#i am gripping you by the shoulders through the bars of my cage as i say this. and shaking manically.

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

whatever you do, don't think about how lana saw herself in edgeworth, ok? don't think about how she wanted to distance herself from him the moment they met because he could possibly see through the sl-9 plan and ruin everything, but she couldn't because he was kind, if not a little awkward, to her terrified sister in a case where everyone else's only concern was securing a conviction. don't think about how she brought ema to the prosecutor's office (because she damn well wasn't going to let her sister face this alone) with her hackles raised and her defences bolstered because she'd heard about the "demon prosecutor" and his ways just to realise he's nothing but a young man, trying his best to survive under the weight of his mentor's shadow and ensure justice is served by whatever means he can. don't think about how she felt later, when she was under gant's thumb and knew for a fact that all those rumours surrounding von karma's perfect record were, in fact, true and that he was using edgeworth's faith in him to fulfill his own goals. don't think about how she felt when she had to begin doing the same. or what must have gone through her head when she entered her office one morning to find a case approval form waiting for her on her desk: the state v. miles edgeworth. don't think about how she knew, once she saw the name of the prosecutor assigned to his case, that she was signing his death warrant. don't imagine what she rehearsed saying to his sister or her realisation, after his miraculous survival, why he had been so understanding of her own. don't wonder, as she did, ineffectually, if it was his competence or her fondness for him that led to his car and knife being chosen to cover goodman's murder — a second attempt at his permanent removal — and whether it was affection or guilt that made her stand by the corpse, waiting readily to be caught in his stead. don't think about how she finds out, eventually, that he is gone, in a jail cell so far from remorse, gratitude and closure that she can only sit and turn in her head distorted thoughts about luck and fortuitous third chances. don't.

#i am gripping you by the shoulders through the bars of my cage as i say this. and shaking manically. #lana skye #miles edgeworth #rise from the ashes #the lana-edgeworth brainworms have won the battle inside my brain but i refuse to be the only loser. the moment i realised she would have #been the one who signed off on von karma taking edgeworth's trial it was all over #and the edgeworth-gregory to ema-neil parallels were just the final nails in the coffin. #on another note i just realised that edgeworth gets investigated by the pic (or a similar body) in rfta rather than it happening for the #first time in aai2. idk it's probably just that they forgot but i like that justine doesnt bring this up when she's giving edgeworth the #pic's reasoning for suspecting him of misconduct. like yeah let's not bring up the case that made him suicidal. his mentor is fair game but #not that. idk i just think it's nice. rfta would 100% be the stronger justification but she doesnt use it. at least not directly. #back on topic though i've espoused too long on the ills of pushing all character relationships into either romantic or familial boxes #to claim that the skyes and edgeworth are like siblings but. i am gritting my teeth and glaring at that sentiment and making inarticulate #gestures around it. emphatically. #im writing this all past 12 am again can you guys tell

[barefoothighlander]

Maaaaaaybe not too feral but there’s definitely something that makes my mind go brrrr about jealous/possessive Ghost - maybe she gets too much attention one time at the bar or there’s a comment made that really gets under his skin and sets him off. Then claiming or marking his territory as soon as he gets the opportunity. 🔥

okay so I got a few reqs for jealous ghost so I'm just gonna combine them here

warnings: mdni (18+), unprotected pinv, creampie, slight dub con, ass slap, rough sex, dirty talk, slight possessive!ghost

The team had arrived back on base in the early morning, spending the day doing paperwork and running around.

Soap was a flirt, you knew that, Ghost knew that, but it always got under his skin.

"Great job out there today lass, might need you to give me a few tips" And he winks at you, Ghost sees the interaction, from afar, staying out of it as his blood boils.

He hates that you let them flirt with you but he knows it's practically harmless, they'd never actually do anything to get with you, everyone too afraid of him.

Still, he can't help the way his stomach churns at the sight of you laughing at another man's jokes, your hand touching gently against his shoulder as you giggle with him.

He especially hates that it's Soap, the man knows he has no shot with you and flirts anyway, Ghost swears he does it just to get under his skin.

He's already in a bad mood when the team goes to the pub later, and you get up from your seat to order more drinks.

Usually, he loves how friendly you are, outgoing and warm, the complete opposite of him, he likes watching you interact with people, what he doesn't like is when people take advantage of your kind nature, pushing past the line of allowance.

He's awful with his words, keeping to his seat otherwise he'll end up getting the team kicked out of another pub, he just watches as you laugh at the stranger, nodding your head along with the conversation as you wait for your drinks.

He almost jumps from his seat when the man puts his hand on your arm as you try to walk away, grabbing your attention.

He watches you say something to him, the man's eyes shooting towards Ghost, sitting unimpressed in his chair, his mask-clad face doing its job of scaring the hell out of the stranger.

He's in a sour mood the rest of the night, uninterested in conversation, simply nodding along as the team talks.

When you decide to leave he's quick, his arm snaking around your waist and tugging you into his side as you walk home.

Once you're through the door he wastes no time, caging your frame against the wall as his stare pins you down.

"What are you doing?" You're slightly nervous, you can't tell what's going through his mind.

He doesn't say a word, simply tears his mask off and kisses you, it's all teeth and tongue as he pushes the muscle past your lips, devouring you

His hand slides down your body, moving under the hem of your pants to circle your clit, you're panting into his ear, your body flushes with his as he works your bud.

His fingers move lower, pushing into you as his thumb circles your clit

Within minutes he has your knees weak, you're panting beside him, inching towards your orgasm, he feels you clench down on him and removes his fingers, bringing them to his lips.

You're in a state of confusion, words escaping your lips as you fall down from your peak, clenching around nothing.

"Please Si"

"Think you can just flirt with other men in front of me?" He grits his teeth, his eyes dark

"What?"

"Don't act stupid, Johnny, the guy at the bar, am I not good enough for you?"

"Si, no, you're everything to me" Your hands cup his jaw but his face stays stoic, his hands grip your waist with a bruising strength, lifting your frame and carrying you to the bed.

He tears off your clothes, leaving his own on as his lips travel down your chest, his teeth biting lightly at your raised nipple.

He licks the skin down to your core, biting lightly at the skin of your thighs and you elicit a yelp, his breath fanning over your dripping core.

"Si please"

"You want my tongue? Want me to eat your pussy you little slut?"

You whimper at his words, a small grin growing on his lips as he attacks your clit, licking and sucking the bud, his hands holding your thighs down to keep you from moving.

His fingers make their way back to your core, pushing in and arching as they pump into you, it's all too much, too fast, your vision blurs with a blinding light as you approach your peak.

You let out a string of curses and moans as he works you closer, only to remove his touch at the feeling of you clenching.

You sob at the loss of contact, your muscles growing weak as he pulls from you.

"Not yet, you cum on my cock or not at all"

He leans over your form, biting a mark into the skin of your neck as you gasp, his hands roaming your chest, fingers pinching over your nipples.

He leans back and lines himself up, bottoming out with his first thrust as your limbs cling to him.

He sets a brutal pace, your mind barely functioning at the feeling of his large cock dragging against your soaked walls, his tip prodding at your cervix with every thrust.

He grabs your legs, throwing them over his shoulders as he pounds into you,

"Fuck, who's pussy is this?"

You turn to him, struggling to form words, his hand moves to rest against your throat, his fingers pressing against your pulse point.

"I said who does this pussy belong to"

"You, fuck, only you" You sob around him, your chest arching into him

"That's right, my pussy, gonna fucking fill you, make sure everyone knows who you belong to"

You moan at his words, his threats going straight to your core as you clench around him,

"Don't cum, not yet"

Your brain is fuzzy, your nerves feel like they're on fire as his thumb makes contact with your clit, rubbing circles into the bud as he drives his cock into you.

"You cum when I tell you to, got it?"

You nod, unable to form words

"Use your words" He tightens his grip on your throat

"I cum when you say so" You struggle to speak

He pulls out from you, his hands grabbing your waist to flip you over, his arm snaking around your stomach to hold you up at your cheek presses into the mattress.

Without warning he thrusts back in, forcing you to take every inch as his weight pushes you further into the bed.

"My fucking pussy, no one else" He emphasizes his words with a thrust, his hand making contact with your ass, slapping hard enough that it was sure to leave a red mark, "Fucking say it you little slut"

"Your pussy, fuck, only yours" You manage through broken moans, his fingers moving back to your clit and you squeeze down on him.

"Who else can fuck you like this?"

"No one"

"That's right, you belong to me" He grunts, his thrusts becoming sloppier.

"Si please" Tears prick your eyes as you beg

"M'gonna fill you, fuck, make sure you feel me all the time"

You clench your pussy around him, the sensation becoming too much as your body seizes under his touch,

"Shit, not yet, don't you dare fucking cum"

You hold out for a few seconds loner, feeling his balls tighten as he buries himself in you.

"Cum for me, cum around my cock you little slut"

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your entire body igniting as you writhe under him, squeezing him as he grunts, he cums with you, his spend flooding your pussy as you ride out your high, the warmth eliciting a sob from you.

"Fuck, that's it, baby, gonna take it all"

He makes sure you milk him of every drop, keeping his cock inside you till he's soft, letting you come down before pulling out.

His fingers push his spend back into you and you clench around them, your hips twitching from the stimulation as you fall against the mattress.

He presses kisses over your ass, moving his way up your spine before slotting himself beside you, his arms wrapping around your frame to tug you close.

You lay in silence for a few minutes, both of you catching your breath.

His chin sits against your shoulder, his lips pressing tender kisses to your neck,

"Mine" He repeats the word in between kisses, you sigh at his touch, turning your neck to face him, his eyes are softer now, full of love as you lean in to kiss him,

"All yours, always"

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #cod mw x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #mw2022 #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #ghost smut #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley angst #simon ghost riley x you #reqs💌

[fir3ylolol]

double feature

pairing: Present!Johnny Cage x Younger!Johnny Cage x Reader

summary: you decide to take a night off from working at the special forces, ending up catching the attention of two men. well, technically one man. what happens when they turn their sights on you?

tw: threesome, vaginal sex, vaginal penetration, oral sex, a touch of eating out, face fucking, choking, double penetration, little bit of biting, dirty talk, overstimulation, cumming in you, cumming on you, afab!reader, NOW gn pronouns dom/sub adjacent, sub!reader, gentle dom!johnny, rough dom!johnny, you KNOW they're whining, mentions of drinking/partying, so much attention, TWO BIG MEN OBSESSED WITH YOU WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED, smut, shameless smut, porn with little plot

a/n: i've never written anything with more than one partner before, so i hope it's good. also, sorry if the names get a little confusing, i didn't want to say "younger Johnny" and "older Johnny" 200000x, it was getting annoying lol

word count: 2.53 k

Ao3

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up here, with both Johnnys staring at you hungrily. Maybe it was the party that had been going on tonight, members of the Special Forces were taking the night off before the big invasion. Maybe it was the fact you hadn’t had a night off in forever and wanted to wear the new dress you’d bought. Maybe it was the fact you forgot you were around your coworkers. Or maybe, it was Johnny, the younger one. Christ, he would flirt with a chair if it had ‘nice curves’. But that didn’t make his attention less appealing, lingering eyes along your frame as he walked through the crowded room to you. Sliding next to you at the bar, he looked at you with a cocky smirk, speaking over the loud music, “Didn’t expect to see you here, sweet thing. Figured you were too tight-laced for this scene.” Looking out of the corner of your eye and smiling, you yell out, “All you know about me is what my ass looks like.”

Putting his arms up in a ‘guilty’ motion, he lets them drop and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Hey, you wanna come with me to the booth over there? A lot more comfortable and quieter.” Nodding lightly, you grab your purse and stand up. He stands with you, lightly taking your free hand and weaving you through the crowd behind him. You reach a booth quickly, noticing that there’s only one other person there: older Johnny. You partially freeze, realizing you’re now trapped with a playboy and an actual coworker. But you continue, sitting down in the semi-circle booth first. As you settle in, young Johnny behind you, you try to lighten the mood slightly.

“So, what am I supposed to call you guys? I mean, you’re both Johnnys, and I don’t want confusion.” Younger Johnny wraps an arm around your shoulders, leaning in close, “You can call me whatever you want, sexy.” Slightly bothered by his actions, older Johnny smacks his arm lightly, causing him to loosen his grip on you. “You can just call me John. He can be Johnny.” Johnny leans back, shrugging as he looks away from you. “Fine by me. But you still haven’t told me why you decided to grace us with your presence.” Pausing to think, you look between the two of them as you answer. “Well…I needed a break and I figured, why not?” Johnny decides that he wants to be closer again, resting his head on his arm, as he speaks, “Lucky us. Aren’t we lucky, John?” Expecting another smack, you turn to look at John, as he leans back and looks you up and down, finally speaking again, “Yeah, it seems like it. I’ve never seen you in civilian clothes before.”

You’re a bit embarrassed now, four eyes locked on you as you stutter out, “W-Well, I don’t have many chances to. Besides, this is new.” Johnny’s eyes light up as he leans in further. “Ah, I get it. There’s someone here you wanted to impress. Hoping to go home with some company, eh?” Now John reacts, brows furrowed as he leans into Johnny’s face, “Come on man, do you have to be so crass?” Johnny laughs at him lightly, managing to say, “You were thinking it too, I know you were! Like I haven’t noticed you staring just as much as me!” John rolls his eyes and scoffs at him, moving to stand up. “I don’t have to take this, you know. I’m just gonna leave,” he says as he stands.

Unable to even control yourself, you dive out, grabbing his wrist. Surprised, he turns around to see you looking up at him. He quickly looks at Johnny, and they both raise their eyebrows at your actions. John sits back down but scoots closer to you. You’re now sandwiched in between them, nerves radiating off of you. John brushes some hair off your shoulder, speaking softly, “What was that about, hm? Why do you want me to stay?” Johnny wraps an arm around your waist, whispering into your other ear, “Yeah, do you not like me or something?” You fluster at their proximity to you, their entire demeanor shifting. “I-I…uh…I dunno…I like hanging out with both of you-” Johnny cuts you off, lips against your ear as he whispers, “Both of us? How greedy.” John lets a hand drift down to squeeze your thigh, leaning to the other side of your head, “Very greedy, baby.” Your head is spinning, their touches make you forget to breathe. 

“Hey, what are you doing? A second ago, you guys were arguing.” You swallow your nerves as much as you can. John looks into your eyes, an intense stare into your own, “Just testing the waters.” Johnny smirks, starting to lightly kiss your neck as you shiver against him. He laughs against your skin, muttering out, “Feeling alright, baby? Or have I pushed too far?” Your eyelids flutter, and this attention is getting to you, “N-no…it feels nice.” Johnny continues, kissing against your collarbone and finding the sensitive spot in the crook of your neck, an abrupt whine escaping your lips. Both of them are happy with the sound, as Johnny continues kissing and sucking on the spot, and John’s hand on your thigh starts traveling in more. You tip your head onto John’s shoulder, whimpering, “This isn’t fair, doing this to me.” He lightly grabs your chin with his free hand and moves it so that your noses are touching. “Then do you want to get out of here?” Without hesitating, you nod, intoxicated from all the attention.

Suddenly, without even realizing it, you’re walking out the door, still in between them. You were so caught up in them that you were walking without thinking. All you knew was that you didn’t have any drinks, yet you lost all your inhibitions. And then you were there, in a nice apartment, in the bedroom, with two men staring at you hungrily.

John is the first to talk, still a few feet away from you. “You feeling alright? You seem kind of out of it.” You nod rapidly, managing to speak after being silent for so long, “Yeah, yes. I feel good. I was just a little spaced out. You guys are kind of… overwhelming.” Johnny closes the distance, both hands on your hips as he smiles wide, “See? I told you. Just lost in thought, thinking about what’s gonna happen, yeah?” John walks to your side, cupping your face as he leans in. His lips meet yours gently, and you melt into it, the delicious feeling flooding your senses. It’s cut off by a very loud whine from Johnny, clearly jealous of the lack of attention. As you turn towards him, he kisses you hard, a hand rushing to the back of your head to add to the intensity. It was strange, you knew they were the same, but they felt so different. Johnny tasted like bubblegum chapstick and smelled like expensive cologne, while John tasted like whiskey and smelled like fresh laundry.

Johnny’s kiss only lasts so long though, as both men start feeling at you. Johnny’s hands travel towards your chest as John’s calloused fingers dance down your legs. They lead you to sit on the bed behind you, Johnny starting to pull your dress over your head. You raise your arms to let him, forgetting embarrassment as you sit practically naked in front of them. Johnny smiles down at you, hand tugging lightly at your hair. “Can you help me feel good, baby?” You immediately understand, biting your lip and nodding as he undoes his pants. His cock springs out, free from the confinement of his jeans. You lick at the head, a hiss escaping his lips. But he’s impatient, lightly pushing your head down. You oblige, taking as much of him as you can before gagging. Suddenly, you feel John’s hands guiding you to go on all fours. But you focus on Johnny, letting him fuck your mouth.

You feel those familiar fingers pushing your soaking underwear to the side and a warm tongue connecting with your pussy. Moaning against Johnny’s length, he whines out in response, hips bucking and gripping your hair tighter as he goes further down your throat. “Shittt, keep moaning around my cock like that, you sound so good.” And moan you do, as John eats you out, tongue dancing against your clit in a maddening way. It doesn’t take very long before you feel your underwear being pulled down, John’s thick cock rubbing against your hole in the most teasing way. Slowly, he pushes in, the feeling of both men filling you up drawing another moan out of you. You hear them both moan, John grabbing your hips to stabilize himself. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Wrapping around my cock like that, it’s not fair.” Johnny speeds up, relishing in the tears prickling in your eyes, “Yeah? Do you like that? You like being fucked like this, huh? God, you’re so fucking hot like this.” He is fucking your mouth with almost no pause, while John is gentle, hips moving at half the speed but reaching deep enough to hit your cervix every time.

There’s something rough to both of them, the way they use you, yet gentle, and wanting, and it drives you crazy. You arch your back a little more, a deep groan coming from John, as well as looking directly into Johnny’s eyes. He meets them with an expression you can only describe as needy as he smiles down at you and wipes your tears away with his thumb. Before you can blink, his shirt is off, his muscles and tattoos a delicious sight. But you can’t focus on it for long as John leans forward, regaining control of the moment. You can feel his warm chest against your back and you can’t help but wonder if he still has the tattoo, as his hand wraps lightly around your throat. “You’re doing so good, baby, taking us so good like this. You look so pretty like this, fucked out just for us.” Johnny is unraveling more at how tight your throat is around him, only able to clutch onto your head desperately and whimper out.

It’s only a couple more seconds until he’s gone, cumming loudly down your throat with a loud whine, which finally lets you get a deep breath in. You sputter slightly, leaning down so you’re head is against the bed. John sits back up, a string of obscenities falling from his lips, “Shit, look what you’re doing to me. Thought you couldn’t get better, but I was fuckin’ wrong. Wish I knew earlier how good you look taking dick, yeah?” Johnny sits on the edge of the bed, catching his breath, but doesn’t waste the opportunity to remove the last bit of your, and his, clothing. You look up at him from the mattress, half-lidded and cockdrunk. 

And how can he resist that? He lifts your head with one hand, kissing your lips with a much more tender roughness than before. His other hand reaches down to toy with your clit, smiling as you jump at the feeling. “Feels good, right? I’ll make you feel so good.” You’re losing it now, legs wobbling as you get closer and closer to cumming. John grabs your hair tight, pulling slightly to tilt your head up, “Wanna see that pretty face as you cum.” That’s the final straw as you cum hard around John, loud moans as you tremble beneath him. He only lasts a few more seconds, loud and whiny seconds until he pulls out, cum shooting across your back. Johnny stands up next to him, both looking down at you as you pant heavily. “It’s like art really,” Johnny breathes out. John snorts slightly, “Yeah, a real Pollock.” He kneels to look in your eyes. “You feeling okay love? You wanna rest?” You manage to shake your head, pushing out, “More, please.”

Suddenly, you’re being lifted, strong arms around your waist, as Johnny lays on the bed where you just were. You feel a few light kisses against your shoulder as you’re set down, another pair of large hands grabbing at your ass. Johnny pulls you in for another kiss, as John wipes your back off. Johnny is getting handsy, touch traveling up and down the length of your body. “My turn,” he says with a smirk, one of his hands reaches behind your legs to grab his cock and sinks into you. He clutches you with a whimper, still as he adjusts to the feeling. “Ah- Damn, you feel so good, so fucking wet for me, yeah?” He starts moving again, gripping your ass tightly as he fucks himself into you. You’re so fucked out, your hair messy, and your eyes half-open, high-pitched moans pushed from your lips. You’ve almost forgotten about John when…

You feel it, his cock gently pressing below Johnny’s, the grip on your ass being used to spread them further apart. You’ve barely got time to think before he sinks in, stretching you out to the point you’re seeing stars. Both men whine at the feeling, of movement and your walls so tight around them. You feel so full, so good, with both of their thick cocks inside you. John starts to move, thrusting against Johnny. He reaches out and grabs your throat again, much less gently than before. This is a lot for them too, as Johnny writhes under you, cries of pleasure loud compared to your much more breathy ones. But it’s not long until he starts moving too, opposite to John. When one thrusts in, the other pulls out slightly, and back and forth for what feels like forever. If you weren’t being so tightly held, you would’ve collapsed much earlier. Johnny is much closer to cumming, head pressed against the bed and eyes screwed shut. He manages to get out a whiny, “Oh fuck,” before he cums, body curling into yours and biting against your shoulder for stability. He flops against the bed, letting his spent cock pull out of you. Now with free reign of you, John speeds up, at a breakneck pace as you bounce, eyes rolled back into your head as you bounce. Johnny manages to look up slightly, taking in the sight of you, a satisfied smile on his face. John tightens his grip as he sputters out, “Shit, ‘m gonna cum,” a final stutter of his hips as you feel it, the warmth filling you.

As he finally pulls out, Johnny helps steer you to lie on the bed. Both men stand over you, watching you pant and both of their cum drip out of you. Johnny turns his head to look at John, a wide, tired smile on his face. “I told you they’d be a great fuck.” Which earns him a smack on the head from John. “I knew it, you knew it, but you couldn’t have waited a little longer before speaking, dumbass?” Defensively, Johnny’s hands go up. “C’mon, it’s a compliment!”

#johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage smut #johnny cage mk11 #mk x reader #x reader #mortal kombat #afab reader #mk 11 #mk smut #mortal kombat 11

[navyhyuck]

let me go — 1.1k words, choi beomgyu

warnings: explicit and implied drug use (molly/ecstasy), vampire!gyu, pretty suggestive, reader hallucinates

a/n: DON’T DO DRUGS!!! this is purely fiction!!! and i am never encouraging drug use of any sort! this is actually outrageous and slightly dark, i sincerely and truly apologize. anyway, i wrote this around when dark blood came out (rip it’s been 7 months) and still.. it is my favorite concept from enha ever, dare i say their best..? anyway! enjoy and pls leave feedback <3

yeonjun warned you not to go too far tonight.

something about you ‘attracting attention’ when you’re entering a club you’ve never set foot in before, stumbling in your tracks with hands grasping at kai’s t-shirt, quiet giggles tumbling from your mouth as you’re led instead. everything’s spinning around you, blurring reds and greens, yet the bouncer seems the most unfazed, welcoming you in with a burning smile that should send red flags waving through your mind. but it doesn’t, no, of course not. that guy was just so nice to you.

and it doesn’t help when you’re leaning back shamelessly, over yeonjun’s chest on the small couch you were given, blinking teary-eyed at an unfamiliar, handsome boy above you, begging silently with your tongue outstretched, asking with your palm grazing over his shoulder–just to press that sweet little pill into your mouth. he obliges eventually, watching as you swallow intently, sighing deeply and collapsing against the other boy.

“fucking hell, y/n, what did we say—”

“relax,” you’re waving a hand in his direction, pulling yourself away to collect yourself, if that’s even possible. yeonjun’s eyes are sparkling–probably in anger or worry–but, ah, no. he’s doing just fine, you see, there’s a shining sound in the way he speaks to you. “that’s—my chem TA. his name’s soobin. i know him, he won’t kill me. i promise.” you smile widely, patting at his shoulder.

he knows you won’t lie to him, of course not, but when you’re already flushed from head to toe, slowly losing your senses as you speak to kai–who’s nodding politely at every word that falls from your mouth–it’ll be too much eventually. but your sweet chemistry TA being your plug? yeonjun wonders how much you’ve done to get him to behave like that.

but you’ve got that talent locked and loaded under your belt, waiting to leave its cage the moment you focus your eyes on the next target. yet now, as kai’s responding to you under his breath (or loudly. you can’t tell anyway.), there’s eyes on you already: the barrel of the gun pointed right at you, aiming just where it hits the best—you can almost taste it.

and it’s so sweet, even when you’re locking eyes with a familiar stranger who stands a few feet away, leaning against the bar counter in such an inviting position. his lips are so red, you think, oh, but you can’t see too well anyway. yeonjun’s wrapping a hand around your waist, just as he always does, so protective of you in your most vulnerable state but no–he doesn’t like that. you swear he’s come closer, barely in a millisecond that you feel as though you’re dreaming (but true hallucinations feel like reality).

before you can pull away, charm him on your own, such beauty stands right in front of you, outstretching a hand with a white smile. “your name, princess?” oh, yes, you’re hooked already.

“y/n,” you can’t tear your eyes away, it’s too tempting. and you place your hand in his, breath hitching easily when he presses his lips against your skin, peeking through eyelashes as he does so. a drug-like scent surrounds him, sweet and addicting, and everything muffles around you as you inhale.

you let him gather you away, barely registering yeonjun’s voice as he loses his grip on you. but no, you’ve never wanted anything so much before, you don’t think. even sober, red lips would catch your gaze from a mile away.

“who are you?” is the only thing you manage to ask—dizzily as you follow the stranger’s steps, dancing on the tips of your toes. his hand is ice-cold, sending shivers down your spine, and you don’t dare look away. it’s all too tempting.

he tells you his name is beomgyu. oh, beomgyu! he’s so pretty, so pretty, you can reach out and brush the gorgeous locks of brown hair away from his eyes, gazing into them as if there was no tomorrow. he’d look so close—he’s so close, eyelashes nearly tangling in yours (is that possible?) as he smiles at you. it may be sinister—who cares? you’d do anything for him.

beomgyu is so sweet, perching you on his lap, locking on you, purring “princess, you’d invite me inside your house, wouldn’t you?” yes! yes, oh yes you would. why not? he’s such a good guest, so good to you, you pull him past that stupid door and kiss him with every ounce of desire in your body. he’s caressing your face, admiring you, only you, all you.

you’re kissing him first, pressing impatiently against him, and it is so dreamy. like a dream! his locks of hair can tangle between your individual fingers—hell, you could braid it when you press insistently into his mouth. this is all you’ve ever wanted, and when he pulls back, glazing over you, he tells you he wants to bite.

“princess…” and you will never disagree. that fire in your body has you sweating, your body temperature shooting through the roof, and you’re baring your neck. your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, how encouraging, and the pain is replaced with an unadulterated pleasure—you’re nearly writhing.

you wish you had someone as sweet as beomgyu—so handsome, so pretty, so so sweet—dripping your blood on the dress you wore just for him. he’d lean back in towards you, gripping your waist, sinking fangs into you to tell you that you’re his, but there’s a falter in the way he fumbles with you. there’s a grip on your arm—what?

“y/n!” beomgyu isn’t speaking any longer (didn’t you invite him in?), what have you done? you…you don’t know, he doesn’t seem too happy. there are tears, he can’t hold you any longer—what have you done? “y/n! look—look at me!” what have you done?

the red doesn’t seem to return—you cannot find his lips anymore. yeonjun’s yanking your arm again, and you’re locked too deep in his embrace. he’s shouting—why is he shouting? what have you done? where is he? where … where is he? “where…?”

there’s a certain way the daze of it all gets your brain functioning, yeonjun knows this, he shouldn’t have let you walk away. it always ends up like this. the skirt you’re wearing is ripped now, in this secret room of no one, but he’s got you. he’s got you now, and you won’t let go. you won’t let go.

you won’t … let go.

#this would’ve been perfect for halloween but alas #txt scenarios #tomorrow x together scenarios #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu imagines #txt imagines #txt aus #beomgyu headcanons #txt fluff #txt angst #txt suggestive #alright i hope this shows up in tags good night

[super-ion]

Such Lovely Fur

Chapter 1

The wind howls horribly as I stagger through the drifts of snow. It tears at my cloak and dress, digging icy fingers down to my bones. My teeth are chattering and I can barely feel my hands as I tug the cloak tight around my shoulders.

I find myself wondering for probably the thousandth time if this whole endeavor is a fool's errand. Many men have attempted this very mission, most have never returned.

What hope does someone like me possibly have?

I pause beneath a rocky outcropping, desperately trying to rub feeling back into my numb hands when I hear the voice. It comes in the form of a song in a language I do not recognize, piercing through the storm unnaturally (though there is hardly anything natural about this storm in the first place).

Were I in my right mind, I would ignore it, but I am cold and delirious from exhaustion. Instead I stagger forward blindly through the wind driven snow, drawn inexorably towards the haunting voice.

What I find is a cage, hanging from a sorry looking tree and woven from rough hewn strips of wood and covered with glowing symbols. Within sits the hunched figure of the singer. Her back is to me, so all I can see is a cloak that appears to be covered in dusky feathers.

“Hello?”

She stops singing and whirls to grip the bars. What I previously mistook for a feathered cloak is in fact a pair of wings in place of her arms, three fingers with wicked looking claws emerging halfway down their length. Curling horns and pointed ears sprout from beneath the raven dark tresses of her hair, framing a face with pale mottled gray skin and a sort of flattened nose and tilted eyes like a cat’s. The eyes themselves… they are jet black with glowing flecks like sparks dancing within.

She… I don't even know if this is a she… regards me hungrily with those eyes.

“Hey!” she says desperately. “Get me out of here and I'll grant you your heart's desire!”

Her husky voice snaps me out of my shock and I stagger back.

“Demon!” I gasp.

Her face falls and she makes a sulky pout at me.

“Please?” she asks. “Judging from the spells inscribed on this cage, there are sorcerers about, no doubt intending to carve out my hearts and drink my blood. I would really rather not be around when they return.”

Still in shock at the sight of her, I stumble backward, turn to leave and…

Her words are finally catching up with me.

She could help me save my betrothed.

“You… you can grant my heart's desire?”

She blinks in surprise and her ears twitch. She crouches in the cage, beckoning me closer. I take a few cautious steps forward.

“That might have been a slight exaggeration on my part,” she confesses. “But it is within my power to grant you boons to aid you in achieving such a heart's desire.”

“What sort of boons?” I ask, trying and failing to hide my shivering.

She makes a pointed glance at my cloak, fine dress and thin shoes, all of which are wholly unsuited for the ice and snow whirling around us.

“Well, that depends on what you need,” she replies. “If, as I suspect, you intend to brave this cursed storm and climb the mountain, it is within my power to grant you such tools to assist in such an endeavor.”

I should say no. I should not deal with demons, caged or no.

I also should not be out here in the elements attempting something so foolish. I am far outside of my realm of experience. I will surely freeze to death or worse before getting anywhere close to the top of the mountain.

“How many boons?” I demand.

A hopeful spark shines in her eyes and she grins, revealing sharp teeth.

“Three,” she says. “Standard package. Very powerful number, three.”

“Just so we're clear, I let you go and you grant me three boons?”

“You release me from this cage and I shall grant you three boons spread over three days of your choosing. I swear it on the skulls of my ancestors.”

She points eagerly to a surprisingly simple latch holding the cage closed. I know very little about magic, such things are anathema in civilized society, but I can only assume the glowing writing on the cage is meant for something like her and not something like me.

Regardless, I am reluctant to get too close. I find a long stick amongst the snow at the base of the tree and poke fumblingly at the latch from a safe distance. After a few attempts, I finally manage it and she comes tumbling out in a great squawking bundle of feathers.

She dusts the snow off of herself, revealing great birdlike feet with wicked talons and a whip-like tail that lashes excitedly behind her. She uncurls her body to full height and extends her wings in a languorous stretch.

I am not a short person, but I find myself dwarfed by her. At full height, she is nearly a full head taller than me, and her outstretched wings are nearly twice that height.

She cracks her neck and folds her wings close, ruffling her feathers and puffing up to ward off the cold.

My heart is hammering in my chest when she finally turns her attention back to me.

“What manner of person are you?” she asks as she begins circling me. “Man or woman? Something else maybe?”

She pauses behind me, craning her neck to get a look down my collar. I wrap my cloak around myself tightly in an attempt to preserve my modesty.

“I am a woman!” I snap indignantly.

She cocks her head.

“Indeed?”

When I was fifteen, my household hosted a delegation of merchants from a land across the sea. I remember them ogling and leering at me and asking the most inappropriate sorts of questions. I hated every minute of it, but the trade interests were too important for any sort of argument my father had told me. So I played the dutiful daughter. I made my family proud.

Out here in the wild, so far removed from any sort of propriety, this demon seemed to possess a genuine desire to understand, without a hint of derision. Perhaps… perhaps I could have a conversation with someone unburdened by any preconceived notions of the dictates of gender, neither from my homeland or distant lands with backwards beliefs.

The old familiar traitorous thoughts send a thrill through me and I quickly shove them aside. It is not proper to question my place in society or my role as a daughter or a bride. Nor is it proper to hold any such conversation with a demon.

(Nor is it proper for a woman of my station to be out in the wilderness such as I am, but these are special circumstances)

“Indeed I am,” I say. “Now tell me of these boons.”

She scowls in disappointment at the change of topic.

“Fine,” she sighs. “But first, answer me this: what is it that you seek? What is it that your heart desires?”

“I was to be wed at the end of summer, but the night before the wedding day, the Lady of Winter came down from her mountain and stole my bridegroom away. He is the nephew of a merchant prince, they are a very wealthy and-”

“You're out here risking your life for a man??” she interrupts. “No man is worth trifling with the Lady of Winter, trust me.”

“I am doing my family a great honor!” I reply defensively. “I will prove my devotion and earn my parents an even greater brideprice than what has already been agreed upon.”

She cocks her head the other way and leans forward, raising an eyebrow dubiously.

“But do you love him?” she asks.

“He was one of my dearest friends when we were children,” I say, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “On my naming day, a soothsayer read our fortunes in the stars and determined that we were a most auspicious match.”

She leans closer, too close now.

“You didn't answer my question,” she purrs.

“What is it to you?” I demand, jerking back.

She smirks and gives a little shrug.

“Nothing to me,” she says. “I'm simply gauging your conviction. These sorts of things come with a cost, and if your head and heart possess different notions of that cost, it can complicate things.”

“A cost??” I sputter. “But I freed you-”

“In exchange for the privilege of receiving my gifts,” she enunciates slowly with a roll of her eyes. “Listen, my friend. I can't make something from nothing, so everything costs something. It's called equivalent exchange.”

She taps her chin thoughtfully and sweeps me head to toe with her gaze.

“For example,” she continues. “A fur coat would serve you well… something nice and cozy to keep the chill at bay. I can't simply pull one out of thin air, I need something from you first.”

“What do you need?” I ask nervously.

“Your skin.”

“My…?”

I recoil in horror and she bursts into cackling laughter.

“Your face!” she wheezes as she doubles over. “You should see it!”

I feel a rush of embarrassed indignance and I'm surprised to find my fists clenching.

“This isn't funny,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but it is,” she says as she wipes tears from her eyes. “Seriously though, we'll need your skin. The best, easiest way to do this is to trick part of your body into forgetting that it's human.”

I stare at her, mouth agape.

“You mean… fur. Literal fur on my body? You can't be serious.”

“I am,” she says with a wicked grin. “That's how my magic works. How far are you willing to go for this man?”

I think of the pride in my father's face when my brideprice was negotiated. I think of the face of my bridegroom, the way he looked upon me the last time I saw him, the desire and satisfaction that I would soon be his.

I shouldn't even be out here, it is not a woman’s place to conduct such a rescue. If I returned now, empty handed, the dishonor I would face would be unimaginable. It would be far, far worse than if I had never left at all.

For better or worse, I am committed. I am also woefully unprepared and my success is now dependent upon the gifts this demon has to offer.

Fur would not be such a terrible thing, would it? I already shaved my body daily. This would just be one extra step to my morning and evening routines.

“Do it,” I command.

She claps her hands in delight.

“Close your eyes," she drawls, "and try not to think. Don't fight it.”

I close my eyes and stand shivering in the cold. I try to force my thoughts into quietude. It is difficult, with each stray thought I supress, it seems that two more appear to take its place.

I feel a jolt and a tingling feeling spreads throughout my body. I know instantly that it is the demon's magic, writhing and worming its way through me.

Don't fight it. Don't fight it. Don't fight it.

An itch starts at the back of my neck, spreading down my spine and across my back and down my arms and legs. It is not painful, but it itches more and more terribly with each passing second. I clench my fists tighter and tighter as it takes every shred of willpower not to scratch.

Then, so abruptly that it makes me gasp, the feeling is gone and I am left blessedly warm. I can still feel the chill of the wind, but it is a distant discomfort now, as if I really were wearing a thick winter coat.

I crack my eyes open and look down to the backs of my hands. From beneath the sleeves of my dress pale silver-grey fur pokes out, with darker spots like the rosettes of a leopard.

“Oh,” the demon gasps. “Fascinating...”

She steps forward and rubs the back of a clawed finger against the exposed fur on my neck, sending a thrill through me and setting my heart racing.

“Such lovely fur,” she croons.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #lesbian #transgender #fantasy #monster x human #transgender fairy tale #fairy tale #fantasy lesbians #fairy tale retelling #transformation #original fiction

[em1e]

hunted | 1 k

╰ everything's going wrong it seems. ⚠︎ threats, i am a kisaki hater through and through, the girls are FIGHINTG, short part my b ♡ series m.list

“don’t look so disappointed at it bein’ me.” another giggle passes hanma’s lips, reaching out for you before you can step away. 

he pulls you towards him with the grip on your wrist, twisting you around until your back is pressed to his chest with his hand readjusting to your waist to keep you in place, his other hand coming to your mouth to prevent any sounds from escaping. 

“s’a shame,” he comments, “i wanted to be the one to kill that bastard. seems my king may have the honor of doing it on his own.” 

he leans down despite your struggling against him, breath fanning against your ear, “or perhaps he will be at your king's mercy.” 

your screams don’t make it past the flesh of his hand, and your flailing does little to stop him from lifting you from the ground, walking with you until the treelines thin and you can see a clearing from the trails. you can make out a chariot just at the edge of where the trees break and a guard nods at hanma as he pulls open the door, allowing your captor to easily push you inside and slam it shut while you recover from being tossed in. 

you scramble against the floor, beating on the door, “hanma, let me out now.” you demand, rattling against it like a caged animal. 

“it’d be wise to keep your whining to a minimum.” he tuts, eyeing you through the small barred window of the door, “i’m afraid my king doesn’t fare well with defiance.” 

his eyes flit behind you, and you have enough sense to follow his gaze. 

“did you miss me, princess?” kisaki smirks. you think hanma giggles from outside, “here’s how this is going to work-”

you feel incredibly vulnerable from your spot on the carriage’s floor, back pressing into the door to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. still, he leans down, letting his face hover only inches from your own as he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “and you can either be a good queen for me, or i will have your brother and knight murdered and you will be left with no one.” 

༝

baji could’ve expected many things, coming out from the woods with an armful of sticks and branches. 

he could picture you, laying on the ground with one of the few blankets they have under you, fast asleep with his coat he’d offered many nights before draped over your shoulders. he could picture chifuyu tending the fire, snacking on some of the provisions he’d snuck from your pack after you’d passed out, sending baji a look of challenge as if he’d dare to wake you to snitch, or even offer the bit of jerky left to the knight as a sign of peace. 

baji doesn’t, however, expect to see the small camp they’d made void of you. 

chifuyu is, as he expected, rummaging through one of your many packs, trying to find what one has the food, and he quickly tosses it aside with his hands behind his back when he realizes he isn't alone. 

“where’s (y/n)?” baji asks at the same time chifuyu asks, “where’s the princess?”

both men stare at each other for all of ten seconds, expressions mirrored in their own confusion, before chifuyu’s drops and he darts in the direction you’d left in. 

baji’s hesitation only lasts a second before he’s dropping the wood and following after the mercenary, steps coming to a halt as chifuyu freezes at the edge of the woods. 

“the hell is going on?” baji clenches his teeth, shoving at chifuyu’s shoulder. 

chifuyu offers no answer, his own jaw clamped shut as he wordlessly nods to a carriage that slowly departs along the trail. if he squints, baji can make out the embroidered print of the valhalla kingdom on the flag of the carriage. 

“where’s (y/n)?” baji asks again, fists balled. his nails bite into the skin of his palm when chifuyu doesn’t reply, until he’s grabbing the mercenary by the front of his tunic and pulling him towards him, “where the fuck are they?” he repeats.

it only takes chifuyu a second to pry baji’s fingers from his shirt, pushing him back by the shoulder while glowering, “i think you know as well as i do where they are.” 

then he turns on his heel and heads back towards their camp, baji hot on his tail, “we have to go after them. if we don’t, they’ll be forced to wed kisaki and-” 

chifuyu’s stride is unbroken as he interrupts baji, “i was hired to ensure they arrive safely, and since it seems that has been compromised, i am to return to my kingdom for further instruction.” 

“and what of the princess?,” baji probes, “they would still be at the camp, had you been doing what you were paid for-” 

chifuyu stops at that, quick to turn on his heel with a glare, “they left in search of you. had you not ignored them for the past day’s travels, perhaps they’d be in your arms now.” 

baji’s mouth opens to argue, brows furrowed and words sharp on his tongue, only to be interrupted by a slow clap coming from the woods to his right. 

“impressive, really, to see the two of you fall apart at the seams.” hanma giggles, hands clasping together when their full attention is on him, “and for someone who wasn’t either of yours to begin with; it’s almost sweet.” 

both men take defensive poses, eyes narrowing, “it must hurt knowing you’ve failed. ‘m sure of it.” hanma continues, circling around them like a predator scoping out its prey. 

“where have you taken them?” baji demands. hanma clicks his tongue, head tilting. 

“i’d worry about my own skin at the moment - surely the two of you are smart enough to not pick a fight barehanded?” he wonders aloud, hands gesturing out to his sides. as if on queue, four more guards flank either side of him; two holding the reins of their horses while the remaining two hold their bags and materials. 

the pair share a look. hanma lets out another giggle, chin tilting down, “i’d come quietly, if you want to make things easier for your dear princess.”

#salmon rowe #keisuke baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #baji x reader #keisuke x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #x reader

[cringecannon]

i am kind of going batshit insane and biting at the bars of my cage over the thought of a woman of the cloth, one oh-so ever devoted to their deity in soul and of body (i'm talking complete chastity; grade 'A' virgin) waging an internal WAR at the coaxing and prying of an incessant, hounding and horned up FREAK just constantly sniffing up their skirt (whether literally or figuratively is up to you, tee hee),,, honestly could play out w/ whoever, but like,,, hrmrnng gortash, kar'niss 'n astarion

Religion is your life. You chose a life of chastity and restraint willingly. You devoted your life to purity, and no one will make you stray from that path. No matter how hard they may try.

Serving as a religious advisor for the Archduke should've been simple. It was supposed to be simple. You keep to yourself and say nothing unless he asks. It worked for a time. Despite your best efforts to stay under the radar, you started to catch him staring at you. He'd follow you out of meetings, an easy smile on his face as he escorts you through the halls. Your skin prickles as you feel his eyes trail over you. In your peripheral you can see it- his gaze falling to where your hands are clasped in front of you, then up to your chest. You're thankful for the modesty of your robes, ensuring he can't see much- but it doesn't help the hot flush that suddenly rises in you. The hand that rests itself on your lower back doesn't help your flustered state. His hands drifts lower as he speaks, musing to himself as you fight to keep your composure. He'd like to get to know you better. The sudden heat that flashes through you when his fingers skim over you ass is almost unbearable. You'll join him for dinner, won't you? Of course you will.

Your stubbornness annoyed Astarion. It was bad enough having one hard to read cleric, two is just unnecessary. However, he had found through relentless persistence that you were slightly less impenetrable than the other. Not by much, though. While you were almost always far too helpful for his liking, you always drew the line at any intimacy outside him feeding on you. Every line and proposition he tries, you decline with grace. It's infuriating. Your eyes stay fixed to the ground whenever he stalks up, shoulders tense as he whispers sweet promises into your ear. Try to ignore it all you want, darling. He can hear the way your breath hitches when his chest presses against your back, and he can feel the pounding of your pulse when his lips brush against the side of your throat. Do you remember what he said, about you being his first? Well, he'd be more than happy to return the favor. A cold hand drifts over your chest and he salivates when he can feel your rapid heartbeat. What an effect his pretty words have on you. Say the word, love. Let him show you what you've been missing.

Kar'niss is completely enamored with you. Few could match his dedication to the Absolute, and fewer still interacted with him willingly. You worshipped with him, never condescended him, prayed for his safety whenever he had to leave the tower. He was convinced you were a blessing sent by the Absolute herself. Perfection given life. You never complained anymore when he touched you, brushing his nose against your jaw as he holds you from behind. He whispers frantically, one hand drifting to your thighs and gripping the fabric of your robes. The words are unintelligible, you're never sure whether he's praying or praising. His ramblings rarely make sense to anyone but him. He feels heat radiate off you as he slowly pulls up your robes inch by inch, ankle, calf, and knee exposed to his desperate hands. Perfect soul, perfect flesh. Worship with him. The Absolute demands satisfaction.

#.enver gortash #.astarion #.kar’niss #notsfw #.bg3

[silkendandelion]

Mirage In The Desert - Chapter 12

Summary: Trapped in a cage, the Strawhat’s plan to confront Crocodile at Raindinners proceeds more poorly than they expected, and River is the nearest ally on the outside.

Rated Mature for language, graphic violence. Cross-posted to Ao3, same username. Send me a DM: yell at me, send flowers. Cheers.

~*~

The most comfort River had found at Raindinners was the saltwater swims.

And so, Crocodile stood on the shore, bored eyes watching him cling to the rocks with trembling, bleeding fingers. The Oasin’s breath came in labored, frightened puffs as he struggled to free himself from wani-infested waters.

“I knew I would find you here.”

But Crocodile wasn’t the cause of his distress, and River hauls himself to safety with one more good pull.

Water runs off him in sheets, down unsteady legs until he finds his footing. “I don’t try to hide, you know.”

“Oh, you do. But I can hardly blame you,” Crocodile said, stopping to study where River nursed his wounded hands, the scratches across his knuckles that colored the water dripping down his arms pink.

“Did the wani do that?”

“It was my fault. I was careless and fell in… I can hardly blame them.”

“Would you like me to administer first aid?”

River snorted, even as Crocodile watched him consider it, with a wet sheen over his tired eyes. Must be the saltwater. “I’ll be fine. Thank you. Though, I don’t recall asking you to join me,” he said with less bite than he hoped.

Although they were doomed to pretend to be business partners, Crocodile found himself wandering to stand by the water’s edge almost every day. To watch if he could get away with it, be close to him, even when his natural habitat kept them apart. With all the ease that the Oasin played the “shiny jewel of the desert”, charming and mild-mannered, buttoned-up in diamonds and finery, it was easy to forget that he belonged to the sea. Now, with salt on his eyelashes and sun beams in the width of his shoulders, the great lake felt too much like a bottomless ocean between them.

“Hm.” Crocodile contemplated the verbal rejection, and reached into his coat pocket for a plain, ribbon-bound box.

“I’ll leave your present here then. Don’t let the wani eat it.”

He made no move to accept, and waited until the door to the casino firmly latched shut to swim over, only his eyes out of the water to glare at the offending gift.

The blue box and white ribbon mocked him in it’s simplicity, a perfect copy of the box that cradled his surrendered earrings all those months ago. The first peace offering between them. And here was another.

He pulled the ribbon free by one of it’s tails, careful not to let it slip into the water, and removed the lid. ____ ___ __ _

11:30 AM, Operation Day.

For four of the Strawhats, bad luck could only take so much credit for their swift defeat in their front-door assault on Raindinners, having been bested by a hastily written “Pirates this way” sign and gravity. Consequently, Smoker’s foiled pursuit down to the same seastone cage was just bad timing and worse luck.

Imprisonment usually breeds allies, but apparently no amount of cohabitation could keep them from hissing at each other, and when Crocodile and River come to see what sprung their trap, Smoker has the pirate captain pinned by pressing his jute to his back.

“Since you’re going to die together, you can at least attempt to get along,” Crocodile says while taking a seat at the long table in the center of the room.

”Crocodile! I’ll kick your ass when I get out of—here.” Luffy’s threat dies on a breath, and he slips to the floor when he’s unable to hold onto the cage.

“Stop touching the bars! Weren’t you paying attention?!” Usopp yells at him.

“Spirited, aren’t they? The most powerful little pirate gang in the East Blue,” River takes his spot at Crocodile’s side.

Smoker adjusted his grip on his jute and pointed it through the bars. “Crocodile. You look every bit as despicable as I imagined… But your associate—”

He points the tip at River. “I don’t recognize you.”

“You wouldn’t,” River said, simply, and leaned down to light his cigarette from Crocodile’s outstretched hand. “Mr. Marine.”

“My favorite weapon: a well-kept secret to all of your people’s supposed intelligence, Smoker. Isn’t he magnificent?” Crocodile brushed a finger through his hanging earrings, and River blew smoke from his nose as he stepped away to approach the cage.

The sight of the young pirates locked up like animals twisted his stomach, it never more apparent that these were just kids. Frightened, only strong enough to refuse to cower. As dangerous as they supposedly were, whatever battles or villains they boasted, he couldn’t let them die here, so far from home, for the ambitions of a cruel man who saw them as little more than obstacles to be broken.

“This is who the Princess hired to help her? She would have been better off hiring the marine.” He took another drag and met Luffy’s eyes from where he sat on the ground.

You’ll only get one chance, Monkey D. Luffy.

“And they couldn’t even protect her. She and Miss All Sunday should already be on their way.” Crocodile said and gestured for River to sit beside him. No sense letting lunch grow cold while they waited.

“I knew it was a mistake to trust him,” Usopp whispered to them all.

‘No’, Luffy and Smoker were surprised they both spoke at once.

“He has a plan.” Zoro said.

They only had to wait a few minutes, long enough for River and Crocodile to both have a glass of wine when the Princess announced her presence.

“Crocodile!” She yelled, not wasting a moment to fly down the steps to try to catch the warlord off guard.

But River vaulted over the table faster than she could take aim, and her peacock blade shattered in his fist, sending fragments of metal and turquoise all over the floor.

“Your rage leaves little room for critical thinking, Princess.” Crocodile sipped his wine while River made easy work of tying her to one of the carved chairs with his own scarf.

“Too tight?” He asked her, but only risked getting a headbutt in response as she thrashed.

“I wish you had never come to this country at all! But I’ll amend that today, and finally kill you.” The chair scraped and tapped the floor with her struggling.

“Not like that, you won’t. Relax, the party is just beginning. Yes?” Crocodile looked to River and Miss All Sunday, who had appeared behind the furious Vivi.

She looked at her watch. “Yes, Sir. It’s noon, and Operation Utopia has officially begun.”

“What is—,” Crocodile held up his hand to hush the frightened murmurs and questions of the prisoners while they reeled.

“Perpetually late and always wrong, Princess. I never wanted to conquer this country—I wanted to wipe it from the face of the earth. And over a decade in the making, it won’t even be me. You’ll destroy yourselves, won’t you? Precious rebels and a worthless king are more volatile than gunpowder in this heat.”

“… You’re going to kill my father? What point does that serve?!” Vivi screeched and continued to yank at her bonds.

“You’re still. Not. Thinking.” He tapped his cigar in the ash tray. Tap. Tap. “Why would I kill him? He’ll suffer a fate worse than death. The king is going to fire the first shot.” ____ ___ __ _

Across the country in Nanohana, Koza and his black horse raced through the streets towards the center of the city.

Why now? Why would the king choose now, of all days, to speak to the people?

When his men brought him news that the king and a number of his troops were requesting an audience, he hadn’t known what to expect. Would it be a declaration of war? After all these months? Or a public claim of his innocence?

And he wanted to believe it didn’t matter. That it wouldn’t heal some part of him for the king to admit his wrongdoing and pledge to fix it. To say he still cared for his people, the way Koza remembered him.

Regarding unfinished business, Aurelio had arrived to the rebel camp before dawn, as planned, though he found there was little to do to sway the leader’s mind after the news that Cobra marched on Nanohana.

“You came all the way from the New World for little to nothing,” Koza had said as he yanked the straps tight on his saddle.

“Your letter came late, nearly illegible. If Dragon was any less of a suspicious man, he would have sent no one at all,” Aurelio said.

“So he sends a SINGLE scout, weeks late, and when we no longer have time to wait for reinforcements?” He gets into the older man’s space, nose to nose, close enough to realize he had stepped inside an imperceptible barrier. Too close, suffocating, now unable to back out—trapped until the other man said his peace.

“Do not let the fact that I am alone make you believe I cannot help you.” He said each word slowly, measured by syllable as proof of restraint, and Koza finally took a step back to breathe.

He looked to the sky to check the time, and an owl’s silhouette broke the sun. “Fine. Wait for my orders. We don’t have enough weapons, you can start by helping to arm the rest.”

Aurelio nodded.

The moment Koza’s dark horse disappeared down the road, the dissent among the troops was clear. “So why were the Oasins armed before us? They’ve only been here a few months.”

“Yeah, we’ve been here for almost a year and were never given a weapon.”

“Will that stop you from protecting yourself?” Aurelio said, beside them. “When you are afraid for your life, the safety of your families, even your bare hands will serve you. But if you insist on a crutch—”

He reached to the building that housed their troops and ripped a board from its wall with a swift yank, tossing the splintered wood at the soldier’s feet. “There. A weapon.”

By the time Koza made it to the center of the city, the king had already begun to speak. A man he hardly recognized stood before the crowd, no longer a king, but a tyrant that declared this city was the last piece of evidence to his deception against the rest of the country. And that they could no longer pretend to be useful to him.

So when he felt the bullet pierce his body, the air gone from his lungs and taking his spirited shout, he believed it to be justified. That the man he remembered was gone, and the rest of his home would soon follow. Should follow? They had little choice.

“Let’s finally destroy this country.” He said to the rebel that held him.

“Sir? What are you saying? Leader! Wake up!” They shook him but no response. His order’s were clear.

Aurelio arrived with the rest of their troops to carry out his wishes, though the borrowed revolutionary held no motives to obey, except to minimize civilian causalities. For all his sympathies, he had little patience to allow the rage of a betrayed nation, except to protect them from each other.

Smoke rose to the sky with the popping of gunshots, and the cracking of heat-weakened walls as rebels and the king’s men clashed in the streets.

“Watch out! Get away!” He heard clearer than the rest of the frightened howling, and looked to the sky to see a ship breaching the shore, skipping the harbor to fly towards the populated city center.

“Shit—” He ripped away from the civilians in his arms, shoved them towards the nearest intact building before taking off for the ship in a series of staccato blinks.

“Where is he going?!”

“Not that way!” They yelled after him.

On the deck, Miss Double-finger and Mr. 1 saw a tiny dot charge into their path.

“Impossible.”

“Is that—”

CRACK. The bang of the ship colliding with what felt like an invisible wall knocked the agents off their feet, deafening to the civilians that watched horrified as they saw the bow met by a—by—

“A man?!” They shouted, unable to look away.

His palms extended, he braced himself between the bow and the sandy street, his teeth gnashed and wide back ready to burst under the force of the ship pushing him back, burying his steel legs into the ground to carve their path. But he wouldn’t go down.

He didn’t stop the ship, no more than slow it down, but just one life spared was enough.

And he never went down.

The civilians that found him, buried under the shredded bow of the ship, ripped open under his reinforced hands like an eviscerated beast, found him alive. They pulled him from the splintered wood and broken ground, letting their tears patter on his face when they couldn’t wait for him to open his eyes to tell him he saved them.

And Koza, as he watched Aurelio awake with a gasp, coughing up powdered stone, wanted to tell him he was sorry.

“They really did send help.” ____ ___ __ _

Down in the bunker and forced to listen, Vivi found no more strength to struggle. “You’re a monster. Worse than that, pure evil.”

Luffy, despite the effort being moot, continued to gnaw at the bars of the cage, spurred on by hearing the warlord’s plan laid out in it’s meticulous and cruel entirety.

“Is he stupid?” River said with a raised eyebrow and another drag off his cigarette.

“Yeah. Yeah, he is,” Zoro said, smiling.

“And what about Oasis?” Vivi shouted when her fight returned, spitefully pleased when River turned to scowl at her.

“Why are you doing this, Mr. i? Oasis will fall without Alabasta. What do you hope to gain?”

“Never—,” he said, firmly, as he stubbed out his cigarette. “Presume to know anything about my motivations. Oasis existed when this island was nothing but warring states, and when it nearly killed itself to produce a king, WE survived. My island will go on with or without you, and I will do anything to ensure they survive.”

And it wasn’t a lie. He would do anything to protect his people. Oasis would go on with or without Alabasta. But he left unsaid that Oasis gave up their favorite son all those centuries ago, and would continue to give. Seth, the Hunter of the Ennead’s first General, left behind his family and father to fight beside the mainlanders to unite the island and help them find their peace.

He wouldn’t survive to see the monarchy that rose, or watch his children grow tall. It would be the duty of his descendants, on the eve of another war, to remind Oasis of their duty to the mainland, and that their “survival”, a hollow, fragmented existence, was the only guarantee as long as they continued to pretend Alabasta and Oasis were ever enemies.

Beside River, Miss All Sunday answered her snail phone. “Mr. 0, the Billions are ready to move on to Alubarna.”

“And we will follow. Princess, you have one more choice to make. Come with us, try to save your country and your father. Or stay, and save four pirates.”

He held up a golden key to twinkle in the lights, and all eyes in the cage leaned forward to watch it wave back and forth.

On queue, River cut the Princess free of her bonds, and her anger turned to momentum, lunging for the key, chasing it out of Crocodile’s grip and down to the floor. Never let it be said that Crocodile didn’t use every advantage at his disposal, and the key was out of her grip with just a tap of his heel to open a single floor tile. Down it went, to another room.

“You can still get it. Better hurry,” Crocodile watched her contemplate jumping until Bananawani began to fill the hole, believing the chute brought food. They hissed, searching and irritated to find none, and River heard the mechanical whirl of the lift winding itself up.

Not part of the plan.

“You said you would flood the basement, drown them,” River said, gesturing to the cage of pirates.

“And I didn’t lie. The princess needs a little motivation to decide quickly. And besides, once the water flooded in, pushed these stone walls to the point of breaking, what did you think would happen?”

From where Crocodile and Miss All Sunday walked to evacuate at their leisure, he waited only a short minute before calling over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

“I—” River looked to Vivi as she crouched beside the chute, hot tears on her face. The Strawhats clamored for height as the water rose to their ankles and climbed. They looked back at him.

Didn’t you promise to help us?

“I’ll be right behind you. I... haven’t seen Coco in days, I want to make sure he eats.”

“You’re unbelievable. Don’t take too long.” Crocodile rolled his eyes and left River with a wave.

When he was sure they had walked out of earshot, the sound of the secondary lift confirming they had gone, he ran back to the hostages.

Vivi screamed into the mouth of the wani that arrived on the lift, and River’s boot came down hard on the sensitive skin of their snout. Their head whipped back, too far not to hurt, and the massive animal flopped over to retreat. On land, the wani were easy with the right amount of power, but when the chamber finally flooded, they would all be lucky to drown first.

“You took too long!” Vivi cried at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll let you do it next time!” River snapped at her, wading through the water to the cage.

“But what are we going to do? He threw the key in with the wani!” Nami said.

“There is no key! Don’t you get it? That key wouldn’t free you… It’s not fun for him unless you have hope.” River said, and Nami’s cheeks colored, embarrassed, as she watched him examine the lock.

Well, he decided, to just smash it was easier and quicker. He reinforced his fist and brought it down on both the lock and the hinge.

“Come on, faster, the bananas are getting—closerr.” Luffy scrabbled at the bars before melting into the water at his feet.

“Stop touching the cage!” Usopp yelled.

“So this was your plan all along,” came Crocodile’s low voice as it raked up all their spines like the tip of a sharp, poisoned hook.

River looked to him, fist primed to finish breaking the lock. “Not all along. Just after I knew I had found someone who could defeat you.”

“Does your partner know?”

“No. I mean, they must have some idea that I was planning something but I’ve never shared my intentions with them. They have never helped me.”

“And you wouldn’t lie about that. Not so well, at least.”

The damaged lock rattled in his shaking hands. “These kids are leaving here, Crocodile. I will free them.”

There’s a heavy beat of silence as the flooding chamber roars. Long enough for both of them to pick fight or flight, live or die, and decide if they could shoulder the consequences: the reality that only one of them would leave here.

“Fine. You are free to betray me. Just as I am free to be rid of you.”

River pounded his fist against the lock one more time and it snapped inward, letting the door fall open on it’s bent hinge.

“Get rid of me then!” He shook out one arm to grab his swords. “You have to kill me… But I only have to slow you down.”

“You—”

“Sorry I’m late! Vivi, my sweet! Nami, my world!”

Crocodile looked to the familiar voice to see a blonde in a suit, the same man who had called as he made ground and informed him of the second (successful) siege on the casino. He had entered the basement believing to find him, not his River.

“Get them out of here! Go!” River yelled to him, and Crocodile found it hard to comprehend any thought beyond the absurdity of Mr. Prince kicking back the Bananawani to further aid the hostages—on his River’s order.

CLANG. His hook rattled with the strike of a silver sword, and sand twisted up around them as they bared their teeth at each other.

“Don’t look away from me,” River ground out, demanded as he let loose swipe after swipe that Crocodile was forced to parry and dodge, or be cut by the blades that shone with a lapis blue coating.

A single arc of his sand, sharp and stinging, was enough to switch their roles as River stumbled back and back again. Though he was nimble, he was unused to fighting logia users that moved even quicker than he did. Crocodile quickly overpowered him, his body so much more than his human form as it whipped around them in millions of tiny granules that stung in microscopic wounds.

“He’s going to kill him, we have to go back!” Vivi yelled to her friends, but the collapsing walls of the bunker overpowered her voice with rushing water and crumbling stone.

A whip of sand shot out to drag River back into his striking range but was blocked by two crossed swords. Crocodile wanted to scream at him, berate him, demand he act like he was ready to kill him too.

But if River was going to see those kids get free, he just needed to survive a little longer.

“You don’t have to die here.” Crocodile’s growl rattles his chest, begging him—a threat that he hadn’t heard himself make in at least a decade. To want something so badly, that he would forgive almost anything.

“If living means I stand by your side as a prince to a savaged country, I have no other choice.”

Crocodile fist aches, he thinks his fingers might break as he stands under a wave of memories, of the crushing weight of never again, and the goodbye they weren’t strong enough to say out loud.

“No… You would have been a king.”

The air crackles, too thick to swallow, and River knows something has changed with the sudden dizzying force of Crocodile’s blows, one after another, uncaring of how River’s swords sting and bruise.

He holds up his arms to defend himself, all of his haki loaded to his front to prevent from being run clean through, and the connecting wave of sand that hits him slams his brain against his skull as it throws him across the room.

The floor passes his vision but he never lands, still falling, too far down, and into the feeding pit.

Water floods the room as the last wall gives, breaking the cage into pieces and forcing the Strawhats to flee, whether by water or up the stairs. The fight is over for now, and Crocodile is already leaving the way he came.

“No… NO!” Vivi screamed as Sanji put his arm around her waist to drag her away, harder than he meant to, and with apologies neither could really hear beyond her cries and the roar of the water rushing in to drown the bunker entirely.

From where Miss All Sunday watched the destruction from the safety of the street, the answer to her question came in the absolutely lost gaze of the warlord when he materialized on the city side of the bridge.

He swayed when his legs took his weight, his eyes unseeing while they stared fixed at… somewhere else. If he had orders, he didn’t say them out loud, and was back to sand before she could ask, off to Alubarna to turn his grief into results.

Robin looked to the lake, the commotion all but gone from her ears.

So you did it. The princess and the pirates are off to finish this.

Thank you, River. For all your hard work. ____ ___ __ _

“I don’t recall asking you to join me,” River said.

“Hm.” Crocodile contemplated the verbal rejection, and reached into his coat pocket for a plain, ribbon-bound box.

“I’ll leave your present here then. Don’t let the wani eat it.”

River pulled the ribbon free by one of it’s tails, careful not to let it slip into the water, and removed the lid.

It only took seconds for him to rush inside, passed the startled staff, down to Crocodile’s suite, uncaring of the water he trekked inside on bare feet and his soaked clothes, onto everything he touched from the dripping ends of his hair.

The thump of a book closing, leather-soled loafers suddenly on the floor, lead him down the hall to the parlor where they first danced together.

“River?” He called to him, perfectly still as he watched him stand in the doorway, soaked with a wild, aching stare.

River had never crossed the room in so few steps, leaping into ready arms that welcomed him to take, to soak his clothes through while he spoke his woes into his cheek.

“Why would you give me that? Why can’t you just...” He smothered his wet eyes in Crocodile’s shirt collar. The cool nose against his hair, paired with a gentle kiss, shushed him and stilled his shakes.

“4 days, River.”

Until the curtain falls.

“4… days,” he repeated, slowly.

He gripped his shirt until his nails ached, and Crocodile’s hand came up to cup his chin. But rather than ask for a kiss, he pressed his lips to his forehead. At least River wouldn’t see the way agony twisted his frown.

“Don’t kiss me. I can’t bear it,” River said into the warm air between their faces, though his arms were steel, unwilling to let go.

“Because you hate me?”

Crocodile met his wilting gaze, counting the seawater drops on his lashes and admiring the drip of his wet bangs onto his cheeks. It was as close to the ocean as he would ever know again, to swim in the eyes of his last love, the one that never refused to kiss him, even when he was outed as a weak man.

“Because I can never hate you.”

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until River kisses him, and his good hand aches as he threads his fingers into wet hair. They both give easily under the weight of weeks without so much as a brush of their hands. River tastes the sorrow on his tongue, coffee on his breath, and wondered if to Crocodile, he tasted like “thank you”.

He knows Crocodile must feel it between them, safe in his pocket: his gift.

A single feather from a kingfisher bird, it’s silk hairs split between lapis blue and the orange-pink of a well-worn sunset.

A promise that in 4 days, he was free.

Whether they stood together or on opposite sides of the battlefield at Alubarna, even if their feelings were the only piece of them that survived the ravage of an ailing, prostrated nation. And in the embrace of one another, so close to goodbye, River could admit he mourned them, and Crocodile could admit he mourned himself.

That he wasn’t the kind of man anymore to change for something soft like love. Or for anyone.

That they weren’t lovers from a storybook, who might abandon everything and run off to an island where no one knew their names.

“Thank you, River,” he said against warm lips.

“For what?”

For reminding me I’m capable of love. Even if it wasn’t enough.

“For letting me touch the ocean again.”

River’s tears run silently down his cheeks to his lips, kissed away in gentle presses. A taste of the ocean.

“Thank you, Crocodile.” His breath stuttered, caught on tobacco and golden eyes. “For being kind to me.”

It was as close to goodbye as they could be. Not when they would see each other tomorrow, and the next day. Whether they died or lived to become enemies, they would never be strangers again, and River knew he would never be able to meet him, months later, years later, without remembering fennel toothpaste and a warm arm around his waist, swaying them to the beat of a band. ____ ___ __ _

Above ground, the fighting subsided at Raindinners, and Smoker found himself hauled from the saltwater lake by the second of the Strawhats, to the chagrin of his pride and the gratitude of his pounding heart. Zoro tensed beside him when he opened his stinging eyes, wondering if they would have a fight after all.

“… Go,” Smoker commanded with a rasp of his weak throat. “Before I change my mind.”

But Zoro just stared at him, too disbelieving to move until Nami called to him.

“Zoro, we need to go!”

He watched the kids retreat, and the surface of the water rippled with the stirring of the wani. A geyser of saltwater shot up towards the sky, soaking the marine again as he snatched his jute from his back.

But the wani that reared itself from the lake, gigantic body breaking the midday sun into streaks, made no move to attack him. It clung to the concrete edge, claws dug in like rail spikes, merely hissed at him.

Beside the wani’s enormous paw lay a body splayed on their back, long black hair tossed around them like seaweed and deadly still except a dribble of foam that slipped down his cheek from his lips.

“Mr. i—” SHIK. His movement towards River was cut off by a swipe of the wani’s vitiligo-white paw, and a roar from their speckled mouth.

“Stop that,” he snapped. “If no one helps him, he’s going to die. You big, banana—”

“Captain Smoker!” Tashigi’s shout interrupted him. She ran to his side with her own blade sheathed, hands reaching for his jute.

“Captain, put your weapon away! Please, Bananawani are highly territorial. You risk them taking the man back under the water if they’re frightened enough.”

She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a pamphlet to show him. “I picked this up when we made land, it seemed important to brush up on all potential threats.”

Smoke puffed from his mouth as he read. “A Wayfarers Guide to Safety Protocol for A. Bananawani, by River Faustina. It’s for tourists.”

“It says their noses are sensitive, and that they like coconuts.”

“I don’t have any coconuts,” Smoker said with a growl, and gripped his jute again.

“Will you put that thing down?! I mean, sir!” Tashigi snatched the pamphlet back and held her hands up to the beast.

“That man needs medical attention, mister—misses—wani… I’m going to take him. There’s a coconut in it for you. Two coconuts if you’re lucky.”

“Why do you have coconuts?” Smoker grumbled, feeling a headache coming on.

“Potential threats, sir. How about it, wani? A crunchy coco—” She flinched when the wani hissed, all of it’s white teeth on display.

“HIYA!” She gave a war cry and rocketed the coconuts into the wani’s open mouth, hard enough to bounce off their uvula and knock them back into the lake.

Smoker dashed forward on white plumes, scooping up River’s limp body to carry him a safe distance from the water’s edge. He pressed a glove hand to his neck, worried when such a hard jostle didn’t wake him.

“Tashigi! Find a doctor!” ____ ___ __ _

He had always been a talented swimmer.

But when River found himself airborne, sent flying by a wall of compacted sand that bruised his arms and scratched his face, the crack of the water against his back sent all the air in his lungs rushing out in violent bubbles. Foam made for pitiful last words.

Hungry wani blacked out the light that shone down the shoot, and his body whipped around, back and forth with the water that was churned up from the wani biting at one another to lay claim over their unexpected snack. Stray claws nicked his skin, and a white muzzle clamping down on the neck of another wani left him blind in the suddenly red water.

But beneath the impossible pressure of the water in his ears, his lungs trading air for bloody bubbles, he heard that voice.

You are free to betray me. Just as I am free to be rid of you.

He pawed at the water, continuing struggle even as he tasted salty copper and only found stars behind his eyelids. His own voice responded.

For months, I prepared myself to die. I found danger, told my friends everything would be fine, and thought of nothing but you. That if I left only one person free of you, it was enough.

But to leave Claudia with nothing to bury, that I will not forgive.

Despite his efforts, his spilled blood and broken heart, River would be gone before he could feel the giant tooth that hooked onto his belt loop, lifting him to the surface and dropping him on the ground from a deceptively gentle, albeit hissing mouth.

He never felt the marine captain compressing his chest for long minutes, from the time he sent the lieutenant away to the moment she returned. He never felt his chest lurch to spew the water from his lungs in foam onto the street.

And when his eyes finally peeled open, he was staring up at the gilded, peeling ceiling of a hotel suite with overly-starched linens beneath his aching, naked back.

“You’re finally awake,” came a rumble of a voice beside his bed. The white-haired marine from the cage sat in a chair as fashionable but old as the rest of the room with official looking documents in his hands, carefully folded to prevent any peeking.

“What—” River’s voice came out a croak, weak and stinging from his near-drowning.

“Where are the kids?” He managed after a few swallows.

One of Smoker’s eyebrows shot up, surely the marine expected his first question to be different. He took in the hollows under his striking eyes, hair still damp and tangled around his shoulders, desperate hands gripped tight in the patched sheets.

“I’ll ask the questions, Mr. i.”

“No,” he ground out, his voice threatening to break under such sudden demands.

“No, where are those kids? Are they alive? Where is—,” a wet cough cut him off, “Where is that bastard Crocodile?”

“Are you going to fight him in your condition? The Strawhats are fine, they’ve gone to fight him in Alubarna. And I’m here with questions for one of his officers.”

River laid back, and the air slipped easily from his lungs with the knowledge of their safe escape. “Thank goodness… What’s your name, Mr. Marine?”

He felt a blush come to his face unbidden at the relaxed and patient gaze of the wounded man that was pillowed among his hair. “You can call me Captain Smoker. Your full name?”

“My name is River Joel Faustina, Mr. Smoker.”

“Captain—”

“Captain.” He smiled, wetting his cracked lips with his tongue to ensure his next words didn’t stutter.

“In my room, suite 309, there’s a suitcase under the bed. Please take it.”

“What’s in it?” Smoker regarded him with his usual hard-boiled suspicion.

“Evidence. There’s shipment manifests, financial statements, transcribed conversations and audio tapes.”

“Most people think to bargain with their evidence beforehand. What do you want for it?”

He wets his lips again, refusing to look away. “Nothing.”

“Everyone wants something. And while I’m not above sending you to Impel Down for your crimes alone…”

He smoked quietly for a moment, pondering the man who seemed downright gentle while he lay wounded, despite all he was accused. Who breathed a sigh of relief that the young pirates were not only safe but well enough to continue the fight. It knotted his stomach, the possibility that he was arresting a—not innocent—but coerced man, who would be killed in Impel Down if things went forward as they were. And yet, River refused to speak.

“… You have my ear, Mr. Faustina. Make a case for yourself right now, and we can propose a lesser sentence—”

Putter, putter, putter. The ringing of a snail phone interrupted him. Far away, presumably left in the pocket of his soaked coat when he hung it up in the other room.

“Don’t move,” he pointed a stern finger, and stood to answer the call.

“Where am I going to go, Mr. Smoker?” River gave a tired smile, a wet cough.

He left only long enough to fetch the snail, still ringing when he came back to find the bed empty and hear the shouts of his marines outside.

He yelled out the window. “Don’t kill him! That’s my witness!”

River outran them, no great feat with the statistically measured aim of the average marine, but it was enough to flee. The regrouping marines were still too scattered to catch him, and he was too desperate to care that he fled unarmed, half-dressed and barefooted.

He had to get to Alubarna. Crocodile was going to be defeated.

And he needed to see it.

#one piece #sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x oc #mirage in the desert #male reader #ao3 fanfic #oc fanfiction #writing #x reader #x oc

[hurtthemgently]

All knowing. All undone

Masterlist

Cw: meta aware whumpee, existential crisis, paranoia, non con touching, invisible whumper, heights, falling, creepy whumper

Cato sat on the park bench, the cold wind piercing through his gloves and jacket. He was getting a creeping suspicion that he was being watched. No.. watched isn’t the right word.. it felt like.. something in his mind, listening to his thoughts.

He tried to shake it off. It’ll probably go away soon.

Getting up, he decided he’d had enough of the cold weather air. Maybe he’d make some tea when he got back to his apartment.

——

A solid grip around his ankle sent him sprawling. He crashed to the ground, the breath knocked out of him. There wasn’t anything there. At least.. he couldn’t see anything. But the fingers had felt so real. Maybe he was losing it.

As he was getting up, hands pushed down on his shoulders. He crashed back to the ground. How could he not see anything?

“Hello? Who’s there?” An edge of fear in his voice. He looked around frantically for anything to explain what was happened.

“Hello.”

He heard a voice, quiet and calm

“I do hope everyone likes my creation.”

Invisible hands gripped his chin, turning his head to face foward. It looked like empty space in front of him, but something was there, just out of view. He pulled out of the grip, baring a grimace, trying to pinpoint his aggressor.

“He’s a defiant one, but I like them when they’re defiant. Makes things more interesting when they fight.”

“Who are you!” Cato shouted at the empty surroundings. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

“Oh how rude of me not to introduce myself. You can call me Writer. Or Creator. Whichever you think is more accurate.”

“Well writer- or whoever you are, leave me alone! I don’t want any part of whatever’s going on.”

“No that’s not quite right.”

A finger brushed against his jawline, and he jerked to get away from the invisible touch.

“What’s not right?” He spat in the direction the touch had come from.

“It’s Writer. Not writer. But I’ll say again, Creator works too.”

“I don’t know the difference! What? You want me to switch to creator?”

“No. Creator. Or Writer.

“I’ve given you options and already you refuse to cooperate. I might have to take things a little quicker than originally anticipated.. how do you feel about heights? Oh right, you’re terrified of heights, just as I intended.”

Hands wrapped around his arms, pulling him up. The sprawling city disappeared beneath him, and soon he was looking down at clouds. The uneasy feeling rose in his stomach, as he tried to not think about falling.

The hands let go.

He was already screaming, wind rushing past him, limbs flailing uselessly.

Then, he was held up by an invisible force. Not like the hands.. more like a cushion. The clouds swirled around him, forming a cage. It hardened into a light yellow metal. The base was solid, no gaps or holes, and the bars spaced just enough that he could fit tho if he wanted.

He didn’t want to go through the bars.

“Welcome to my workspace. Now, most days you’ll be free to live your own life, normal job, normal classes, normal roommates.

But every once and a while, I’ll come and pick you up, and we’ll have some fun. Well.. I’ll have some fun, and they might as well. You probably won’t.”

He sat sobbing on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. Looking up out of the cage, he saw a blurry figure. Glistening yellow mist, coalescing into the shape of a person. Like how the cage had appeared.

They looked.. not tall. The particulate that made up what should be their hair gave the impression of a bob cut. They walked through the bars, easily dissipating then reappearing.

“Now that we’ve met, I think it would be prudent to send you back, let you have some time to process what you’ve been told.

“I myself am curious to see what you decide to believe. I haven’t gotten that far yet, and you’re still to stressed to figure much of anything.”

They placed their finger over their face, as if adjusting glasses.

“I do hope I get some suggestions as to possible.. ‘activities’ we could do. It’s always more fun with input from others, don’t you think?

“I wish you a nice day, Cato. Or rather.. I’ll create a nice day for you. Better for you to have some time to think on this. I don’t want your daily life getting in the way of what happens here.”

He didn’t so much fall as the ground rose to meet him. One second he was sitting on the floor of the cage, the next he was sitting on the ground where he had fallen just minute ago. Just a lifetime ago.

The figure.. they couldn’t be real. He didn’t know what to think of the interaction. Only that they terrified him.

——

Taglist: @whumpsday

#all knowing all undone #heights tw #non con touching tw #creepy whumper #claracognizant whumpee #defiant whumpee #I put so much symbolism in this #like so much #I can’t believe I wrote this in thirty minutes

[much-obliged-timothy]

Watched Death Island the other day and it reminded me I have my BTHB card! I am...making no progress towards bingo but having fun regardless

Fandom: Resident Evil

Prompt: I should have been better

*

They ran down the corridors of the lab together, the occasionally flickering lights casting their shadows up against the blood-splattered walls. 

“His signal died off up ahead,” Rebecca said, struggling to catch her breath.

Chris, Jill, and Claire had come to investigate the seemingly-abandoned lab after cases they were working seemed to connect and lead here. Chris had gotten separated when the stairs they’d taken broke off. The plan had been to regroup at the opposite end of the building - except Chris had never made it to the rendezvous point.

Rebecca tightened her hold on the case in her hand. While the infection had been limited to some marine life and only three people, she’d managed to synthesize a vaccine. She’d tagged along on the mission, waiting outside while they investigated in case the vaccine was needed. Chris’s signal going dead was not a good sign, and she only hoped he didn’t need to be the first test subject for the vaccine. 

But the odds were not looking to be in their favor.

They rounded the corner, stumbling in their run as they nearly tripped over two badly decayed bodies. Rebecca knelt, expression growing grim. Definite signs of this altered version of T-virus. 

They’d found no sign of the person responsible for this, though Jill had discovered a small office with some incriminating documents. Still, pinning down who was responsible had paled in comparison to finding Chris. 

Claire’s hand hovered over the decayed bodies. “Your vaccine…you’re sure, right Rebecca?”

Rebecca placed a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “He’ll be okay, Claire.”

Jill tightened her hold on her gun at Claire’s worried expression. It had been Jill’s idea to risk the stairs, despite how bad they’d looked. Chris had insisted on going first to test them out. He’d been injured when they gave way beneath his weight, but was well enough to get up and agree to rendezvous with them. Still, had the injuries been enough to weaken him against whoever, or whatever, lurked in this place? 

Jill shouldn’t have insisted on those damn stairs. She knew they likely wouldn’t hold her own weight, much less Chris’s bulk. But it had been the fastest way, and if whoever was behind this was still in the lab, Jill wanted to catch the bastard before they had a chance to escape.

“We need to keep moving,” she said tightly. “We’re almost there.”

Claire and Rebecca got up and continued along the hallway. They came to a heavy door at the end of the hall, looking at each other and nodding.

Jill pressed herself to the wall. Claire grabbed the door handle and gave it a rough shove open. Jill held her gun out, peeking into the room and sweeping it with her weapon.

“Chris,” she said in surprise. “Chris!”

A cage was pressed against the wall, Chris’s back slumped against the bars facing them. Jill took a deep breath, knowing she’d made enough mistakes today.

She forced herself to enter the room slowly, clearing it before calling for the others. They hurried in, all of them rushing to the cage.

“Chris,” Claire said in relief, reaching through the bars to grip her brother’s shoulder. “Thank god you’re o-”

Chris’s head jerked upright at the touch. He spun around, a snarl tearing from his bloodied lips. His hand shot out at Claire, but Jill jerked her back just in time. Chris pressed himself to the bars, snarling and reaching for them, glazed over eyes rolling about in their sockets. 

“No,” Claire gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. “No, please, no!”

Chris strained against the bars, blood gushing from the shoulder he’d injured in his fall earlier. He didn’t even seem to notice it, focused only on the small group of women before him. 

Rebecca swallowed down bile, shaking hands popping open the case. She grabbed a vile of the vaccine. 

“Jill,” she whispered. “Claire. You need to…to hold him still.”

Jill and Claire grabbed his arms, pinning them to the bars. Chris tried to press his face through, snapping at their exposed skin like a starving animal. Hating herself for it, Jill used one hand to grab a fistful of his hair and push his head back so he wouldn’t lunge and catch Rebecca. 

Rebecca had to take a moment to steady her hand. Jill tightened her hold on Chris’s hair, met Rebecca’s eyes, and jerked his head to the side, exposing his neck.

Rebecca quickly stuck the needle in his neck, hitting the plunger and watching the vaccine drain into his body. Chris snarled louder, struggling so hard that Rebecca had to quickly jerk her hand away as soon as the last of the vaccine had emptied.

“Will it work?” Claire asked, releasing her brother’s arm and backing away.

“I don’t know,” Rebecca admitted. “I’ve never used it on someone where the infection is so advanced.”

Claire straightened her shoulders, trying to stay strong. But a helpless sob escaped from her mouth and her shoulders slumped. Rebecca caught her, pulling her close.

“Chris,” Claire whispered. “Chris, please come back to us. Please, big brother.”

Jill watched numbly as Rebecca’s eyes also watered and the two clutched each other in their sorrow. She knew there was a lot to focus on right now. Someone had to have been here, capturing Chris, infecting him, and locking him up. Were they still here? Where were they hiding? Why cage Chris instead of setting him loose on the others as a distraction? Were they hoping to capture all four of them for experimentation? 

But instead, the only question her mind would focus on was whether or not the vaccine could bring Chris back from such an advanced stage of infection.

He had trusted Jill so much, just as he always had. She wanted to use the stairs because she thought the risk was worth the potential reward, so he’d gone ahead to protect her and his sister. He hadn’t gotten angry at Jill when the stairs collapsed beneath him and injured his shoulder and leg in the fall. He’d just looked up at them with a groan of pain and announced, “Faster than an elevator, but not recommended.”

I should have been better, Jill thought numbly. She knew the stairs were dangerous. She knew there were signs of someone still being in the lab. She knew it was dangerous to send one of them off on their own. But she’d done it anyway. She’d made bad call after bad call and now Chris was…was…

He was straining against the bars again, more blood pouring down from the wound in his shoulder. His blank gaze was fixed on her, his teeth snapping hungrily as he tried to grab her.

“I’m so sorry,” Jill said quietly, kneeling just out of his reach. “Please come back to us, Chris.”

She closed her eyes, tortured by all of it. The sound of Chris snarling and throwing his own slowly decaying body against the bars of the cage, the sound of Claire crying for her beloved brother, the sound of Rebecca crying for her friend.

Jill should have been better. But instead, she’d been reckless, and now Chris was paying the ultimate price for her mistakes.

#bad things happen bingo #resident evil #Chris Redfield #Jill Valentine #Claire Redfield #rebecca chambers #bthb #jtdoesbthb

[countrymusiclover]

20 - I'm Peter, Peter Pan

Part 21

His Golden Princess

@fanficismydrug @misskitty1912-blog @alanaangie24

Walking down the wooden stairs into one of the cabins on the ship I see Rumple reappears wearing the leather skins I saw in my visions from awhile back. He turned around smiling at me where I rest my hands on his shoulders eyeing the fabric under my fingers. "Is it weird that I rather like this outfit?"

"Not at all dear. I will say though these skins are a part of my past. Before I met you that is." He rests one hand on my hip while his other tucks hair behind my ear. "This island is too dangerous for hand holding. I must revert back to my former self."

Staring up into his eyes I glanced down at my outfit which is just jeans and a tea shirt. My sword on my hip but it doesn't look as scary as his. Tilting my head to the side I give him puppy dog eyes. "Rumple I have a favor to ask...could you give me an outfit like yours?"

"Why's that sweetheart?" He asked with a small smile.

"Like you said hand holding won't work here. Make me into a badass princess." I explained with a small smirk on my face.

He raised his freehand engulfing me in purple smoke where I spun around seeing I am now wearing a red jacket with tears all over it. A white tea shirt thrown over with combat boots. Moving my hair over my shoulder I noticed pink dye on the ends of my blonde hair. Smiling up to him I throw my arms around his neck kissing him as a thank you.

He wrapped his arms around my waist breaking the kiss. "So you like it I presume?" I nod my head before he grabbed his cane seeing my sister arguing with our parents.

"Oh, that's a great use of our time—a wardrobe change!" Hook scoffs making everyone look our direction ending their conversations.

Rumple grips his cane in his right hand determined. "I'm gonna get Henry."

"We agreed to do this together." Regina barked back to him.

He shakes his head no at her statement. "Actually, we made no such agreement."

My sister dropped her arms down. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I wanna succeed. Emma: What makes you think I'm gonna fail? Mr. Gold: Well, how could you not?" Rumple spoke to my sister not believing she's ready. "You don't believe in your parents, or in magic, or even yourself.

My sister rolled her eyes focusing back on me as I cross my arms over my chest. "I slayed a dragon, I think I believe. And besides how do you know my sister isn't the same way."

"Only what was shown to you. When have you ever taken a real leap of faith? You know, the kind where there's absolutely no proof? I've know you some time, Miss Swan. And, sadly, despite everything you've been through, you're still just that... bail bonds-person, looking for evidence. Well, dearie, that's not gonna work in Neverland." He explained to her then points his index finger my direction. "I believe in Astrid because she's learning magic and believed in it much sooner than you did."

Emma scoffed determined to get her son back. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"Well, you just need someone to tell you what that is. Sorry, dearie, our foe is too fearsome for hand-holding. Neverland is a place where imagination runs wild. And, sadly, yours doesn't." Rumple explained taking my hand in his teleporting us off the ship and onto the island.

Opening my eyes I gasped seeing I am inside a wooden cage instead of by Rumple's side when we left. Getting to my feet I frantically looked around hearing someone coming this direction. Grabbing the wooden bars in my hands I gasped seeing Henry and a boy with light brown hair staring my direction. "Henry...Henry!" I called out but he can't hear me.

The random boy knocks on a tree causing a group of boys to come running out circling Henry. "You proved yourself. You are the lucky owner of that very special heart. And now? You... and it... are mine." The boy draws a knife grinning. "Come on, boys! Let's play!"

The group of boys I had to assume are the lost boys took Henry off somewhere else allowing the other boy to come towards me. I reached down searching for my sword but not finding it anywhere on my belt. "Looking for this, darling?" The boy asked holding my sword in his hand.

"Give it back, you child!" I grunted lifting my hand up trying to use magic but nothing happens. So I try the other hand getting the same result. "What the hell. That's never happened before?"

The stranger chuckled with a smirk on his face pointing his index finger towards my right arm. "Look down dear..." Lifting my arm up there's a thick black cuff on my wrist. "You see that wonderful accessory on your arm blocks your magic."

"Why you little jerk. Take it off!" I demanded glaring towards the boy I still don't know his name.

He stepped up lifting my chin with the tip of my sword that he held in between the bars. "If I wanted to I would. But I don't trust you yet darling Astrid."

"How do you know my name. I never told you it." I shuffle backwards into the corner away from him as quickly as possible.

Rumple said Neverland is a dangerous place. I could gather that whoever was Pan in this camp must be even worse. "Because I know you're little traveling buddy the Dark One and he knows who I am." The boy smiled sticking the end of my sword into the dirt and leaning on it.

Wrapping my arms around myself I remained in the corner silently searching for a way out with no magic. "And who are you supposed to be. Another lost boy?"

"Oh how rude of me darling. Where are my manners." The boy chuckled stepping up to the corner of the cage I am in. I gulped feeling his eyes staring me down. "I'm Peter, Peter Pan."

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#his golden princess #robert carlyle #oc : astrid swan #margot robbie #ouat rumplestilskin #ouat rumplestilskin x reader #rumplestilskin x reader #rumple x reader #ouat rumple #emma swam x sister reader #emma swan #snow white #mary margaret blanchard #david nolan #prince charming/david #prince charming #henry mills #regina mills #the dark one #the evil queen #storybrooke #ouat #ouat fic #ouat fanfiction #ouat fandom #once upon a time #mr. gold #ouat mr. gold #wattpad fanfiction #comments really appreciated

[tyler-lawson]

Arrivals - 03

I returned from the evidence room, holding a pile of transport chains and locks for my prisoner. I expected to find him dressed and kneeling compliantly for me. Which was definitely wishful thinking based on his demeanor thus far.

Instead, I found him, at least dressed in his orange jumpsuit, arms folded across his chest, standing right up against the door, defiance clear in his eyes and body posture.

I dropped the chains with a clatter on the metal table, the room echoing with the sounds. "Sir, as I said, I need you to kneel down on the bench and put your arms out to your sides."

"Why don't you come in here and make me?" He taunts.

"Sir, I certainly can, but I don't think you will like the results if I have to."

"What are you without you cage and your barred walls and your cuffs and your weapons?" He asked, mockingly. "Nothing. You couldn't take me on without all of the advantages they give you, and deny me." He continued.

"Sir, I don't think you are thinking this through. Thus far, you are in some trouble, but, ultimately, you will get out and be on your way. Nothing you have done is a felony, no one wants to pay to house your forgetful ass in prison over some tickets. But, the way you are going, you are going to find yourself doing some serious time in a prison cell."

"That is if you can even get me there to begin with." He retorted.

"Sir, I can assure you now, even without the gun and the taser and the cuffs and the chains and cage, I could still bring you to court if I needed to. Now, stop messing around, and kneel down."

"I am not messing around. I am putting my foot down. You can't just go around abusing guys like me and not expect to get some resistance."

"Sir, I always expect resistance. That is why guys like you get locked up. Because otherwise, we would be constantly forcing your back into like. The cuffs and chains are just nicer to you than being constantly wrestled to compliance."

"Then fucking bring it, man."

"Fine, sir." I almost sigh. I draw my taser and point it at him standing just out of arms reach from the bars.

"Oh come on, where is the fun in that?"

"Sir, step back away from the door." He complies now, holding his hands up near his head and stepping back from door of the cage. I step up, unlock the door, and swing it open out towards me. I holster my taser and grab the pair of rigid ASP handcuffs off the table.

"Finally." He says, taking advantage of the momentary distraction to rush out of the cell and charge me.

I hold the cuffs gripping the rigid bar between them and holding them as a very small baton in my right hand. I drop back into a defensive stance as he charges me, my right foot back, weight on it, my left foot and hand forward.

He lowers his shoulder and drives toward my stomach, trying to topple me over. His arms flail out wide as he tries to wrap them around me. I sidestep to the left and step forward, causing his shoulders to miss me but still catching his arm. It was wide enough to wrap around my back if I had not moved. Instead, it barely caught my side.

With him expecting to have impacted me, he stumbled a bit as I let him drive past me. I caught his right arm as it slid from my side to my stomach. I pulled it away from me just enough to bring the cuffs down, pushing the bottom cuff around it. With a zip the bow slid past the ratchet, spun around, and slammed back into the ratchet, trapping his wrist inside.

I planted my left foot, stepping back and around with my right foot so that I ended up facing the same direction he is. I made a cup with my left hand, scooping it under his arm above the elbow. I was now standing with his arm pulled out across my abdomen the cuff holding his wrist so he cannot bring his hand back, and my left hand pushing the wrong direction against his elbow, forcing his arm to remain straight.

I shuffle my feet slightly then again plant my left foot and spin backwards with my right. This time, though, I bring him with me. His arm being pinned extended against me means the only point he can flex is at his shoulder, and I am spinning in a way that pulls his shoulder forward. So, he is forced to spin with me, in a much larger arc. He flails his arms and legs as he is nearly spun off his feet. He is spinning head-first into the table, but he covers his head with his arm just in time to instead just knock the table out of the way. It goes skittering across the floor, slamming into the wall next to the cage.

I use the confusion of the collision with the table to plant my right foot and step out with my left. I drive my knee into his armpit, pushing him forward and to his left. This sends him crashing his left shoulder into the wall and throws his weight and balance off. Which is perfect as I next plant my left foot, stepping out with my right, again, pulling him forward and now to his right. As I do, I lower his arm towards the ground, his momentum already headed that was as he loses his balance and his footing.

He splays his left arm on the ground trying to cushion his impact. I kneel down as I bring his right arm to the ground. His palm ends up against the ground, the cuff still locked around his wrist. His elbow is also facing the ground, and with my left hand still just cupping his arm above the elbow, he cannot bend his right arm at all. And my left hand is also pushing his upper arm down into the ground, driving his shoulder there to.

He cries out in pain as struggles to move his right arm at all, finding every motion blocked by some immovable object. He flails his left arm and legs, trying to get some purchase to be able to get away from me. I calmly kneel next to his arm for a moment, letting him flail and squirm and tire himself out.

Once I have had a chance to center myself, I slowly start moving his arm behind his back. I twist his wrist over, so that his palm is facing me, and push his shoulder forward so that his arm can bend at elbow, but only in the way that it is bending behind his back. I slide my knees over his back, accepting it as he does his best to kick me with his heels landing against my legs and back.

His right arm winds up laying across his back, the cuffs laying along his spine pointed toward his head. He immediately tries to hide his other arm, tucking it under his stomach.

"Sir, give me your left hand behind your back." I order, breaking my silence. I am kneeling over his butt. I slide up far enough that my legs are serving to hold his right arm behind his back and I can just hold the cuffs lightly with my right hand. I slowly twist the cuffs from his left to his right. He screams out in pain as the cuffs try to rotate, stopped only by his bones.

He squirms and struggles pushing his arm further under his body all the while crying out in pain as the cuffs twist into his bones and pinch his skin. "It all stops when you give me your other hand." I say drying, slightly elevating myself on my knees to cushion as he bucks his body wildly under me. His legs kick up at my back but by the time they get there, I feel little more than random taps.

He flails his arm out from under his body, trying to use it to push his chest up and away from the ground. I quick lean forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling it backwards behind his back. After a bit of a tug of war, I manage to get it back behind his back, and slam it into the other waiting cuff. As soon as the cuff locks tightly around his wrist, I lean back continuing to bounce over his as he squirms and bucks his body crying out in pain.

I pull out a key and double-lock both cuffs, then scoot back sliding onto his butt. His hands flex and flail, the rigid cuffs holding his hands stacked behind his back, his palms facing away from each other, one pointed up and one pointed down.

I stretch out my leg, hooking a leg of the table and sliding it back to me. I pull a pair of leg irons off the top, and drape them on his writhing body. I wrap the chain around his cuffs, and turn around, kneeling so I am seated on his butt and the small of his back, and wait patiently until his kicks his legs up to me together. I grab both of them, crossing his left leg over his right and using it to pull both of his feet down into my lap.

I wrap the cuffs around both of his ankles, and quickly stand up, leaving him hogtied on the floor, bucking and kicking and cursing and crying in his orange scrubs. "Whew. That was a good fight, sir." I say, catching my balance and walking around the room a bit.

"Fuck you!" He cries out in among the heavy breathing and random screeching his is doing. "You just won that cause you had the handcuffs."

"You know, whatever you say, sir."

[books-of-the-great-leviathan]

Chapter 38- Alois

***

A hundred times he'd dreamed of returning to Pavaloir triumphant, onboard a warship, with an armada on his heels. His fleet's flanks, in this elaborate fantasy, bristled with alchemic bolts, enough to render Pavaloir Tower a smoking ruin.

This is what you wanted, Father.

He'd herald his return with spellfire: a single bolt fired into the stars to burst, brilliant blue, and rain embers down over his father's head. He'd entertained the notion of his own fleet of chained, trained sea-orks, gnashing and rearing their tusked heads with bloodlust, ready to devour anyone unlucky enough to be tipped into their waiting maws.

Now am I a true son of Estara?

He'd dreamed of a quieter homecoming, too, standing at the foot of his father's throne, Daval watching him approach. Waiting, tense, and finally: folding against him as Daval Belmont gripped him in a tight embrace and, at last, forgave him.

Lost years and apologies. War and bloodshed and a rain of destruction. Never chains, never pushed through the halls of Pavaloir Tower in fetters, crusted in blood and sweat and the grime of days in a brig. Never at the side of Isabella Valere, who was just as filthy, her blonde hair tangled and lank around her shoulders.

Alois glimpsed a flash of hard blue Estaran sky before they were taken deep beneath Pavaloir Tower, deep into the holding cells tunneled into the dark bedrock beneath the fortress. The sight of his homeland on the horizon had shaken tears from him: the long ruddy coastline, cliffs carved by vivid blue waves, peaks reaching toward a cloudless sky. Pavaloir, too, heat-shimmer rising like a sapsilk veil above the city's towers, the reek and roil of the harbors, ships clustering at quay. Smoke and street grids and glittering herring hauls and the madcap crowds of the markets, the agoras open to the sun, the statues of old kings gutting the sky with upraised blades. Even the cathedral with its twin spires was a sweet familiar sight, casting its long shadow over all. He drank it in. It would be, he knew, the last time he'd ever see it. This time his father would kill him.

He would never leave Pavaloir Tower alive.

"Aren't we going to the king?" he asked as the guards pushed them down a long, subterranean corridor, cells to either side. Most were full, and eyes followed them, glittering, as Alois stumbled past. He'd not come down here much. The air was close, the light blue-white, casting a weird glow across the walls. "We were told-"

"His Majesty knows you're here," the guard said. "You'll see him when he calls for you." Behind the helmet Alois couldn't tell if he knew him, if he'd trained with him, laughed and drank and clasped arms with him in brotherhood.

It wouldn't matter if he had. Loyalties were broken at Daval's word.

"Please," Alois said. "Let me see him now. I have information that might save his life. It's about Enzo Acier- he works for my father, he's a spy, he's Lapidaean, and he's a traitor to Estara. I swear to you, I'm not lying. I'm-"

"We know who you are," the guard said, and shoved him into a waiting cell. "That's all we need to know. Now shut up."

The door clanged shut. Isabella and Elias went into the cell across the hall, where Isabella stood, silent, head hanging. A five-count bruise darkened her cheek. She watched the guards go, following them with her eyes like some great predator in a cage. Elias curled up in a corner, muttering again to himself far from the reach of the light.

Was Marin somewhere in the Tower? Did he know Alois was here? Alois pressed his hands over his eyes. He wanted to crush his curse out of him. He wanted to rip his eyes from his skull.

He folded to his knees before the bars and rested his forehead against the cold steel. Tears stung in the cuts on his face. Here he was, a true son of Lapide, kneeling and sobbing in a cell. Home at last, Alois.

"We'll make him listen," Isabella said.

"What?" He raised his head. His vision swam: shadow and blue-white light and Isabella's dirty golden hair. "Are you mad? He'll never listen. I was a fool to ever think he would. He's right, you know. I am nothing. Not fit to rule. Not fit to hold the title of prince. Not even fit to be Estaran-"

"All hells take Estara," Isabella snarled. "And all hells take you, too, if you think you can curl up and make yourself nothing. It was my judgment that brought us here. My punishments to bear if that's what your father decides. But until the axe falls or the rope cracks necks I won't see my allies on their knees, weeping defeat. Not when there's a new bloody way to live. Did you mean none of what you said on Bellana's Arm?"

Alois stared as she spoke, at the fervor in her body. No, not fervor- steel, spellforged steel. She was goading him, he knew, trying to get a rise from him. "You don't know my father."

"And you seemed confident enough he would listen." She leaned forward, holding the bars. "You said your mother was strong. You said she did what she wanted, when she wanted, despite all. She's a part of you as much as he is. Would she be proud to see her only son lain low? Would she be proud to watch you lose hope?"

His heart ached, his eyes stung. The world seemed crushed on all sides, an unbearable weight looming overhead. He wanted to protest he was nothing like her, nothing like his mother, bright and bold. He wanted to protest all his mother had won for her ways was an early death. He couldn't find the words.

"That's it," Isabella murmured.

Her eyes pinned him, gray as storm clouds, holding him from despair. Maybe there was something to the legends of witch-blood running through the house of Valere. Even filthy and bloodied, in torn Estaran uniform, she looked like a queen.

Alois dozed, slipping beneath the surface of his exhaustion. Time had no foothold here, nothing to mark hours save patrols, the distant ring of boots on stone, the clash and clatter of weapons filtering down from some training hall above. Blood dreams pulsed under his skin: ship graveyards and flames on the horizon, the distant cries of great birds circling overhead. The shrine, again, this time not lit with candlelight but dark, shadows and eider moth nests gusting like ghosts. The charms were gone, the spring dry. A layer of dust hazed the three-faced goddess. Whatever holy thing had lived there was gone, now, gone and gone forever.

He jolted awake at the screech of hinges, but it was only a prison matron pushing food through a slot in the cell door. She glanced at him, a bare assessing flash of dark eyes, then moved on, the folds of her long wimple fluttering behind her.

"Thank you," Alois called, and pulled the tray toward him: dense spiced meal shaped into cakes, a twist of orkmeat dried tough as leather, a tin cup of water to wet it soft enough to chew. Alois ripped into it with both hands, savoring the familiar spices. Lapidaean food was all strange, rich crustaceans and fish bathed in fruit glazes. He'd missed the simplicity of Estaran spice cakes. Marin only ate these things with honey, slathered on so thick it turned Alois's stomach to watch him stuff down cake after cake.

Marin. His heart hurt, full and sick. Was his little brother sleeping, now? Was he somewhere in a sunlit courtyard above, learning to shoot, learning to kill? Had he already begun to dream of war, not of his books and sweets and fox kits?

He wanted to be a fisherman, Alois remembered. A prince, dreaming of fish.

You will hear me, Father.

If not for his mother, then for Marin. If not for another, then for himself, for all the crimes his father had lain upon him for living. For all their people, and the country they deserved to live in, the country his homeland could strive to be.

For Estara, he thought. At least those were words his father would understand.

***

The guards came for them after the long night.

No words were exchanged. Alois scrambled to his feet before they could pull him upright. He'd face them on his feet. Isabella held her head high, her eyes still hard, not acknowledging the guards even as they snapped fetters around her wrists again. They left Elias where he was, still curled like an animal in the corner of the cell. Alois spared a look back and saw him staring, eyes wide and bright, clutching the bars as he watched them go.

They wound upward through the Tower, through dark-stone hallways and up vast sweeps of stairways, guarded by armored statues, spearpoints honed sharp. More men joined them, Tower guard in red and steel, fellfoxes snarling across sashes, none of them meeting his eyes. Alois's hands shook in their fetters, and he felt the familiar bite of steel into the half-healed scabs on his wrists. How many times had he tasted chain these past months?

Through the upper halls of the Tower, grand fortress bastions and fanning echoes, heat pouring through narrow slit windows. The sun was high and already searing, flags flying proud across Pavaloir's blue sky. Through the King's Hall, with its sagas carved in rock for generations to revere. King Ardain and the Sundered Empire, his legions of soldiers cutting their way through his traitorous brother's ranks. The chandeliers above were darkened, the rusty marble of the floor a deep blood-black, pools of sunlight gilding the tangle of carved figures.

Would his father carve a second King's Hall for his coming campaign, once it was done? It seemed the sort of thing he'd do to cement his place in the annals of Estaran history, and it was an impressive enough tale: the Sundered Empire made whole again, Daval its emperor, glorious and triumphant. Would Alois take the place of Ardain's traitorous brother, Daval poised to slice off his head while he knelt in the blood and the dust?

Let him, he thought, with an unfamiliar burst of ferocity. And let the truth be known. All of this rests on me and my obedience, Father. You still have yet to thank me for it.

They advanced up the stair, to the throne room. His shudder worsened at the sight of the arched doorway; one door stood open, and a spill of many-colored light pooled across the steps. The throne room was full of it, rendered magnificent by it. Echoes fanned across the throne, across the stained-glass windows, the goddess's power rendered in glass and iron: lightning, sea-beasts hewn, swords ablaze.

The throne was empty, the room empty save for a pair of maids sweeping its corners.

Alois's pulse hammered as he searched the throne room. His father was nowhere in sight. The guards pushed them ahead, past the throne, through the stained glass light.

"Where is he?" Alois slowed down, chains jangling. "Where's-"

His guard gave him a shove. "Keep walking."

The maids lowered their heads as they were led by, averting their eyes, knuckles white on their broom handles.

They passed through a second set of doors, through a colonnade looking down to the crashing waves far, far below, and into a grand room: hexagonal, built inside one of the fortress towers, overlooking the sea. Alois had seen this place little enough. His father had rarely allowed him access to his solar, his inner sanctum, the rooms where he played architect to the war.

The room was full of light, making the most of its southerly placement on the Tower. Metal tables held documents, stacks of hidebound books and scattered pens, current-spanned maps of Bellana's Arm. Daval's war table stood under the weight of countless figurines, models of ships showing the ebb and flow of his navy across the Arm. The outer wall was all arches, each set with a window of thick rivet-studded glass crusted in salt spray. Several stood open, filling the room with sea-breeze and sun.

Bellana's mercy, Alois thought.

Through the windows, in the bay, all of Pavaloir behind it, was a warship. No ordinary warship. Mastless, armored, immense, it shadowed the waves to the color of night, its flanks sheer cliffs of spellforged steel: a vast hammerheaded monstrosity, the fellfox emblazoned proud on its bow. It was not a pulse he'd heard before, but the thunder of its engines. The sound was louder here, a vibration in his bones, shaking the floor beneath his feet.

Alois's mouth was dry. He turned back toward the room, dazed. Swords stood in racks, and lumps of dull gray metal were scattered over workbenches. Star iron, Alois recognized. A small forge smoldered in a corner, and the king stood at it, working the bellows, a piece of white-hot metal gripped in a pair of tongs.

"On their knees," Daval said, without looking back.

"Father-" Alois started.

A kick from a guard put him on the ground. Alois fell, teeth snapping together. He winced, palms flat on the marble of the floor. He saw his hazy reflection in it, saw the bright panic in his eyes. No. He won't understand. Don't let him see your fear.

But it was there, like it was always there, never stronger than when he faced down his father. He heard the king approach, heard the hiss of the hot metal gripped in the tongs, felt it hover over the back of his neck.

He braced for pain, but it didn't come.

"Alois," his father said. "You've looked better. Don't you think so, Acier?"

Alois raised his head and looked straight into Enzo Acier's face. He leaned against the far wall, in a slant of shadow, his arms crossed. His eyes flicked over Alois, then turned to Isabella, who knelt, rigid, staring back.

"Whatever you say, my king," Acier said.

"Traitor," Isabella snarled.

"He knows where his loyalties lie," Daval said. He turned from Alois and shoved the tongs back into the forge. "Unlike you, it seems. Betrayal, Alois? Didn't I teach you better?"

"He's lying," Alois choked. "Please, Father, he's here to kill you- he's not your spy, he's witchborn, I saw him summon ghosts-"

"Ghosts?" Daval let out a bark of a laugh. "You hear this, Acier? Go on, then. Summon a ghost. Summon King Ardain himself if that's what you want."

"That's beyond my power, I'm afraid," Acier said, still smiling.

"You would say anything to save yourself now," Daval said. He turned back toward Alois and Isabella. "That's who you are, Alois. That's who you've always been. Your mother poisoned you. You're no more a son of Estara than you are a son of mine."

He reached for his belt and drew the whaleglass knife. Isabella tensed. "Did you fancy you'd come and put this in my heart as some kind of retribution?"

The dagger glistened as he turned it to and fro. "Have you examined this, Acier? A curiosity. My father brought it back from the Sunken Ruins of Rashavir on one of his expeditions. Thousands of years old. Some sort of instrument of their fell rituals."

He held it up. The light shone through its translucent blade, casting prisms across his face. "Beautiful, but...terrible, too. I prefer it where I can see it."

"Like we do all dangerous things," Acier said.

"Listen to me," Alois begged. "Father, he's here to destroy you, to destroy Estara. He's your brother-"

"I have no brothers."

"Grandfather and Alezia Valere-"

"Quiet," Daval snarled, and Alois saw the rage in his dark eyes, the barely-contained fire. Daval's hand tightened on the whaleglass knife.

Let him use it, Alois thought. Let him strike me to the ground where all can see.

"I've had enough of quiet," he said. He made himself hold his father's gaze. By his side, he heard Isabella shift her weight. "I've had enough of bowing to you, Father. You've hated me for so long, silenced me for longer. You can stand to listen to me this once."

"And why is that?"

"I think your attempt on my life should pay for a moment of your time," Alois said. "You claim complete devotion to Estara, but do I see you dying for it? No. You'll order a thousand of our people to sacrifice themselves for your cause before you would even begin to consider it for yourself. You'd see the sister isles made wastelands before it came to that."

Daval's face twisted. "I won't hear your mockery, your blasphemy, your venom. Did you think I'd give up Estara's pride? Did you think I'd forget years of war, countless Estaran dead at Lapide's hand? Do you see that?"

He pointed to the warship. "There are five more like it. Five more dreadnoughts, each with enough firepower to level Valeris. This is Estara's hope, not you. You've coiled in my midst for too long, Alois. You, and your whore of a mother."

"Don't you dare talk about my mother like that," Alois snarled. "You hated her, hated that you couldn't control her. And you never could. Not how she lived, and not how she died. She won in the end. She died, but she won because she was free of you."

"You think I wanted to control her?"

"What else do you ever want, Father?"

"I wanted to give her everything," Daval said. He slammed his fist into a tabletop. "Everything, Alois. When I saw her for the first time I thought I'd been blessed by Bellana herself. I never strayed from her. I never betrayed her. Saints, I loved her. And she repaid my love with hatred."

"She was right to hate you," Alois said. "I don't care if you thought you loved her. When she wouldn't bow, you broke her. You thought you could break me, too."

Anger flared through his nerves. "The Witchhunter was there when she died, you know. When you refused to come. He hid my face from her. He loved me so much more than you ever did."

"Good," Daval said, his voice bitter. "A father should love his son."

Alois blinked up at Daval. With effort he found his voice. "What?"

"You don't know, do you," Daval said.

Alois had never heard his father sound that way: not triumphant, not deadly, not burning with pride, but weary. There was such exhaustion there, such sorrow. His grief seemed unending- for a friend who'd betrayed him, a wife who'd hated him. Grief for a country eaten alive by plague, such that the only way to quell its howl was to feed it with Lapidaean blood.

"You never knew." Daval closed his eyes, opened them, looked down at Alois. "You're not my son. You never were. You never wondered why the Witchhunter coddled you, protected you? You never suspected why your mother tried to hide you from me? Fool."

He whispered the last word, and it was full of shame. Did he mean Alois, or himself? Alois couldn't look away. He knelt, paralyzed, all sensation too bright, too strong: the heat of the sun on the back of his neck, his palms slick against the floor. Bruise ache, and hammering heart. Shame, and above all, relief.

He wasn't a Belmont.

He wasn't Daval's son.

"Captain Azare," he whispered. His mouth was dry. He's my..."

"He was my greatest friend, my companion, my brother in arms, weathering alongside me all my terrors," Daval said. "And he betrayed me. Shamed me. Mocked me. They thought I didn't notice their glances, their smiles. Azare stood at my right hand, and all the while he was planting his bastard in my wife."

Gently, he brushed Alois's curls with a fingertip. Tears slid down Alois' face, warm as rain.

"I wasn't...wasn't sure at first," Daval said. "I wanted so badly to be wrong. But then you were born, and I knew as you grew up that you were nothing of mine. But I couldn't kill them. I couldn't kill him. Because he was still my friend."

He lifted the whaleglass knife.

"But I've learned," he said. The look in his eyes brightened: no longer despair, no longer shame, but fire, rage to turn the seas of Bellana's Arm red. Alois' father was gone, and the warlord had come to do his bloody work.

Alois's heart hammered. He struggled to rise, but the guards held him down, ground his knees to the flagstones. His father drew his thumb along the knife's flat with a soft silk hiss, sunstruck whaleglass blinding. Alois couldn't look away from it, couldn't tear his eyes from its point.

"I've learned so much," Daval murmured. "How love makes you weak. How it slips inside you and chains you. How to kill it, when the weight of chains grows too heavy. I meant for you to die in Lapide, Alois, and you failed me in that, along with all the rest of your failures. I should have smothered you in your crib."

He lifted the knife, point poised over Alois's pounding, burning heart. "But it's never too late, Alois," he said. "Never too late to make things right."

A shot split the air.

Heat spattered Alois's face. Two more shots followed, a pair of concussions. The knife jabbed forward, into Alois's sternum; he jolted back, but it went no further. Over him, Daval blinked. His hand opened, like all the strength had gone from it. The knife clattered to the floor.

Red blossomed across the front of his shirt. Three wounds glistened, a trio of perfect target shots straight to his heart.

"Father?" Alois whispered. He tasted salt on his lips: his father's blood. Daval swayed, eyes wide, and collapsed, grabbing at a table. Not enough. He slumped to the side, eyes still open. Blood spread beneath him, red as the fellfox banners.

Behind him, Enzo Acier lowered the gun.

"No," he said. "I suppose it isn't too late."

"Bring him down! Now!"

The guards' command rang through the solar. They were already lunging: a half-dozen Tower guard, red and flashing steel, flinging aside Alois and Isabella's chains.

"Don't-" Alois cried.

All too late.

Cold swept through the room, cold and silver light. Alois looked back as Acier raised his arms, as ghosts tore from nothingness and roiled into substance, silver smoke bright as blades. Howls filled the air, eldritch cries like whalesong and echoes of war. Pressure shifted, sudden as a swelling wave; windows shattered, sprays of broken glass flashing silver in the ghostlight. Talons lashed- a man fell, jaw dangling, holding in his guts with both hands. Another spasmed, held by the wrists and throat while a clot of ghosts crushed the life from him.

"Father." Alois scrambled to Daval's side. The wound pulsed blood; his father's hands were warm as he gripped them. Daval stared into nothing. "Father-"

"Alois." Isabella was there, a soldier's dropped sword in hand. She grabbed Alois by the shoulder. "He's gone. We need to get to the door."

"I can't-"

"Now!" Isabella roared. Ghosts swept toward them, a billowing, twisting mass of teeth and hair and grasping hands. Fingers scraped Alois's face as he spun to his feet. Isabella slashed away the reaching hands and lunged toward the doors, where sunlight spilled in, where it was only a leap to the waves below.

Guards stepped from the ghost-fog, blocking their way. Corpses, the lot of them, eyes silver, bodies a ruinous mangle of flesh. Guts spilled, glistening pink-gray ropes. A jaw dangled by a thread of sinew, open throat glistening with fresh gore. Their breastplates had been rent aside as if the spellforged steel was no stronger than paper.

They raised rifles as one. Isabella lifted her sword in answer, her eyes wide in terrible realization.

No way out but death.

Her gaze flashed to the open windows. Alois looked, too. Panic rose, a sweep of it hot as the nailing sunlight. There was no hope of a clean arc to the waves, not through there. Rocks waited below, jagged and bone-breaking.

No way out, Alois thought again, but death.

He pulled her back, toward the windows. The ghost-ridden soldiers advanced with them. The backs of Alois's knees hit the windowsills; wind sucked at his hair and expelled it, ruffling his curls around his head. The waves spun, the seabirds spun. Isabella shook in his grip, the wrist of her crystal arm cold at his skin.

"Isabella," called Acier. "Don't."

The ghosts parted, and he stood in their midst: tall, lean, his resemblance to Daval clearer now that he stood over his corpse. His brother's corpse, Alois registered. His brother, the king, the dead king. Silver twined under Acier's skin, but his hands were lowered. In one of them he held the whaleglass knife.

"Isabella," he said again.

Isabella jerked back. Alois sucked in a gasp, but she held the sill in one manacled hand, keeping them both from going over. The room was rank with gore. The dead were smeared over the walls, gut-glisten and rusty swathes of blood, the mass of ghosts swollen and churning as the freshly-dead guards joined their ranks. Their cries fluted and howled, but they stayed at bay as Acier advanced on them.

"Come on, Bell, this isn't what I want," he called.

"I don't care what you want," Isabella snarled. "Another step, and I'll take us both over."

"And leave Lapide to me?"

"Give you everything you ever dreamed of in the dark," Isabella said. "Isn't that right, Enzo? Or should I say King Enzo Belmont of Estara?"

"You said this didn't have to end in violence," Acier said. His eyes glimmered silver in the light, bright with- what? Tears? Strain? Alois didn't know. He looked down to where Daval lay sprawled. "It still doesn't, not for you. You've seen what I've seen, I know you have. There's nothing for us here anymore, nothing left of Lapide, nothing left of Estara. Come with me, Isabella."

Silver light danced in her eyes. Her lips trembled, but her gaze was steady on his.

"Stay with me," Acier said. He touched her cheek, his knuckles white. Tears streaked his face, blinding silver in the ghostlight. "There's nothing left to save. It's done, it's over. No need to fight, no need for all this...all this pain. Let it go. Please, Bell, let it go."

"No," Alois whispered.

Acier's eyes snapped to him. By his side he felt Isabella's ragged breathing, her tension shaking him, too. The sea boomed against the rocks. They'd shear him in half. He'd smash, all of him spread on the rocks, food for the gulls.

Or maybe he'd fall. The water might catch him. Hope, as always, struggling foolishly to the surface. What good had it done him? None, and yet it remained, strong as spell-steel. He'd stay a hopeful fool, even if it meant his death.

"No," he whispered again. "There's always something more to save."

And he pitched himself backward, pulling Isabella with him, over the edge of the window and into empty air.

For a moment, he hung. Sunlight, gulls: all was sharp, all was clear. Red cliffs and blue sea, and then the sea seemed to catch him, and the sky rolled, and he fell.

The world turned to wind, to relentless gravity, like a god's hand wrenching him away from the window and into weightless nothingness. Wind screamed in his ears; he wanted to close his eyes, to look away from the death coming fast, but he couldn't move, he couldn't think-

Force hooked his wrists, his ankles, jerking him to a bone-jarring halt. Hands. Silver hands, immaterial, so cold they burned. Whispers filled his head, fingers clutching his hair, running over his face. Isabella hung by his side, cradled in a web of ghostlight, her hair lashing round her shoulders in the wind. Acier's ghosts pulled them both back through the window and flung them across the solar floor, through a litter of blood and broken window glass.

Alois lay, curled, shaking. He wanted to reach out, to take Isabella's hand. To die holding fast to an ally, a friend. But as he reached for her, a shadow fell across him. Pressure crushed into his wrist, trapping his hand.

Acier stared down at him, holding the whaleglass knife, boot poised over his wrist.

"Going to use that?" Isabella managed. "Going to curse me, too?"

"This?" He lifted the knife. "I have no use for this." He turned and he flung it through the broken window. It flashed in the sunlight, spun once, and was gone.

"Enzo," Isabella said. Her voice was dry, a ghost of itself. Alois heard realization there, and horror. "Triune, please-"

Acier didn't stop. He drew a deep, shaky breath; his eyes slid shut, his body tense with strain, a muscle in his jaw fluttering as if in agony. He lifted his arm, hand splayed, palm facing the broken window and the bay beyond. Ghosts rose around them, a veil of whispers and silver light, power thrumming through the stones of Pavaloir Tower. Over open water, Alois heard the changing timbre of the dreadnought's engines, the high scream of machinery.

Silver flickered in the dreadnought's windows, on its deck. Soldiers. Ghost soldiers, taking their positions, taking aim: not ahead at Bellana's Arm, but back across the bay.

Toward the city.

"No-" Alois choked.

Enzo clenched his fist.

Alois's cry was trapped inside him. All he could do was kneel and watch as the dreadnought's bolt cannons blazed, and with the crackling shriek of loosed bolts and spellfire igniting, it fired its first shot on Pavaloir.

#togl #tales of the great leviathan #fantasy fiction #original fiction #serial novel #chapter 38

[stationrats]

Ambrose sat in the prison. His tears had slowed and his sniffles were far and few between. But the dread had stayed. They were still trapped, much more literally now.

“What am I going to do?? What am I going to do??” Ambrose whispered, head pressed against their knees.

He felt a scorching hand touch his shoulder. He jolted. Ramus pulled his hand back. It was just Ramus.

“Hey Ramus.” Ambrose grumbled. Ramus did a small flip in the air.

“Hey, new guy. Um, I’m sorry you got framed for murdering my dad.” Ramus sounded genuinely ashamed. “Um… I know you didn’t do it. But I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“If I what?” Ambrose asked. Their eyes flicked towards Oast, who was once again in charge of guarding Ambrose. If Oast could hear, xe kept it to xemself.

“If you killed dad.” The ghost clasped his hands together. “He didn’t like me very much. He was a bad dad. I saw how Renin looked after Oast and Fiel, and Albata wasn’t like that at all.”

Any positive thoughts towards Renin were currently dead to Ambrose. He grunted. Ambrose turned his head away from Ramus.

“Hey, I really am sorry!” Ramus repeated, floating to Ambrose’s other side. The ghost’s eyes were round. “I want to help you, ok? Churyn is being comforted by mommy, and I heard you got hurt, so I came as soon as I could.”

The tip of Ambrose’s tail had ripped off. Darling had bandaged it, and apologized profusely to Ambrose. Wick wasn’t allowed near Ambrose. None of the witnesses were. There was just Ambrose in the rat trap with Oast making sure they didn’t escape.

He could still hear preparations for the trial. That was almost as bad as falling and injuring his tail. Hearing the excitement made Ambrose feel sick. Any influence they had was gone now.

“Influence.” Ambrose repeated. “Hey, that’s it!”

“That’s what?” Ramus asked.

“You’re a ghost. You can influence things! You can go and spy! Or… or pass a message to Wick!” They stood up, and ran to stand at the edge of the cage. Oast tightened his grip on the pole in his hands, but made no move to stop Ambrose.

Ambrose wrapped his hands around the cage’s wires, and stuck his nose out between two bars. Their eyes searched for Wick.

“There. She’s gathering up my drawing.” Ambrose pointed. With a small rush of air, Ramus floated out of the cage slightly. “Go over there and find out what’s going on!”

--

Wick sniffed loudly. She had been scolded for encouraging the murderer to sneak around. But she still had to do her scribe duties. Thus she was picking up the fallen pages.

As she reached for Ambrose’s self portrait, a small wind picked it up. She took a step forward and tried to grab it. The wind moved it slightly out of reach again. Wick continued to try to grab the page, but it moved again and again, until it came to rest where Ambrose had fallen.

She felt a tug from the pile of pages in her arms. Another page was moving on its own. She pulled it out of the stack. It was the drawing of herself. She held it out, and felt the now familiar jerk take the page from her. Her eyes widened.

“Ambrose? Are you doing this?” She asked quietly. The papers gave no answer. Abandoning her task, she quickly spread out the other drawings.

“If this isn’t just the wind,” she said, confidence growing, “then show me the real killer.”

After a long moment, the doodle of Tisane wrinkled. Wick brightened. “Woah! So you can like, make yourself invisible and stuff? Why didn’t you tell me! Do you know how many pranks we can pull off now?”

She was so excited she didn’t even notice the wind shuffling through the papers, trying to find a drawing of himself. Finally, it pulled itself out of the others, and flicked it onto Wick’s foot.

Understanding finally dawned on her.

#story #character ambrose #character oast #character wick #character ramus #old story

[skinsharpenedteeth]

it's not WIP wednesday but....

i feel like posting this. lol. Thirst Trap Thursday? Anyway... working on a new A/B/O KinnPorsche fic where Kinn keeps omegas in like... a harem like situation? And Vegas (alpha) goes to ask for one to go through his rut with him. And Kinn denies his request. So Vegas kidnaps one (Pete). And puts him in a caged bed at the safehouse... but Pete is Pete. So he's smart as shit, a little bit psycho, and can fool a fool. Also, he hasn't gotten laid in... A WHILE. So Vegas ends up in the cage. And Pete decides to have some fun riling him up before he goes into rut. We love a Dark!Pete tease.

For reference... this is what I mean by a caged bed.

so without further ado.... here's some smut for you guys. (under 18's DNI.) tumblr exclusive. lol. (I'm working on 24 hrs awake and zero sleep and i'm a little punch drunk.)

.

.

Pete pressed against the outside of the cage, his back to the alpha stalking him from inside. The metal was cold against his shoulder blades. He was naked and he knew he smelled like blood and honey to the predator behind bars. Pete writhed against the metal, swaying his hips enticingly, reaching up to grab the bars behind his head. He moaned as he moved his body against the cage. On cue, warm breath could be felt over his shoulder and hands slid between the bars to press against his chest and hold him still. 

    “You should tease me like this,” Vegas growled from behind him. ‘He’s so close to his rut,’ Pete thought, a smile stretching over his lips. Pete tipped his head to the side, exposing his neck and turning an ear to the alpha. 

    “Hm?” Pete hummed in feigned inquiry, knowing Vegas would only be staring at the long, unmarked skin of his neck and shoulder. Vegas growled again and his fingers flexed. Short, blunt nails dug into Pete’s skin and it made his blood sing. Bringing down one of his hands, he placed it over Vegas’ and pushed the hand down his torso, keeping pressure so the nails left welts in their wake on his skin. He pushed down until he could pick up Vegas’ hand to wrap it around his aching cock. Vegas’ palm encircled him and without prompting, pumped over the turgid flesh. Pete let out an open-mouthed groan of appreciation, loud in the quiet room. “I think that teasing you is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

    “I’m going to become dangerous if you keep this up,” Vegas warned. His body pressed close to the bars, close enough Pete could feel the heat emanating from Vegas’ skin. It felt heavenly. He could also feel the moist, stiff tip of Vegas’ dick poking him in the spine. Pete hummed in recognition, but instead of backing off, he let his other hand fall from the bar it had been holding to reach back and tangle in Vegas’ hair. Vegas stroked him with firm, fluid motions and his other hand had started to rub and pinch at his pec and nipple. Pete’s passage was starting to leak, heavy drops ready to run down his thighs. He ached from having been empty for so long. 

    Lust fueled and feeling a little out of his mind, Pete turned enough to meet Vegas’ eye over his shoulder. The alpha’s eyes were blood red and glowing darkly. The connection between them lit up like a live wire, making Pete’s body clench in need for more. He tugged at Vegas’ hair, and started to push his hips up into his grip. Vegas whined behind him, sounding hurt and turned on in equal measure. 

    “Put you hand between my thighs, Vegas. Feel how wet I am,” Pete commanded though rough breaths. He widened his legs and arched his back, pushing his ass harder against the bars of Vegas’ cage. Vegas retrieved his hand from Pete’s chest and a moment later he felt Vegas’ hand between his legs, running his fingertips over his soaked thighs. “Torturing you makes me want to come so bad. I can’t wait to see you half feral for me.”

    Vegas growled again. He moved his hand swiftly and pushed two fingers into Pete’s slick hole without preamble. Pete cried out in surprise and ecstasy. Vegas pumped his fingers in and out of Pete’s passage roughly, somehow instinctually knowing where his p-spot was and abusing it with every thrust inward. The hand on Pete’s cock slowed, but his grip moved to squeeze and tease the leaking head. Pete could hear the wet suction of his slick around Vegas’ fingers and that turned him on almost as much as the pounding on his prostate.

 On a particularly vicious thrust, Vegas twisted his grip around Pete’s cock and shocked the orgasm out of him. He rode the wave of pleasure, mouth open in a soundless scream as his body clenched and spasmed. When he could see and hear again, he grabbed Vegas’ hand from his cock and brought it up to his lips. He flatted his tongue and licked a broad stripe of his seed from Vegas’ palm. He licked and licked until all Vegas’ palm and all of his fingers were clean and shiny with saliva. Then he became away that he could still hear the sound of slick on skin, but it wasn’t his skin. 

Pete turned around and grinned at Vegas. Vegas, who was on his knees at the edge of the bed, pressed as close to the bars as his flexibility would allow, pumping his thick, bright red cock with a hand absolutely drenched in Pete’s slick. Pete wrapped his hands around the bars and slid down to his knees so he could be almost eye level with Vegas’ dick. Vegas’ expression above him flickered between awed and pained as he stripped himself roughly in pursuit of his orgasm. 

“I wanna taste that hand too when you’re done. I wanna know what we taste like mixed together,” Pete said, voice husky and fucked out from coming. Vegas gasped above him. He brought the hand that Pete had licked clean to his mouth and began to suck on his own fingers. ‘Interesting,’ Pete thought, delighted at a new piece of information. Feeling daring, Pete snaked a hand inbetween the bars and between Vegas’ spread legs. He guided his hand behind Vegas’ balls and back until he found Vegas’ hole. He didn’t try to breach the alpha, but he pressed firmly against the tightly furled muscle. Vegas’s head snapped back as he cried out at the sensation. Pete watched his balls draw up tight to his body and then he was coming. He was coming with Pete just pressing against his hole. ‘Wonder what he’d do if I tried to fuck it?’

Before Vegas could finish catching his breath, Pete grabbed the hand covered in their combined fluids and sucked two fingers into his mouth. Salt, tang, and something else flooded his mouth. It made his mouth water and his cock twitch. He sucked and licked the two fingers clean before pulling off and standing up. 

Vegas looked wrecked. Naked and glistening with sweat, his hair in disarray from Pete’s fingers, and eyes dark and dazed. He looked good. Pete needed to leave before he opened the cage and ruined his own plan. He wanted to push this alpha and see how far he could go. He couldn’t do that if he gave in before his rut really began. 

Pete took a step back and grabbed his robe from over the back of the wingback chair he’d thrown it on earlier. Vegas watched him without speaking, eyes starting to sharpen as he came back into his body. Pete smirked at him once before winking and leaving the room. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d get everything he wanted and more, he was sure of it.

.

.

feel free to shoot me ideas for this 'verse. right now it's just about getting pete eventually fucked and maybe mated.

#kinnporsche the series #kinnporsche #vegaspete #vegaspete drabble #under 18 DNI #pete x vegas #vegas kornwit theerapanyakun #pete phongsakorn #pete saengtham #omegaverse