly, blearily blinking and looking around as he lifted a head that had drooped to one side as he unintentionally dozed off. As he came to, he realized the speaker had been Drixzy, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Yes, ma’a—”

He didn’t get to finish his word, as warm lips pressed into his own. He didn’t mind, though, his eyes closing as he happily reciprocated the surprise. Drixzy pulled away and, as though only now remembering the guy, turned her head to Stix, who was staring wide-eyed at the two in what could only be described as pure confusion.

Zubert gestured to Stix with one hand, stepping back to introduce the two.

“Miss Drixzy, this is Stix. He’s a’right.”

“Stix.” Drixzy stared quietly for several moments before Stix leaned closer to Zubert and whispered, “Can she see us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zubert said.

“How?!”

“Um… magic?”

Stix scowled at the unsatisfactory explanation, peering nervously back at the demonic woman. He couldn’t see half her face, but the tight, thin purple leather of the odd but sexy leotard she wore accentuated all the right things. Maybe this wouldn’t be all that bad.

Drixzy, seeming to have satisfied her staring, once more faced Zubert.

“Unbind his arms.”

“Yes ma’am!” Zubert said, approaching Stix, who cautiously scooched around to face his back to Zubert. The knot took a moment, but soon enough Stix’s sore arms were released, and he pulled them around to his front to rub the ache from his shoulders.

“Th’nks” he muttered, backing into the corner again and glowering his distrust.

“I expect Zubert has caught you up with your current situation?”

Stix glanced to Zubert, who only smiled. Looking back at Drixzy, he gave a single nod.

“Good. Now, I ask if you plan t’ be compliant. You will live well cared-for, and The Master’s blessing will bring you joy. If you choose not to comply, then I will revoke my decision to spare you.”

Stix frowned, giving no answer for several moments.

“Stix,” Zubert said in a gentle, hushed voice, “please answer Miss Drixzy.”

A dirty look was tossed his way, but with a deep breath, Stix finally answered.

“I guess so.”

Drixzy’s stern face gave way to just the faintest hint of a smile. “Prove so and I will let you roam the room freely as Zubert does.”

Stix sighed, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling, where eerie shadows were cast by the fel-light gems that lit the room. He watched with fascination as one of the shadows seemed to flicker and shift a little despite the still nature of the light. His brows creased, and he decided not to look there anymore.

Drixzy, in a contradictory motion, elegantly flopped onto her soft bed, giving a gentle sigh as she sank into it. Zubert glanced between her and Stix, unsure who he should be near at the time. That was answered for him soon enough, as one of Drixzy’s arms rose and gave a come-hither finger wave.

Zubert shuffled over, crawling up into the bed with her, where she rolled onto her belly and said into the blankets “massage.” Like a good doggie, Zubert obeyed, shifting over to straddle her lower back to get a good angle to start working her shoulders with firm, strong hands.

There wasn’t much else to do but watch, so that’s what Stix did. Watched. Watched as Zubert kneaded at the back of a sexy woman, the cut muscles in his bulky arms flexing noticeably with each movement. Stix was pretty sure this was how one of the smut books he’d read started.

Zubert scooted back a little on top of Drixzy as he moved down to work on her upper back, then eventually moved a little further to work on the mid-back… By then he was straddling her butt, and Stix squinted as he noticed Zubert’s crotch moved against it as he rubbed her. Now he wasn’t “pretty” sure; Stix was 100% sure he’d read this one.

Pleased little “mmm”s escaped Drixzy here and there as Zubert worked, and she squirmed beneath him ever so slightly—Zubert flinched, trying to choke a gasp as a soft, barely-clad behind pressed against his accidental excitement. The woman’s head turned away from the face-smothering position she’d been resting in, and a sly smile could be seen on her lips.

“Pleasure me.”

Stix balked; these two were seriously about to do it in front of him? He glanced around frantically. Was this weird? Should he look away and pretend nothing was happening? Should he watch?

Zubert gave a nervous chuckle. “Uh, y-yes ma’am, but, it’s just…”

Drixzy’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Zubert glanced behind to Stix, who looked startled at the sudden attention.

“I mean, someone’s here.”

Drixzy scoffed. “Then pull around the curtains, you baby.”

“That’s not…” Zubert took a deep breath. “Yeah, alright.”

Stix cleared his throat, mumbling a half-hearted “I mean, it’s, uhm, it’s fine.”

Zubert’s ears perked, one brow lowering in consternation. The gears in his head took a moment, but finally he barked a single laugh, turning back to Drixzy.

“Never mind,” Zubert said, fingers trailing up her back to the small zipper tag at the top of the neck of her leotard.

Stix swallowed. Yup. Zubert was just gonna let him watch. He wasn’t sure if he was excited or mortified, but all things considered, it was hardly torture to watch two very attractive people have sex. Just like the books; except instead of words, it was—he choked on a bit of spit as Zubert tugged down his pants. But… he supposed now the tiny goblin had to have something going on to compensate in some way for his unimpressive stature, and that was it.

The act was certainly something. Drixzy, despite being “bottom”, stayed entirely in control, guiding Zubert’s every action. He was fast to catch on any time she changed what she wanted; Stix, trying to ignore other feelings, thought about how strangely in-tune they were with each other. Did they just have good sexual chemistry?

By the time it was over, Stix was hugging his legs as tightly to himself as possible; his hot, red face nestled into his own knees.

Breathing heavily, the very much naked Drixzy—well, naked but for the blindfold and the golden cuffs on her wrists which glowed faintly with fel runes—sat up and turned her attention to the man in the corner, who swallowed hard, his eyes very much unable to meet her unseen gaze, as they were lost on so many other things.

She ran a hand down the front of her body, tilting her head to the side, curtains of long blonde hair cascading down off her shoulders.

Stix couldn’t say a damn thing. A pathetic sort of squeaking whimper was all he managed, burrowing his head further into his knees, though he simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Zubert, who had flopped down and not moved even a little bit since they finished up, finally shifted around, pushing himself up onto his elbows to peer over at Stix as well.

“Good show, buddy?” Zubert gave a cheeky grin.

Stix’s hands finally rose to cover his burning face and he curled into himself like a dead shrimp.

“If you behave yourself,” Drixzy said, leaning back into her pillows with her arms folded behind her head, “perhaps I will let you have some fun as well someday.”

A hopeless breathed laugh came from the center of the Stix-ball. “A’right,” his muffled voice could be heard saying. “A’right, a’right. This can’t be real. This is a weird wet dream. Wake up. Wake up.”

Zubert pouted. “You ain’t dreamin’, Stix. Well…” He glanced to Drixzy with a sideward smirk, “…not yet.”

A slight smile crept onto Drixzy’s lips. “Oh, you little ham,” she muttered.

Zubert winked at her, and Stix pulled his head out from the depths of his body to give them both a disbelieving look.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Zubert said with a content sigh.

Something told Stix that wasn’t true.

Well, he had sort of been wrong. Not entirely, but he became more relaxed over time, though internally terrified still; something about Zubert’s ever-present smiling mug perhaps? Or maybe he was just coming to terms and accepting his fate. Drixzy began to dress him about as strangely as Zubert, and was slowly but surely chipping away at his defensive shell with coos of adoration and compliments. He wasn’t comfortable around her, but she was always a looming figure in this caged life he couldn’t avoid.

He stayed silent, mostly. Zubert would press him for conversation, but more often than not was harshly denied. Sure, he may have been settling in, but he wasn’t gonna be happy about it. He would barely let either Zubert or Drixzy touch him willingly, either—Drixzy would lay a farewell kiss on his angular cheek every time she left for an extended period of time, which required a gentle but firm Zubert to hold him still as he tried to squirm away from it. There was always something about those kisses. They were so, so warm. And for several moments after she pulled away, he would think, maybe this isn’t all so bad. And that thought horrified him more than anything.

The chains stayed. He was too twitchy—Drixzy was hesitant to trust him. Not because she was worried he’d get away, obviously; they’d find him before he even escaped the palace, and that would only be a death sentence. But as he had at least complied as much as to not attempt to claw Zubert’s eyes out when he approached with food and drink, Drixzy decided to offer him a modicum of freedom, via a classic combination of ankle shackle, chain, and an immensely heavy metal ball that couldn’t have been anything as simple as iron or steel. Zubert, shocking nobody, was able to lift the ball without too much struggle, but much as he tugged, Stix couldn’t make it so much as budge, only managing to cut up his ankle trying to pull away from it when the others weren’t around.

This new form of bondage was at least better than before—he was now allowed to be led around the palace by Zubert, who would tote the ball so they could sit in the gardens for fresh air, or to the mess hall where they’d try to haggle the actual good food away from Gremix’s followers, who generally just regarded the two with befuddlement before ignoring them.

One garden trip resulted in, to Zubert’s surprise, the lanky goblin whipping out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter, which he seemed very excited about.

“Where’d ya get that?” Zubert asked.

Stix wiggled his fingers as he said “cafeteria,” his other hand already popping a cig between his lips.

“You stole it?”

“Duh.”

Zubert looked displeased, but he said nothing more, deciding he would keep quiet about the contraband to Drixzy. At the very least, Stix seemed more relaxed as he smoked than Zubert had seen him in all the time he’d been there.

How long was that now? Weeks? Months?

Zubert’s eyes rose to the sky above the towering garden walls: grey and smoggy as the harbor always was. He had no idea what the date or time was, every day blurring into the next and becoming one conglomerate concept. With a twinge of concern, he realized that he had almost forgotten he hadn’t always been there, there were times before the palace; the memories of which were faint and fading. Steelknuckle Casino, the isles, his mom… Large ears lowered, and his brows knit. Zubert wasn’t often very critical of his current living situation, but sometimes, a creeping realization like that would sneak up and…

“You, uh, ready t’ go back in, ‘r what?”

Zubert seemed to snap out of a daze, blinking over at the floofy-haired thief, who was snubbing the last nub of his cigarette out against the delicate marble seat of the bench they sat on.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Zubert hesitated for a second, squinting one eye. What… what had he just been thinking about, again?

Zubert slipped off the bench, and grabbing the chain just above the ball, hefted it up and they headed back inside.

How much time had it been?

Stix stared at the bottom of the bed’s canopy in the dark. He didn’t like it, but what choice did he have when Drixzy wanted him to sleep in the bed? Zubert would haul his ball onto it, the short chain not giving way for escape to the floor.

How much time had it been?

Drixzy rolled over in her sleep, a soft arm coming down atop Stix’s chest and he hitched a breath—but it was nothing, as usual. His eyes dropped to her arm. Slowly, carefully, he pulled one of his own from under the blankets, hovering it just over her green skin in a hesitant moment before gently laying his fingertips upon it. She didn’t react, so he let his palm slide down onto her arm as well; yellow eyes watched her through the dark to be sure she didn’t wake. But then, he stopped.

He had meant to carefully lift and move her arm away, but as his hand rested there, a warming calm came over him and he opted to just leave it resting there. What an odd feeling. What a nice feeling.

His eyelids began to droop, sleep overtaking him.

How much time had it been?

Who cared?

“So what color are your eyes, Miss Drixzy?”

Zubert lay on his belly, his feet kicking back and forth behind him, face perched in two hands as he leaned onto his elbows.

Stix was there, too, his ball and chain keeping him stuck on the bed with them. But he was starting to think he didn’t mind it so much anymore. He’d started talking a bit more, and though he was still uncomfortable with touch, he was much more willing to be within a handful of inches of both Drixzy and Zubert.

“Green,” Stix said. “You can see it through her mask, can’t’cha?”

Drixzy chuckled softly, petting a hand through Zubert’s hair as she relaxed. “You’re right, they are green, now.”

Zubert pursed his lips.

“What color were they before?”

Drixzy frowned. “Before what?”

“You said “now”, didn’t you?”

Drixzy was silent for a few rough moments.

“I don’t… recall.”

“Bet’cha they’re still that color, but just glowy, right?” Stix offered. “Like th’ Grand Dickhead’s, his’re pink but th’ green shit comes from inside, yeah?”

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed Zubert. “We could jus’ look an’ tell you!”

Stix sat up in interest. He had no idea how long he’d been there anymore, but in all that time, he’d always wondered what was beneath the blindfold—and Zubert did too.

“You can’t,” Drixzy said, defensively. “I mustn’t show my eyes to anyone but The Master.”

Stix scoffed. “How’s he gonna know?”

“Yeah, jus’ for a second! It can’t hurt, right?”

Drixzy’s hand paused its petting motion. Admittedly, she had been desperately curious to see what the two boys looked like in the real world; what she saw through the blindfold was vague, forms and shadows of depth, the concept of facial expressions, but not true to life. She chewed her bottom lip for a second.

“Fine, but just for a moment,” she said quietly, sitting up and raising her hands to the back of her head.

Zubert and Stix leaned in, eagerly awaiting the answer to their burning question.

Untied, the strip of dark cloth fell to Drixzy’s lap, and long-lashed eyes slowly opened.

“Holy fuck,” Stix yelped, backing away quickly.

“What?” Drixzy asked, glancing between the two of them. Her eyes were adjusting to the light she so rarely saw, but they tried to take in her people-pets’ forms anyways.

“Your eyes,” Zubert said, his tone low and serious, “they’re so bright with the Fel that I can’t tell.”

Drixzy rubbed at her eyes, blinking away the stars. “Really?” Finally, her eyes focused and landed on Zubert. Oh. He had such a cute baby face… but then from the neck down, was hot. She had not seen that disconnect before. Charming. Her gaze turned to Stix, who swallowed and leaned away as much as he could without falling over. Stix, unlike Zubert, was skinny, tall, and seemed, in a way, slightly worn out; like an old letter from a friend, or a well-loved paperback.

“Your hair is white,” Drixzy stated.

“Y-yeah,” Stix said.

“I could never tell,” she said softly. “I can’t figure out colors very well with this—”

A loud bang interrupted her, and she froze in terror. She was facing the opposite direction, but she was more than aware that that sound was the door being slammed open. Two guards with sharp polearms entered, followed by none other than the Grand Warlock, who walked in calmly, hands folded behind his back.

She had never felt so afraid in her life. The dread was almost tangible; her breath seemed caught in her chest, as though she were choking on the very air. Zubert and Stix could feel it too.

They done fucked up.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, my dear Drixzy?” came Gremix’s voice from behind her back.

Zubert looked frantically between the glowing-eyed woman and the eerily collected warlock, interjecting; “W-I mean, I convinced her t’ take it off! Please don’t be mad at her, it’s my fault.”

“What’re y’ doing, idiot?” Stix hissed under his breath. “You’re gonna get yerself killed!”

“Silence, both of you.”

Zubert’s ears drooped; the command had come from Drixzy.

“Come here,” Gremix said flatly.

Drixzy, swallowing a lump in her throat formed of sheer fear, obliged. Gradually, she backed up to the edge of the bed closer to the door, only turning to face her master as her feet found the floor.

She’d only met his gaze for a split second when she gasped in sudden, sharp pain, stumbling back a step and shooting a hand to her cheek—which was now red and stinging from an unexpected backhand.

“Hey!” Zubert shouted, making a move as though meaning to go defend Drixzy, but Stix grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back.

Tears welled in Drixzy’s eyes and she regarded Gremix fearfully. Despite literally having just slapped her, the warlock seemed just as cool as the moment before, his stern expressionless gaze locked on her.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said quietly, her voice barely a squeak.

“You certainly are.” Gremix looked over his shoulder, nodding a head to one of the guards. “Take the slaves.”

Drixzy’s ears whipped upwards. “What? Why—they didn’t do anythin’, Master, please!” Despite her objections, the guards headed deeper into the room, seizing Zubert and Stix; the latter trying to make some sort of resistant effort, but Zubert, as ever, allowing himself to be directed without a fight.

“You will put that blindfold back on immediately and wait here for my decision about what happens next,” Gremix said, glancing aside to the guards as they escorted the two young men away. “You will not leave this room; d’you understand me?”

Drixzy wrung the cloth in her hands for a second, but gave a slight nod, and lifted it to her face to tie on once again.

“Do make sure to actually obey my instructions this time,” Gremix concluded with a note of venom as he turned on his heel and strode out after the guards.

Drixzy watched as more guards outside saluted him, then closing her door and, assumedly, guarding it.

Her knees seemed to give out, and she sat on the edge of her bed, trembling.

What had she done?

They stood still, eyes lowered. They didn’t look but they could tell he was staring them down. The warlock’s gaze felt like needles on their skin; Stix, for the first time in quite a while, had begun to shiver.

“It’ll be okay,” Zubert said. “We’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“Is that what you think?” Gremix asked from where he lounged upon his throne. The guards held the two goblins before him at the bottom of the lordly steps for his consideration, and he’d been picking his brain for the best way to go about his intentions.

Zubert swallowed, not responding. A shaky breath shuddered from beside him. Every instinct told Zubert to pat Stix’s shoulder, or hug him, or anything… but Stix probably wouldn’t have wanted it, anyways.

Gremix observed the two for a few moments, deep in thought. Then, fel-tinged magenta eyes flicked to Zubert.

“Steelknuckle.”

Zubert flinched, but raised his eyes to meet the warlock’s gaze.

“Punch him.”

Both Zubert and Stix looked taken aback.

“Stix? W-why?”

“Jus’ do it. Hard as you can. Straight in the face.”

Stix whimpered, a fearful look tossed Zubert’s way. Zubert shook his head incredulously.

“I can’t punch him… he didn’t do nothin’ to me.”

“Are you defying me?” Gremix asked, one brow raised.

“Uh…” A chill ran down Zubert’s back. “No, no of course not, but, it’s jus’…”

Gremix gave a disappointed click of his tongue.

“And here I thought Drixzy would have done a better job on you.” He slumped back in his throne, stroking his jawline in thought.

“Ah!” Gremix sat up straight suddenly, snapping his fingers before pointing at the guard holding Stix’s ball. “I’ve got jus’ the thing. Why don’t we playtest that lovely new whip I was given last week?”

“Excellent choice, master,” the guard said.

“I will retrieve it for you, Master,” piped up a follower who was coincidentally walking down a hall to the side of the throne room.

“Thank you, child,” Gremix said with a head nod towards the follower, who saluted and jogged off in the direction from which they had originally came.

Stix looked like he might faint.

Zubert raised his eyes, giving Gremix a pleading look. “D-don’t hurt him…! Please.”

Gremix simply stared at him, blinking slowly.

Zubert’s eyes welled with tears. “Please! I—I told him he’d be safe! I told him he’d be okay if he stayed here!” Zubert swallowed back a desperate sob. “Please, he didn’t do anything.”

Stix peered aside at the pleading goblin.

“Don’t… don’t make me a liar.” The tears, having no room left to well, began running down the soft curves of Zubert’s cheeks.

“How odd,” Gremix said. “His face is leaking.” His gaze drifted to the guard holding Zubert. “He should see the doctor to get that looked at, I think.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Master,” said the guard. “I will deliver him.”

Zubert’s brows knit in confusion. “Huh? Doctor?” He got no explanation, however, and was tugged away down a hallway, glancing back at Stix as he turned the corner—their eyes met for just a moment, and Zubert could only feel his stomach sink to his feet. He looked… betrayed.

“No, please,” Zubert sobbed one last time, but the guard jerked him forward and he disappeared from sight.

“Here it is, Master,” said the follower from before, now toting what could only be described as several strands of rusty barbed wire braided together on one end to form a crude steel whip.

“Ah, lovely,” Gremix said with a pleased smile. “Guard, will you do the honors, please?”

“Of course, Master,” the guard behind Stix said. He placed down the heavy ball, stepping away to take the “whip” from the other follower, who then giddily approached Gremix, bowed, and received a gentle brush of his hand on their cheek; a blissful sigh was the last thing from them before they returned to whatever business they had been tending to before.

There was no forewarning, and no words for the feeling, Stix yelping loudly as the steel wires lashed across his back unexpectedly. Fabric and flesh tore, and his eyes overflowed with tears of pain as he tried to gasp his breath back. Suddenly dizzy from the shock, he fell forward to his hands and knees, shaking and huddling into himself. Hateful eyes rose to see the Grand Warlock lounging upon his seat, looking nothing more than bored.

“Why?!” Stix whined. “What’d I do t’ deserve this!?”

“Oh, silly boy: nothing, I’m sure. I’m punishing you…” Gremix said, leaning his cheek into a hand, elbow propped onto the arm of his golden chair, “…but the punishment is not for you.”

Stix’s ears pinned, but he had no time to parse that as the wires struck his back once more, cutting and gouging at already tender, bleeding flesh and causing him to cry out in pain.

Gremix smirked. “Let’s do twenty, shall we?”

“Yes, Master.”

Somewhere deep within the mazes of stone hallways that led underground, Zubert trudged along with his guard. It was creepy enough in the dank, empty halls, but even worse, he kept hearing an eerie screeching sound echoing from somewhere distantly behind.

It seemed they’d walked forever. There was no way Zubert was going to remember the route back… though a nagging voice in the back of his head said that might not be a concern soon. Finally, the guard stopped him, creaking open a heavy metal door plastered with warning and hazard signs, revealing a large room full of whirring medical equipment, steel tables with long sheets of tissue paper spread over them, and…

“Oh, a doctor. I got it.” Zubert said.

“Well, they don’t call me that much anymore,” came a smooth voice from the corner. “No respect, these lot.”

Zubert whipped his head around to identify the speaker. Behind a cluttered desk sat a goblin man with long, fiery red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was chewing on something and leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk, clearly comfortable in this odd, chemical-smelling, machine-riddled room.

“What’s this, then?” asked the supposed doctor.

“Test subject.”

The doctor’s brows rose, and his eyes shone excitedly. He kicked off from his desk, chair rolling back enough for him to hop to his feet.

“Can I—?!”

“Non-fatal only.”

The doctor’s cheery face dropped into a disappointed scowl.

“Fine… but I’m never gonna get anywhere on Serum K if you guys don’t give me some expendables!”

“Yeah, yeah,” groaned the guard, shoving Zubert forward into the room. “I’ll let the Master know your concerns.”

The doctor crinkled his nose. “Yeah, sure ya will.”

The guard gave a final wave and a sarcastic “have fun!” as he left, sealing the door behind him.

The doctor turned and gave the tied-up Zubert a strange smile.

“How d’you feel about needles, little man?”

Drixzy hadn’t moved an inch from where she sat. Hours had passed, but she felt frozen. What was going to happen to her? She had spent so long following Gremix faithfully, catering to his every demand for years, and in one foolish moment had thrown that all away. What was she thinking? Why would she do something so stupid?! She rubbed at her temples, mind racing. It was Zubert and Stix—something about them. She was becoming weak for them, forgetting her place… and theirs.

Drixzy gasped, startled from her thoughts as her bedroom door opened once again. A guard’s head popped in.

“The Master calls you. He wishes you to clean up an unsightly mess in the throne room.”

Drixzy, puzzled, stood from her bed to follow the guard out. A mess? Was he making her do chores as punishment?

As soon as she crossed into sight of the throne room, she found herself wishing that true.

She cried out in despair, running into the room with loud, fast CLICK CLICK CLICKs of her boots on the stone. Reaching the center below the throneward stairs, she fell to her knees, hands shaky and unsure of what to do to what she found there… an unsightly mess, indeed. Stix was unconscious, his shirt shred to pieces and his back all but mutilated and losing him significant amounts of blood. She turned her head to the throne to see Gremix seated there, staring down at her, expressionless and cold.

“Master--!”

He raised a hand, flicking his wrist to toss something down at her. Drixzy caught it skillfully, whatever it was, and she brought it close to herself to see it. Small, green, and lightly glowing, it appeared to be a minor healthstone.

“Embed that into his back, an’ clean him up; you might have a chance to keep him alive yet, my pet.”

Drixzy swallowed back tears, brushing one hand’s fingers through bloodstained hair—hair she now knew was white. And this is what he got for her knowing.

“Oh, Stix, I’m so sorry,” she muttered into his ear as she stooped down to lift his limp body. Plenty of guards and other followers were around, and they watched her quietly, some whispering to one another, but not a one offering to help as she hurriedly part-carried, part-dragged the significantly taller, bloodied goblin away.

His eyes didn’t open right away when his consciousness returned to him. Stix pondered in the darkness of his mind if he was dead. Was he in the afterlife? The afterlife felt like a very comfy bed. But slowly his senses returned to him, and he could make out quiet noises. Little subtle sounds that signaled that another person was around. Well, he certainly couldn’t be dead, then; his happiest afterlife, he thought, would be free from dealing with other people ever again. He was already not keen on most people, and recent events were really only setting the roots of that feeling even deeper.

Recent events?

His eyes finally cracked open, just to see nothing but darkness. Wait, was he dead? He lifted his head—no, he just had his face in a pillow, after all. Damn.

He regretted the movement instantly.

“Nnngh--!!” Stix groaned as he winced, plummeting his face back into soft feathery pillows.

“Don’t move!” came a concerned voice from somewhere nearby. Drixzy’s voice.

He only groaned again.

“You’re injured, just lay still and rest,” she said. Her voice was soft, delicate… sad.

He didn’t want to feel bad for her—he was the one who suffered for her! And yet, the tone of her voice seemed to tug at his heart. What annoying, confusing, conflicting feelings he’d had since entering this palace.

“Stix,” Drixzy said, walking over to the side of the bed where he laid, “do you know where Zubert is?”

Stix thought about it. His memories of what happened before he passed out were fuzzy… what was that word again? It had seemed such an odd thing that Gremix said. Oh--

“Doc’r,” came his pillow-muffled response.

Drixzy stumbled backwards as though she had been shoved by the invisible force of his voice.

“D-doctor?!”

“M’hmm.”

“Stay here!” Drixzy said, turning to make a dash out her door, but she paused. “I mean, you probably can’t go anywhere right now if you’d wanted to, but…” Oh, what was she saying? She was in a rush!

The clacking of her boots as she sprinted down halls and around corners echoed throughout the lower chambers. One might have thought that cacophonous sound would be enough for people to keep an eye open, but Drixzy still nearly mowed someone over in her rush. She didn’t stop to apologize. Did she ever stop to apologize? She didn’t remember being polite to followers ever. Why wasn’t she polite to them?

The warning-adorned door smashed open with a loud BANG!, Drixzy immediately yelling, “BAZLEE! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?”

The doctor, this Bazlee, blinked at her, apparently having been in the middle of an experiment; syringe in hand, surgical mask over nose and mouth, and someone green and struggling bound to the metal table before him. Her heart sank. It wasn’t Zubert.

“Hello to you too, Drixzy. Why yes, I’ve been lovely, thanks for asking!”

“Where is he?”

Bazlee looked puzzled. “Whom?”

“Zubert!” Drixzy shouted, fear straining her voice. “He’s—he’s short, an’ has black hair, an’ tattoos, an’ really sexy arms!”

From somewhere deeper in the room came a weak chuckle. Her ears perked and she dashed towards the sound.

She went around a large, humming machine of some sort to find Zubert sprawled out on a stained bedroll on the floor.

“You really think my arms are sexy?” he asked. His voice was but a scratchy wisp of strained breath, his face pale and eyelids drooping.

Drixzy knelt beside him, placing a hand on his cheek. He was cold as ice. She swallowed hard, ears pinning.

“Are you in pain? Can you move?” she asked.

Zubert took a bit to respond, seeming to have to gather the energy to over time.

“Badly. Can’t move.” He gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Drixzy. I failed you.”

“No, no, of course you didn’t, don’t say that,” she murmured, cupping his cheeks in her hands.

“He ain’t gonna die, you can chill. Probably, at least. …Maybe.”

Drixzy turned, scrutinizing Bazlee, who had snuck up behind her at some point.

“How do I help him?”

The doctor pursed his lips to one side, giving an exaggerated “hmmmmmmmm…”

“Bazlee! This is no time for your crap!” Drixzy snapped.

He snickered and shrugged.

“I dunno, honestly. Warm him up? I design the poisons, not the antidotes.”

Drixzy huffed. She scooped her arms under Zubert’s back and tried to lift, but with a groan of strained effort, she realized that while the bottom half of Zubert was within her limits, his upper body bulk was far too heavy for her to heft all the way back to her bedroom.

Zubert gave another weak chuckle. “Sorry…”

“Stop apologizing,” Drixzy said, rubbing her hands down her face. What was she going to do?

She scanned her surroundings, seeking anything that could give her an idea—and her eyes landed on Bazlee, who was no longer paying attention to her, instead pulling bloodied rubber gloves from his hands to dispose of.

“Bazlee,” Drixzy started, her voice softer than it had been any time she’d addressed him before, “please, will you help me?”

The doctor eyed her.

“Please—we used to be friends!”

This puzzled the red-haired man, whose brows lowered in concern. “What? When?”

Drixzy paused. When? She could have sworn… her head pounded as she tried to dig up where that thought had come from.

“I… I don’t know.”

Bazlee gave her an incredulous look, but shrugged it off.

“I guess. That useless idiot they just gave me died before I could get anythin’ done, so I could take a break…”

Stix had dozed off, pain wearing him down into sleep again and again, but a clattering awoke him. The sound of the door opening, and what sounded like squeaky wheels…

“Thank you,” Drixzy said, taking one of Bazlee’s hands in her own with a grateful squeeze after they had moved Zubert from the wheeled stretcher they transported him with to the bed.

“Yeah, well,” Bazlee mumbled, pulling his hand away from hers and shaking it off like she’d gotten water or cooties on it. “Next time one of your dudes ends up in my lab, I’m not doin’ this again. Jus’ for the record.”

“You will never see them in there again.”

Bazlee laughed, and taking the stretcher, wheeled it out of the room. A few moments after he closed the door, fast wheel-squeaking could be heard from the halls, along with a “YEEEEAHHHHH!”—then very soon a “WAIT, NO—” and a crashing sound.

Drixzy pursed her lips—she had no time to go attend to the doofus doctor who she could only assume just tried to ride his stretcher down the halls.

“J’fnd’m?” came a muffled voice from pillowed face.

“Yeah,” Drixzy said. “I found him.” She placed a hand tenderly on Zubert’s chest. His breathing was slow and weak.

She tried piling blankets upon blankets upon blankets over him, but nothing she did seemed to warm him, and it seemed the color was completely draining from his body—she’d never seen a green so white. She searched her mind desperately, staring down at her hands. Useless hands! They couldn’t even save her… pets? No, they weren’t pets to her. An ache in her chest denied that term, and she longed for something else. Her eyes drifted from palms to the golden cuffs around her wrists. The fel runes on them flickered and glowed, seeming to move and shift around the surface. She hadn’t quite figured out what these were, but she knew that Gremix had created them, and somehow had been summoning her through them—not by sound, but a strange feeling that emanated from them and crept into her mind when he called her name. Perhaps there was more to the shackles than that. Maybe it was a two-way thing.

“Master,” she whispered. “Please… let me save them.” Zubert watched her, pretty sure he was dying and thus slipping away from reality because Drixzy was definitely talking to her own hands.

Nothing happened—until something did. The runes’ glows shone brighter in a burst of sudden green energy, then faded, the color turning into a vapor that dissipated in the air. What did that mean? What kind of help was that?

But then she felt it. A tug in the back of her mind—like when Gremix called for her, but ever so slightly different. This feeling was not saying “come here.” Instead, it simply said “kiss”.

She was too desperate to question, so she leaned in, and laid a kiss upon Zubert's cold, pallid lips. It was then she understood.

A warmth came from her hands, rising up her arms and into her body. It was the touch of her Master—but not being given to her. It was siphoning through her, and as it rose to her head, she heard a gentle inhale from the near-frozen goblin.

Stix, curious of the quiet shuffling, turned his head just enough that he could peek over with one yellow eye. What he saw, he couldn’t quite explain. Well, he could explain the part that was Drixzy smooching Zubert like she tended to, but the fel glow overflowing from beneath her blindfold and bursting in waves from her wristbands was another thing. The lights seemed to materialize into a green fog, which then drifted around Zubert, where it seemed to then be sucked into him. Miraculously, color was rapidly reappearing in his skin, starting with a golden red in the cheeks and ears signifying not just life but that he was quite enjoying what slowly but surely became a much deeper kiss. Regaining his ability to move, Zubert sat up—hands met faces, silent pleased noises escaped them, and the fel clouds continued until finally Drixzy pulled away. Zubert, half lidded eyes making him seem entranced, tried to lean to follow her, but Drixzy put her hand on his face and for a few seconds they just sat like that. With a twitch of an ear, Zubert seemed to find himself again, though looking confused, and Drixzy lowered her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Zubert looked down at his hands, turning them around, then moved his arms around a bit. “Yeah! I’m kinda achey, but way better now!” He gave her a perplexed look. “What did you do?”

“I d'no, but I don’t like it,” came a muffled voice to the side.

Drixzy frowned. “Stix, let me heal you too.”

“Hell no!” Stix said, wincing as the slight chest movement only served to reopen barely-scabbed gashes, gushing hot blood into the bandages wrapped over practically his entire torso. “Keep that demon stuff away from me.”

“You’re bleeding profusely and in so much pain, though,” Drixzy said, voice low and concerned.

“Don’t care.”

Drixzy sighed. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault, I failed to take proper care of you both but just ended up hurting you.”

“That’s not true!” argued Zubert.

“Yeah,” Stix agreed, brows lowering into a look of disgust. “You didn’t hurt us, that monster out there on his shiny chair did!”

“Do not speak that way of The Master,” Drixzy said disapprovingly.

“Seriously? How c’n yer stand up for that guy?! Don’t y’ see he’s terrible?” Stix asked indignantly.

“He isn’t,” Drixzy disagreed, slipping off the bed and walking around it to Stix's side. “You don’t know him like I do. You don’t know how he is when we’re alone.”

Stix blinked in disbelief. “Are you even hearin' yerself?”

“Stix,” chided Zubert. “Jus’ stop.”

“No! This is insane, this—nnh!”

He had started to try to push himself up, forgetting until too late that every single movement stung like a razor down his back.

He felt hands on his face, which gently turned his head in the opposite direction, towards Drixzy.

“Don’t,” Stix said. “C-c’mon…”

“It really works, Stix, I feel way better now,” Zubert said, trying to offer some reassurance.

“I’m only helping,” Drixzy insisted.

“I don’t want yer help.”

Drixzy scowled.

“Well, I don’t care what you want. You’re mine, and I’ll do as I will.”

Stix couldn’t exactly back away or fight her off, so he just squeezed his eyes shut as she leaned in, twisting to meet his pillow bound face, and pressed her soft lips onto his.

She hadn’t kissed his lips even once; Stix figured she just had Zubert for that kind of stuff. He certainly didn’t think she’d kiss him, and he certainly didn’t think he would have enjoyed it so much. There was a strange warmth that seemed to seep from her lips, tapping into his own body. His mind became vague; were they using tongue? It was as though his consciousness had left his body to float in a liminal space. It was a painless place, an anxiety-free place. So nice. So heavenly.

He blinked, suddenly finding himself once more in his broken body, strewn across Drixzy’s bed. He felt dazed, yet renewed. Shakily, he pushed himself up to sitting, and Zubert gave an excited applause.

Stix still looked worse for the wear, having lost significant amounts of blood, but as shown by Zubert carefully peeling bloody bandages off the skinny goblin, the horrendous mutilated flesh had closed up quite a bit, thick scabbing holding the cuts closed as though it’d had several days to heal already. Stix shuddered as the cold hit his now-bare torso, then hissed sharply through his teeth—“fuck, it still hurts.”

“Still as much?” Zubert asked concernedly.

Stix considered himself carefully before answering.

“Nah. Less, but it still hurts.”

Drixzy peered down at her bracers, but the runes had died down to their usual faint flickering glow. “I don’t think I can do any more. I’m sorry.”

Stix grumbled, but Zubert, much more enthusiastic about not feeling like he was freezing to death, chimed in with a “you’ve done plenty! More than we could have asked for.”

Drixzy gave him a weak smile, and the door creaked open behind her. She glanced over to see a guard simply holding it open. For a moment she was puzzled, but then she realized why he was there as the back of her mind prickled: come here.

She peered at her boys, both better but tired.

“I’m being called for. Try to get more rest, you two.”

Zubert nodded, Stix giving no acknowledgement of her even having spoken.

Drixzy turned and strode out the door. The call wasn’t coming from the throne room this time. She could sense his power even from afar. He was in his chambers.

With a deep breath, she started down the halls.

She entered slowly, warily. The dim, fel-lit room was same as it always was: cold, slightly spooky, and containing the one thing she was truly afraid of…

Gremix.

“You called for me, Master?”

“Yes,” he answered from where he lay, casually leaned against the strikingly carved and engraved headboard of his luxurious bed, arms crossed behind his head. As usual, he wore a delicate, fancy robe, which spread from his crossed legs like a fish tail.

“Join me.” He pulled his arms from behind to pat the mattress beside him. “You’ll be sleeping with me tonight.”

Her heart skipped a beat—it’d been so long since Gremix had let her sleep with him. She wanted to be excited, but a pit in her stomach warned her that Gremix was probably still very displeased with her. Cautiously, she came forth, hefting herself into the soft bedding and crawling over to lay beside her master. An uncertain hand lifted towards his chest, but she hesitated to touch him.

“It’s fine, dear,” he said with a smile that didn’t look quite genuine.

She laid her hand softly on his chest, scooting in close to him and nuzzling into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Master,” she nearly whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Bygones, bygones,” Gremix said, combing clawed fingers through her nearly-white blonde locks. “What’s up with you lately, huh? Of everyone, I never would have thought you would disobey my direct command.”

She burrowed further into his shoulder in shame.

“I’ve been feelin’ so strange,” Drixzy said. “I keep getting confused. I told Bazlee we used to be friends”—Gremix’s brows furrowed immediately—”but that can’t be true… I don’t remember that, nor did he. I don’t know why I said it.”

“I see,” Gremix said, no note of concern in his tone despite the betrayal of a distressed face. “That’s very silly of you. You never met Bazlee until the Palace.”

“I know… but for a moment, I was so sure.” She frowned and shifted back to look entreatingly at the warlock. “What’s wrong with me, Master? I feel like I’m losing grip on myself.”

Gremix pursed his lips, scrutinizing the woman’s face a moment. Reaching up slowly, he lifted her blindfold up and off her head. She opened her eyes, and as usual, they glowed with unholy intensity.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Gremix said, a soft tone to his voice that Drixzy hadn’t heard in so long. “I am going to fix you.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

Gremix froze, and the abrupt stiffening of his muscles indicated to Drixzy that something she said was wrong. Her eyes widened, and her hand shot to her mouth, covering it in confused horror.

“Wh… why did I…”

Gremix's ears pinned, slight movements in his jaw a sign of clenched teeth.

“Never. Call me that. Again,” he said, some sort of powerfully serious frustration seeming to bubble inside of him.

“I-I'm sorry, Master—oh!”

Drixzy found herself suddenly flipped onto her back, the warlock hovering above her on his hands and knees. She couldn’t remember the last time Gremix had looked so upset. Or had he ever looked upset?

“Master,” Drixzy started softly, swallowing a lump in her throat, “how… long have we been here?”

The Grand Warlock’s hand slid up the front of her body and he leaned in to her ear, his warm breath giving her goosebumps.

“Always.”

Zubert and Stix had waited a while for her, but Drixzy did not return that night, and they fell asleep sprawled out in the spaciousness of the bed. When they awoke, she still had not returned. It wasn’t until a while after the door guard brought them dinner that the blindfolded young woman came back.

There was something about the way she was walking—hips swaying, each heeled bootstep like a step down the catwalk. Her lips were tight and straight, her posture immaculate. Expressionless.

“Welcome back, Mi—” started Zubert, practically a dog wagging its tail at its owner’s return.

“Silence.”

Zubert paused. Her voice was flat, cold. He glanced aside at Stix, who returned his troubled look.

“On the floor, pets. Where you belong.”

Both guys seemed to wilt a little, scooching themselves off the comfy linens in disappointment. What happened? Drixzy seemed to have completely changed overnight. Zubert thought it felt familiar… Like how she was when he first arrived.

“Drixzy—”

“I said silence.” Drixzy sneered at them, her voice carrying a malice that chilled them to their cores. “I have failed my Master by being too soft on you both. You will learn your places, or else be destroyed.”

Stix paled. Killed, sure; but “destroyed” sounded—somehow—worse.

“Do you understand me?”

Stix and Zubert both nodded fervently.

A smile crept onto her lips, but not the soft, tender smiles from before. It seemed, in a way, sinister. As though merely watching them fear her was a pleasant joke. A horrible realization crept up on both of the guys.

She was smiling just like him.

#my stupid shit writing #au that should never happen #gremix #drixzy #zubert #bazlee #stixit #catfeetz

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Wan High Weeping (Part 46)

“Wheeee!” Tom-Tom whooped happily. “Higher, Mai, higher!”

She gave the swing another push and his delighted giggles increase in volume and amount. Despite the trouble he has caused her, he was the only thing she had left to cling onto. Especially now that Zuko has moved on. She supposed that it was her own fault. She had broken things off with him, what right did she have to complain?

She gave the swing another push.

Her focus was waning. She had asked him how he was doing and he had told her that he was a month clean. That news had been a thrill, the only good news she had heard in the past few months. Good until it wasn’t. Good until she offered to take him back when he came back to Wan High. Good until he told her that he would be going for a GED instead of returning to Wan High. Good until he told her that he had a new boyfriend.

There he was sorthing his life out. Overcoming an addiction and years of abuse.

And there she was with a tattoo and shredded arms.

Not that she had the will to make any changes. She told him that it was fine when he texted, ‘I don’t think that we’re healthy for each other, Mai’. She even agreed. But she had a fresh slash on her left forearm. She said that it sounded fine to her when he suggested, ‘we can still talk, I just think that we should find people we don’t have so much history with.’ Perhaps they weren’t abusive to each other, not on purpose anyways, but they were about as close as they could have gotten to it without being there. And so she had a second fresh slash.

An ‘X’ she had cut into her skin.

Tom-Tom squealed sharply and for one horrible moment she thought that he had fallen while her mind had wandered. “Again, Mai, again! Start pushing again!” It would seem that she had let the swing come to a stop entirely, she muttered an apology and initiated the motion again.

Her arm had a third slash that morning. She drew it out upon concluding that she was a fair weather friend. Whoever the hell this Hahn guy was, he had taken Zuko through heroine hell and rode it out with him. She had dropped Zuko the moment he suggested drugs. Even when they were in their on and off again state, she had made a point of dodging and refusing to acknowledge his mentions of heroine.

She had done his sister the same. The girl got into one of her moods and Mai had cut her out, in no mood herself to deal with that. She couldn’t have just been an adult and told Azula that she was in an introverted mood. No, she had ignore the problem until it grew. And then she found out about the accident and she didn’t have the guts to apologize for making assumptions. She had cut her friend out entirely, when she needed someone the most.

At least she could say that she didn’t play favorites when it came to the Kasai siblings, they both got the same cold shoulder. The same absent attitude. The same lack of sympathy.

She wanted to believe that there was at least one person she took up a ride or die mentality for. But she had cut TyLee out when the girl stopped acting bubbly and fun.

In retrospect she didn’t know how she was demanding joy and pep from TyLee when her own mood resembled a thick chilly mist. And, compared to TyLee, compared to Azula and Zuko and Katara, were her problems really so deep?

They had so much more to deal with. Much steeper battles, and they didn’t go emotionally blank. They still had fight and spunk, even if that spark had been momentarily dulled, they got it back.

She zoned in on Tom-Tom’s joyful babbles, trying to force herself into happiness. Really, it was a perfect day.  Sunny but enchantingly snow. Winter had always been her favorite season. The snow fell in thick flakes, the kind whose shape one could discern. Tom-Tom was a bundle of excitement, this was the happiest she’d seen him since his accident. The last of the birds chirped pleasantly.

By all means, she should be happy.

But she wasn’t. She would have enjoyed this and she knew that she would look back on this day and hate herself for not being able to appreciate such a perfect day in full. That even this small moment of happiness was tainted by an undertone of somber. And  that

made her miserable tenfold.

“I wanna go slide.” Tom-Tom pointed.

“That’s all wet, Tom.”

“I wanna go slide, Mai.” He was tugging at her arm. She winced as the fabric rubbed over her cuts. She took him to the slid just to get it to stop.

She let him play until his nose turned red. “Alright Tom, time to go home.”

“Not yet.” He sniffled.

“It’s getting cold.”

“I’m not cold.” But the snot running freely down his face told her otherwise.

“You’re getting all, snotty, that’s gross and it means it’s time to go home.” She lifted him up, ignoring his protests and the sharp pangs in her arms.

.oOo.

“I watched Tom-Tom good this time.” She tried. “He had a lot of fun.”

“And you’ll be watching him that closely until the day you move out of this house.” Michi screeched. “Watching Tom-Tom is the only way we can make sure that you don’t go out and get tattoos.”

She wished she had a good pair of headphones, anything to drown the woman out. She was tired of hearing about the tattoo. Tired of hearing about every little thing she did wrong and nothing of what she did right. Has she ever done anything right?

She was beginning to wonder.

She yanked Tom-Tom’s hand much rougher than she had intended. “It’s bath time Tom, and don’t give me a hard time. She let the tub warm before plopping him into the water.

“Are you mad at me? I’s sorry.”

Mai sighed. “I’m not mad at you Tom, I’m mad at mommy and daddy.”

“Why?”

How was she supposed to explain that to a toddler. “You know how mommy sometimes makes you pick up your blocks and it makes you angry.”

He nodded.

“Mommy makes me pick up my blocks and her blocks.” Mai explained. “I didn’t even play with them, does that sound very fair, Tom.”

“Mmm mmm, no fair.” He folded his arms over his chest.

Mai began shampooing his hair. “That’s why I’m mad at mommy.”

“Ouchies.” At first she thought that she had snagged his hair. It took her a moment to realize that his finger was pointing at her arm. “Why, ouchies?”

That was something she wouldn’t even try to explain, so she lied. “I get ouchies from art class, that’s why daddy doesn’t let you play with scissors yet.”

.oOo.

What an example she was setting for Tom-Tom.

She eyed her phone, lucky to have it back in her hands, but at the same time she didn’t have much use for it. Her conversation with Zuko had died away, she welcomed that though. She didn’t have anyone else to talk to. This time she had done a very good job at isolating herself.

For a moment she thought of calling that poser Moo-Chee.

She wasn’t that desperate.

But she was feeling rather macostistic. So she texted Azula, simple and to the point. ‘How are you?’

‘Perfect, Mai. Just perfect’. She knew Azula’s texting style well enough to know that it was oozing with sarcasm.

‘What’s wrong?’

She replied with a picture of Chan jumping her car, probably sniveling away.  Compared to that man, Mai looked like a true and die hard friend. ‘Why didn’t you just text me?’ Mai asked. She regretted it as soon as the delivered notification popped up.

‘I was under the impression that you didn’t want to talk to me.’ Azula replied. ‘You made that perfectly clear. So why are you talking now?’

‘I didn’t want to talk to anyone’, wouldn’t have sufficed; she knew that Azula had seen her chatting it up with TyLee. Truth be told, Azula took a lot of energy to be around, more than TyLee or her lunchmates. She didn’t have an adequate response so she simply didn’t reply.

Thirty or so minutes came and went before her phone buzzes again. ‘Really, Mai?’

It was a fair question. She had opened the conversation and let it drop with no warning whatsoever.

‘What did you want me to say?’ Mai responded.

Another thirty minutes and she knew that Azula was returning what she had received.

An hour after that her mother called her downstairs and she braced herself for another lecture and a list of things to do.

“I told you that you weren’t allowed to have friends over.” Michi hissed.

“I didn’t invite anyone.”

“I invite myself to places.” Azula stepped inside. “Have you forgotten that?”

Mai groaned to herself. That was exactly why her mother had no love for Azula.

“Forgive me,” she feigned politeness. “It has been a while since you’ve come to visit.”

Azula shrugged. The girl had a lot of nerve. “Yes, Mai and I are going to talk about that while I’m still in town.”

“Glad to see you’re you again.” Mai commented when they were safely in her room and away from Michi’s overbearing ears.

“I am, more or less.” She seated herself on the foot of Mai’s bed.

Something about her tone indicated that she leaned more towards ‘less.’ “What are you doing here?”

“I was dropping Teo off at home and then Chan wanted to talk about his potential court date so I stuck around.”

“No, what are you doing here?”

“Your text was practically a cry for help.” She rolled her eyes. “I hope you’re better at ass kissing than Chan.”

“You know that I’m not even going to try. If you care about me then you do. I’m not going to beg for it.”

“Take a joke, Mai.”

“Have some compassion.” She returned.

“Not my strong suit.” Azula muttered.

“You seemed to have it for Teo and TyLee...and Katara. Zuko too, probably?”

Azula sprawled herself out on the bed. “Unfortunately, Chan has me in a very…”

“Sassy and sarcastic mood.” Mai filled in nonchalantly.

“Yes.” She admitted. “But I thought I’d drop by anyways. People don’t just start talking to people again unless they’re trying to say something. What are you trying to say?”

She had a feeling that Azula already knew exactly what she was trying to say. She held her arm out anyways.

“You’re doing that again?” Azula’s expression softened. “I thought you stopped doing that in middle school.”

“Yeah. And then your brother happened. And you happened. And my mother…”

“A lot happened.” Azula agreed.

“Why does it matter to you?” She asked. Though she didn’t really think that there was anything Azula could say.  As soon as she left, Mai would be leaving too.

She scrolled through her camera roll, taking it to the very beginning. She, Azula, and TyLee stared boldly into the camera looking for all the world like nothing could knock them from the top. How very wrong they had been.

“That was a long time ago.”

“It was maybe two years ago. That’s not that long.” Azula remarked, unhelpfully. She wasn’t very good at this comforting thing. But at least she was trying, that was more than anyone else, save for Tom-Tom and TyLee, could say. But Tom was just a kid and TyLee had been putting more focus on Katara and her trial these days.

“Don’t you have a long drive or something?” Mai asked.

“Two hours.”

“Then maybe you should get on top of that.”

“And what are you going to do when I leave?” Azula asked. Mai’s stomach crawled. “It isn’t fun you know. It’s not as powerful and glorious as they make it seem. You’re a mess and you can’t breathe. It hurts and it isn’t as quick as they make it out to be. You have time to think about it. To really think about it. And suddenly you want to take it back.”

Mai gripped the bedspread.

“And that’s with pills. I don’t know much about slit wrists but I can imagine that it’ll leave you with just as much time to think about just what it’ll do to your brother.” She stood and headed for the door, knowing very well that Mai would pull her back into the room.

“Are you making the call or am I?”

She didn’t leave any room for arguing. “I’ll call myself.”

“Your mother better learn to accept me inviting myself over.”

“Nobody is ever going to like or accept that, Azula. Especially not my mom. You can save me every single night and she’d still be pissed that you show up announced.”

“That’s probably true.”

“You’ll stay until they get here?”

“I’ll drive you, if you’d rather do that than call.” Azula replied. “It’s along my way.”

.oOo.

The look on her mother’s face when she rolled up her sleeves haunted her. It kept her hushed for most of the drive. It had been a look of complete horror. And her father, she was lucky that he wasn’t home. She was lucky that she wouldn’t be home as her mother struggled to think of how to tell Tom-Tom why the lady was taking his sister away.

“Tom-Tom is probably going to hate you for a while.”

“I had an entire school of people doing that. I think I can handle the scorn of a two year old.”

“He’s four.” Mai noted.

“He’ll get it one day.” Azula replied stoically.

Mai hoped that he would never get it in the way that she and Azula did. Azula up to the institution and found a parking spot. There was nothing Mai wanted less than to go into that building. Azula waited for her to open the door first before opening her own. Apparently she wasn’t going to leave an oppertuinty for Mai to skip out.

That was probably better for her.

“Thanks, Azula.” She mumbled. “I don’t know why you came back for me.”

“Because Katara came back for me.” This time her attempts at keeping a flat tone fall incredibly short. It occurred to Mai, only then, that she had put Azula back in a moment that she’d rather forget.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize.”

She still felt like she should.

She had a lot to apologize for.

“Not everything is your fault all the time.”

She always knew that Azula would be the one to make her cry.

#Avatar #Mai #Azula #Zuko #TyLee #Katara #Toph #Aang #Sokka #Suki #Fanfiction

[nny11writes]

Let’s Try This Again- Chapter 2

<-Previous

They had dithered in the alley for a while, Anakin pacing with Ahsoka and Obi-Wan turning his head to watch their route. It seemed like a bad omen to him, that his future p-that she would appear in a dingy back alley covered in trash. That she would scare him at such a young age. How easily he found himself fond of her and wishing to keep her, and feeling terrible for that. Keep her. As if she was a slave instead of a child. Anakin wasn’t sure what else to feel about it, they belonged to each other now didn’t they? That’s what a force bond did right? While he quietly tried to wrestle with the implications of it all, his Master asked some rather important questions to no avail.

“Where are your parents?”

She’d answered by pointing at Obi-Wan and then patting Anakin’s back.

“Who do you live with?”

“You!”

“How did you get here?”

This was answered only with a shrug.

“How do you get food?”

“Trade.”

That had left Anakin laughing, imagining this little thing walking up to any of the stalls and unable to see above the top while demanding food.

“Oh, how do you do that?”

“Shiny!” She motioned around Anakin’s neck with one hand, her other arm still locked around him. Her steadfast refusal to let go of him during this whole affair was rather impressive.

It went like that for while. Her answers little more than fluff, and the few that weren’t were only half explained. Generally they were all worthless to their attempts to ascertain her current living conditions. It left Anakin with his gut turning. She was alone, an orphan or a runaway, or who knew what. Savvy enough to at least survive and to present herself a certain way. He’d seen something like this, people who would exploit themselves in any way possible to get money; the only way they often could make money. People who would roll in filth and excrement and then lay prone to beg. Those missing limbs putting them on full display for alms. But that was usually on outer rim worlds where people were desperate and the law was loose. This wasn’t Nal Hutta or Tatooine; this was a mid rimworld. Ahsoka would have been snapped up by some authority or do gooder by now if that was what she did. The longer the questioning went on the more upset Anakin found himself. Someone had abandoned this child, someone had left her on her own. That sat very, very wrong with him.

And by all accounts, it appeared that Obi-Wan was very insistent on figuring out where to drop her off. Looking to abandon her again.

The questions became too much, all the thoughts flying around his head until Anakin turned sharply to look at Obi-Wan. “We can’t leave her, I’m taking her with us no matter what you think.”

Obi-Wan’s calm facade splintered, their own bond momentarily flooding with hurt, before reshaping into a smooth wall again. “Anakin, I was never going to suggest leaving her behind.”

He could feel the guilt there, under his righteous anger, everything twisting up inside him and all of it just outside of his reach. Tears pricked at his eyes and Anakin knew he must be turning shades as he fought it off. He sniffled and found his voice raising with almost every word. “It’s not right, it’s not right what they did to her!”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan moved quickly, halting his pacing with one hand on each arm. “Anakin, you need to calm yourself.”

Anakin squeezed the girl in his arms tighter as if to ward off his own growing anger. “No! This is, like, super Republic space! This shouldn’t have happened! Where were the police, where were the Jedi? We can’t leave her!”

The world shrunk down to the blood in his veins and the pounding in his head.

“Anakin, no one is saying we’ll leave her, she’s coming with us and-”

“Good, because this is stupid! If I ever found out who did this, I’d-”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s shout finally snapped him out of it. The hands on his arms almost vice like. His Master’s blue eyes piercing and shocked, and so very worried.

Anakin sniffed as hard as he could, he could feel snot on his upper lip and tears rolling slow and fat down his face. His head felt tight and his chest hurt as he trembled, coughing and gross. He dropped his head only to find Ahsoka staring up at him with wide scared eyes.

“I’m...I’m sorry Master, I don’t know what came over me.” He whispered the words watching the cautious way Ahsoka moved. She squeezed his neck and it occurred to him that she hadn’t completely let him go even though she’d been scared.

“We will discuss that later, and I do mean that we will discuss it and the repercussions it will have on the both of you with that bond. For now we will go to a medcenter to make sure Ahsoka is physically well and then we will return to our ship to head back to the Temple.” Obi-Wan spoke plainly, his voice harsh and brokering no argument. For all the steel in his voice, Obi-Wan gently pushed Anakin into walking again.

The disappointment was hard to bear, but the silence was worse.

Anakin trudged, wiping his face as best he could on his shoulder and feeling worse for knowing he’d dirtied his new clothes. He let his Master guide him, trying to make up for his outburst, for embarrassing his Master and disappointing him. Desperate to show he could behave and be good. He was just unsure what to do to prove it right now. They reached a med center long before Anakin had a chance to try and say anything.

And the silence was finally broken when a nurse tried to take Ahsoka out of his arms.

“No!” Ahsoka shouted, clinging to him with all her considerable strength.

The nurse soothed as best they could, “We just need to weigh you and get your height sweetling then you can be right back with your friend here.”

“No! No, no, no!” Ahsoka was howling in his ear.

The nurse looked at Anakin and he gulped before trying it himself. “Hey Ahsoka, I promise I’ll pick you right back up ok? Please?”

She jerked back to glare at him with a trembling bottom lip before she started to cry, wailing and jerking in his arms. “No! Ani no! Say no! No!”

He looked helplessly at the nurse and then at his Master. His own recent emotions already surfacing again like a giant bubble of gas rising painfully behind his ribs. Obi-Wan appeared almost frozen, apparently a crying toddler and a crying padawan was too much to handle.

“Ok,” the nurse said calmly, hands lifted placatingly, “it’s ok then. You can stay right there alright? No one is going to force you.”

Ahsoka continued to cry and chant her litany of no’s for the rest of the visit.

Anakin obediently stood on a scale and gave the nurse his weight with his kit. He hummed softly to Ahsoka and tilted her head as the nurse took her temperature. He patted her back and rocked her as the nurse asked him and Obi-Wan questions about her behavior.  Anything to try and glean some insight into her health. He kissed her head as they took blood, causing a whole new wave of screaming and crying. He walked and bounced and rocked and hummed until his throat hurt. Eventually he wondered if Ahsoka would simply cry forever; if she would never run out of steam. Anakin felt a bit like he understood as he miserably watched the way Obi-Wan was trying to subtly watch him. He kind of wished he could just join her. The two of them could cry and growl for the rest of forever. The results came in saying that she was physically fine. Her midichlorians were high for a child. Emotionally is where they guessed a problem might be.

Anakin had wanted to laugh, fighting off wave after wave of inappropriate laughter.

The walk back to the ship gave her time to finally relax, her screaming breaking off into hiccups and then into sniffling. Anakin was excited when he thought she was nuzzling him again, only to feel his Padawan braid being tugged. A slight turn of his head revealed that she had managed to get it in her mouth and was chewing it now. Rather aggressively chewing it. He cringed even as he sighed. Chewed and snotty tunic, puffy face and eyes, why not a slobbery braid too. Not long after that she finally dropped off into sleep.

Despite her relative calm, Anakin kept his mouth shut the rest of the way to the ship. Unwilling to tempt her or his Master’s tempers.                                                                                                                   Next->

#fanfiction #fanfic #Ahsoka Tano #Anakin Skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #LTTA

[elfiesink]

Blame it on the Cows

Some people need to die. It's just a fact of life. There are people who are in the way and they need to stop being in the way. Sometimes they're good people and that's unfortunate. But most of the time, they are bad people. Your job is simple. Find them. And kill them. Sometimes, rarely, you have to get some information out of them first. And that's also unfortunate. And Gross! Although, either way, it's pretty gross. Humans rarely die in a way that isn't gross.

It's an average night of stabbing people for fun and profit. Mostly profit. It's not very fun. There's a lot of crying and tears and snot and it's pretty nasty. High levels of nasty. This guy was in the trafficking business, which was bad enough on its own, but he had recently attempted to take the daughter of one of the local kingpins. Huge mistake. Local Kingpin had money. Local Kingpin knew the number to a good assassin. Local Kingpin paid good assassin a significant amount of money to torture this guy to death. So you did. You really hate when people ask you to cut off fingers. It's a lot harder than it sounds. Bolt cutters are difficult.

It takes you a good four hours to whittle him down to nothing but mindless dry groaning. A few more stabs and then he was just dead. Not bad for a day's work. Or, it was. Morally. Money wise. Not bad. You pulled your knife out of him one last time, pausing when a man with a gun burst through the door.

"Oh... Hey... Um. This is not what it looks like." You said quickly. He was a tall man, older, with white hair and a weird mask on his face. His rifle immediately pointed at you.

"Really. Because it looks like you killed my target." Oh he sounded angry. Who hired more than one assassin? You specifically stated in your contract that you didn't do races. Damnit, now you had to kill someone else. Your work day just doubled.

"I mean. A lot of things are deadly! A lot of things could have caused this death. Wasps. Spiders. Falling vending machines. Cows! Do you know how many people are killed by cows every year? The world is a dangerous place!" You speak quickly, waving your hands in front of you. Wondering if you could talk him into fucking off if you offered a cut of the pay.

"That's..." He lowered the rifle slightly. "You're covered in blood. Holding a bloody knife. Next to his bloody corpse."

"Pure coincidence, check out the cows."

The man's silence made you uncomfortable. Actually the whole situation made you uncomfortable. The blood was cooling and now you were becoming cold and sticky and it was going to dry eventually and then you would be cold and flakey and flakey blood is disgusting because it gets Everywhere. Like sand. Except even grosser. Made your skin crawl.

"Why are you here. Who sent you." The man brought the rifle back up. You squeaked. Today was not the day to die. People owed you money.

"Local crime guy. This guy," You motioned to the corpse, "was pulling human trafficking. In this town, that's not okay. So, you know. Stabby. Except again, it wasn't me. If not cows, perhaps the vending machines? You know how people get over the coke vs pepsi debate. I myself prefer Dr. Pepper, but I'm a monster. Metaphorically. About soda, specifically. Not. You know. Morally."

"You realize I'm not buying anything you're saying right." The rifle was back down. Sweet.

"Yeah but I wanted to see how long I could keep going. Can I leave. Or does someone also owe you money now? What's the situation I would like to shower." You tucked the knife into the small bag you brought with you, tossing it over your shoulder. It was a good knife. You were going to clean it. Use it to go fishing. For, actual fish. Maybe. Probably not. You were probably going to stab someone else with it.

"I can't say he didn't deserve to die." The man grumbled. "... so what. You're the town's vigilante assassin?"

No. "Yes."

"... How useful are you in a combat situation." Oh?

"This guy had like 8 guards on him. They too encountered the cows. Poor souls." They also encountered sleeping gas and being driven off a bridge in a truck. Those cows. They are diabolical.

The man walked up to the corpse, examining it. "Can you work without butchering someone like this? This is. excessive."

"I generally prefer not to. I don't enjoy being covered in blood. I look like the ugly extra that dies after finding the hot people killed in a horror movie. The not-ugly but not-hot one that survives at the end finds my corpse twisted up like a pretzel." You motioned with your arms to try to convey the pretzel twist.

"Sure you're not the hot one that dies first?"

You raise your eyebrows at him. "Question. Are you going to offer me a job because I'm hot."

"No." Yes.

"I'm going to ask for your services just once. To deal with a problem." He gave a small chuckle. "Look who's hiring on the assassin now."

"Who said I'd work for you?" You ask, crossing your arms. The man looked at you, then at his rifle, then back at you.

"... To be honest, I was going to say yes regardless. Because you called me hot. And I really like the silver hair. Got any scars? Tattoos?" You wiggled your eyebrows at him. He just scoffed and motioned towards the door.

"Go. Meet me at the park tomorrow. I'll find you there."

You shrugged, pleased to be getting out of this with your life. And your money. You are going to get your money from the kingpin. You doubted this guy was going to be paying you much for whatever he wanted but. Hey. Hot voice. Hot hair.

"... Scars." You hear muttered softly behind you. You turn around and wink.

"Score."

It probably would've been a lot more effective if you weren't covered in someone's blood, you gross, gross individual. Shower time. Forever. Or, well. For the night. Maybe tomorrow night too if you played your cards right. Hmmm.

#Soldier 76 x Reader #Jack Morrison x Reader #drabble

[autumn-in-phandom]

Pregnancy Terminology with Dan & Phil

I was on my third re-watch of Louise’s collab with the boys when I thought why not make time stamps!

0:01 Their sofa is so oddly asymmetrical, I noticed it in Dan’s video, but it didn’t seem like the thing to mention. So I’m saying it now, it is weird. 0:05 Dan’s little Sprinkle of Glitter jingle got shut down 0:10 Rebranding, “Dan is SNOT on fire”- Phil, fake crying from Dan. 0:15 Phil will never stop being Amazing 0:30 “We both touched the butt.”- Dan “Dan touched the butt.”- Phil  (giggles from Louise and me) 0:38 Phil can’t help calling out to the baby 0:40 “What kind of influence are we having on this child right now?”- Dan (I can’t help picturing them as uncles or godfathers.) 0:43 “Come on Phil.”- says a very fond Dan. Phil is giggling so much. 0:44 “I’m making her excited for life. Come out!”- says a Phil that I am very fond of 0:50 Louise is already done with these two dorks. 1:33 I don’t know why it cracks me up so much but Phil’s “I like to think I know a few things about the birds and the bees.” And the way Dan looks at him, gets me every time (I watched this three times before even beginning the notes/time stamping) 1:45 “Do I need to put your socks on later?” Phil to Louise 

More below, in sections by term!

1:55 “Gestation” 2:02 Phil can’t say “period” without laughing 2:10 “The little egg-sperm”- Phil 2:20 “Imagine you’re like baking a cake”- Phil 2:24 Definition 2:28 Phil makes sure we know he’s not a total idiot 2:33 “Ding ding ding.”-Louise “Ding.”- Phil “Wow.”- Dan 2:38 “Placenta” Phil defers immediately to Dan who has to explain his random humor to Louise. 2:58 Dan sharing accurate information about placenta 3:02 Several references to using and consuming placenta going forward 3:23 Afterbirth “landslide” delivery 3:41 “Alright, did it, let’s do an omelette.”- Dan 3:45 Freeze dried placenta pills 3:46 “Ohh I thought you were going to say sprinkled on cereal your cereal or something like that.”- Phil 3:53 “Ya could. Açaí berry and placenta sprinkles.”- Dan 3:56 “Fundal Height” 3:59 “That’s a sex act.”- Dan says really confidently 4:01 “Right babe, should we do the old fundal height?” Dan says complete with finger motions. Phil glancing at Dan. 4:30 Actual definition 4:40 Dan says a very quiet “Good guess” to Phil. 4:45 “Good guess, Phil.”- says a very supportive Dan “Thank you. Do I get that one?”- asks Phil, who only made a guess based on the word height. “Yeah, totally. I think so.”- says Dan, who guessed a sex act, so you know Phil was much closer. 4:50 Not a sex position, in case anyone needed clarification 4:55 “Episiotomy” “Ooo”- Phil is immediately intrigued and guesses: “I think that’s when you take a picture of the baby...” and Dan lets out a laugh, knowing that’s not it at all. 5:07 “Isn’t that to do with a rude... area?”- Dan 5:10 “You can say vagina. Vagina’s not rude it’s part of a woman’s body.”- Louise 5:15 “Does it just mean vagina though, or is it like surrounding area?” 5:20 Science and linguistic dads work out the meaning. 5:36 Definition. This whole section, Phil’s wide eyes and rapt attention and saying “yeah” to Louise’s “if your baby is coming out of your vagina”. He’s totally visualizing it. 5:47 You put it back in.”- Phil 5:50 The horror 6:02 “You don’t want to have like a vagina to butt... hole.”- Dan 6:06 “The diagonal escape route is much preferred.”- Dan 6:14 “Oh no! You thought she was going to give you a Haribo something.”- Phil whom I love. 6:18 “Imagine someone cutting your bellend.”- Louise using British slang for the head of the penis. (The firs of two things I learned from this video.) 6:28 “Two become one”- Louise sings. 6:36 “You can’t be grossed out by this stuff. We’ve all been born.”- Dan 6:40 “Waterbirth” 6:43 “Where you do it in a pool.”- sassy Dan 6:45 “You get into a big swimming pool and release the baby.”- Phil 6:50 Discussion of baby’s breathing underwater. No the umbilical cord is not a long nose Phil. Babies cannot be fish, whales, tiny dolphins or Aquaman. *Note: newborns have died from being submerged underwater for too long by negligent people. 7:22 “Mucus Plug” 7:25 “What?!” from Phil and giggles from Dan, turning into cracking up 7:28 “It’s all great. Biology is beautiful.”- Dan with side eye to Louise and more laughter. “Look at you.” Says Louise. 7:45 Just get Dani Snot On Fire to snort out some mucus over your episiotomy. 8:00 Definition 8:15 “Slime.”- Dan 8:20 “The literal cock block. If you wanna do it.”- Um not quite Dan... 8:25 “Colostrum” 8:28 “That means butt.”- Dan, “Butt.”- Phil echoes 8:33 “What’s a ‘trum’ Phil? That’s what we have to work out right now.”- Dan once again consulting with his linguistics major boyfriend. 8:40 “Trumm” they both sound out. “It’s an instrument.”- Dan who does an excellent trumpet imitation. 8:43 “It’s when if you’ve got twins they both come out at the same time.”- Jesus Christ, Phil. 8:57 “How big are the the vaginas you’ve seen in your life?”- Louise asks Phil, who clearly thinks lady’s can just have double doors, maybe French ladies do. No he rationalizes that “twins are smaller aren’t they?” 9:10 Definition: “the stuff that comes out of your boobies...” classy Louise 9:20 “You can sell that on eBay.”- Phil 9:21 “Boob nectar”- Dan (nipple nectar would have been so much better) 9:30 How does the boob know? 9:36 “Come on guys, let’s get some milkshake on.”- no Phil 9:42 “I love how shit you are at this.”- me too Louise 9:43 “Neonate” 9:44 “That sounds like something alien.”- classic Phil Phil explains its when you have an alien pregnancy, Louise says not many people have alien pregnancies, Phil counters quietly “You’d think that, but they do.” 9:53 How does Dan not know that neo means new? 10:02 Linguistics boyfriend is no help. “It’s when the guy from the Matrix has a baby.” 10:10 Definition 10:13 New baby, yay Dan, applause 10:20 Doula 10:22 “That’s not easy!”- Phil 10:30 “That’s a pop star isn’t it? ”- former BBC Radio 1 present Dan Howell 10:40 “It’s a part of the vagina that’s kept secret... until you need to use it.”- Dan whom I love 10:44 “A secret one?”- Phil who though vaginas were already confusing enough 10:50 Belly button popping 10:56 Definition 11:08 “Mother of Mothers”, “Mother of Dragons”, “Khaleesi.” 11:12 “I could be your doula.” Says Phil to Louise as he starts massaging her upper arm. Louise does not want Phil to be her doula. Acknowledges Phil has a *shred* more general knowledge, but thinks Dan is calmer. Phil agrees he wouldn’t stay calm. “It’s crowning!” after one minute. 11:44 “Jaws of destruction”- that’s a nice visual Dan 11:55 Phil would put a towel down if Louise went into labor here. 12:12 “We’d make you a warm bath, light some candles, not scented, cause that would like, be too stimulating (very good Dan). We’d hold your hands, call the ambulance-“ “And then I’d feed you a curry while it arrives.”- Phil, providing good inspiration for mpreg fics. 12:30 “Perineal Massage” bonus round 12:33 “Perineal is yer gooch”- Dan providing the second bit of slang I didn’t know. 12:42 The origin of the four finger and elbow massage we saw from Louise’s vlog. 13:16 Duct tape reinforcing suggestion from Phil. Super glue? No. 13:40 “Lower, lower, lower, lower.”- Dan getting very into it with his tongue. 13:51 “I’m so glad that I’m not having a baby with either of you.”- Louise 13:53 “Sorry.”- Dan “Thanks.”- Phil 13:55 “Although I think you’d be like great dads. (“Thank you.”- Phil) like in a Three Men in a Baby.”- Louise 14:06 “Philippa’s a strong name.”- Phil (I’m getting horrible Philippa video flashbacks) 14:20 Dan is delighted at her boy name choice of Daniel, Phil feels slighted. 14:30 “It’s on the list” Dan mouths with finger quotes. 14:44 The boys can be better friends and offer perineal massages to prevent episiotomies, “help it out, get the scissors”- Phil, “get some curry.”- what Dan is now expecting from Phil. 14:52 “I will be your- doula.” Dan nods so awkwardly proud of himself. 15:05 That smile Phil gives Dan when Louise says “anything else you want promote.” 15:07 “I want to promote their happiness.”- Wholesome Howell

#phan #dan and phil #sprinkleofglitter #d&p timestamps

[archbishop-bloody-vixen]

Ruby Slippers and Apple Tree

aka that fluff piece nobody asked for. 

Can be found here at AO3

More under the cut:

It had sounded like a good idea at that time.

Well, it wasn’t because it wasn’t an idea and more like, “I bet you wouldn’t dare go near that spooky church!”

You wanted to ignore the taunt – you were six years old – and you just won a Snicker’s bar from touching that dead frog on the road. You don’t need to prove anything. You were the bravest – end of story.

You taunter – some kid who is like – four and half – gave you a glare as you continued to chomp down on your delicious sugar rush. Yeah your mum would throw a fit when she finds out but at the moment, you had just touched a dead frog.

You were trau-traumer-it was gross.

The thick golden bit melts in your mouth as you hummed, thinking about whether Mr. Yun and Lady Pretty would be up for some tea party later on. You wondered if you could somehow get that orange cake mum had made but said it was for grown-ups and that, “A young lady should never steal food. It’s unbecoming.”

Also because she’d use the spoon and you think she had found where you had thrown the latest one away. Which was why you’re out here, nibbling down the last bit of your bar while a brat follows you around. You could hear that tell-tale sound of, “YOUNG LADY!” And you bolted.

It’s tiring being old. You have so much responsibility. And you can’t even drive yet.

Bummer.

Suddenly a Mars Bars floats in front of your eyes.

Your hand jolts forward but your taunter snatched it back, his gap tooth sparkling – a tooth brusher! – as he grins at you.

“I bet you a Mars Bar.”

You think of that weird church down the street. The only place that looked like one of those Disney castles but scarier but you don’t think it’s any scarier than the church you had to go every Sunday.

You once asked your mum, why can’t we just go there because the one you do go to is like a bajillion light years away and smells weird but your mum knelt down, her face was so serious and told you to never, EVER, go near that place. And that if anyone asks you too, you must scream and run for a responsible adult.

She made you pinkie promise and that is very serious.

But Mars Bars though…

You frown, thinking of breaking a pinkie promise and how then Santa would never bring her that big fairy tale she wanted – the one Lizbeth said, has like blood and skeletons and the creepy real fairytale stuff.

Then he took out a huge slab of Cadbury.

Your eyes grow big and you think about how you’d be full for like, years. Pinkie promise is not match for that.

-----------------------------------

Now, according to the laws of economics the taunter said, Mars Bars if you touch the walls surrounding the creepy church but for the Cadbury bar, you need to climb the tree – the only one that with its branch hung low beyond the brick walls and grab one of the apples there. For some reason the apple is only growing on the other side – within the church and you had to stop and wonder if it was worth it.

Cadbury bar though. Your parents had told you that you could not have any chocolate of that size – the last time you did you threw a wicked tantrum and then vomited all over Aunt Lee’s carpet and she was so mad. I mean, she gave it to you, it wasn’t your fault.

And you wouldn’t be eating it alone, Mr. Yun and Lady Pretty would be sharing, so it’s not you eating the entire bar. After getting the Mars Bars because deal’s a deal, you started your climb. The tree groaned and crackled but you were a light-weight and it didn’t snap or anything and all you could think about is that Cadbury bar, that one red apple on that one branch and your feet moved.

It was hard, you think climbing in a dress, but you are a girl and you can do it, dress or not!

You were concentrating so hard you don’t hear your taunter gasping as he hears someone’s footsteps, you don’t hear him bolt away, because he is only four and a half and he’s just a kid – he suddenly realized. In another time, you would climb down and beat him with your slipper – because you were climbing this tree, breaking a pinkie promise and he didn’t even have the bravery to stay?

Yeah, he was getting your slipper. And yours have lights when you walk.

Sweat trickled down your back and into your face – gross but not dead frog gross – all you could think about is that Cadbury bar and how it’s gonna taste so delicious and you will be sick but you’re gonna eat them all.

Finally, at the last branch you slowly inched like some caterpillar – which is also gross but it can’t be cause caterpillars become butterflies somehow – that one stupid apple within reach when you hear it.

No, you hear him.

You looked down and down and down and down and you suddenly realized that you’re very much afraid of heights.

There’s someone down there, you could only see the top of his hair as he tossed a weird hat from his head. Yet, despite the fear shooting in your body, about – OH WOW the ground is really far, far away – you could not help but notice his face was too white and not just white people white but just white. He was stomping – like a kid – or as mum says, very rude and immature; young ladies do not stomp – before sinking against the tree trunk and his face slumped forwards into the knees he raised up his chest.

OH MY GOD – your last bit of bravery thought.

This church has skeletons for priests.

This church is haunted.

You wanted to scream but any sudden movement causes the branch – which felt totally huge and strong like a few minutes ago – to groan alarmingly and your arms and legs curled further, praying, hoping that it’ll hold cause OH MY GOD – this church is haunted and it has a skeleton priest and that is AWESOME.

Wait, no, that is bad. You read books; you know what living skeleton means. Lizbeth said they come after people to kill them and steal their skin cause they don’t have any.

You couldn’t see if this one has skin or not because he’s like covered in that dress and you could only see his face. It never occurred to you that maybe he won’t steal your skin because, despite your protests, you were like, barely knee high – something taunter liked to lord over despite your age difference.

You’re tiny and could barely fit his face. Surely Father Skeleton won’t steal yours, right? Cause you bathe every day and your mum never had to ask cause you love bathing and cause deep down you’re part mermaid.  But uh, you like your skin and you don’t want a skeleton to steal them.

You breathe – and mermaids can climb trees and climb down – you try to say. Your hands and body is shaking horribly though but you have to be brave. Slowly, you look ahead, you remembered Lizbeth saying not to look down if you’re scared – it’s all in the mind. You wish she was here but you can’t have that and your fear of losing your skin overran your fear of heights.

You breathed and then scoot backwards.

The branch creaked again and you muffled an ‘eep!’ before you realized something.

One of your slippers was loose.

The world slows down – like one of those gun movies you dad loves to watch and makes your promise never to tell your mum that you’re watching it with him – your slipper – pink and has real rubies were dangling from your toes. You whined, trying to flip it back but it only made it slip further and then…

…it was falling and you could only watch in absolute horror as it twirls, sparkling, like it’s some sparkling thing and down and down…

FWHAP

“CHE CAZZO!”

You were going to die. The skeleton man stared at the offending slipper and you could tell he was confused as he rubbed his head and looked up.

Oh, he has a face and skin. That’s good; he’s not going to steal yours!

“Cosa ci – what are you doing up there?”

You wanted to say, for a chocolate bar but the only thing that escaped your mouth was a tiny whimper. You’re not scared, it’s just – wow it’s so high up.

The man massages his head, his hand still holding your fallen slipper. You wanted to tell him that it’s made of real rubies and please, please sir don’t steal my skin, I like my skin, I bathe and shower everyday – NO, uh, I stink, my skin is awful and not good for stealing, please Mr. Skeleton, Sir, I promise I’ll never, ever come near your haunted church. I pinkie swear it!

The man just tilts his head as your silence and you noticed another weird thing. One of his eyes is like, white, just pure white and not like when your Pop Pops’ eyes, this one doesn’t look blind.

“Can you get down?” he asked and…he has a weird accent. He sounds like one of those Mafia men.

Oh no.

Oh no!

If he can’t steal your face then he’s gonna make you sleep with the fishes!

Something in you just breaks, you started crying.

Hot globs of tears and snot starts to run down your face as you pray and wish for mummy and dad to come save you cause you don’t want to die and you’re so, so sorry for breaking a pinkie promise. You swear on Mr. Yun, you’d never, ever, break them again.

The man’s face widened with surprise as you sobbed and heaved, words babbled from your lips as you wish for someone, anyone, to please save her. You scrunched your eyes shut, fear making you wish you’re at home when you feel something - a hand – tug your feet.

You peeked through your eyes, confused before looking back and you see the skeleton man, who had climbed up and is now perched gingerly on your branch, one arm stretched out to pat your foot.

“NOOOOOOO, MUMMY, MUMMY, I’M SORRY!”

“Wait, uh, shuu, shuu, shit, kid, kid stop moving.” He said in what would have been a soft tone but he was eyeing you and the branch his knee was perched on.

You lost it, you were screaming and wailing, trying to move away from skeleton man, forgetting that you’re way high up and the branch you’re on is not as firm as it looked. You don’t see his eyes widening when a loud thunderous crack came from the tree and the world goes action movie.

The world falls beneath you and you let out another loud shriek before his arm shot out and grabbed your hand. You swung away from the ground and smacked into the trunk with a loud ‘oof’. You stopped crying, half stunned from the impact and another half from not being dead.

You blinked, mouth gaping when you hear the skeleton man grunt, pulling you up with surprise ease. He tucks you beneath his armpit and you blinked again before he muttered, “Right.” And jumps off.

You gasped but like an acrobat, his feet bounced left and right against the trunk before landing safely onto the firm, solid, ground. You feel him carefully placing you on that sweet, sweet ground, his hands brushing away the random twigs and leaves cause in your dress. Part of you wanted to flinch, to scream STRANGER DANGER, STOP TOUCHING ME, but you had just survived a near death experience.

You could see ghosts now.

Well, no, it’s just Mr. Skeleton who had knelt down and still had to lean forward to reach your eyes, and he looked…

“Are you all right, signoria?” he asked gently. And oh wow.

Mr. Skeleton is very pretty.

“Uh,” wait, mum said a lady is always thankful and uh, you nodded and then did a curtsy. You tried to remember how Ariel and Belle curtsied, one foot out and hold your skirt and bow.

“Thank you Mister Skeleton, for saving my life.” As you stood back again, you could see his face twist in confusion, when you decided something. You can’t give him a kiss, no, mum said that is for your husband and when you are married, and sadly you are not married, so a Mars Bars would have to do.

You patted your pockets, hoping you didn’t lose it. If not you may have to get taunter to climb up and give you his Cadbury bar. It was the least you could do. After a while you found it, still unsquashed before standing straight and offering it to Mr. Skeleton. He blinked before slowly, as if unsure, he raised his hand and you placed the Mars Bars onto his open palm.

“This is for saving me.” You explained as his fingers curled around the candy. “It’s the big one though, so you can’t have them in one go.” You quickly added and the man blinked again before taking the bar and carefully placed it into his pocket.

He gives you a shy smile, “Grazie.”

You frowned and your mouth moved before you could stop yourself, “My name’s not Gracie.”

He giggled before he covered his mouth, “I meant, thank you. Grazie means thank you in Italian.”

“Oh.” Well, now you sounded stupid and rude. “I’m sorry. My name is –” and you stopped, your mummy’s words ringing in your ear about revealing your name to strangers and although Mr. Skeleton had just saved her, he is still a stranger.

“Uh, um, I’m sorry but my mum says I can’t tell strangers my name.” you said, “B-but, it’s not Gracie!”

He chuckled and it sounded so nice and reminded you of bells and you started to blush.

“Forgive me, that is true. It’s rude of me not to introduce myself. Hello, not Gracie, my name is Emeritus the Third. This is…” and his brows frowned before he smoothed it back again, “This is my father’s church.”

Your eyes widened because his name has ‘the third’ so that means he’s royal or rich cause only they would name a kid ‘the third’ and WOW his dad owns a church?

“That’s so cool! Your dad owns a church?”

He laughed again but this time it didn’t sound like bells, it sounded sad. “Yes, he does.”

Then he trailed off, his eyes, so odd with that white one, seemed to stare into nothing. Like how, Uncle Mike would get whenever he thinks no one’s looking. You remembered your Uncle Mike, how he’d always try to slip a candy or two or take his time to read you books. There’s no Aunt Mike, but there is Uncle Mike’s Uncle Manny, who mum said passed away before you were born.

You used to think you had done something to upset him when he gets like that, but mum explained that it wasn’t your fault, it’s just Uncle Mike is grieving. You asked if it’s like a boo-boo? Mum shook her head, then continued, “It’s like one, but it’s something deep inside and you can’t kiss it to make it go away. You just have to be there and listen for them. They will come back.”

Deep for a four year old, and years later you’d realize it wasn’t to you she was explaining but you tried; when you see Uncle Mike trail off you’d shuffle to him and just sit down and place your tiny hand on his.

“Uncle Mike, I’m here and I can listen, if it’s okay?” And Uncle Mike’s eyes would widen before he’d give you a sad, smile.

“No, my darling princess, you’re young.” And he’d pat your tiny hand, his hands so large and warm, “You just need to be happy and enjoy life. Now go, play with your cousins, Uncle Mike’s just tired.”

He was lying – even as a child – you knew he was lying, but you’d wait, maybe you’d try next time. You can show him, you could listen and be there and maybe he won’t grieve so much.

Except you don’t see him again, a few days later, a date you’d find out was Uncle Manny’s death anniversary, Uncle Mike passed away in his sleep. He just went to bed and then…simply did not wake up. You hear some Aunt and Uncles said, his heart just broke.

The grief had killed him.

Mr. Emeritus had that same, tired, sad look and before you knew it, your hand moved to touch his.

“Mr. Emeritus, if, if you’re sad, I can listen,” you said quietly, impressed that you kept your voice steady. His eyes snapped back at you, his lips opened with surprise and he tried to move away but you held firm.

“NO!” And he freezes, “Um, I, you are sad. I – I can listen.”

You looked into his eyes, they were green and white and although he was still painted like a skeleton, he doesn’t seem scary anymore.

Just…sad.

Mr. Emeritus’s browns furrowed and his face seemed to twist before, suddenly, he collapsed, his free hand clutched his chest and then he started crying. You were taken aback because you had never seen a grown man cry this way. This was like when Lizbeth broke her arm and she was wailing and screaming. Well, Mr. Emeritus wasn’t screaming, but he was gasping and shaking, clutching his chest, like it hurt.

You tried to remember what Mummy would do, and you moved to hold him, just rubbing his back, like Dad does, saying, “It’s okay.”

Mr. Emeritus shook and trembled as he bent down to the ground, his fist clench and unclenched but the longer you stood there, carefully patting him, like your Mummy would, he gradually stopped shaking, his sobs became more and more hiccuppy before he finally wheezed and pushed himself from the ground.

You kept your mouth shut as he surfaced, his skeleton face – no, his makeup, was now streaked with tears. You could see pink skin underneath and you realized he wasn’t a skeleton at all. He was just wearing makeup. You patted your pockets again, hoping for a tissue but Mr. Emeritus pulled out a handkerchief and began rubbing his eyes, sniffing and hiccupping before he finally composed himself.

You gave his back one final rub before stepping back, watching as the tears dried up before he turned up and smiled at her.

“Thank you, not-Gracie,” he said. You nodded, hoping he’s not so sad now, you know you felt the same after crying like that.

He sat there on his haunches, staring at the stained handkerchief, trailing off like Uncle Mike and you just placed your hand on his.

“Today would have been my mother’s birthday.”

You tilted your head – a birthday is a happy occasion, right? So why is Mr. Emeritus so sad? As if hearing your thoughts he continued.

“She died when I was about your age. And I just, it’s silly, I miss her. It’s been years but I still miss her.”

You could understand that. Your Mummy could be scary at times, but she was also there when you injured your knee or when you had a bad dream, holding you safe and whispering funny stories and telling you how to be an elegant lady. You couldn’t imagine a life without Mum and suddenly you felt like crying too.

But as Mr. Emeritus smiled, rubbing his nose, you held on. You shouldn’t cry, Mummy was still here but Mr. Emeritus’s mum isn’t.

He chuckled again before stretching his arm behind his back. Leaning as he stared at the sun.

“She’d be furious to know I cried to a young child.”

You couldn’t help but respond, “I’m six. I’m not a kid you know.”

Another giggle and then he sits back, placing his elbow onto his thighs.

“Forgive me, not Gracie. You are indeed a grown up.”

Finally, someone understands.

“It’s true. I once walked two blocks down and bought myself an ice cream. I’m the only one who did that in the neighbourhood. And next year I’ll be in school!” You don’t mention Lizbeth but she’s like, practically an adult and you don’t want to look like an idiot in front of Mr. Emeritus. Especially, when he laughs like that: like bells.

“Two blocks? I guess your mother was very angry when she found out?” He teased, propping his hand onto his chin.

You remembered the spoon and how it hurt to sit after that.

“Y-yeah. I was grounded for a long, long time.” Two weeks, you had like, to clean so many plates after that.

Mr. Emeritus smiled and it was a very pretty smile before he turned to look at the tree. The broken branch laying on its roots.

“My mother planted this. She said it was the only thing she planted that grew. What were you doing up there?”

You explained that someone dared you to get the apple because Cadbury bar was on the line. Also because everyone thought the church is haunted and stuff and you thought it was because why were you wearing a Skeleton makeup, Mr. Emeritus?

He smiled and explained: at his father’s church all his sons must wear the makeup. It’s a sign of rank. Why skeleton makeup? Because they are the Emeritus Church of Ghost and the skeleton is their symbol.

Your eyes must have widened with awe because you had never heard of a Church for Ghosts before. But that does make sense, after all some ghosts are Christians and they probably still have to go on Sundays before going to heaven. Mr. Emeritus gave you a funny look before shaking his head and just giggled again.

“Ah, to be a kid again…I mean…young adult.” He amended when he saw your expression.

A comfortable silence passes between you as Mr. Emeritus stares at the tree. Then it hits you.

“Mr. Emeritus, can I have my slipper please?” The man tilted his head but stood up and picked up your slipper. You made to grab for it but he knelt down again, like a prince and held it out like it was Cinderella’s glass slipper. You held his shoulder for balance before he slips it into your feet.

“Thank you and…” then you bent down and started tugging one of your rubies. You were going to save it to buy a new bike but you think this is way more important.

Mr. Emeritus looked curious before you held up the ruby to his hand. He holds it up with awe.

“It’s real, you know, and um, maybe you could buy your mum something for her grave. My mum planted a rose bush for my grandma and I think, I think it’d be nice for your mum to have something on hers.”

You thought about how beautiful grandma’s roses were, she had loved them and mum thought it’d be nice to plant one on her grave.

“I will treasure this, not Gracie. Thank you.”

You beamed, he was not grieving, you hope when you hear a bell, a real life bell, ringing in the distance.

“Ah, I’m afraid you must go home soon. Your mother would be worried.”

And oh boy she would. You brushed off whatever dirt and twigs, because the last thing you need is to come home dirty. As you did, Mr. Emeritus snapped his fingers, “Ah, wait. You came here for a reason, no?”

You wanted to ask but before the words came out, Mr. Emeritus walks back to the broken branch and plucked the apple from its stems. He rubbed it on his shirt before offering it to you.

AW YES. THAT CADBURY BAR IS YOURS.

“Thank you, Mr. Emeritus!”

“It’s the least I could do,” smiling once more before the two of you walked towards the imposing church entrance.

Mr. Emeritus opened a small gate by its side and you stepped out, back onto the streets.

“Thank you again, Mr. Emeritus.”

The man gives you a warm grin before bowing once, “No, thank you and be safe.”

“I will! And bye!”

The man gave you a wave, watching you walk off before closing the gate and vanishing inside. You yawned as you neared your house, feeling so tired and – your stomach growled loudly.

Oh, no. You looked at the sky and saw that it was turning red. It’s must be almost dinner time. It felt quaint to think of such things like dinners, when you just survived a near death experience, found out that ghosts have to go to church (bummer) and that you had also touched a very gross dead frog. But you also helped a person not grieve and you are so going to track down taunter and get that Cadbury chocolate.

And…you realized…you made a friend.

So, with a hum in your voice, you skipped back home, thinking that today had been a very good day.

#papa emeritus iii #the band ghost #papa emeritus & reader #gen fic #fluff

[nny11writes]

Time Travel Snippet 3(?)

Eventually he turned sharply to look at Obi-Wan. “We can’t leave her, I’m taking her with us no matter what you think.”

Obi-Wan’s calm facade splintered, their own bond momentarily flooding with hurt, and then it was a smooth wall again. “Anakin, I was never going to suggest leaving her behind.”

He could feel the guilt there, under his righteous anger, everything twisting up inside him and all of it just outside of his reach. Tears pricked at his eyes and Anakin knew he must be turning shades as he fought it off. He sniffled and found his voice raising with almost every word. “It’s not right, it’s not right what they did to her!”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan moved quickly, halting his pacing with one hand on each arm. “Anakin, you need to calm yourself.”

Anakin squeezed the girl in his arms tighter as if to ward off his own growing anger. “No! This is super Republic space, this shouldn’t have happened! Where were the police, where were the Jedi? We can’t leave her!”

The world seemed to shrink.

“Anakin, no one is saying we’ll leave her, she’s coming with us and-”

“Good, because this is stupid! If I ever found out who did this, I’d-”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s shout finally snapped him out of it. The hands on his arms almost vice like. His blue eyes piercing and shocked, and so very worried.

Anakin sniffed as hard as he could, he could feel snot on his upper lip and tears rolling slow and fat down his face. His head felt tight and his chest hurt. He was trembling and coughing and gross. He dropped his head only to find Ahsoka staring up at him with wide scared eyes.

“I’m...I’m sorry Master, I don’t know what came over me.” He whispered the words watching the cautious way Ahsoka moved. She squeezed his neck and it occurred to him that she hadn’t completely let him go even though she’d been scared.

“We will discuss that later, and I do mean that we will discuss it and the repercussions it will have on the both of you with that bond. For now we will go to a medcenter to make sure Ahsoka is physically well and then we will return to our ship to head back to the Temple.” Obi-Wan spoke plainly, his voice harsh and brokering no argument. For all the steel in his voice, Obi-Wan gently pushed Anakin into walking again.

The disappointment was hard to bear, but the silence was worse.

Anakin trudged, wiping his face as best he could on her shoulder and feeling worse for knowing he’d dirtied his new clothes. He let his Master guide him, trying to make up for his outburst, for embarrassing his Master and disappointing him. Desperate to show he could behave and be good and unsure what to do to prove it right now. They reached a med center long before Anakin had a chance to try and say anything.

And the silence was finally broken when a nurse tried to take Ahsoka out of his arms.

“No!” Ahsoka shouted, clinging to him with all her strength.

“We just need to weigh you and get your height sweetling then you can be right back with your friend here.”

“No! No, no, no!” Ahsoka was howling in his ear.

The nurse looked at Anakin and he gulped before trying it himself. “Hey Ahsoka, I promise I’ll pick you right back up ok? Please?”

She jerked back to glare at him with a trembling bottom lip before she started to cry, wailing and jerking in his arm. “No! Ani no! Say no! No!”

He looked helplessly at the nurse and then at his Master. His own recent emotions already surfacing again like a giant bubble of gas rising painfully behind his ribs. Obi-Wan appeared almost frozen, apparently a crying toddler and a crying padawan was too much to handle.

“Ok,” the nurse said calmly, hands lifted placatingly, “it’s ok then. You can stay right there alright? No one is going to force you.”

Ahsoka continued to cry and chant her litany of no’s for pretty much the rest of the visit.

Anakin obediently stood on a scale and gave the nurse his weight and the weight of his kit. He hummed softly to Ahsoka and tilted his head as the nurse took her temperature. He patted her back and rocked her as the nurse asked him and Obi-Wan questions about her behavior.  Anything to try and glean some insight into her health. He kissed her head as they took blood, causing a whole new wave of screaming and crying. He walked and bounced and rocked and hummed until his throat hurt. Eventually he wondered if Ahsoka would simply cry forever; if she would never run out of steam. Anakin felt a bit like he understood as he miserably watched the way Obi-Wan was trying to subtly watch him. He kind of wished he could just join her. The two of them could cry and growl for the rest of forever. The result came in saying that she was physically fine. Her midichlorians were high for a child. Emotionally is where they guessed a problem might be.

Anakin had wanted to laugh, fighting off wave after wave of inappropriate laughter. No shit.

The walk back to the ship gave her time to finally relax, her screaming breaking off into hiccups and then into sniffling. Anakin was excited when he thought she was nuzzling him again, only to feel his Padawan braid being tugged. A slight turn of his head revealed that she had managed to get it in her mouth and was chewing it now. Rather aggressively chewing it. He cringed even as he sighed. Chewed and snotty tunic, puffy face and eyes, why not a slobbery braid too. Not long after that she dropped off into sleep.

#Star Wars #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Padawan Anakin Skywalker #Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi #Foundling Ahsoka Tano #It's been an emotional day for everyone yo