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inkribbon796 · 7 months

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Egotober 2023 Day 25: Tester Set

Summary: Logan is attending a little heroes meeting, meeting some new faces and getting closer to magic.

Prompt: Cauldron

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Logan got a text in the morning that he and the other Gainesville apprentice would get a little magic lesson from Marvin now that he was in town.

The young apprentice hero had gotten a text yesterday that Marvin had made it into Gainesville. He’d yet to officially meet him, and wasn’t too thrilled about making a fool of himself doing magic. But Logan was supposed to be there, so after school he headed over to the base, getting there around 4:30.

Logan’s watch let him in like usual, and Logan saw Bing with Nate and someone he could only assume was Marvin.

This hero had a cat mask, long dyed green hair. He was wearing a cloak and had visible tattoos under his sleeve.

But what got Logan’s full attention was no one, but two shorter people. One was Iridescence, he’d seen his picture in costume. But this other person. Fancy white coat, frilly red shirt and red domino mask; an unknown. Maybe they were Blue or Stripes?

White Coat turned around and he smiled in an uncannily familiar way. “Oh, you must be Logic.”

Roman. Roman Charmer.

What the fuck is he doing here? Logan thought to himself.

Never was he more thankful for his mask and for the voice synthesizer that was going to hide his identity from the single worst pain in his ass at school.

“Yes,” Logan said, thoroughly disguised. “You are?”

“Princey,” Roman smiled. His mask barely covered his identity, like an idiot. He needed a better one.

“Nice to meet you,” Iridescence said.

“Yes, nice to meet you,” Logan said.

“Okay,” Marvin said as he snapped his fingers and the entire lobby suddenly turned into a series of tables with cauldrons and all kinds of beakers and test tubes full of different fluids.

Suddenly Logan couldn’t care less about Roman.

“Alright,” Marvin said as he gestured to the room. “I’m here to do two things: teach magic and piss Dark off. Today we’re doing both of those. I’m teaching as much magic as possible. And because I’m jet lagged and slightly hungover, we’re going to start with alchemy.”

Roman’s hand shot up but he didn’t wait for recognition. “Mr. Magician, is there going to be a test?”

“It’s Marvin, and no unless you do poorly,” Marvin said.

Each of them was brought to one of the tables and Logan appreciated being able to work away from Roman’s incessant chattering that he could always hear.

A notepad was already on the table with his superhero name and a pen, a blue one. So Logan forgave not being a pencil and eraser to correct mistakes.

For the next hour Logan worked in front of a cauldron with some input from Marvin about what things were and the promise that nothing would explode in his face. He was just allowed to mix things and take notes.

Logan was surprised to be having a little bit of fun. Not much seemed to be happening but it was rare he got to see magic up close.

Marvin rotated back to his table and while Logan was watching another normal-seeming reaction Marvin’s normally green eyes glowed gold. “Huh.”

He reached over and tilted the cauldron a bit.

“Well, I’ll be damned, you got something in you after all,” Marvin said.

Logan leaned over as Marvin tilted it back upright. “What’s it doing?”

“Just glowing, these potions are easy, meant to draw something out of you,” Marvin said.

“How do you know it’s not just the ingredients?” Logan asked.

Marvin tapped the side of his head next to his eyes, “I just know what I’m looking for. When you know what the signs are you can kinda see magic on people. You don’t have a lot of it, but I guess you got something after all.”

Logan smiled, becoming more engrossed in his little tests as Marvin watched over him. The magician was pleasantly surprised with Logan.

After a while Marvin moved back to check on Roman, who was every bit the natural prodigy that he’d thought he was and was trying not to overtly tell that to Roman. He didn’t want the young man to get cocky and complacent.

He needed Roman to be good enough that he was improving Logic and Iridescence’s magical skills.

And Roman couldn’t do that with complacency.

#Egotober 2023 #Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders #Thomas Sanders #c!Thomas #marvin the magician #magic #baby Side's first alchemy lesson

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sesshy380 · 11 months

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Okay, I need some future art project suggestions. There's this awesome skull with a snake decoration where I work that has been calling to me. It screams TKB to me. The snake is getting the Diabound treatment, but I'm unsure about the skull portion.

One option is white skull. with matte black for the 'hollow' spaces. That's it, nothing special.

Other (and the idea I'm leaning towards) is bright red like TKB's signature stolen cloak, with maybe the teeth painted gold and the 'hallow' spaces matte black.

Here's the additional part I want to do. I want to do something to represent his scar. Would it work/be too much to draw the scar lines in gold?

With the red option, I'm also thinking of doing a dry brushing of iridescent coating.

Would love some thoughts and opinions on which route I should go.

Pic of skull w/snake below cut so anyone that isn't a fan of skulls/snakes can avoid looking at it.

I was originally trying to decide on which I wanted, but the skull is calling to me more than the solo snake.

Just the skull from a different angle.

First off ignore my messy porch (this is from last year). I wanted to give an idea on what I meant by dry brushing iridescent coating. You can kinda see the small bit on the blade portion (the hilt has it applied more heavily). This is a clear coat, so it doesn't affect the color underneath. It just gives it some iridescence.

#random stuff #need some opinions #this is what happens when there's no official TKB merch #i see things and decide 'this is so TKB'

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humaforever · 3 years

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Colors/A Huma Fanfiction

When Harry met Uma she wore purple and black. Probably because that was the pallet of colors she had. But it changed shortly after he met her. He never thought much of it, just her branding herself as her own person and not just Ursula's daughter. But maybe there was a reason for it.

A lot of VKs took their parents colors and based their wardrobe on that. It was a way to show people who they were messing with. Just by seeing Mal's purple, green, and black outfits you would know she was Maleficent's daughter and steer clear of that. The hook children all wore their fathers signature red coat so everyone knew exactly who they were. But Uma was different, she didn't wear purple and black. Or at least not for very long, not for very long at all. Her branded color was very curious though. No one really knew why she chose those colors. The people closest to her just thought it was from her love of the ocean, and really it kind of was.

When she chose these colors they also chose her. Those who had magic in their veins, the ones whose parents had used magic, had a very interesting ability. When they were young children, when they attached themselves to a color the color did the same and their hair changed. This how Mal had purple hair, how Evie had dark navy blue hair, and how Uma had Teal, turquoise hair. Because that's how she wanted it.

Harry loved everything about it though. He loved how perfectly it contrasted against her skin, giving her a beautiful glow. He loved how even though her eyes weren't blue they were still brought out by the vibrant green/blue. He loved how fierce it made her look. He really loved how it reminded him of the ocean. But what he loved most is that it was so uniquely her and it made him feel safe. Whenever, wherever he was, when he saw that color he felt safe, he felt happy.

Everyone knew this was HER color. So it was quite odd when Evie started asking about everyone's favorite colors, like isn't it obvious. The princess had decided that Uma and Mal's crews needed to do more socializing and get to know each other better. Even if it was just the simple stuff.

So that's how they ended up here. In the living room of Mal and Ben's castle, each telling different, interesting facts about themselves. Evie for some reason decided each person needed to tell the group their favorite colors.

"Why don't we start with you Gil" Evie said

"Oh, uh I like brown. Oh and yellow, and black. Pinks pretty too. Orange is nice. I like all the colors, my favorite is maybe yellow. No, brown. No, yellow. Yeah yellow" Gil explained very befuddled

"Nice I like yellow too" Evie replied sweetly, being very patient with Gil "And you Harry?"

"What do you think princess?" Harry said annoyed

"C'mon Harry"

Harry sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. "Crimson. Happy?"

Evie nodded in reply "And you Uma"

Uma also sighed, but decided to answer so the conversation would be over quickly. "I like green, when it almost looks blue. And I like blue, when its almost green. So Teal, aqua, turquoise. Whatever you wanna call it." Uma stated

"Question" Mal piped up from her spot on the couch. "Why did you choose that color? I always wondered?" Mal asked Uma

"Cause I like it" Uma stated simply

"Yes I gathered that much, I was wondering if there was a real symbolic meaning behind it" Mal said

Uma shrugged "it makes me feel safe...and happy"

Harry furrowed his brow at her. He felt the same way about the color because it reminded him of Uma. Uma always made him happy. But he couldn't help but wonder why it made Uma feel "safe and happy."

"Wow, great explanation" Mal said sarcastically but decided to drop the topic.

"Wait, Why?" Harry said his thoughts aloud the words kinda just coming out of his mouth.

Uma looked him in the eyes and cocked her head to the side confused by his question.

"Sorry... Nevermind" Harry said looking back at her.

Although it was a stupidly simple question they had never talked about their "favorite colors." Probably because they were fighting and watching their backs every second of every day. Probably because they lived on the isle and even talk like that would be considered weak. But she was his best friend, it would still be nice to talk about this stuff, even if it was so stupidly simple.

"Whatever" Uma waved him off

Evie then continued with her little game and that's how the night went on. It was actually nice catching up with their new friends. Although none of them would ever say it, it was a very enjoyable evening.

It would only be months later, when Harry figured out a deeper meaning behind her favorite color. Months later when they were "officially" dating.

********************

"Uma" Harry said smiling at Uma looking her in the eyes

"Harry" Uma said looking back

They were currently out at the beach. Not a lot of people were there, especially at the spot they were at. They weren't going to call it a date because they had invited Gil, but he was busy. But yeah, it was a date.

"You know Uma we're pretty lucky" Harry said brushing his hand through the sand

"What do you mean?" Uma asked

"I mean, not a lot of people can say they've known each other for as long as we have. The fact that I can say I've known you for my whole life is pretty awesome. The fact that I've not wasted a whole lot of my life looking for you, but spending it with you." Harry said smiling

"Yeah" Uma trailed off "look at the sunset Harry"

It was a beautiful sight. Something they never got to see on the isle.

"Look at where the sun meets the ocean. The reason for your favorite color. That iridescent blue." Harry said

"That's not the reason for my favorite color" Uma said

"The ocean?" Harry questioned

"No" Uma responded "Well kinda"

"Do tell" Harry said curiously

"When we were on the isle it was in my blood to be drawn to the ocean, I yearned for it the day I was born. But as you know there was hardly any water, definitely not enough to call an 'ocean.' But I still saw the ocean as my home and like I was just far, far away from that home." Uma stated, Harry listening intently. "But then I met you. I took one look at your eyes and I knew you were my ocean. The home I'd been searching for." Uma looked at Harry. "The way your eyes are blue but they seem green, or maybe they're green and they look blue. I never knew, but that little area where the two colors intersect, it's beautiful. That color made me feel Happy, it made me feel safe, so I made it mine. So I would always be reminded that I had a little piece of the thing I yearned for most. Guess that's another good thing about knowing you my whole life" Uma said smiling

Harry was quite shocked by this confession. Feelings were still new to them and this seemed like a lot, all at once.

"I love the color too. Because it reminds me of you, because your what I yearn for." Harry said

Uma knew this. Uma knew Harry was drawn to her as any pirate would be drawn to the sea. They were two people that loved the sea.

"Promise me something Harry" Uma said

"Anything" Harry replied

"You'll always be my ocean"

"Always"

As odd as that sounded, both knew exactly the depth of that statement and what it truly meant. So they would forever keep that promise.

#huma #fluffy.

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suncatchr · 3 years

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some updated designs!! lots to say about these!!

Emilia and Mateo’s “Imaginary” Designs

I have a plot update for them ;w; I thought, since their whole motif is arts and performance, that it would be cute to write in a playground roleplay element to their story! Besically as kids, they make up a fantasy world that they play in together whenever they get a free second! In off-time, Mateo writes stories and makes art of their characters, and Emilia starts learning to play music so that she can compose theme songs for them. Emilia’s character is a fire witch who’s able to comfortably use her powers bc they live in a more magical world. Mateo’s character is a healer who follows Emilia on her quests to save the places she defends. I thought it would be a nice place to kick off their obsessions with creativity, and also that it would be kinda fun to do a plot within a plot and kinda try to make up a story that two kids would.

These outfts are the designs they thought up in their game. Mateo later drew up the designs, this being most obvious from the rose on Emilia’s belt. Her gloves keep her magic in when she doesn’t need it, and the cloak is fireproof. Mateo’s outfit is based on a plague doctor’s, but for ease, the mask is just a piece of thick fabric that can be lifted up over his nose when he needs it. The rest of his body is covered to prevent him from contracting infections from fluids.

Holly and Masei

Nothing too new about these designs, their original designs were just way too simplistic bc i didn’t have much of an idea. Holly is a warrior, so his outfit is very lacking in layers and fabric. On the other hand, Masei is a prince, so his clothes are dumb layered and the little translucent piece is supposed to drive home just how extravagant he is.

Khauai, Haven, and Hakeem

I wanted their outfits to be more like their animal motifs! Cevon didn’t get a redesign because his current outfit is civilian clothes which. suits the fact that he gets his power taken away. Khauai is an owl, so his cloak is meant to reflect his wings and the puffy pants + slim boots mimic the legs of an owl. Haven is a selkie, so I gave him his seal coat to wear over his human form. I left the sweater, though, since it kinda melds both worlds for him as opposed to him only wearing his seal coat and Yearning for the Sea. Hakeem’s outfit is supposed to be lionlike, so I gave him the furry collar to be the mane and the furry boots to be his paws. It’s also a little more form-fitting bc he steals Cevon’s powers and as such becomes an incubus. I think he’d embrace that fully.

The Major Arcana

These characters have 3 things each that are part of their designs: an album, a Tarot card, and their name. I decided that the Tarot card would be more involved witht heir demeanour and how they present themselves, so the outfits are based on their album and their name.

Crow, obviously, is named for a crow. His clothing is layered to represent the feathers of a bird’s wing, and his cloak is ruffled to be shaped like the wings themselves. His album is After Hours. His heavy layers also represent him often blocking people out because he feels like he’ll just let them all down (a la Save Your Tears). At the same time, his outer cloak is open, because what he really wants is to be better, but it’s hard to make that go to the inner layers of himself (a la Faith). His clothes are all black.

Harley’s name means “meadow of hares.” His spikey hair is meant to represent windswept grass, while his inner vest is meant to be a little white bunny tumby and his boots are white at the toes to represent paws. His album is Beauty Behind the Madness. BBTM is a little sluttier than AH, so I had to kinda work around that, since Major Arcana generally wear old-fashioned clothing and lots of layers. Underneath his jacket, Harley’s arms are bare and his jeans are high-waisted so that when he’s free to do so, he can shift into hotboy mode. BBTM’s narration is also more smug and more detached, so I felt like that it made sense to give Harley a more modern outfit than everyone else, because he couldn’t care less about the customs of Major Arcana dress or how anyone feels about it. His clothes are brown and white.

Nakoa’s name means “warrior.” I gave him the harnesses on his back and leg to look like he’d be carrying weapons around, even though he never would. His album is Transmissions. The ablum gives off a very aching, yearning vibe, with the narrator sounding alone throughout the whole thing. His mission seems to be to find and protect someone else, while sticking staunchly to one’s ideals and values throughout the quest. Nakoa dresses like Major Arcana should, with his clothes being the most traditional of anyone’s. The lock necklace represents his loyalty to the Major Arcana (as in, he’s locked in) and the heart necklace (while in canon it represents his card: The Lovers), represents the person that the album’s narrator is talking about. I wanted to make him look very “tied up” in his clothes, so everything runs across him. This represents the loneliness at the album’s core; Nakoa is tied up in himself and effectively has no one but the cause to be loyal to. His clothes are purple and blue.

Sunday’s outfit is supposed to contrast Nakoa’s heavily. They don’t wear all of the ties and layers he does. Their design is meant to be open and welcoming, because their album is Dreamland. The narrator of Dreamland describes a troubled past in an expressive and upbeat way, and I thought I’d reflect that in the fact that Sunday is the eldest and effectively the most responsible for the whole group, yet they remain open and their layers stripped despite all that. Their name obviously reflects the sun, so the main colours of their outfit along w the sun at their collar represent the sunrise. Their outfit is iridescent (another ref to Dreamland’s aes), with bases of pale pink and yellow.

Arwen’s name means “royal maiden.” Her outfit is based on the most practical layer of mediaeval royal clothing, with her hood able to pull up to look like a victorian maiden’s bonnet. Her album is Hozier, but I’m going to be hinest and say most of her outfit was designed before this, so I couldn’t find a place to mix in the album..? So the colours of her clothing are the album cover’s colours: orange, blue, and brown.

Elio means sun. I have enough characters designed after the sun, so I went entirely album-based with him. His album is DIVISIONS, a rebellious, anticapitalist love letter to no one. The album is about adventure, love, and the future, so I wanted to give Elio a v futuristic and punky outfit. His outfit is my favourite out of all of them, but I don’t actually have much to say about it? I think it looks exactly how I envisioned, like Elio’s a punk from the future. His clothes are black, white, and silver.

Dawn’s name meaning is obvious, and again w the sun. I went all-album with him too. His album is Meteora, an album that’s essentially about hating yourself, your past, and everyone around you. I wanted to go more emo with Dawn’s design bc of that, but emo style actually doesn’t... appeal to me, plus it’s not very Major Arcana. I gave him some gay little boots to be his choice piece of emo clothing, and then emo’d up a regular outfit instead. His clothes are layered, again representing him building up walls. He has lots of elements that are tied around him, this time to look like he’s sealed himself in, hence them all being horizontal. He burned the edges of his cloak himself and also sliced into his pants so that he looked imperfect and everyone around him would know that he’s imperfect. His clothes are, in contrast, pink, yellow, and blue.

Dovey’s name obviously means dove. Her cloak, like Crow’s is ruffled at the edge to represent bird wings. Doves are much fluffier than crows, though, so in her outfit, feathers are represented by the ruffles in her dress. Now, uh, her album is Wasteland, Baby! and the outfit very much misses the vibe. Dovey is another character whose outfit I had planned before hand, and it wasn’t desidned with music in mind. The one song I did think of while designing her was As It Was, which reminds me of Red Riding Hood bc of the way it opens?? I feel like even though I can’t pinpoint any one vibe that matches her look, I can see her as the narrator slash star of all the songs in this outfit. So IDK, it vibes w me, fjkdshdsfd. Her outfit is grey and brown, like a mourning dove.

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fromkaermorhentolettenhove · 3 years

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Secrets Best Shared

Summary: Geralt finds Jaskier and Yennefer’s sex channel and succumbs to temptation

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Modern AU, Sex Work, Pegging, Sex Toys, Rough Sex, Bottom!Jaskier, Past Yenralt, Getting Together Geraskier, Fuck Buddies Yennskier

Words: 3150

A/N: it was supposed to be a pwp and i guess it still kinda is but

(also!! here is the artwork that helped inspire extra scenes!!)

AO3

It had been a lazy afternoon.

By lazy, it meant that Geralt was laying on his bed, trying to think of something to do until he resorted to looking up porn on his computer.

So here he was, scrolling through the featured videos, looking for nothing in particular. There were so many to choose from and yet nothing piquing his interest as he went to the next page. He wasn’t sure what he was craving. Something out of the ordinary perhaps. Geralt glanced through the ongoing list of videos only to pause when one stared him dead in the eye. Or rather, Yennefer did.

Geralt was no stranger to Yennefer’s sex work, but he didn’t know she was uploading videos as well. Against his better judgement he clicked on the video and let out a sigh as he waited for the video to load.

They had been friends, they had been exes, and now they were somewhere in between. If either wanted sex, they could call each other up, but to be romantically involved had been out of the question since their official break-up.

Yennefer smiled at the camera, adjusting it as she only kept her face in the frame. Geralt tried not to think of what could happen next, where this could go and his jaw went slack when Yennefer stepped back from the camera.

A large strap-on was attached to her waist, but she wore nothing else, turning to the side to show her body to the camera. On the bed behind her was a man, writhing in the sheets and his ass plugged with some kind of toy. Yennefer went over to the man and slowly pulled out the toy, the man’s legs shaking as she did so.

“So good for me, Dandelion,” she purred.

Geralt froze, now realizing just whose ass he was looking at. Heat rushed up to his face, but he couldn’t look away as Yennefer repositioned Jaskier. The camera now held a view of Jaskier on all fours as Yennefer moved to the other side of the bed, standing behind him. She prodded the strap-on at his hole and Jaskier’s head tipped forward a low moan leaving him.

For a moment, Geralt was sure he was dreaming. Yes, Yennefer and Jaskier had grown close over the years, but never did Geralt expect this. He wasn’t offended by any means. In fact, to see Jaskier like this, submitting and wanting, sent a rush to Geralt’s dick.

He tried to fight it, but as Yennefer pushed into Jaskier and Jaskier cried out, gripping at the sheets, Geralt gave in. Unzipping his trousers, Geralt pulled his dick out and began pumping it in time with Yennefer’s thrusts. With all the prep, it didn’t take long for Yennefer to really slam into Jaskier, making him moan and gasp every time she hit his prostate. Jaskier begged for release and Geralt couldn’t blink away the thought of Jaskier underneath him. If only he could commit the same acts, to have Jaskier moaning for him. As Jaskier’s cries grew louder, Geralt’s hand sped up and he bit back a moan as Jaskier spilled onto the bed. Geralt’s orgasm followed soon after, coating his hand as he milked himself dry.

Yennefer gently pulled out of Jaskier, then going over to the camera with a sly grin. The last thing Geralt saw was Yennefer waving at the camera before shutting it off, leaving Geralt to stare at a dark screen.

He was screwed.

Geralt’s friendship with Jaskier had been interesting to say the least.

Somehow Jaskier had wiggled into his life and Geralt eventually found in time that he never wanted Jaskier to leave.

Jaskier was affectionate with him, as he was with all his friends, but Geralt liked to imagine it was just for him alone. When Jaskier was sleepy and would rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder, the nimble fingers brushing along his arm, even the moments Jaskier would give him a small kiss on the cheek as they said their goodbyes.

Geralt had thought to ask Jaskier out time and time again, but he didn’t want to ruin a good thing. Whatever their thing was.

However, with the new revelation–that Jaskier and Yennefer made porn videos together–Geralt wasn’t sure what he’d say the next time he saw the both of them. He couldn’t outright let them know he watched a video of theirs. Well, more like several. Not that Geralt was counting.

Geralt had clicked the subscribe button before he realized what he was doing and let himself be sucked into the black hole that was Yennefer and Jaskier’s channel. Geralt soon found that Jaskier was the main star, getting pegged by Yennefer, solo masturbation, even live shows where Yennefer was nowhere to be found.

If there was something between Yennefer and Jaskier, they were going about it quite secretly and Geralt’s curiosity became insatiable.

Which was how he found himself here on another lonely night, clicking on a particularly interesting video. The caption left little to the imagination as the preview image called out to Geralt like a siren song. Geralt had been at the receiving end of Yennefer’s dominance many wonderful times and the ribbon tied around Jaskier’s wrists said it all.

With soft, sensual touches, Yennefer and Jaskier melded into each other, working around their lingerie outfits. While Yennefer filled out her corset with an elegant confidence, Jaskier’s lingerie spread across his skin like silken sheets. Geralt’s fingers twitched as he imagined running his own hands along Jaskier’s thinly veiled body, to soak in every muscle and curve.

As Yennefer slid her way down to Jaskier’s cock, Jaskier gasped, his back arching, but his hands never leaving their silent position above his head. The ribbon tightened just so and Geralt was sure the sensation of it was what pulled another moan out of Jaskier. Just as before, Geralt gave in to his impulses as he slowly stroked his cock, pretending these two were putting on a show just for him. If only it was that simple. If only that was true. Before Geralt had time to work himself into a stupor over the very thought, Yennefer and Jaskier grabbed his attention again with soft gasps intermingled with the occasional breath of a laugh.

Yennefer teased Jaskier some more, rubbing his cock through the fabric of the panties, but never giving him the satisfaction of freeing him. Jaskier squirmed underneath her touch, small pleas leaving his mouth while Yennefer only smirked in response.

She pulled down the panties just enough to expose his rear, but not enough to uncloth his cock. With an abrupt force, she pushed Jaskier’s legs back until he tucked his knees to his chest, her grin widening at Jaskier’s sharp inhale.

Yennefer then picked out an iridescent dildo that sat on a nearby nightstand, setting it down on the bed next to Jaskier before carefully lubing up her fingers. Geralt bit his lip, almost to the point of bleeding as he watched Yennefer stretch Jaskier open. Jaskier moaned wantonly, a composed song of desperation as each finger was added. When at last his body was easily taking four fingers, Yennefer pulled out, despite Jaskier’s protests and prodded the head of the dildo at his entrance.

Glancing down at himself, Geralt compared his cock to the dildo, curious as to what he would have to do if he had Jaskier all to himself. Of course, that seemed like an impossible dream and Geralt focused back on stroking himself as Yennefer pushed the dildo inside Jaskier.

The cry of pleasure from Jaskier was downright sinful and Geralt couldn’t fight back the small groan that left him. How wonderful it would be to make Jaskier sing like this for him. In a way, Geralt could pretend it was so, slowing down his fist to match Yennefer working Jaskier’s hole with the dildo. As Jaskier’s breaths evened, Yennefer pulled the dildo out until just the tip remained inside before slamming it back into him. Jaskier’s moan shot through the speakers of Geralt’s computer and right at Geralt’s cock, bringing him to a near orgasm at the very sound. As if he was being timed, Geralt furiously brought himself to completion and spilled all over his hand as he watched Yennefer fuck Jaskier with the dildo. With heaving breaths, Geralt watched, entranced, as Jaskier threw his head back, his mouth open in a silent scream as he succumbed to his orgasm.

A heavy swear left Geralt’s mouth then and he shut the laptop, throwing it to the side before burying his face in his pillows. He was a fool. Here he was falling head over heels for his best friend, but so heavily tinged in lust that Geralt worried actual love wasn’t there. Then, there was the situation with Yennefer. If Jaskier was happy with her, Geralt didn’t want to get in the way of that. However, he couldn’t deny the pull, this growing need to watch their videos to see Jaskier in this private, intimate way.

In the end, all he wanted was Jaskier, however he could have him.

So, when Jaskier texted him to hang out a few days later, Geralt jumped on the chance, despite his racing heart.

Jaskier came over, beaming at Geralt when he opened the door. The heat rushed to Geralt’s face and he tried to distract his mind from the images he had of Jaskier’s naked body.

“Finally the weekend,” Jaskier sighed as he sat himself down on the couch. “What should we do first? Movie? Make dinner?”

Geralt’s mind was on a singular track and he swallowed, trying to think of his reply to Jaskier’s question. Jaskier tilted his head, but when Geralt still hadn’t replied, a frown appeared on his face.

“Geralt? What’s wrong?” Jaskier got to his feet and approached Geralt.

Taking a step back, Geralt opened his mouth to say something, to reassure Jaskier all was well. “I found your channel,” was what came out instead.

Both men stopped then and Geralt screwed his eyes shut, ducking his head. If he could run from his own flat, he would.

“Oh, um…,” came Jaskier’s small reply.

Geralt dared to open his eyes, but he refused to look at Jaskier, holding a hand near his face.

“What do you think?” Jaskier asked.

Slowly lifting his head, Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed as he was met by a genuine look of curiosity. Jaskier had put his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched a little as he waited for Geralt’s answer.

“It’s…,” Geralt took a breath. “It’s good. I like it.”

“What about it do you like?” Jaskier pressed further.

Geralt steeled himself, not expecting Jaskier to keep the conversation going. There was no judgement in Jaskier’s eyes, nothing to indicate he was going to bolt out the door.

“You...you look like you really enjoy yourself,” Geralt answered honestly. “Anything you do, whether it’s by yourself or with Yennefer, you seem to have a good time.”

Jaskier laughed a little. “So, you’ve watched more than one video then.”

Geralt grunted, turning his gaze away from Jaskier. He didn’t know where this honesty was coming from, why he was letting Jaskier ask all these questions.

“Do you imagine yourself doing those things to me?”

Jaskier had somehow closed the gap between them, his hands playing with the hem of Geralt’s shirt. Geralt swallowed, his heart racing, as Jaskier looked up at him with bright, curious eyes.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed.

That one word was all it took for Jaskier to crash their mouths together, his tongue immediately pushing into Geralt’s. Geralt submitted easily, grabbing Jaskier by the hips and holding them right up against each other.

Jaskier moaned into Geralt’s mouth, grinding his half-hard cock against Geralt’s thigh. Geralt shifted his leg up, giving Jaskier more to rub against, relishing in the noises he pulled from Jaskier. He broke the kiss to suck at Jaskier’s neck, kissing the dark bruises he left behind.

Their shirts were practically torn off, thrown to the side, and Geralt lifted Jaskier up, letting Jaskier wrap his legs around his waist before heading to the bedroom. The path was tumultuous at best, Jaskier capturing Geralt’s mouth with his own, Geralt slamming Jaskier’s back against walls as their cocks ground together.

When at last they made it to the bedroom, Geralt threw Jaskier onto the bed, ridding him of his trousers and underwear. With Jaskier laid out naked before him, Geralt’s hunger only grew and he climbed on top of Jaskier, kissing a trail from his jaw down to his chest. Jaskier leaned into the touch, soft moans leaving him as Geralt circled his tongue around one of Jaskier’s nipples. Jaskier’s hands tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to send jolts up Geralt’s spine.

Moving from Jaskier’s chest, Geralt settled between his legs, throwing them over his shoulders. He kissed the insides of Jaskier’s thighs, sucking as Jaskier let out a small whine, trying to push his cock closer to Geralt’s mouth. Teasing him some more, Geralt mouthed along Jaskier’s hips, letting out a breath on the tip of Jaskier’s cock.

“Geralt,” Jaskier begged, hands fisting the sheets.

Finding a little mercy within himself, Geralt lapped at Jaskier’s cock at a slow pace. He licked from base to tip, the sound of Jaskier’s moan only encouraging him. He suckled at the head, watching as Jaskier wiggled, trying to push more of himself in. Having none of that, Geralt held Jaskier’s hips down as he lowered his mouth on Jaskier’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jaskier threw his head back.

Geralt almost had all of Jaskier in his mouth and he relaxed his throat to take Jaskier to the hilt. The scream he received was glorious as Geralt pulled back just to make Jaskier cry out again.

“Geralt, I’m–” Jaskier began to stutter out, but it was too late.

He spilled into Geralt’s mouth, his hips thrusting against Geralt’s hold as Geralt swallowed every drop. Geralt pulled off Jaskier’s cock with an obscene suck and flipped Jaskier over, pulling him up onto his knees.

Jaskier breathed heavily, his upper body resting on the bed as his ass stuck up in the air. Pulling open a drawer at his bedside table, Geralt produced a bottle of lube, generously coating his fingers before pouring some over Jaskier’s hole.

Jaskier shivered as some of the lube trickled down, his voice strained as he chanted Geralt’s name over and over.

Geralt teased his finger at the rim, waiting until Jaskier nearly sobbed before pushing a finger in. Jaskier threw his head back, hips moving to take more of Geralt’s finger in. With a growl, Geralt wrapped a hand around Jaskier’s neck, pressing his chest against Jaskier’s back and pushing him against the bed. Jaskier gasped, eyes rolling back as he relished in the warmth of Geralt overtaking his senses.

Geralt stretched Jaskier open with two fingers, curling his fingers enough to make Jaskier whimper for him.

“More,” Jaskier gasped. “I need you, Geralt.”

Jaskier wasn’t quite ready, but Geralt graciously added a third finger. Jaskier’s shiver shook his own body and Geralt swallowed down his impatience. A babbling mess, Jaskier’s cries only grew louder before Geralt finally withdrew his fingers.

“Fucking finally,” Jaskier sighed as Geralt lined up his cock with Jaskier’s hole. “Gods, I’ve been dreaming about your cock.”

With an amused hum, Geralt leaned back, tracing a hand down Jaskier’s back. Biting back a groan, Geralt pushed all the way in and relished in the punched out gasp from Jaskier below him.

“For how long?” Geralt teased, letting Jaskier adjust to his girth.

A heavy breath left Jaskier and he wiggled his hips as if there was more of Geralt to take. “From the moment we first met.”

With a groan, Geralt pulled out just enough for his tip to stay in before slamming into Jaskier. A shout echoed around them and Geralt took Jaskier, slow and rough. Every noise pulled from Jaskier was ethereal, Geralt closing his eyes to memorize all that was Jaskier.

“If you don’t go faster, I’ll jerk myself off,” Jaskier interrupted Geralt’s thoughts through gritted teeth.

Grinning, Geralt moved away from Jaskier, teased him as he begged for Geralt to come back. Then, Geralt lifted Jaskier onto his lap, the two facing each other as he lowered Jaskier onto his cock. Using his kneeled position to his advantage, Geralt thrust sharply into Jaskier, holding him close as Jaskier’s arms flung around his shoulders.

“Geralt, I won’t last,” Jaskier moaned, rolling his hips with Geralt’s.

“Come for me, then,” Geralt whispered against Jaskier’s lips and crashed their mouths together.

Jaskier’s scream was lost in Geralt’s kiss, come splattering over both of their stomachs. Chasing his own release, Geralt spilled into Jaskier, biting down on Jaskier’s bottom lip. When their kiss broke, Geralt and Jaskier hugged each other close, thinking of nothing beyond their heavy breaths.

It was Jaskier who piped up first, inhaling sharply before beginning his speech.

“I suppose it’s been on your mind. I thought about it as we began to make out but I figured we’d talk about it later. Anyway, Yennefer and I aren’t together. I mean, if she asked me to marry her, I wouldn’t say no, but then we’d have to have you join our union too. It wouldn’t make sense to not have you there.”

Geralt blinked at this, his mind slowly catching up to Jaskier’s words. His eyebrows furrowed without meaning to, but Jaskier wasn’t deterred.

“She’s beautiful, witty, of course, but we just like to have our fun with the channel. That’s it,” Jaskier shrugged as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “Speaking of, you should be on the channel sometime. I think the fans would like you.”

It was then Geralt found the strength to breath again and he pursed his lips, his mind racing to find an answer. Any kind at all. The evening had been a whirlwind, leaving Geralt to pick up what had been strewn about.

“Well, if you want. No pressure,” Jaskier reassured with a small kiss on Geralt’s forehead.

The two pulled apart, helping clean the other off before laying down on the bed, limbs tangled together. The more Geralt thought about what he could do with Jaskier, the more he was warming up to the idea of being on the channel.

“Next Tuesday then?” Geralt found his voice at last, the corners of his mouth quirking just so.

Jaskier smiled bright and beautiful as he curled closer to Geralt, fingers dancing across Geralt’s chest. “I’ll pencil you in.”

“Hopefully, you’ll do more than that.”

The devilish grin from Jaskier sent a shiver down Geralt’s spine and he closed his eyes as Jaskier nipped and sucked at his neck. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

#geraskier #yennskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #indigo's side shitposting

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readysetstarker · 5 years

Note

Hi! I read some of your writing and its so fucking good like i cant even. I have a prompt for you if youre comfortable writing it! One where Tony starts noticing things about peter. How his lip gloss looks, outfits etc. And he feels guilty and beats himself up over it even though peter is doing all of it on purpose hehe. Why not throw in some daddy kink too ❤ (if u domt mind of course)

thank u so much!! ;A; there’s a few things i’m not comfortable writing but everything you’ve mentioned here isn’t on that list! also peter wearing lip gloss is my favorite thing in this fandom. like, hello? you’re all geniuses???

Warnings: Peter is 18 and in college. Slight daddy kink bc like… what else do i write lmao. Crossdressing, guilty!Tony, aggressive!Peter.

Tag list: @am-i-spiderman

—

Peter was Tony’s student, his protege, someone he had taken under his wing to teach and mentor. Peter was bright and quick-witted, even if his common sense needed some tweaking here and there when it came to his crime-fighting. It was Tony’s job to notice things like that, and to practice what Pepper had called “positive reinforcement” by complimenting him or critiquing him and offering suggestions.

What he wasn’t meant to notice was Peter coming into the lab one day with lips that happened to look shinier and pinker than usual. The bulge in Peter’s back pocket was suspicious as well, and it took nearly a full hour for Tony to realize what it was.

And, in true Tony Stark fashion, he just couldn’t keep the realization to himself.

“Are you wearing lip gloss?” he asked while Peter was busy chewing on his bottom lip and mentally breaking down the holographic schematic in front of him.

Peter’s brow shot up at the sudden accusation, teeth releasing the now-plump and wet lip that, yes, was definitely pinker than normal. Tony was also quite sure that there were flecks of iridescent glitter speckled across it, too, and the hologram was making it easier to see within the film of saliva coating his lip.

“O-oh,” he stammered with a nervous laugh. His eyes darted down to the floor in front of him, a dark blush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, um, I can explain. I lost a bet with MJ last week and let her put makeup on me for a day. I liked the lip gloss, though, so I might have stolen it from her bag while she wasn’t looking.”

For a moment, panic took over his features, and he sat straight up in his seat.

“Is that weird? It feels weird now that I’ve said it.”

Tony had to physically stop himself from vaulting across the room to stop Peter from using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe the glittery polish from his lips.

“No, kid, don’t worry about it.” Tony waved a hand in the air, a mockery of waving away Peter’s fear of being caught. “You can wear whatever the hell you want here. I was just asking.”

Peter took a moment to take in Tony’s words before grinning. “Whatever I want?”

Tony wasn’t sure if the tone in Peter’s voice excited or worried him.

—

“Kid.”

Tony rubbed at his eyes, half-willing that maybe he was dreaming or so sleep-deprived that he was beginning to hallucinate, but upon opening his eyes he realized that he was very much awake and not seeing things. Peter was normally very good at dressing appropriately for lab work, but today…

Today he was testing Tony.

Sure, the kid was kinda scrawny and all the muscle on him was built for acrobatics and flexibility, but Tony was a firsthand witness to the fact that he owned clothes that actually fit him. Instead, for whatever goddamn reason, Peter had decided to wear a sweatshirt so big that it hung off one shoulder and running shorts that disappeared under the shirt’s hem. Every inch of his long legs was on display while he sat cross-legged on one of the many rolling stools in the lab and tinkered with the HUD display in his mask.

Tony avoided saying too much out of fear that his tongue would get stuck to the roof of his suddenly-dry mouth and trip him up.

The hair on Peter’s legs was thin and sparse, and god, Tony wanted to walk over and run his hands over the muscles bulging out beneath the skin of his thighs. He thought about how delicious that skin would feel under his fingers if he decided to run his hands up them, pushing the sweatshirt up his stomach, letting his touch slide up those running shorts that were just barely visible…

He needed a shower so cold he’d contract hypothermia.

Tony shot up from his stool so violently that it slid across the floor and fell on its side after running into another worktable littered with unused tools. The noise startled Peter from his concentrated stare at his mask, voice weak as he called after Tony to see what had bothered him. Tony didn’t respond, instead asking Friday not to reveal too much to Peter, just in case his young protege asked after him.

—

Tony was going to hell. By now, he had pretty much accepted it. Sure, there were a multitude of reasons as to why he would be subjected to eternal damnation after his (probably untimely) death, but the top of the list would be lusting after the young man he had decided to mentor in world-saving. Peter was 18, a fresh-faced freshman in college, and Tony had absolutely no business in thinking about him the way he did.

And it certainly didn’t help that Peter had decided that, today of all days, he was going to wear a pleated skirt to the lab. At this point, Tony should have said something, enforced a dress code that was tailored specifically to prevent him from going absolutely bonkers. The last thing he wanted to do, though, was stifle the kid’s self-expression. He was an adult, and his recent dive into feminine presentation had zero detriment on his work or results.

There was no other reason Tony could hide behind besides his own stupid dick.

For once, there was no sweatshirt, but he was wearing a gray t-shirt that was maybe a little too tight on top of a black and red plaid skirt. He still wore a normal pair of black and white sneakers on his feet, and Tony almost wished he was wearing something a little more feminine, maybe a pair of black Mary Janes if he was being honest.

Almost. He still had some self-control left.

Tony pointedly ignored the fact that Peter was wearing a skirt that barely covered the boy’s ass and instead tried to focus on the misfiring gauntlet in front of him. Friday was unusually silent today, no longer offering her assistance unless Tony specifically asked after her, but Tony didn’t think anything of it. His AI were sometimes a little finicky, and it wasn’t unusual in the past for JARVIS to become silent on days when he wasn’t continuously addressed.

He had almost managed to completely forget about his student’s state of dress, if not for the fact that Peter had decided, at that moment, to push Tony back from his workbench and stand purposely between Tony’s knees. He looked… upset. Tony blinked, trying in vain to figure out exactly what he had done wrong, when Peter twisted his fist in Tony’s shirt and pulled the older man closer.

“You are infuriating,” he said, and the words, combined with his frustrated tone, threw Tony for a complete loop.

“I’m… what,” Tony repeated dumbly, mind working a mile a minute to figure out what was going on.

“Infuriating. God, I’m going absolutely insane trying to get you to just look at me.” Peter’s hands were gentle, still callused from years of vigilantism and lab work, when they framed Tony’s face and forced him to look at Peter. His mouth fell open as Peter’s thumbs felt over his stubble, prickly from not being shaved. “I’ve been waiting for weeks for you to do something, and I can barely hold your attention.”

“Pete,” Tony said, but a finger against his lips rendered him silent.

“I’m tired of waiting on you to make the first move.” Peter’s hands lowered, bringing Tony’s arms up, and the older man swallowed through a thick throat when he found himself cupping Peter’s ass beneath the skirt, the cheek fitting perfectly against the curve of his palm. (And, oh god, the kid wasn’t wearing any underwear.)

It took far too much effort for Tony to regain his voice. He was getting rusty.

“You’ve been doing all of this on purpose?” he asked, and he couldn’t help the hungry way his eyes cast over Peter’s skirt, up past the tight shirt to the sparkly, glossed lips now pulled into a proud smirk. Tony could think of several ways to wipe it off his face.

Peter leaned down until their faces were just inches apart, his arms looping around Tony’s neck. He could smell the artificial cherry-sweet scent emanating from the boy’s lips. Tony’s hands remained on his protoge’s bare ass, unable to move, not wanting to move. The barest of flexing in his hand had his fingers digging into the fat meat, and Peter practically moaned against him.

“Mm-hm,” he hummed. “I thought the skirt would have done you in, but god, you held out for so long. I’m almost proud, but I can’t wait any longer.”

Fingers thread through Tony’s hair, Peter’s lips brushing against his.

“I want you to fuck me, Daddy.” Tony’s heart damn near stopped. Peter sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth clinging to it as his eyes followed the motion of Tony swallowing. “I want you to fuck and ruin me, and I don’t want you to feel guilty for doing it.”

Tony wanted to close the distance, non-existent as it was. Wanted to kiss him and taste that cherry lip gloss on his tongue, and fucking hell, Peter was literally in his lap and begging for it. The guilt bubbled up again, apparent on his face, because Peter took it between his hands again and pressed their lips together so desperately even Tony moaned into the kiss.

It was sinful, downright sinful, how good he tasted.

Tony was going straight to hell. He might as well enjoy the ride.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #my work #Anonymous

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hellsbovnd · 4 years

Text

what its like to pretend.

wc: 2719 focus: leonnaux altoix a/n: caught a writing bug. first installment of probably a three-part series, but i have other stuff i wanna work on before i continue this! thanks ebonguard for sprinting with me and encouraging my Mess lol

and i swam in the wakes of imposters just to feel what it’s like to pretend;

[ PDF MIRROR ]

One of the greatest skills that Leonnaux possessed was the ability to blend in, despite his burning desire to stand out. It hadn’t been easy to forge these skills, and the early days were rife with trial and error while his makeup work steadily improved, while he picked up little tricks to alter his figure or the way he carried himself—gait being one of the most difficult things to consciously alter. These days, he felt as comfortable in the skin of someone else as he did in his own.

The best way to test his disguises, he’d found was of course in the midst of other people—parties, nights out on the city streets. While he always asked for at least passing approval of his disguise ideas from Edda—“I’m asking you if you think this is convincing, not if you think it’s attractive,” he would occasionally remind her for his zanier ideas—the only way to really tell was among strangers (or better yet those he knew before, but he honestly would feel bad for deceiving his friends in such a way).

If no one was suspicious, it would get added to his repertoire—filed away for future use.

Tonight he’d chosen a dive bar in one of Ul’dah’s seedier areas: far away from the sort of establishment he would usually frequent, but the food was good, at least. Never tried a drink before, didn’t want to risk it at the time just in case drinking made it harder to maintain a façade. He had used this establishment to test disguises before and the bartender remained unconvinced of his authenticity for the entire night. That had been over a year ago, though, and he liked to think that he had improved substantially since then.

As Leonnaux made his way inside, he found the bar was just as smoke-choked as he remembered it. The lanterns on each of the tables were forced to cut their way through a thick curtain of smoke to illuminate the space. Leonnaux wrinkled his nose at the smell, his hands buried in his pockets, a wry smile pulling at the corners of his lips. The establishment was very nearly filled to capacity, with a number of patrons drinking their sorrows at the bar or engaged in a merry night of banter at one of the tables.

One or two parties were even engaged in some heated card games on the balcony above, but he wasn’t in the mood for cards tonight—he was in the mood to get even.

The disguise of the night was on the subtler side of things; unlike his adventure in Ishgard during the Fury’s Moon, he tried to keep his appearance fairly close to his actual appearance. It was often the subtle changes that were the easiest to pull off, even if they went against his usual philosophy of every impression you make on a stranger should be wrong.

In Ishgard, that philosophy meant making drastic changes in both appearance and manner. Tonight, however, the policy was applied more loosely. He didn’t change the color of his hair, or even the length tonight—though the character that he had constructed presented herself in a more feminine manner than Leonnaux typically did in his day-to-day life—and more rough and tumble besides. He donned a pair of leather pants that he had picked up recently, and threw on a leather long coat on top of it. He settled on compromising with well-fitted, cropped halter top that would hide the fact that his cleavage was fake while still exposing enough abdomen to be provocative. He shed his usual gloves in favor of armguards and feathers reminiscent of a magpie’s iridescent blue-green plumage were intertwined with short braids just in front of his ears.

A little makeup work smoothed down sharp angles and strong lines in his face; eyeliner, mascara, and kohl framed his eyes—glamoured to be mismatched shades of hazel—for a suitably intense look when paired with dark lipstick. And of course, a pendant was tucked into his shirt to change his voice so that he would not have to strain to maintain a higher timbre for the night—which without magic would be the one aspect of his person that was unlikely to pass muster while wearing a feminine guise.

“Evening,” the bartender greeted with a smile, tossing the rag he was using to dry newly-cleaned glasses over his shoulder. “What can I get ya?” He was an scrutinizing fellow, a Duskwight with a discerning eye. The sun had given his skin a little more color over the years than he would have had naturally, stealing enough of the grayness from his skin that were it not for the clan tattoos running up his arm and neck—etched into his skin with a blade, not a needle, and highlighted only in certain spots with white ink—he would pass for a Wildwood. His dark gaze settled on Leonnaux, his lips twisted in a smile that was—procedural, somewhat sarcastic even.

Leonnaux tapped a manicured nail on the counter as he hauled himself up and onto the bar stool. When he spoke, it was not with his own voice, but a more feminine one—albeit one on the sultry, low side, as he figured that that sort of voice would fit the character he created for the night the best. “Sazerac. On the rocks.”

His gaze rose to the bartender as he slid some gil coins forward to provide payment for the drink—and a tip, of course.

The bartender nodded and set about making the drink. It wasn’t done with as much finesse as Leonnaux would employ if he were the one on the other side of the bar, and the ingredients here were subpar—catered towards people who were more concerned about getting nice and drunk than people who wanted a high-class experience. That suited him fine, and he tried not to watch the bartender too closely as he muddled the sugar, the water, the bitters. The cognac, the whiskey—stirred, not shaken—then slid over to Leonnaux after a lemon peel was lazily tossed into the glass and left there.

Leonnaux let it sit for a moment before bringing the glass to his lips, leaving some dark plum-red lipstick on its rim once the glass was lowered back onto its coaster. It was good—for the components used. It was what he paid for, anyway; he knew that a place like this probably didn’t have the wherewithal to obtain the nice Ishgardian cognac, and he knew that it wasn’t really ‘in-character’ to complain.

So instead he mumbled a thanks, casting his gaze about the bar. A drunk Seeker whose arms and chest were almost completely covered in tattoos was about six shots in two stools to his left. The stool immediately to his right was vacated soon after he ordered his drink, a midlander woman with eyes like daggers and a scar running down over her right eye having apparently had her fill of listening to the men upstairs gamble their paychecks away.

“So… Friendly bunch,” he started, somewhat awkwardly as the midlander held his gaze until the heavy door had fallen shut in her wake and she was back out on Ul’dah’s streets.

“Friendly’s a word. Think most of our professions down here kinda exclude us from the category,” the bartender replied, setting the Seeker up with another shot even though he definitely did not seem conscious enough that that would be a good idea. The bartender’s voice carried with it a thick accent—caught somewhere between what he had grown up hearing in the depths of the Black Shroud and what might be expected of Coerthas natives.

“I… Don’t think I could have guessed,” Leonnaux replied, squinting a bit. For the disguise he’d gone without his glasses—it wasn’t really possible to navigate around them for every single disguise he wanted to try. Thankfully the low light of the bar didn’t impact his vision too much, and he only had to deal with distance-related issues. The bartender right in front of him was just barely out-of-focus, and the rest of the room? A blur. “Between the scars and the tattoos. You got word of the street?”

The bartender huffed a laugh. “Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, missy.”

“Call me that again and I’ll break your fingers.”

“Oh, oh, this one has spunk! I like it!” The huff turned to something heartier, this time the bartender laughing from deep within his chest, shoulders heaving. “Most interesting thing anyone’s said to me all godsdamned night. Well, then, what’s your angle?”

Leonnaux’s shoulders rose and fell in a half-hearted shrug. “Just new here, just lookin’ for some fun,” he replied, setting his sazerac down on the counter and retrieving a silver cigarette case from an interior pocket of his coat, along with a box of matches. He places a cigarette between his plum-colored lips before offering one to the bartender across from him. “Looks like you are, too?”

The bartender scoffs before taking a cigarette, producing a very different implement for lighting his cigarette—a well-crafted lighter, like the ones that Leonnaux had often seen crafted through the collaborative efforts of the Goldsmith’s Guild and the Alchemist’s Guild, a small fire shard producing a small flame once it was flipped open. He huffed a bit at the sight before striking a match and using that to light his cigarette. The match was blown out before being discarded in a nearby ashtray, overflowing with ashes and cigarette butts and similarly-discarded matches.

“You could say I’m looking for a little entertainment, yeah,” the bartender replied, “It’s all the same shite ‘round here.” He blew out a cloud of smoke to punctuate the statement, a sigh. “Fun’s dried up if that’s what you’re looking for, though. Jobs, though. Plenty of jobs. Jobs that you gotta be really fuckin’ down on your luck to consider takin’, though.”

Leonnaux couldn’t help a little bit of laughter at that. “Well, let’s say I’m down on my luck then. City’s not real easy to get started in, unless you’d rather give me tips than work. But I’d really prefer the work.”

“Not a whole lot for a pretty face like you to do besides hook on street corners.”

His eyebrow couldn’t help but twitch a little in response to that—a brief expression that didn’t go unnoticed, since the bartender burst out laughing in response.

“Oh, oh, lighten up. If you can’t take a joke then you ain’t gonna last five ticks out there.”

“Rest assured, you’re not the only one who’s lacked enough sense to tell me that. Lucky for you, though, you can make a decent drink. The other ones couldn’t.” He lifted his sazerac, then, removing his cigarette from his lips and blowing out the smoke to take a sip from the glass. “Guess you have a half-decent face too. Hate to ruin it.”

“Well, color me honored.” The bartender ashed his cigarette, poured the Miqo’te gent another shot—absinthe this time, Leon realized, and though now he was wondering if the bartender was just steadily making his way up the ladder in terms of alcohol strength, he couldn’t help but think the man two stools down might need to stop if he didn’t want to end up worse than passed out in a ditch. “Laraunt, by the way. So, if you’re looking for work… Well, got some postings over in the back. But if I’m being frank, there’s been some shite going on that I’d love for someone to look into. What’s your trade, missy?”

“Call me Reine,” he corrected. “I’m serious about your fingers.”

“Sure, sure, right, right. Anyway, what’s it you do?”

Leonnaux clicked his tongue, considering for a moment, lowering his gaze to the lemon peel floating in his drink. “… This and that. Anything for the right price. Ran some drugs when I was up in Gridania—sonmus, snow, you know, that shite. Prefer to work more discreetly where I can, though—stuff what won’t give folks a paper trail to look for… Information, a favorite.”

His gaze returned to Laraunt , then, watching him carefully for any sign that he wasn’t convinced—pinning his preferred trade as information was a risk, but it was the only risk he could feasibly take. He couldn’t offer any answer that would be easy to verify; he couldn’t describe in-depth what it was like to work a job that he had no experience with whatosever, not even by proxy. To say nothing of if Laraunt decided to cross-check him, or press for more details than he had.

Laraunt considered for a moment before offering Leonnaux a half-shrug. “Information’s honest enough trade, I guess. You just a broker, or do you do groundwork?”

“Depends on my mood…” Leonnaux trailed off, then, somewhat uncertain before he nodded to Laraunt’s tattoos: raised scars and white ink against his dark skin, etching intricate runes and designs and occultic symbols into his exposed forearm and extending up his sleeve to his neck. The designs themselves were, of course, pleasing to the eye—but the runes were chiefly Duskwight in usage, sigils of power similar to the ones etched into pomanders. “But you could say I’ve always to ears out, eh?”

The bartender arched a brow, then, before nodding his assent. “Ah, more than just a pretty face, then! Seems you have some keen eyes, too. Well… Well, I suppose you’ll do, Reine. If you think you can get the job done. I’ve been through a few brokers, kind of need a dedicated investigator if I’m being honest. They all chickened out once they got a handle for the situation.”

Leonnaux perked up a bit, folding his hands in front of him on the table and ashing his cigarette. He looked the bartender over, but without his glasses his eye for detail was somewhat limited, even this close. “Well, running drugs up to the Shroud ain’t exactly a cushy fucking job, as long as no one’s gonna try and drain my body of its blood I think I can stomach getting my hands a little dirty.” He scoffed, then, as if it was a joke. “So what is it. I can’t say for sure unless you tell me what the job is.”

Laraunt met Leonnaux’s eyes, then, his lips pressing into a thin line. “My sister’s missing.”

Oh—oh.

Leonnaux had to fight off the shock when the bartender’s voice suddenly becoming quite grave, going from somewhat condescending and sarcastic to a sobering baritone is no time flat. He took a breath, considering those three words as he drew his cigarette back to his lips, puffing away quietly.

“If it’s a missing person case, I think you’re gonna want the Blades instead.”

“Not considering what all my sister was getting up to before she went and vanished.” Laraunt tapped a fingertip—hard—on the surface of the counter, pulling Leonnaux’s attention back up to his eyes. “This ain’t the best place to give details though—or time. How can I get in touch with you after this? Sit down for a more proper talk. Client to broker.”

Leonnaux paused, offering a shrug. “I’m new here. You think I already have an office? Just pick a day pick a time and—I’ll meet you out back. After a shift, maybe. So we won’t be interrupted.” He tilted his chin up, then, before he snuffed the cigarette out, grinding it in the ashtray and leaving it there in a crumpled heap. With a grimace, he slammed back the rest of his sazerac in one go, chewing on the lemon rind left behind once the glass was emptied.

“Ah, eh… Should be free at the end of the week.”

“Cool. I’ll see you then—see if I can’t turn up any leads on a missin’ Duskwight in Ul’dah in the meantime.”

“I’d appreciate it.” There’s a pause and Laraunt takes a breath, watching Leonnaux as he starts to leave. “Hey, say—this is bugging me, but have I seen you before?”

Leonnaux’s heart skipped a beat, and he paused mid-step to look over his shoulder, one hand against the heavy wooden door, poised to make his way out.

“I don’t know. Have you?”

––to be continued.

#crystal data center #ffxiv rp #balmung rp #crystal rp #ffxiv balmung #ffxiv crystal #hellsbovnd #( c: leonnaux; )#( writing; )#[ i keep saying leon is cis/gender nonconforming but honestly w how i write him he might actually just b straight up genderfluid ]#[ i just dont want transphobes crawling into my mentions to call me gamer words so i'm gonna keep him as cis on paper lol ]#[ no harm in having little a noncanon headcanons about my own character.... as a treat ]

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imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

chivalry is dead — ball outfits

as of chapter 20, everyone is dressed Fancy™

outfits and ID explanations below!

Patton — Cat

i gotta start with our kitty-pat!!!!! he’s so cute !!!! his dress is a lot like cinderella’s, actually, now that i think about it. His dress corset has the princess-cut lines down the center that have some silver thread detailing, and the center part is a sparkly grey while the outside is a pale grey-blue velvet. The corset’s waist juts out, and at the center middle of the waist there’s a large bow made of glittery black tulle. The top most layer of his dress is glittery silver tulle, while the next layer (and the one that extends out behind him in a train) is glittery black tulle. i feel like it should bunch in the back, but i didn’t draw the back, but it also probably bunches in the back just given how fabric Moves™. the inner most layer of his dress is a velvet gradient from the same pale grey-blue on his corset to an actual dark grey, similar in shade to the silver tulle! his shoulder poofs are also scrunched up silver tulle, and that’s all the sleeve he’s got. he does have forearm-length gloves, though, which are grey with pink toe beans that mimic a cat’s!

his mask is also pretty standard for a masquerade ball — it’s a grey cat mask, with a silver gem for the nose and with pink ears and whiskers!

Logan — Octopus

a smart animal for our smart boi :^) also like, my favorite outfit of the bunch, i want it so badly. his blazer doesn’t clasp, but it’s fitted pretty well and clips on the inside to his vest. It’s dark blue, with a black adjustable waist strap that goes around his back, and with four tails that seem more like tentacles. The shoulders of his blazer are also adorned with light blue “bubble” rhinestones. His vest is just a shimmery royal blue, and his undershirt is white, but his tie is iridescent blue and black. It’s tied up in an eldritch knot tho ;0 His pants are pretty tame, just some dark blue slacks. hes got a little piece of pink coral tucked into his lapel, too!

logan’s mask is. like. like i’d die for it. like it’s so cool. there are four tendrils poking out and swirling around it on either side, protruding from the mask itself, and while the coloring of the mask is fairly basic (it’s just dark blue) the “underside” of the tentacles are decorated in silver gems that mimic an octopus’ suckers. this was the first one i did and. like. im still yelling. i want that mask.

Deceit — Peacock

thought i’d mix it up a little!!!! deceit’s suddenly flashy and, in the bard’s words, “the hottest chick in the coop.” he doesn’t have a blazer, but he does have a half-cape thingie, which has blue and purple and green rhinestones on the shoulder pad while shimmers an iridescent purple and green when he moves. his vest is a matte teal, and his undershirt is mint green, and he has lil arm bands that keep his sleeves pulled up that are dark blue. his ascot is also iridescent, and shimmers blue and purple. His pants are pretty tame, though (as i’ve seemed to do with most everyone’s pants lmao) they’re black with a glittery green stripe down the side. his shoes are. supposed to be black dress shoes. but it seems i forgot to draw them. and his gloves are dark green! i love this outfit but its also a mess of colors asdfgjkl

his mask covers the scaled side of his face and has blue rhinestones decorated similarly to the cape. There are also a lot of feathers. Like a lot of peacock feathers. all coming out of the left side. his scales are well hidden.

The Thief — Snake

speaking of mixing it up a little, the thief does love being a red herring. his outfit is less snake themed and more deceit themed t b h. idk what to call that blazer, but it’s black, and short in the front with two long coat tails in the back, and is buttoned low and twice with gold circles and chains that mimic deceit’s coat clasp. His blazer also has sequins arranged in diamonds, traveling up his sleeves’ forearms. his vest is black, too, but is sheer while the blazer itself is matte. his dress shirt is a pastel yellow, and the bowtie is black, calling back to deceit’s SvS outfit. his slacks are also pretty plain, just black, and he’s wearing black gloves.

his mask is literally a call back to deceit — covers the let side of his face, and has sequins arranged in diamonds all across it, mimicking deceit’s scales. If you look close enough, though, you can see his face scar jutting out at the very edge

remember when virgil was tryna convince the thief that he was the virgil-esque roman? :^)

The Bard — Harlequin

i love love love the bard’s outfit. it’s actually a ball-dance dress, meant for people who are actually doing ballroom dancing, with some red sheer tulle as the skirt. His bodice isn’t a corset, though it is kinda stiff and sinched at the waist by a thick black belt with a heart on it. The belt matches his choker, which incidentally is connected to his dress :^) the bodice also has a red and black checkered pattern throughout, with a large white pearl at every check intersection. There are pieces of tulle from his dress connected to his wrists by thick forearm bands, also with the red and black checkered pattern — good for showy dancing!

his mask is also based on a harlequin/jester theme, with five protrusions at the top in alternating red-black-red-black-red, and with bells at the ends. the center of his mask is white and fades into the red and black checkered pattern at the sides.

The Artist — Jester

shout out to the artist for his character development, because the boy’s learned to be okay laughing at himself and at things. He’s going as a jester, so his outfit is semi-formal and semi-flashy (good for distracting ;) ). The left half of his suit is a solid black, while the right half has a checkered pattern of red and black. His suit’s sleeve cuffs spiral out a little, and are gold. His slacks are solid red on the right while adorned with the red and black checkered pattern on the left.

his mask is similar to the bard’s — the top has five jester-hat-like protrusions, alternating black-red-black-red-black, with bells on the ends. The mask itself, however, is white with little marks of all four card suits.

The Playwright — Queen of Hearts

The Playwright’s dress harkens back to the animated Alice in Wonderland’s queen of hearts dress. The skirt is nearly identical, with an outer most layer that’s half red and half black, and with chevrons on the inside that alternate black and gold. At the tip of his corset’s waist is a large red rhinestone in the shape of a heart, and across his bodice is a large red heart that stretches from the neckline to the waist. His sleeves? Basically remus’ sleeves. Poofy shoulder parts that pinch in near his elbow, then are flush against his skin to the wrist, and then floof out at the wrist. The sleeves are black with glittery red trims around the wrist floofs and in the creases of the shoulder poofs.

his mask is actually all rose gold wire-work, in intricate spirals. there’s a crown in the middle, on the top, also made of wire.

Dragon and Damsel — the Prince and flames

ignore the big doodle on the left — that was for another drawing!

Dragon’s outfit is fairly simple, he’s just wearing Roman’s usual white princely outfit with the gold trims, red sash, black boots, etc. The main difference is that his crest has been replaced with Dragon’s part of the crest, which is just the castle’s outer towers and wall.

Damsel on the other hand is wearing a ball gown. His corset has a tall behind-head-neck-thing-whose-name-ive-forgotten, taller than his head with orange and red detailing shaped like flames. The corset has stiff gold shoulder pads that actually prevent him from lifting his arms high, and the body itself is detailed with sequins and rhinestones that mimic the red sash. There’s a little bit of rolled up red tulle at his waist, and then the gown. The first two layers are kind of torn up and in tatters (almost as though they’d been physically torn and then burned) and are colored orange, then red, and the inner most visible layer is a dark ashy grey. His eye, usually covered in a bandage, is patched over with a red rose.

neither of them have masks, but the damsel has a red veil (not in the picture). they want to be seen and identified.

no taglist bc uhhhh idk if y’all wanna see this (its not writing?? )

#chivalry au #art #my art #logan #patton #roman #deceit #: ^ )#let the games begin #tldr i can physically visualize these outfits and if i have to see them in my mind's eye then you have to too asdlkhsadlfkgh #Join Me in making masquerade outfits

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theprodigypenguin · 6 years

Text

Take the Peace

Sheith Angst Week Day 1: Unrequited//Astral Plane

Pairings: Shiro/Keith (sheith)

Words: 1931

Notes: This is late, short, and crappy. I’m always so anxious when I write Sheith for some reason. It’s my number one ship, so I freaking idolize it, and I’m always worried that whatever I write for them isn’t going to be enough, or it’s gonna fall short, but I’m hoping the @sheithangstweek prompts will help me through that anxiety. I’ve already seen a lot of Unrequited themes, so I wanted to see what I could do with the Astral Plane. It could’ve been longer and way better but hell I’m tired so here we are.

Ratings: angst, character death (kinda)

~~~~~~~~~~~

In the past, Shiro had wondered what it would be like, to float through the cosmos of deep space. He would dream about it, about being suited up in gear, with only a rope keeping him tethered to the space station so he could just bob in the zero gravity and reach his hands out, try to touch the stars that were so much closer yet still so far away. He would talk about it all the time when he was still just a cadet, lying on the roof after curfew with Adam beside him, hands thrown up and reaching towards the night sky, fingers splayed as he named each and every constellation he caught in his sights before reciting legends and myths that went along with them.

"You better be careful when you're out there," Adam had chided him, arms folded across his stomach and eyes shut, "It might be pretty, but the deafening silence and nothingness can make you go crazy."

At the time Shiro had laughed, but he understood the moment his eyes opened to a somewhat familiar landscape, finding himself entirely alone. The surface he stood on seemed iridescent and reflective, mirroring the sky above that seemed to be domed pitch black, painted with swirls of light, blended colors of purple, pink, red, green, yellow, blue, and green. Stars surrounded him with no definitive constellations, clusters that appeared to be galaxies, yet not quite.

He recognized where he was, the same place he fought Zarkon for the Black Lion's loyalty. This was the Astral Plane, the Lion's consciousness. The strain in his shoulders seemed to lessen with the knowledge of where he was, the familiarity giving him some amount of peace, but the anxiety of not knowing where he was was immediately replaced by the wonder of what had happened.

They'd been fighting Zarkon just moments ago, he was sure of it. Lifting his right hand, he could have sworn he felt the weight of the black bayard against his palm, but there was nothing in his grasp. His body felt strange, weightless and empty, but peaceful, and that peace... it made him uneasy.

The most disturbing thing of all of this, was that he already knew what had happened, why he was there. He knew what had happened, he knew Zarkon had been dealt with, and in his eyes, through the Black Lion's eyes, he could see the carnage of the battle floating in space. He shut his eyes and reopened them to the Astral Plane once more, dropping his arms to his sides.

All of the Black Lion's memories, all of its knowledge, was flooding into his mind, and though he felt a sense of peace, there was also such bitterness, "My body gave out," he whispered the words out loud, shutting his eyes, "I... did I really...?"

The ground seemed to hum under his shoes, the Black Lion responded to him, and he lifted his hands, dropping his face into them, "Ah, I see. Suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It's a miracle I lasted this long with all the strain my body was put through," he dropped his hands, pain in his eyes, "I understand, though. You retained my consciousness, didn't you? Like how we pulled Sendak's memories," another hum, and Shiro lifted his head, "Somehow different then. Listen... my body, I... what happened to it? I understand, I do, I've been ready for this for a long time, but... please don't let them see me like that. Keith... don't let Keith see me like that."

Just like that, Shiro felt relaxed, as if there was really nothing to worry about, and he found himself standing in the bridge of the Black Lion. Everything seemed to be covered in a soft purple glow, the seat was empty, and Shiro was confused a moment before the sound of footsteps came towards the door. So he took a step back towards the control panel, watching as the doors slid open and the paladins shouldered their way inside with Keith at the forefront.

He called for Shiro, panic on his face, and Shiro held his arms out instinctively, relieved to see him, but the glow around his outstretched hands made him freeze. Somehow seeing Keith had made him forget that... he wasn't really there. He was in the Astral Plane, seeing through the Lion's eyes, his chest tightening as Keith and the others came around to stare down at the empty seat.

Confusion and distraught covered all of their faces, and Lance whispered, "He's gone?"

It was better this way, better that he disappear entirely so they wouldn't have to find a corpse slumped over the controls. Shiro silently thanked the Black Lion, watching as the paladins filtered out of the room one by one. Pidge and Hunk were immediately discussing theories on what could have happened, Allura piped in offering the lion's ability of teleportation as a good explanation for his disappearance, and suddenly Keith was the only one there.

His hand was on the back of the seat, head bowed low and bangs covering his eyes, tight fist at his side. Shiro took a wary step forward, even though he knew Keith couldn't see him, hear him, or probably even sense him to be honest. He needed to get closer though, he still needed to speak to him.

"Keith... I'm so sorry," he whispered, and his voice sounded strange, an echo in his own ears that made his words seem wrong, made him wonder if that was actually what he sounded like, "I didn't want to leave like this," he reached a hand out, setting it on Keith's shoulder, and he could feel the surface of the armor beneath his fingers; he could still feel Keith, so maybe that meant Keith could feel him as well?

He stepped closer, reaching his other hand out to touch Keith's cheek, somewhat taken by surprise when he actually lifted his head, though he didn't look at Shiro, eyes staring across the bridge, rimmed red with tears he seemed to be fighting back. There was defiance on his face, jaw tense and teeth obviously clenched behind tightly sealed lips, brows drawn in anger and fire in his eyes.

"Keith," Shiro slid his fingers up his cheek, "I know you can't hear me, but I'm still here for you. I know you can do this. I've always known you could do this. This is my legacy; you are my legacy, Keith."

He felt pain in his chest from the way Keith's lips quivered, a single tear dripping down his cheek that he furiously wiped away before turning, shoulders squared, "I'm coming for you, Shiro," he said simply, striding towards the doors, "Wait for me."

"Keith... wait," Shiro had a hand reached out as he followed after the red paladin, but seemed incapable of leaving through the same doors, so he turned and hurried over to the control panel so he could look out the eyes of the lion, watching in devastation as Keith pushed past the others that were waiting for him, moving for the hangar doors.

"Oh Keith...," Shiro's voice broke, and when he blinked he found himself standing in the expanse of the Black Lion's consciousness yet again, "He's not ready," Shiro sighed, looking up, "What do you think?"

There was a purr of response, and somehow Shiro understood it.

Keith didn't think he was ready, but Shiro could see his potential, and the Black Lion eagerly responded when Keith took a seat in the pilot's chair, horror crossing his features as the interior came to life with glowing violet lighting.

"Please... no," Keith's voice was pained, eyes closing as he released the controls and dropped his head, hands limply in his lap.

Shiro stepped closer, still painfully aware of his lack of presence, but still kneeling in front of the seat, watching Keith pull the helmet from his head and drop it to the floor before dropping his face into his hands. Shiro reached up to cup his hands around Keith's face, leaning up so their forehead's were touching and sighing.

"I'm sorry. I don't want you to be in pain. I don't want you to feel pressured into this. I wanted to give you time to adjust, but please believe me. You are worthy of this, Keith. You are strong enough for this."

Keith's eyes opened, filled with turmoil, shifted up, and for a moment it was like their eyes were connected, until Keith disappeared from Shiro's hands and he was again on the endless Astral Plane.

"Keith..."

"So what are you gonna do?" Shiro tensed, turning sharply in reaction to Keith's voice, and in front of his eyes was what appeared to be a pool of cosmic clouds and stars, a young Keith standing there in Garrison uniform and a pained expression on his face.

"Keith... this... these are my memories?" Shiro asked no one, and the image shifted so Shiro was looking at an even younger Keith, sitting off to the side with his shoulders hunched, red coat too big for him.

He heard his own voice, "Looks like you're the only one left," and Keith tensed up, looking over his shoulder at him with a completely surprised look on his face, like Shiro addressing him at all was ridiculous.

The pool rippled and Shiro could see himself standing in front of his car, parked on the side of the dirt road, leaning towards the window and peering inside to see Keith in the drivers seat, feet pulled onto the chair and knees up, chin sitting on top of them with a tired look on his face. Shiro remembered this, remembered how he'd tracked his own car when Keith hot-wired it and drove off.

Keith had gone through his stuff absentmindedly, was looking through his wallet, not taking money or ID, but looking at a picture that Shiro kept there, a picture of he and Adam. The expression Keith wore as he turned the photograph over to read the names on the back was passive, but he jerked from his position and threw everything against the window when Shiro knocked on it, waving once he'd gotten Keith's attention.

Another ripple, they were sitting together on a desolate planet, Shiro could still feel the pain from the wound in his side, the exhaustion in his body, and the way he felt completely elated when Keith turned to him with such a gentle look in his eyes.

"What are you talking about? Nothing's gonna happen to you."

Shiro closed his eyes and bowed his head, "Why are you showing me this?" he asked in a tone of agony, "Are you showing me all the things I'll miss most, is that it?" he shook his head, "He'll be okay. I know Keith, he..."

"His suit has the ability to create a virtual mindscape, reflecting the wearers greatest hopes and fears," Shiro lifted his head as Kolivon finished his statement, "and right now, your friend desperately wants to see you."

Shiro felt his shoulders sag, pain clogging his throat as he shook his head again, "... Keith."

Suddenly the expanse of space felt very cold, very lonely, the Astral Plane was beautiful, but Shiro could already feel himself breaking, hands covering his face as pools of stars began to ripple around him, reflecting memories of Keith, of those rare times he would smile. Being in the Astral Plane was indeed peaceful... but for the first time, he wanted nothing to do with that peace.

"... Keith..."

I'm sorry...

#sheithangstweek #sheith angst week #sheith #shiro/keith #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #angst #flash fic #fanfiction #voltron legendary defender #vld shiro #vld keith

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aalt-ctrl-del · 6 years

Text

06 _ Straw Spun to Silk

Graphic Content Warning - Gore, Mutilation, child death. Hey, enjoy!

First - A Gentleman in a Coat

Chapter 06 - For whom a Toll is Paid

Hugo counted out the bills his mother had given him, and passed them up to the cashier. “Yep. She keeps me pretty busy.”

The aged cashier, known by the kids as Mr. Packle, made change and offered the few coins to Hugo. “That’s the way it works, ain’t it? Keep you out of trouble and on the straight and narrow.”

Hugo whistled upward, puffing the stringy bangs out of his eyelashes. “I’m capable of keeping to myself occupied with my studies, I don’t need her help.”

For the remainder of the day, Hugo’s mother – who delighted in having her youngest son on hand to complete the remedial chores around the household – had him polish the fixtures and the silver. She wasn’t expecting guests, nor did the silver need shining specifically, but she usually busied Hugo with those sort of tasks that were small and easy to overlook but somehow she managed to complicate the tedious task with asinine specifics. A room had to be organized a precise way, there was a particular method for polishing furniture, or she would devise new procedures for undertaking the job. Hugo would much rather travel with his father and brother, work in the field. At least progress would be made, and when the work was done it was done, no argument or denying.

Though knowing his mother, given the opportunity she’d find a way to contradict his efforts.

“Thanks, Mr. Packel.” Hugo collected his cotton satchel, and navigated his way out of the grocers mart.

Some small flicker of goodwill was in Hugo’s heart. He picked up his step as he waltzed down the sidewalk, passing shoppers and bargain buyers haggling at the store fronts with vendors. Hugo weaved in and around the barters; a car puttered by and honked its horn. Hugo found his path and emerged from the bustle of traders on the edge of the sidewalk. He got across the road and hurried to the vendor of the vegetable cart.

He used the last of his money on half a dozen carrots, and made his way out of the hustle busy of the market street. The chatter on the street dissolved at his back and cut off completely, as Hugo turned the block corner. He made a double check of his lift and the goods – flour, salt, baking soda, and the carrots. He picked up the pace, taking the shortcut through the new plaza district.

One quality Hugo appreciated of his mother, was that she did was an aggressive cook and baked on the weekends; usually on the Friday. She’d bake up a large pastry or numerous candy treats, and take them for Sunday service. That was something he could look forward to.

Hugo stopped in his tracks almost suddenly. It was past wok hours for the work crew to be on the construction site; all the supplies sat out in designated clusters, piles of sandbags covered with a tarp, a stack of brick – the frame of the to be plaza was set up, portions of the walls were assembled in some areas, and hastily construed fences barred out adventurous youths. Like his friends.

There is was again. Hugo peered through the misty orange vapor of the slanting light, sifting shadows with his eyes alone. The noise bounded up the walls, a subtle clic-click, similar to a snicker, though it wasn’t a breathy laugh. It was mocking. That’s how he described it.

The weight of his groceries bore into Hugo’s shoulder. He hiked the satchel up his neck, and turned to cut across the open flat of the cement foundation.

It taunted him. The click-click. Pause. click-click-click-click. Pause. As if someone was tattooing out morose code, but they couldn’t get the sequence right. There was a definite pattern, he was sure.

Hugo diverted from his path to the road over, and returned to the jobsite. He shifted the grocery bag around, and revitalized his search. The noise crept through the gaping spaces of the unfinished walls, but always remained out of his reach. Yet Hugo was certain it wasn’t moving, the ticking was just to somber and faint he couldn’t grasp and accurate lead. He poked around ravaged shrubs and dugouts, checked under some of the larger equipment left out. Numerous times he called it quits and dismissed the sound, but it would become insistent.

On the furthest side of the construction lot, where most of the new plaza was assembled and resembled the district the buildings were meant to become, Hugo located an excavated sewer line. The ground was dug out and sloped into the channel opening, but a shabby corral barred off the opening. A sign placed on the fence read:

DO NOT ENTER

A portion of the fence was knocked over; not that the fence was a construct that could keep out the adventurous, it was a superficial guideline.

Hugo went on his way. Nearly an hour had passed since he began his diversion; his mother wouldn’t be worried, not yet, but he wanted to get home early and have a chance to screw around with his spare time. Cutting through the lot stole back nearly an hour of time lost with walking.

For several minutes Hugo stood, the brittle leaves and branches pinched his palm. He was following the trail along the cement castoff and pulled aside dying shrubs, only to be met by the source of the sounds.

Click-click

An oversized crab camped in the misshapen rolls of discard and hardened cement. The coloration was pleasant but unremarkable, but the size and pitch of the sunlight prickled across its bone dry shell; iridescent colors glittered with peacock and ruby sparkles. The sliver of light shifted, and the majestic prickle of accents doused immediately leaving the crab drab and dusty, like bleached river stones.

Except for the fact the crab, as mentioned, was large. Not oversized, but enormous – for a common crab – larger even than the deep sea dwelling crustaceans. The thing was as large as a dog, with a five foot stretch knee joint to knee joint, its many legs nestled beneath its chest. How large was it spread out? The dome was three feet across.

And it had Martin by the ass. The phrase might’ve been amusing, if not appalling by appearance – “A crab had Martin by the ASS. That’s why he missed class.” Unfortunately, Martin’s backside was splint above the hip, and the lower half of his vertebra hung out, along with ravels of withering intestines. Buckets of blood gushed out, flowing as freely as water in a crystal clear brook and rolling in among the rivets and valleys of the cement’s frozen waves.

Click-click>.

The mandibles of the crab glistened wet and red, vibrant. The click came whenever it snipped a bit of tissue or bone from Martin’s spine, and delivered the morsel to its mandibles. The oblong, black eye beans gazed fixedly up at Hugo. The crab held near perfectly steady, aside from its chittering face portions, and the large, claws.

Click-click. Mocked the crab, as it pruned through its meal.

Martin stared directly through Hugo, face pale and puffy, cheeks soaked in tears. Eyes pleading. His fingers, bloodied and worn to the bone, grappled at the edges of the cement. A soft gurgling formed deep in the boy’s chest. This was where Hugo became disconcerted, and wondered if Martin were really alive or not.

Hugo promptly evicted the contents of his stomach—

“Hugo!”

“It’s nothing!”

Chad and Neil gawked at him. Feeling self-conscious suddenly, Hugo tucked his face down behind his knees – the immediate world shifted about him, taking color and shape with each blink.

The school ground was wild with activity; there was a game of soccer, and a few of the ‘girl cliques’ meandered on the outskirts, gossiping and being girls. Hugo pressed his backside more against the tree; the bark bit into his ribs.

“Had a lot on my mind,” Hugo offered, as way of explaining. He vaguely recalled the discussion up to this point; he’d been zoning out. Hard. “Can we change the subject? Talk about Hubert sneaking the frogs into the girls bathroom? That was amazing, wasn’t it?”

No, it wasn’t. The kid was a complete stump, and no one liked Hubert for this exact reason.

After a second or two of deep reflection, Neil uttered, “It’s been two days.”

Chad plucked at the dry bits of grass and piled up a few leaves. “Kevin was back in class. He seemed kinda out of it, but I think someone said it was pox.”

“Maybe that’s what’s going around?” Neil posed. Neither Chad or Hugo were quick to reply. After a short span, Chad did murmur softly:

“I already had the pox.” But if he understood it right, Chicken-pox usually hit in a periodic epidemic. He only remembered because when his older brother caught the illness years back, his mother made a point to let the play together. A few other kids from the neighborhood came over for a playdate or something, and from there it spread. The intent wasn’t malicious, but Sterling explained that once they got it they would never come down with it again. Parents liked to get it out of the way. That was how….

Neil was the first to look up. He tried to say something, but the taller boy cut him off.

“Why so gloomy?” Tucker stood in his trim pants, his button up shirt and little tie. He always came to school dressed up.

“We were worried about you!” Neil boomed.

Hugo did something uncharacteristic. He rose to his feet and walked up wot Tucker and put his arms around the other boy’s shoulders, and hugged him. None of them said a word. Tucker took it in, a bit awkward but genuinely understanding. After a long moment Hugo stepped back, but didn’t leave Tucker’s side. He wore a tense, concentrated scowl.

“Why?” Tucker prompted. “I was helping in my dad’s shop. Did y’all forget that?” Neil and Chad murmured between themselves. It was new, routine work Tucker’s father wanted his son concentrating on. Not that school wasn’t important, but earning an income was what his family managed on.

“Kinda,” Neil hummed. At this time, Tucker took his place on the ground, and Hugo descended with him. “We were talkin’ about the kids that hadn’t been showing up.”

“So?” Tucker edge on. “We’re getting close to fall, and a lot of the older ones get taken out to work for the families. Same as me. You’re not used to it, ‘cuz this is probably the first year you’re seein’ it. Right Hugo? Gimmie a word, here.”

At first Hugo didn’t answer. Tucker had to nudge Hugo, to get a response; Hugo jumped. “Yep. Exactly like – what are we talking about?”

The yard bell chimed. The school yard of giggling and animate children began to shift, and converge on the steps to the building.

Tucker plucked himself up off the lawn, and helped Chad to his feet. They plucked up their books and bags, and headed for the doors; minor chatter darted among them, voices raised over the rapid fire of their peers.

“You shouldn’t have worried yourselves like that,” Tucker interjected. “Or at least come by to check up.”

“I guess,” Neil mumbled. He stepped off to the side of the front doors; Hugo and Chad joined him, along with Tucker. Neil looked at each friend in turn as he spoke. “But the adults, the parents mostly, have gotten real jittery. My mom’s gone real tight with my going’s and coming’s, and she doesn’t want me nowhere near the woods – she won’t hardly let me go into town on my own.”

Tucker looked from Neil, to Hugo. Neil resumed, or tried.

Tucker broken in, with, “We can talk later at lunch. Let’s not get saddled with detention, and muck it up. Right? Let’s go.” He ruffled Chad’s hair, and weaved his way in among the other students; Neil and Hugo a close follow.

This didn’t put them back into rightful order, but Chad figured Tucker had a point with all the students not in class. If the teachers were already made aware prior, that would explain their dismissal of the absences. It did put Chad to ease, if a touch but that was enough. Tucker would be more familiar with these occurrences, he and Hugo were older than him, and Neil.

That was how he initially met Tucker, and in effect Hugo. They were two of the playmates that came by, and they sort of hung out since. Sterling never really befriended Tucker, but there wasn’t animosity between them; it didn’t make sense to Chad. Yet somehow, it made Chad’s relationship with his brother feel that much more special. Sterling let Chad hang out with him and his friends, and Sterling’s friends liked him too.

But his parents forbade Felix and Anthony from visiting their home, from visiting him. Chad only hoped they knew something about where Sterling went

Chad went to his class, surrounded by his peers and listened to the teacher drone about history and arithmetic. It was so boring, so bland. Safe. He was safe here.

Why did he feel the need to evaluate his environment; if he was safe or not? This was the forefront of his focus.

Chad glanced to his neighbor, Tammy. Tammy was sketching on some construction paper, scrawling in what resembled an audience of people; if the bulbous figures were something to go by. The center subject of her art piece looked… familiar. Chad shifted a little in his chair and edged his eyes a little over, trying to piece together the shape. Tammy was wholly focused on her picture, eyes wide and fist tight on the crayon she scratched over the paper.

A tall person, with hair like fire. And teeth.

Years later, lunch and break time finally hit. Chad ventured outside with his lunch, and found Neil with Hugo already at their meeting spot beneath the tree.

“—He’s probably collecting the work he missed,” Neil was saying.

“Hey,” Chad chirped. He took his usual place in the grass beside Hugo; the grass was thin and flattened in that spot, signifying a common perch. This day Chad had his own lunch, and opened the sack that held his sandwich and thermos. When no one spoke, Chad looked up from Neil to Hugo.

“Martin’s—” Neil cut off, twice. He swallowed a breath. “His remains were found by an access pipe.”

“Remains,” Chad echoed, numb. He set his sandwich aside.

“When there isn’t much left to look at,” Hugo added. He wasn’t eating, and it didn’t look like he’d gotten into his lunch box. “We should talk about something else.”

“You don’t think it’s a little weird?” Neil grumbled. “The sewer access, Chad’s dream, and now Martin—”

“It’s just the time of year,” Hugo harped back. He sat with his hands fitted in the crook of his bent knees, glaring at Neil. “In a few weeks, you’ll see. Kids’ll be back in session, and you’ll forget all about this.”

Chad nibbled his sandwich as Neil and Hugo jabbed at each other with their words, and the argument. He thought about making an excuse and finding a new place to sit, in peace. The kids chattered and squealed; all play and games, full of carefree jubilance. Chad skimmed over the faces trying to identify Tammy, but it was the entirety of the school and he couldn’t remember what dress she was wearing.

Tucker came hurried across the schoolyard, picking up pace as he neared the trio and the increasing passion of the bickering. Neil and Hugo were on their feet, shoving the other back and back.

“Whoa-whoa, what’re you on about now?” Tucker snared the two and scrambled to hang them back, and keep from collapsing on Chad – who hadn’t budged in the physical blight.

“Neil keeps scaring Chad,” Hugo spat, with another swing toward Neil.

Neil ducked the jab. “Am not!” But he did cease struggling, and leaned a little closer to Tucker. “But something – you heard about Martin. Chad was having nightmares about being lost in the sewers, and I think it’s like a premonition. You didn’t know anything about Martin, did you?”

Chad jarred a little when he realized Neil was addressing him. “No….”

“What sort of dream?” Tucker shook the two boys, and pushed them away from the other. The three took their places, Hugo now a extra inches further from Neil. Tucker capped a hand on Hugo’s shoulder, and gave Chad his full focus. In one hand he carried a lithe bundled package – and without releasing Hugo – began unwrapping the package. It smelled of eggs and butter.

“I don’t remember,” Chad uttered, barely a whisper. He plucked up and took a breath. “Not much, I mean. No, I don’t know. I remember being lost, and someone grabbing me.” He shrugged his shoulders.

There was more to it. Chad was a bit disjointed, in his recount of what his parents told him. He was found ‘near’ the Ceniplex. Unconscious. That actually was a lie, his parents didn’t specify where they located him and were persistent about avoiding the topic, but the image of the Cineplex was a forefront constant in his mind. Chad didn’t remember going there, being there, or anything remotely related to reaching the heart of town. The nightmare wouldn’t stop, but nothing compared to the day he spent in bed ill and confused. He recalled why he was in the sewers – searching for Sterling – but not how he got there, or how he got out; let alone anything more than being aimlessly lost and terrified of nothing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chad swore he saw Hugo pale – he was like a sheet, his eyes a little hollow, and sweat beaded on his brow.

“There are sewers all over the town,” Hugo mentioned.

“But not a lot of open channels, like this one,” Neil countereded. The quadrat sat silent for a spell, nibbling on their meals and not looking too carefully at one another.

“After class,” Hugo began. He still hadn’t moved to address his lunch, “we can check out the line? See if anything’s down there, maybe Chaddy’ll remember something.”

“Don’t call me Chaddy—”

“Can you come up with a worst idea?” Neil barked. He crushed his wrapped and packed up his lunch sack. “Let’s head into the sewers! Everyone, off to the sewers! We’ll solve this case.”

Tucker coughed. Proper and polite, as always. “We’d be together, like when we go into the woods. And the police had to have searched the area too, so it’s not like someone’s there.”

“I like how you assume it’s some kind of person,” Neil rebuked, voice thick and irritated. “Gee, wouldn’t it be awful if I had to go on living through my next birthday!”

“You’re the only one worked up about this.” Tucker took a bite of his rolled sandwich. “I mean going and checking out the sewer. Martin’s death – that’s terrible. And class is going on like normal. But… this might be related.” He took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “There’ve been missing kids posters going up. Ms. Calico came by the store, and asked if she could put one up in our window. She home schools her kids.” None of the three moved or spoke. “That’s the second one this month.”

Chad looked to Tucker. “But you said—”

“Before they told us about Martin.” Tucker looked to Neil. “We shouldn’t have a worry. We probably won’t even see anything. And, we won’t spend more than an hour worth—”

In a brisk move, Chad hefted up his sack and rushed back towards the school front. He dove directly through children hand in hand, spinning and swing arms – he knocked over an taller boy on his warpath.

“Goddamnit! Look what y’a done!” Neil lurched up, but Tucker snatched his arm.

“Let him go! Let him run off some steam, or think.” No further word or action was required to solace Neil; he settled back down, and returned to his meal. The kids in the school yard were quickly recovering.

“You still want to check it out?” Hugo prodded.

“Mm. Yeah, as soon as we get out.” Tucker look at Neil, and waited. “You don’t have to if you’re that scared.” Hugo began low clucking, but didn’t appear to be enjoying the mockery. Tucker reached over and shoved Hugo over.

“Someone should probably go,” Neil mumbled. “Make sure you don’t make more bad choices. Safety in numbers.”

“Yeah,” Tucker sighed. He checked the school yard, and ideally listened to his peers sprinting around on the open field. He wanted everything to go back to the way it was, before Sterling ran away. He was the only child of his parents, but he still felt for Chad. Maybe because he didn’t have younger siblings to annoy him, made him receptive of Chad’s presence. Chad was practical and easy to hang around with, even if he was in a mood. Getting bumped to eldest sibling status crushed some of the childish naivety out of him.

“Yeah,” he repeated, when the school bell began to chime.

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