#(only to just end up with darkness that had time to steep and like obviously cant undo what they did experince)

[godzexperiment]

okay but not situations where nix messes with things he really shouldn't (ie: you might be too close to death for most, but I could attempt to pull you back from the brink)

[valandhirwriter]

Snippet fresh from last night

Usually I don't share snippets that I just wrote, but as a certain someone is going around whining again, I decided to put out something that is actually fun. @tigerlyla-of-metinna and @laurikarauchscat, this is especially for you, as you were impacted by the latest wave of nastiness. @regis-favorite-raven knows the story idea already, because we talk story ideas every chance we get. This is a story beginning, who knows where it will lead.

Watchers and Hunters

Hello, hello, is there

Someone there who cares

For godforsaken souls

And godforsaken men?

Is there someone there who cares?

(MonoINC: Across the Waves)

Duny stumbled through the forest, hand pressed against his wounded flank, trying to duck behind bushes and boulders. Behind him, he could hear the baying of the hounds and the creaking of branches as the hunters followed him deeper and deeper into the forest. His three months of relative safety, hidden on an almost abandoned estate just south of the Amell Mountains had found their abrupt end through betrayal. Of the very few loyalists remaining another had decided that it was time to buy himself influence by betraying him to the Usurper. Duny had been warned, Ardal aep Dahy had again learned about the threat and warned him, but also letting him know that it was too dangerous to do anything more for him. Early in his flight, he had helped another man, saved him in fact, but had been forced to move on, once he had tended to his wounds. He was on his own, his feet carrying him further north, hopefully away from the hunters, hopefully, he would reach Cintran territory just soon enough for them to pull back or run into a Cintran border patrol. No such luck was forthcoming at the moment. 

The baying came closer and he could hear the sound of hooves, the hunters were catching up to him. Desperately he leaped across a boulder, racing uphill, deeper into the mountain forest. The huge trees offered little cover, and the underbrush wasn’t yet fully green, so he could not hide. The air burned in his lungs, as he reached the hillcrest, and looked panicked for a way down, the hillside was steep, and the woods stretching ahead of him, like an endless sea. Carefully he stepped downwards, maybe he could find an overhang, to hide under. 

The soft wet earth gave way under him and Duny lost his footing skidding downhill, his body thrown against rocks and bushes, unable to stop the tumbled until landing hard inside a mountain stream, the icy water soaking his clothes. The greater shock although was the head of a horse, standing beside the water to quite obviously drink, with a second horse only a few steps away. Beside the horses stood two warriors, one of them seemingly ready to go for his weapon, while the other had his blade already in hand, both of their eyes were trained on Duny. 

His stomach lurched, they had found him. The man with the sword was of medium height, appearing still tall to Duny’s eyes, with short dark hair and a short cropped beard, eyes hard and distrustful. Duny would have been frightened of him already, had his companion not been even scarier. Seven foot tall, broad shoulders, packing heavy muscle, with long slightly unkempt brown hair, and hands like paws. He didn’t need a sword to be scary. In broad daylight, Duny had no hope they could not see what monstrosity had just fallen into the stream, even if they were not with the hunters, who seemed to be on the other side of the hill at the moment. 

Duny scrambled backwards, falling over his own feet and landing in the water again, panic rising inside him. “Make it swift, please,” he whispered. He had been in a torture chamber once, he had no wish to repeat the experience.

Strangely the warriors did not attack him, nor did they show any fear or shock. The tall one looked up, his chin pointing towards the hill. “They after you?” he asked in Northern Common.

Duny had learned the language as a boy, a Prince had to understand the tongue of the neighbouring countries, but he had never had reason to use the language so far. “Tá, ceapaim… yes,” Duny struggled to use the correct tongue. 

The tall warrior suddenly advanced, faster than Duny could see, grabbing his arm, and pulling him out of the water, pulling him to their side of the stream. “Get behind me,” he said, his voice a deep resonant baritone. 

The next moment Duny saw why: hooves thundering came their way, the riders had moved around the hill and came towards them. Their hounds first baying, but then falling back and whining in fear. Surprised Duny watched as the huge hunting hounds slunk back behind the riders, who halted their horses in a few steps distance of the two warriors. He searched their ranks and his heart sank. They were led by Islwyn of Betws-y-Coed, and he hated Emhyr’s family with a vengeance. 

Still Islwyn stopped his horse and raised his to signall the other riders to follow suit. “I have no quarrel with you strangers,” he said in Northern Common, “that one,” he gestured distainfully towards Duny, “is a fugitive from Nilfgaard, with a high price on his head. Let us have him, and the coin will be yours. How do 5000 Florens sound?” 

Duny bit his lip, the sum was large enough to entice much wealthier people, and these two warriors were most likely mercenaries, who wouldn’t say no to easy pay. He peered around, assessing where to run, when the tall one spoke. “Fuck off,” he didn’t waste any more words on the riders.

“Look around you,” Islwyn replied, seemingly unfazed, “we are a dozen men, and you are two. Why seek a fight with us, over a boy you just found?” 

The smaller one gave him a sardonic smile. “Forgive my comrade here, for not being a man of many words,” he said, in almost cultured tones. “What he meant to say is: Go fuck yourselves. There is a cave a mile east of here, that we can recommend for such activities.” 

Duny felt his mouth fall agape, when he heard the rude recommondation spoken in perfectly calm tones. Islwyn’s eyes widened, he obviously was shocked by the rudeness too, but he reigned his temper in, with visible effort. “This is my last offer, give us the boy and live, resist and you will die.”

The tall warrior slowly drew a long dagger, flipping it around in his hand. “Why don’t you come here, and we insert this into your pert little ass, see if you can take it like a man?” he asked, and Duny shuddered, was it possible that the warrior was spoiling for a fight?

Islwyn certainly was, because he spurred his horse forward with a scream, into attack. The dagger left the warrior’s hand, hitting the horses’ neck, making it fall, colliding with a second rider, pulling him down, a third horse falling over the corpses. The tall warrior sprinted towards them, drawing his blade, Islwyn never came back to his feet, he died from an almost casual hit to the neck, a second rider followed. The tall warrior moved with a speed and strength that seemed impossible, he whirled between his attackers, weeding them out faster than Duny could count. One, another, a third… 

It was over before Duny could truly process all that had happened. The last hunter was brought to his knees and beheaded with one clean strike. The tall warrior stood, his breath even, he wasn’t even panting and his eyes went to his comrade. “I know, you are still hibernating, Ivo, but why don’t you wake up and give me a hand here?” he asked. 

The smaller man - Ivo - barked a laugh. “You were having fun, Axios, and you are always itchy after a winter. And what do we want with those idiots? They were crow bait now.”

Axios had sheathed his sword and pulled Islwyn’s corpse from under the horse, swiftly searching him. “Mighty fine, cowbait, there’ll be coin, clothes, and boots, at the very least. Look at the mite over there, does he look well geared to you?” he asked. 

Duny felt the heat rise in his cheeks, about the offhand comment. “I am not a mite,” he said, pride refusing to swallow mockery. He might be a cursed abomination, but he would not be belittled. 

“No, you are a cute little hedgehog,” Axios replied, “and you won’t get far in those rags you are wearing,” 

Instinctively Duny touched his chest, the clothes he wore, were still the ones, he had worn three months ago, when he escaped. They were his last link to who he had been, to all that had been washed away in blood. He wanted to dispute the words, but instead he sneezed loudly, as his body began to register the icy wet clothes. 

“C’me here,” Axios got up, waving Duny close, as he slid his own cloak, a thick monstrosity made of fur, from his shoulders and wrapped it around Duny. “There, that’ll keep you from freezing, until we have you at a fire. Now Ivo - move it, or I will leave you in some heap of leaves to sleep for another month.”

The two warriors swiftly searched the corpses and saddlebags, collecting gold, a few other items, weapons, clothes, a saddle-roll, working were swiftly, they soon had stashed the haul on one of the horses. “Come,” Axios gently nudged Duny to approach one of the horses, it was a huge hairy animal, with a shaggy mane, shaggy tail and shaggy fur. It huffed, when he came close. 

“Horses don’t like me,” Duny said, knowing how this would go. He had tried to steal a horse, twice, and learned that tame animals disliked him with a passion. 

“He knows better,” Axios replied. “Get on the horse, let’s be gone when they friends show up, and they are only a mile out.” 

Duny mounted the huge animal, and Axios followed suit, mounting behind Duny. One arm wrapped around Duny, securing him, while the other hand took the rains, before he clucked his tongue, and the horse began to walk. Soon both horses were trotting steadily along a winding paths deeper into the mountains, miles and miles falling behind them, as they moved further and further away from where they had found Duny. 

Duny had closed his eyes, he was still shivering, but the warm cloak helped a lot, as did the warm arm, securing him. He wanted to sleep, let his exhaustion claim him, but he couldn’t. Since his escaped he could count the moments when someone had honestly helped him on one hand. And that was counting the man who had given his life to allow Duny to escape at all. Those others who had helped him, all had known who he was and hoped for some kind of reward or leverage later. The two warriors, Ivo and Axios, made no sense in that regard. 

“Only Nilfgaard after you, or the bitch in Cintra too?” Axios asked after a while. 

“Nilfgaard,” Duny replied, his mind racing. “I don’t… I am not sure whether Cintra would count too. I do not know what happened recently, whether they ventured forth with the trade agreement, and what conditions they added. There might be a bounty in Cintra too, depending on that.” 

Ivo made a face. “Tell me again, Axios, why we had to rescue this little chatterbox?” he asked with growl, before looking a Duny. “A simple: I don’t know, would suffice.”

“But that’s incorrect,” Duny found himself saying. “There are factors that weight both ways, after the Uprising. Involving Cintra into the hunt for survivors, would yield a valuable ally in the North, but also expose the names of Nilfgaards enemy’s to the Queen of Cintra, which in turn could be used against Nilfgaard. Not sharing that information on the other hand, would guard Nilfgaard’s secrets but would almost certainly open chances for people to escape north.” 

“Oh… shut up, will you?” Ivo grumbled, and Axios gently squeezed Duny’s arm with an amused chuckle and Duny fell silent.

They rode for hours, until the sun began to set in the west and the two horses stopped near a small mountain pond. Looking around Duny wondered how far from people they were, it felt like they were deep in the woods. In spite of still feeling cold he began to make himself useful around camp, all too aware that he was dependent on the two warrior’s good graces. When he returned from refilling all waterskins at the stream feeding the pond, a fire was merrily burning, and Ivo was busy throwing something into the small kettle hanging above. 

Axios waved Duny closer. “Let’s get you into some decent things, these mountains aren’t as warm as the plains down there,” he said, unrolling the things he had taken from the dead men, or extricated from their saddlebags. 

Duny was hesitant to get rid off his damaged clothing, a part of him wanted to hang on to it, to somehow keep that last connection to his home in existence, but he knew it was useless. He needed warmer clothes, and sturdier ones as well. He nodded slowly, and took the things Axios handed him. The black tunic must have belonged to the elf among the hunters, because it fit Duny’s fine-bonded frame well enough, the breeches were a tad too long, but otherwise serviceable and the boots Axios handed him, surprisingly worked too. 

A sudden wave of pain hit Duny, and he crashed to his knees, as he felt his body convulse and his human form assess itself, as the night came. He shuddered, trying to not make a noise. Huge hands clasped his shoulders, steadying him. “Breathe,” he heard Axios say. “In… out… the pain is just the wind, brushing past you…”

Duny panted, as the pain slowly abated and his human form fully emerged. He looked up, surprised to see Axios face free of disgust or revulsion. Why did he not react to Duny’s monstrous existence. In the semidark warm hazel eyes shimmered softly. The breath fled from Duny’s lungs when he realised what he had not seen before. “You are a vatt’ghren, a Witcher,” he said softly. 

“And the little Nilfgaardian get it,” Ivo replied wryly, while stirring the cauldron. “Name’s Ivo of Belhaven, School of the Bear.” 

“My name is Axios,” the taller one said, “also school of the bear. And what might your name be?” 

For a moment Duny was tempted to say the truth, to just admit who he was and be done with all of it. He was dead anyway, crow-bait as Axios had called the hunters earlier on. But no, he wouldn’t give himself away. “Duny,” he replied. It was a name from a story he had loved, and that he had chosen, because it made him feel somehow a little better.

“Duny,” Axios replied, “why don’t we go over, eat a bite, and you can tell us about your curse, or spell gone wrong, if you like.” 

Slowly Duny followed him to the fire, accepting a jar of soup from Ivo. The hot liquid felt good and only now he realised how hungry he had been. “I’d… I’d rather not talk about it,” he said softly, after a while. “You’ve seen what it does. I am human at night, and a monster by day. I am grateful you helped me, but… there’s nothing you can do.” 

He was grateful neither Witcher pressed him for answers. Instead they left him to eat in peace, Ivo handing him another cup of soup after a little bit, and with the food in his belly, Duny began to feel tired. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep by the fire, warmly snuggled under Axios’ fur cloak. 

[pinkpruneclodwolf]

For the Malleus thing: it's overexposure on my answer. Malleus is a main staple character that has a lot of fans compared to say: Cater or Kalim. Of course, Octavinelle matches in turn for numbers with Malleus but Malleus also has a dedicated shipping fandom that are so attached to him that they cause... problems.

Shipping is fine in moderation but when I see enough people start fighting that this fictional character is "their" man and not someone else's OC, I know Malleus has had too much time in their head or something warped him. I like shopping and run a sort famous /Reader blog for all genders, and that gives me insight into who people kinda want on that side and Malleus is very famous. Shipping aside, Malleus also has such diehard fans that... they forget his CHARACTER!

Malleus' fandom is the same as Octavinelle (woobifying/creeps flooding in) and now bleeding in Savanaclaw (creeps flooding in/racism against dark skinned OC's): the story is revealing that Malleus isn't gap moe and is an actual character that can do wrong, and hurt people... and they HATE that. I've seen four people drop Malleus like a hat because he was didn't understand what he was doing wrong in the Dorm Uniform. Malleus has had a rigid set of understanding of creatures and it's very straightforward instead of nuanced, and even Malleus admits that he wants to try and projects that his advancement on human understanding will only take 100 years. That's fair considering he's been in the human world for 3 FREAKING YEARS, guys. I believe if we were given how long it took Lilia to understand a human customs outside of Silver experience, it'd not do anything to people's opinions. Because to them, it's not about him learning. He doesn't know so he's obviously a BAD CHARACTER, that must be it! "He's a jerk and now I'm going to do a 180° on my own Malleus opinion that is all over my blog and gave my followers whiplash, starting a bashing war by actually not doing a proper review of his character!" No. That's unfair. Why?

Malleus is an interesting character and I'm so sad that he's gone so far into the fandom that he's been woobified and there is no self warn anything: no disclaimer that this is a more romantic Malleus compared to the canon one, or people admitting that Malleus might be OOC as his character reads so incomplete because they write him so... wrong? I think my real problem is the tail end of fandoms that radicalize and throw Malleus around as something he isn't, and that's okay to a certain degree (my /Reader blog acknowledged that Malleus is a canon as I can do without just being Readers buddy, which he's more likely to be in canon). It's just... people are too radical, I think.

I fear the wars this man will create when Chapter 7, Part 3 shows he's got more flaws then he does. I can see a Rook Chapter 5 happening. :(

But I'm not all pessimistic, I know the right fandom should be encouraged and the minority should be ignored, so I know whatever Yana/Aniplex gives us: I support. I know common artists, writer's, editors are all doing fine and I interact normally, but I hate the "drop him" culture these games have in the EN side.

Oh no I get you.

Malleus by himself is an interesting character in his own right, without needing to be steeped in fanon.

I do think that because he was left to stew on his own with pieces of content to hold Mallelikers over, people ended up turning him into their own character to fit their own needs.

And in some ways it's kinda meta because that was something he was trying to escape his whole life so that he could be welcomed by those around him.

I'm usually not as steeped in the fandom as I used to be what w college and stuff creeping up but I'm genuinely sorry that everyone has experienced some form of harassment from both sides of the fence bc one hc didn't fit the other's or the argument of whether his character is good enough or not.

It's disheartening to see others get jumped because of how strongly they feel towards a character and its horrible that you have to endure that on your page anon.

I'm honestly praying Malleus doesn't go through what Rook went thru because that moment is still be felt to this day due to how decisive it was 😭😭😭.

And it's funny bc Rook not choosing Vil was supposed to give Vil growth, who was so hard pressed on winning to the point that he'd contemplated killing his opponent and subsequently Overblotted. The point was that Vil wasn't supposed to win because it'd feed into him. It was a lesson.

With Malleus' Dorm Vignette, I'd argue that him summoning the other dorm leaders was a long time coming considering they weren't doing any affirmative actions to ensure that Malleus could attend. He brought them to him because it was the only thing he could think of; he's not good with technology, time is a construct to him, and no student is willing to approach him for the fun of it unless it's to get smth out of it. It was mostly an act of burning the village to feel its warmth tho it wasn't out of malicious intent.

In the end I can reason he was still partially wrong, he only considered brainstorming with Lilia [and Lilia, a jokester that he is, encouraged him.] Instead of talking to Crowley.

But I do think that Malleus being the poster boy has led to him being so oversaturated in the fandom that a lot of his personality is lost in translation once more.

I liken it to Ace Trappola. Fanon!Ace played up his worst traits to the max without allowing the nuance of his character growth to shine thru. Luckily, Ace is in the recovery period but the same cannot be said for Floyd 😭😭😭.

My most basic observation is that popularity takes the nuance out of characters and I'm hoping against hope that Chapter 7 shows a new side of Malleus that sets the record straight bc as someone who loves character studies watching Malleus get chopped and screwed is 🥶🥶🥶.

[elliepassmore]

All That Consumes Us review

4.5/5 stars Recommended if you like: ghosts, dark academia, light horror, college settings, mystery, LGBTQ+ characters Big thanks to Netgalley, HarperTeen, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review! This book actually surprised me with the opening, which was different than what I'd expected. That being said, a lot of the other plot points in the book were very predictable and it wasn't hard to figure out what was going to happen/going on as soon as the first threads were laid. I was actually kind of surprised Tara didn't put it together immediately. That being said, Waters does a good job with atmospheric writing and that really came through here. Before we're even inducted into Magni Viri, the world of Corbin College is set with fog and prestige and tradition. Magni Viri adds an additional layer to this, and the Victorian mansion is both elegant and creepy. The natural surroundings come into play somewhat too, with cicadas, bats, forest, and fog all playing at least somewhat of a role in creating the mood and setting. I'm personally a fan of eco-horror and Southern Gothic, so I would've liked a bit more of nature/setting as a character, but the genre of this book is dark academia, so what's here fits the bill. Magni Viri is, as mentioned, steeped in secrecy and tradition. Only people who have been inducted have set foot inside the dormitory and there are whispers around Corbin College that students in Magni Viri perform dark rituals. There's a good balance in Magni Viri of the academically/artistically intense and the supernaturally strange. The students are talented and are dedicated to their fields of study, sometimes to an unhealthy level, which contributes to the vibes of the story. Our main character Tara has the fortune of being inducted into Magni Viri with a concentration in writing. Her dream is to become a writer and so being able to join should be everything she wants, but imposter syndrome and strange goings-on plague her as the semester progresses. It kind of bothered me how insecure Tara was. She applied to a prestigious academic group and wanted it with everything she had....but then she constantly doubts her own worth and questions her place. Like, you either think you're good enough for prestige or you don't, you can't waffle in the middle. Luckily, this is also kind of the advice Tara gets from other people, though she isn't too good at following (or trying to follow) it. Tara seems at least a little more confident by the end of the book, which is good, but it would've been nice to see it a bit earlier. There's a bit of an ensemble cast, but the main people are Penny, Tara's kind-of girlfriend, and Wren, Tara's roommate. Jordan, Neil, and Azar are other members of the freshman Magni Viri class, and senior Quigg comes up a few times we well. Most everyone is immediately inviting to Tara, though Neil is a bit standoffish at first. Wren is a music major in Magni Viri and is a good roommate/friend, but clearly has something else going on. Wren is one of the catalysts for things getting started plot-wise. Penny is in Magni Viri studying bats and she and Tara are almost immediately close. Penny helps Tara to understand that she isn't the only one in their prestigious program to have a disadvantaged background and she acts as somewhat of a stabilizing influence on Tara while also helping to increase her self-confidence. I will say, as annoying as it was, Tara was justified in being angry at people for hiding things from her. Obviously it was a bad situation all around, but I still kind of think they should've tried harder to tell her what was going on. One of the downsides of this book is that all the characters are just sort of there. They each have their own personalities and quirks and what not, but I didn't really feel like we got much past the surface level for any of them. Having read the entire book, I don't really have a ton to say about anyone, which is kind of disappointing for a book with an ensemble cast who all end up caught up in the plot.

[moreeverydaythings]

Day 1689 - Monty got a raw deal

The next in my occasional series of station to station walks is from Knighton in Mid-Wales (although technically whilst Knighton is in Wales, the station is in England!) to Crick (which is just entirely in North Wales). This is continuing my walk along the Offa’s Dyke Path.

I last left the Offa’s Dyke Path on Day 1479 in Knighton. I would be joined again on this 3 day walk to Crick by my friend R. When we finished the five days’ walking from Chepstow to Knighton on Day 1479, we agreed we’d make some changes for the next section of Offa’s Dyke which included getting somebody to carry our bags (apart from a day rucksack obviously) and that we’d do it in winter to avoid over-heating again.

So here we were on a freezing frosty February morning setting out from the wonderful Horse and Jockey pub just as dawn was breaking which was around 8:15 in the morning.

This walk would not only provide the challenges of winter walking but it was also a race against the clock! We calculated that, notwithstanding that the sun may have set, we would have enough light to walk until about 5:15 each day. After that it would be pitch black! Luckily I had an app on my phone which would know our route , current speed and therefore be able to calculate our arrival time (provided we maintained that speed). What we’d already worked out without the app is that the day would be tough and that we could not afford any navigational errors.

The first part of the walk took us through the pleasant border town of Knighton. I’d seen on the map that we would need to make a right turn along a path before we reached the end of Knighton. I knew I couldn’t miss it but, of course, we did! We reached the top of a small hill at the end of Knighton and I’d new we’d gone wrong and we were only 20 minutes into our walk. Somebody shouted to us that if we were looking for the Offa’s Dyke Path, it was back down the hill the way we’d come. We found where we should be but there was no sign so we could not be 100% sure. We checked the app and decided it must be the right way.

We walked along a river bank. Whilst it was freezing cold, the hard frosty ground made walking easy and, for a city dweller like me, it was a heady experience to breathe in the sharp, clean early morning air. We passed a sign over a stream where you could stand with one foot in England and one in Wales. Despite our lost time we, of course, had to stop for a photo opportunity.

Lungs filled with clean oxygen for a change, we flew up the first steep climb out of the valley. Our app showed we had another 6 steep climbs that day. We were rewarded with beautiful winter sunshine at the top and we stopped for a couple of minutes to catch our breathe and to admire the frosted valley below. Congratulating ourselves at our awesomeness, we flew across the plateau and our app was telling us we’d be finished by around 4:30 so in plenty of time before it became dark.

We then hit climb 2. It was so steep. Head down, thighs burning and just keep going. At least at the top we reached the half-way point on the whole of the Offa’s Dyke Path – Prestatyn 88.5 miles in one direction, Chepstow 88.5 miles in the other direction.

Then to climb 3. Halfway-up the hill we were climbing I could see that the path branched; one route went to the left around the hill, the other went verticaly upwards. I optimistically shouted to R that this hill wasn’t too bad as we would soon be taking the left hand fork. Turns out my optimism was misplaced. The path went vertically up. It was so steep it was almost impossible to stand, let alone walk upwards. Somehow we made I to the top. As we were recovering, we both agreed that it would have been impossible to get up that hill had we been walking with full rucksacks. It would also have been impossible to get up had the ground been mud, rather than hard due to the cold. We counted ourselves lucky.

By now I’d given up with the scenery and just concentrated on getting through the next 4 climbs. The descents though were just as bad as you have to resist gravity through your knees to avoid plummeting downwards. The hills though were taking their toll. After the 7 assents and 7 descents the last 4 miles to our overnight stop in Montgomery would be largely flat. However all this ascending and descending had slowed us down. The app was saying a 5:35 finish which would mean we’d be having to walk in the dark. We tried to pick up the pace but we succeeded in knocking only a few minutes off. We really didn’t want to walk in the dark. As it got darker the temperature started to fall off a cliff! My hands were now numb with cold. Yes I could take my bag off, rifle through it and I’d find some gloves but every minute counted now. Cold and exhausted we arrived at our hotel in Montgomery at 5:30. We’d avoided total darkness but only because the last 10 minutes had been lit by street lights. Tomorrow we’d be walking further and we couldn’t afford any mistakes or any time for resting on the walk.

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day 10: In Which I Walk Until I Am On Fire

I awoke without having set an alarm - which I figured may be a mean thing to do to my dorm-mates whilst I was in no substantial morning rush - for what, I think, must have been the first time this trip. The hostel in which I found myself was still very comfortable and quiet and everyone in my room seemed, bizarrely, to match that vibe, too. Just to be sure I wasn't going to be annoyed in the night, though, I had still jammed my gummy earplugs far deeper into my ears than was medically recommended and so spent the first five minutes of my day digging around, attempting to retrieve them from my inner canals whilst silently mourning the word “ow” as I strangled the huge clumps of hair that had become tangled in them during the night.

Having been marginally successful in that task, leaving only a few tightly clumped flecks of silicone still clinging to my ends, I set about getting up and planning my day. Not that I really needed to put too much thought into what to do - everybody to whom I have ever mentioned that I was coming to Granada from my parents, to TripAdvisor has said some combination of the following phrase: “ooh, that will be nice, obviously you have to see the Alhambra” and while usually that level of unanimity would immediately make me avoid whatever has been suggested to a witheringly comprehensive degree, walking, most likely, along a ring road without a pavement in exactly the opposite direction of the attraction while quietly whispering “yeah…I'm a travel rebel” under my breath, the Alhambra did actually sound kind of dope, so I decided to go there anyway.

The Alhambra, which for the uninitiated is a big hilltop fortress complex, made my some Islamic fella in the 1200s and apparently of massive Islamic historical significance, is a cunt to buy tickets for. The website for it (or at least the one that seemed the most trustworthy - there were loads) was pretty broken and unintuitive, spitting my out of the purchasing process about five times and then, when I had finally managed to get tickets in the basket, not allowing me to select an admittance time for the Nasrid palace until I backed out of the process entirely and selected another day for my visit. Unsure if that was because the site was fucked or all the available slots were filled and it just hadn't deigned to tell me or allow me to progress without one, I reassessed my options and instead bought a cheaper, non-palace ticket, saving ten euros in the process. Get fucked Nasrid palace. And Ryanair.

I set out on my walk to the fortress, taking the opportunity to have an actual look at Granada, properly (as opposed to just walking to a supermarket in the dark) and…yeah, it.seems quite nice. I don't think I've quite worked out the vibe of the place fully, but it does seem very pleasant without being too touristy. Except under certain circumstances of course. This is foreshadowing.

After a brief walk through Granada's busy, though not soul-crushingly so, streets, I began my ascent to the Alhambra, winding past a, frankly, insane amount of tatty souvenir shops in the process. I lost count after the first ten or so, but it must have been half a mile of road wherein every building was a souvenir shop of ever-decreasing quality. I obviously went in them all. 

Soon though, the touristy part of the walk started to dissipate behind me and I was permitted to enjoy a stretch of very steep, but also very picturesque walking

Hey, look at that, there.

I was just starting to relax into the relative peace of my surroundings when I turned the final corner to the fortress and fuck me was it ever busy. Absolutely mobbed, it was. Like, a mob so thick you couldn't even pass through the impenetrable wall of flesh without resorting to coughing quietly behind people, which doesn't sound like a lot, but having to do six hundred and fifty small coughs in a row eventually adds up. God, I'm brave.

Eventually, more just wheezing an empty, ragged breath at people more than coughing by the end, I navigated my way through the throng and found myself at the first checkpoint of three. At this one a surly woman checked to make sure I had a ticket and told me to prepare my passport, which I had been told was ABSOLUTELY VITAL to my.visit and I wouldn't be let inside without one and to make absolutely double triple extra sure was with me when I came on pain of death. 

The next checkpoint has another surly woman in it, who then scanned my ticket, thereby making the first surly woman s job entirely irrelevant. She also told me to ready my passport, which I did.

The third surly woman in my checkpoint obstacle course was the passport checker. At least I think she was - I approached her, passport in hand and she just sighed and waved me through. I'm not really sure what happened, but…cool? I guess? Anyway, I was in. Fuck em.

Of the areas which my ticket allowed access to, I opted to have a look around the Generalife gardens first (which apparently is pronounced “genera-lee-feh” and not, as I had been saying it “general life” which is an excellent name for either a herbal supplement or a corner shop)

The gardens were quite cool, as loathe as I am to use that word to describe some plants. They were very pretty and the view was phenomenal to boot

See?

They too, however, as with the aquarium in Seville, were absolutely rammed up the arsehole with slack jawed tourists. The air was less heavy with them than the aquarium but fuck me backwards in a bin, there were still too many people there. All queuing to take selfies in the exact same spot because, honestly, what better augments this beautifully constructed wonder of pre-modern architecture than your fat girlfriend obscuring half the view of it. Absolutely infuriating and grinding slow to make it anywhere, even walking at a leisurely pace which I reserve only for looking around gardens and when I'm very tired (and today I was both).

I continued through the gardens, which, to be honest, are a lot more impressive in pictures rather than prose, so here are a few

Imagine these with fewer fucking people in them, and they'd be good

And eventually, after a couple of hours, found myself back at the beginning of the route. Half of the complex currently available to me explored, I set about doing the other half: the Alcazar (or Islamic castle, I think? Not pronounced as I had been up until then as “Alakazam”)

The short trek to the Alakazam was choc full of both people who didn't know how not to stop every four seconds in the middle of a crowded public thoroughfare, plodding through tiny street after tiny street of additional, now more expensive souvenir shops all of love locally produced artisanal shite. My feet hurt, I was tired and I felt a little queasy from my delicious, though with the best will in the world, quite badly cooked meal the previous night. I started to wonder if it was actually worth having a go at the fortressy bit of the fortress at all, however being nothing if not both incredibly brave and unwilling to spend money on something I won't use, I pushed on, manfully. 

And I was very glad I did. The fortification ran around the northwestern corner of the compound and, despite the climb, offered some absolutely honking views of the city from its various peaks

It was so good, in fact, that it almost - almost - made having to queue to take a photograph of anything other than the backs of other tourists heads worth it. I wouldnt necessarily call it breathtaking, although there had been quite a lot of stairs leading up to it. They can't all be zingers. But that one was. 

With some reluctance, though also, not an insignificant amount of fatigue setting in, I descended, eventually, from my lofty perch above the city and rejoined my place among the shit munching ground-levellers like the scum I was. By this point it was nearly 4pm and I hadn't eaten, so I stopped to wolf down a lunch of sandwiches I was now incredibly sick of and a small doughnut of which I could never tire and considered, very strongly, heading home. It has been a lot of walking and I felt fucked. I knew, though, that my plans for the next day would take me in entirely the opposite direction from the old town and so, begrudgingly, opted to piece together a little walking tour gradually and gently leading me home as I went.

I wouldn't describe the subsequent walk as ‘blogworthy’, to be honest, but it was, for the most part, fairly pleasant, leading me as it did, to various fountains

Like this'n here!

Churches

And this'n too!

And even a Carrefour express, the most impressive of the bunch, to purchase some auxillary ingredients to recreate the salmony pasta from the previous night, only becoming cloying and infuriating towards the tail end of the sojourn when everyone who has ever existed for in my way, one at a time until they had all had a go.

I returned home to the hostel, my pedometer reading a number so high that the background colour of the app had changed to demonstrate how on fire I was

Ahhhh!

to sit in bed, breathing quietly yet deeply in an effort to let all my rage go, before I done the - apparently - requisite late afternoon nap and bibble combo, until around 9pm, at which point I decided to make food. Not because that's when I got hungry; I'd been hungry for ages, but because that's when I assumed the kitchen would be quietest before it closed for the night at 10:30. The salmon, if your are interested (and you are) was fucking excellent this time. I added more lemon, less parsley and burned the garlic substantially less. It was exquisite and you should all be fizzing with jealousy.

Full of really great pasta and empty of all energy, I then returned to my bunk to bibble - not loudly, but definitely more loudly than anyone else in the room, for the remained of the night, before passing out on my laptop, upside down, fully clothed. 

[blessthisbrckenroad]

The deep nothingness from which Callum began to rouse was the first thing he is really aware of, and some slowly waking part of him found it highly unnerving. Not just because his addled mind could not recall a time when he slept quite so soundly - and he was usually a fairly deep sleeper - but also because of the instant pain settling into his bones long before his mind was aware of why. His heart lurches and speeds, his next breath coming in quickly and catching in his throat as that panic gives way to the pain. Mother of God, his body hurt. His leg, broken and surgically repaired; his head, pounding with a headache the likes of which he had never felt before; his ribs and shoulder, pain shooting through his sides with every breath. And that was not to mention the numerous bruises and lacerations from the various points of impact and the spray of shattered glass.

It was not until the pain settled in that his mind actually began to catch up and the memories - the why - began to seep back into the forefront of his consciousness.

Callum remembered rain. He remembered the way the roads had begun to flood where they dipped and the lightening cracking brilliantly overhead. He remembered Lexi in the passenger seat of his pickup, eyebrows knitted as she attempted to peer ahead through the torrential downpour. Her hand and settled protectively over the curve of her belly, as if the storm could somehow harm their daughter in some way. Callum had advised her that they shouldn’t go out today. The storm wasn’t reported to be this bad, but the nervousness in the animals on the ranch as he cared for them that morning had warned otherwise. They still had a few weeks left. The crib could wait another day or two, but Lexi was so excited. It was the last piece she needed to complete the nursery and she had scoured the internet for the perfect one.

Now their roles were reversed - Lexi was nervous, and Callum was comforted by the fact that they were only twenty minutes or so from home. The fact that almost everyone else had had the good sense to stay off the roads only worked to build his confidence. They would be home very soon and then they could pass the time putting the pieces of the crib together. After, he could make dinner, they would find something to watch while they settled for the night, and then they would read Emma her bedtime story - they started this very early - and go to bed. When they woke, the storm would be gone. It would actually be quite pleasurable and the more he thought about it, the more eager he was to get back to the ranch. He held onto this thought as headlights appeared coming around the sharp curve in the road ahead, and even as the SUV rounded, obviously moving more quickly than they should. They were just about to pass each other, Callum admittedly not speeding but not slowing for the curve itself either, when the SUV suddenly swerved first one way and then significantly in the other direction. No one had time to even register what was happening before the two vehicles collided.

It hit Callum’s side first, coming in at an angle that put the actual point of impact right at the driver’s side headlight and the front end of bother vehicles crumpled against each other. One of Callum’s hands gripped the wheel tight, the other instinctively shooting out to hold Lexi back against her seat. The truck lurched sideways, tumbling down the steep ditch running alongside the road, metal crunching and glass shattering with each turn until it came to land on its passenger side, the two bodies within now unmoving.

Callum woke only twice following that. Once, as someone pulled him painfully from the vehicle. He had tried to look for Lexi, croaked her name, but something was tight around his neck, holding his head in place and the rain blurred what little peripheral vision he had from his vantage point. It was only for a moment, though, and then the darkness crept back over his vision. The second time was in the hospital. All he remembered of it was a crowd of doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists. Someone said something about “the baby” but that was all he heard. As soon as they noticed him waking, the conversation silenced and everything faded once more. Twice, until now.

Something between a groan and a strangled gasp escaped his lips and Callum moves too quickly to try and sit up. The pain in his ribs and shoulder blossoms with the movement, his head pounding with increased intensity as the room suddenly spins around him. Wires pull against his chest, against his arm. Something keeps his leg from moving. A deep sense of dread joins the panic in the pit of his stomach as he good hand searches from the origin of all the wires and lines. He removes two from his chest in quick succession - making the monitor beep in protest - before he catches sight of Isabelle.

// @xbless-this-broken-roadx 

It had been several days since the doctors had pronounced Lexi dead, but the shock of this happening hadn’t worn off. No, it resided in Isabelle as though it were some vital organ she needed to survive. Because the reality of the situation was much – too much – to bear. In fact, Isabelle was still expecting for her to come walking into Callum’s room to check on him, as any stubborn wife like Lexi would if their husband had been seriously hurt. Despite being just as badly wounded, she would have fought to be sitting in the chair Isabelle currently occupied, even if it was for just a little while. 

The monitors beeped incessantly, never quite letting Isabelle forget where she was, yet the heaviness in her heart wouldn’t let her forget either. All she could do was pray. Hold on, Cal, please hold on… They said his chances were good – not great but also it could be a lot worse. Although it should have brought a sliver of comfort, Isabelle still begged for mercy. If the baby couldn’t have her mother, at least she could have her father. At least..

Having been at Callum’s side for a couple hours already, she was due for a break. Tentatively, Isabelle rose from the chair, making her way towards the door. Halfway there, she thought she heard a faint groan and turned her head back towards him. 

[delimeful]

show your fangs (2/2)

warnings: illness, past trauma, threats, arguing, injury/blood mention, dehumanizing language from an antagonist, enemies to friends speedrun edition

-

Janus found the encampment at the southern end of his woods, not far from where Virgil and Elli had parted.

It seemed to be a group of mercenaries, going by the metal-and-leather armor and assortment of scars each of them bore. He didn’t obviously didn’t tolerate human bounty hunters in his forest, but they were far enough away from the woods that if he hadn’t been searching, he likely would have dismissed them as another gaggle of normal passerby.

They didn’t seem to have any intention to get closer, either, only ever glancing in that direction with the familiar wariness or disgust that most humans wore while regarding his sanctuary.

Instead, they were moving along at a moderate, steady pace, with all the assuredness of a wolf running down an exhausted deer. Janus recalled the dark shadows underneath Virgil’s eyes, and felt that the comparison was far too apt.

The forest wasn’t what they’d come for.

Janus’s displeasure made the trees’ branches rattle all the same.

He didn’t waste another moment watching them, twisting the space around him and emerging on the far east side of his woods.

Virgil’s pace had been dogged for the past few days, digging his fingers into nooks and crannies as he climbed and hauling himself over steep ledges, never pausing to sit and rest the way Janus had seen many a traveler do.

(At the time, he’d thought it strange, a waste of energy and disregard for self-maintenance. Now, he wished the path had been smoother, the human’s efforts more fruitful; the distance between him and his pursuers seemed far too small.)

Currently, however, his progress seemed to have ground to a halt. He’d moved since the previous evening, but not far. He was only a handful of yards away from the stretch of ground where he’d previously knelt.

The reason was obvious. Even as he sat with his back pressed against a boulder outcrop, eyes closed and head tilted back, his leg was carefully angled so that there wasn’t any pressure put on the back of his calf.

It had been bandaged, at least, though Janus didn’t hold any hope that the makeshift fabric was particularly clean. After all, his shirt had been sacrificed to make them, going by the missing right sleeve. Days of travel tended to leave behind layers of dirt and sweat, and his current clothes had certainly seen better days.

Janus watched him for a few long moments, and then sent a loose, cold breeze that way, rustling his hair and tugging at his clothes in a silent encouragement to keep moving.

Virgil breathed in deeply, and then dragged himself to his feet, his face twisted into a silent grimace all the way up. He glanced over at the woods, gaze once again landing eerily close to where Janus stood, and then began the arduous process of walking along treacherous terrain with an entire limb out of commission.

In light of the situation, it really wasn’t that surprising that he stopped to lean against a heavy rock only a paltry twenty minutes later. It was, unfortunately, still very frustrating to watch. Janus sent another breeze.

They played this game of stop and go for another few hours, Janus peripherally aware of the mercenary party continuing to grow closer, and only when they stopped to camp for the evening did Janus finally relent and stop battering at the human with winds chilled enough to keep him awake and on the move.

He left Virgil to curl up and sleep in peace, following his steps back to do what little he could to make the terrain harsher, less forgiving. Still, even with all his effort, it wasn’t enough to halt the party for anything close to a significant amount of time. They were traveling outside the reign of his forest, his control, and he’d sworn noninterference with human matters.

(The oath had been easy to make, a bitter satisfaction in it. He’d expected it to be just as easy to uphold. He hadn’t imagined anything like this.)

–

When he returned the next morning, unsatisfied with the night’s work, he perhaps made his gale break upon Virgil’s sleeping form a bit too harshly. He repressed a wince at the misplaced anger.

It didn’t end up mattering. The human didn’t stir, not even an inch.

A jolt of electric panic ran down Janus’s spine. He couldn’t see the human’s chest, not all curled up against the stone as he was. Was he breathing?

He stepped up to the edge of his territory, a new sort of alarm spreading through him, but even now he couldn’t shake his suspicion. If he went out there and this was a trap, a long con intended to get his guard down, he could be killed. Along with his own life lost, he’d be leaving the forest undefended, with a group of mercenaries as witness. Spreading the word of a forest full of vulnerable myths would be the least of what they could do.

He should leave the human to his fate. It might even be a sort of mercy, granting him a less painful death. That was something his pursuers surely wouldn’t give him.

Virgil continued to lay there, more motionless than he’d been since first appearing at the forest’s border.

Janus scowled, and stepped carefully past the barrier, his invisibility fading away as he moved past the pines.

If Elli– who had indeed been trekking through the forest with bullheaded determination, asking anyone they saw where they could find the guardian– found their friend like this, the results wouldn’t be pretty. That was the only reason he was checking. It was on behalf of one of his residents.

Besides, there wasn’t much that one human could do to harm him when he was in this form.

(Janus pointedly wasn’t thinking about the few things that one could do.)

He crouched next to the human, his shadow completely enveloping the little figure, and reached out with a cautious hand to prod Virgil onto his back.

At the first touch, his heart jumped. He’d half-expected to meet cold, stiff flesh, but instead found he was practically burning up. He could also feel the chest under his fingertips rising with strained breaths. Still alive.

Alive, and likely suffering from an infected wound.

Janus carefully worked his fingers underneath the human’s back, scooping him into his grip fully with all the gentleness that handling someone so small required. He was well-practiced after decades of handling human-sized myths, but they were also usually a bit more durable.

Virgil was decidedly not, this fact only emphasized by the inflamed skin and weeping pus revealed when Janus pulled back the bandages.

To make matters worse, the wound’s scabbing had dried against the bandages, meaning that pulling it free had caused another fresh wave of bleeding from the long gashes in his calf. The human twitched, the pain finally enough to wake him where being battered by winds and picked up by a giant hadn’t.

Janus forced his face to remain neutral and cold as Virgil’s eyes fluttered open, knowing exactly what the human would see. Even with most of his more monstrous traits tucked away, he still had the pointed ears, slit pupils, and curved fangs long enough to poke past his lips. Those features, combined with the giant form that each guardian was blessed with, were sure to send any human screaming.

How irritating. With a sigh, he curled his hand into more of a cup, intending to pre-emptively prevent any falls from thrashing.

Virgil took a long moment to blink, visibly trying to focus his gaze on his surroundings. Eventually, he seemed to find Janus’s face, more or less.

“H‘lo?” he asked, squinting. “Who…?”

Janus raised an eyebrow; this was possibly the most sedate that he’d seen the human ever. Not the reaction he’d expected. The fever had certainly taken its toll, in a different way than he’d expected. “I am the forest’s guardian.”

Virgil’s face did something, probably an attempt to smooth out into a mask of his own, but only succeeded in going lax enough that every little twitch of emotion was exceedingly easy to read.

Right now, the primary emotion was hurt.

“Not inside,” Virgil replied, and it took Janus a moment to realize it was a promise, rather than a request. “Leaving.”

That was right, the last time he’d been confronted with a myth outside these woods, they’d been trying to kill him. Janus moved his assessment of Virgil’s sedate reaction from ‘weird’ to ‘concerning’.

The human in question tensed, like he was going to try and get up and show Janus that he was, in fact, doing his best to continue away from the woods.

Janus had enough foresight to see how badly that would go, and set two fingers against Virgil’s torso and upper legs, keeping him in place. Jostling that injury by trying to stand would have the human in a world of pain. “I know. You’re not in trouble.”

Virgil’s face pinched slightly in doubt, but he didn’t fight against the hold. He didn’t seem to have the energy to try.

Another moment of hesitation. Janus knew he couldn’t treat the wound like this. Healing was delicate work. He’d have to bring himself to Virgil’s level. Could he?

Virgil didn’t seem concerned with his silence. He curled slightly against Janus’s palm, wrapping an arm around one of the fingers pinning him in place. He was just seeking heat, shivering with the false cold that fevers brought. It didn’t mean he wasn’t scared.

But he was staring up at Janus’s face, still, and there was nothing in that look but idle, hazy curiosity.

Janus hissed lowly to himself, and Virgil’s face went pinched up again as he hissed back, the human version of the sound made even more pathetic by how little force was put into it. Virgil looked confused afterwards, like even he wasn’t sure what point he’d been trying to prove with that.

It wasn’t funny. Janus wasn’t charmed, not by the ridiculous responses or the utter lack of fear.

He wasn’t even fooling himself, at this point. It was his choice that decided whether the human lived or died here, and despite everything, this was one human he didn’t want to watch die.

–

Janus left Virgil briefly to retrieve what he would need to treat him, leaving one glove to insulate the human from the cold stone ground upon seeing how miserably he attempted to cling to Janus’s fingers.

All that was left was to take the form that he hadn’t worn in years. The one that bore the traces of far more memories than his normal guardian one. The one that he needed if he was going to keep Virgil from dying any time soon.

It’s just one human, he told himself, and folded himself down into the shape that had once been his only one, in his life before this sanctuary.

It was like a layer of confidence, of false bravado had been stripped alongside his size. His gait was stiff, his jaw clenched tight, but he forced himself onwards, past the safety of his woods. The only one around to tell on him (to hurt him) was nearly delirious with fever.

He approached with audible steps, which stuttered just the slightest bit as the human turned to face him. He looked undersized in the heap of yellow fabric that Janus had been wearing on a single hand earlier in the day, but from this angle, Janus suspected that the human would actually be taller than him.

Thankfully, for both Janus’s nerves and his own health, the human didn’t attempt to stand up, only staring up at him for a long moment, frozen like a deer in place.

“I’m here to help you,” Janus attempted to reassure, the usual sly silkiness gone from his voice. He’d known this would happen. There was no hiding the scales along his skin or the scars carved into his face. Not in this form.

The moment his voice split the air, though, the tension left Virgil as though it had never been there in the first place. “Y’re back,” he managed, the words coming out sort of lopsided but still legible. He sounded pleasantly surprised, of all things.

(If not his identity, his appearance, what exactly had frightened Virgil about this form? What had made him go still and alarmed when even his giant self hadn’t elicited that sort of reaction?)

Janus blinked, and then shook his head, forcing himself to breach the few meters of distance between them and crouch beside his patient.

Virgil didn’t protest as Janus slowly maneuvered his leg out and into the best position to be treated. He did make a low pained whine as Janus continued the process of peeling the stuck bandages away, but he didn’t lash out or pull away, and the process was eased once Janus had dampened them.

Cleaning the wound was significantly more painful, and this time Virgil did lunge forward, but it was only to grab onto one of Janus’s hands, squeezing it with force as he rode through the pain of the disinfectant.

(Janus continued to wipe away dirt and grime from the wound, pretending that his heart hadn’t skipped a beat in sheer learned terror for a moment there.)

It was a hassle to go through each task one-handed. His grip was borderline-painful. Still, Janus didn’t pull away.

Once the wound had been rewrapped (with clean bandages, this time), all that was left to do was wait for the fever to break. The human could do that on his own. Janus was no longer needed there.

He stared down at the hand gripping his, clinging on firmly even as the human slipped back into sleep after the exhausting ordeal, and sighed a long, dramatic sigh.

There was no harm in sitting here for a while longer.

(He had plenty of memories of gentle touch, of friendly contact. It shouldn’t matter that all of them were from after he’d become a guardian. It shouldn’t matter that in this form, the sensation of a warm hand in his was new and unfamiliar.

It mattered anyways.)

–

When the human woke the next day, his fever had broken. Mercifully, he’d woken before too much of the day had been lost.

He also woke alone.

Janus watched as Virgil climbed blearily to his feet, slow but not nearly as hindered as he’d been before. Watched as he put weight on his injured leg and found that, properly bound and with the application of a little healing water, it didn’t hurt nearly as bad. Watched as he took a moment to stare down at his hand, flexing it open and closed for a moment as though feeling some phantom sensation.

When Virgil set off again, Janus turned away to return to his duties.

The human was healed, and with a blessing set on him that would obscure his trail and make it near-impossible for human trackers to follow, the mercenaries were sure to get frustrated with the tangled, hostile path Janus had so kindly created for them, and they would give up. Virgil would make it past the whole of the forest without trouble.

The problem had been resolved. There wasn’t any need for him to interfere further.

At his side, he kept his own fist clenched.

–

For the next couple of days, Janus forced himself to focus on other tasks, namely requests made of the guardian, of which there was an unending supply.

The only attention he allowed himself to dedicate to the human was a slight awareness in the corner of his mind, tracking his progress as he continued along the perimeter of the woods.

Well. That, and avoiding the repeated requests for a meeting with Elli that other denizens kept passing along to him, often with an unimpressed stare when he completely dodged around the subject.

Ultimately, Elli brought the meeting to him, instead.

Janus was pinged by several of the sanctuary’s residents at once, and he paused only long enough to set aside his current task before slipping between two trees on one side of his forest and emerging from a completely separate set on the other side.

He couldn’t really call it a fight, since one participant was warily backing up, and the other was being forcibly restrained from lunging at them. Still, the intent was clearly there, and against his rules.

“What did you do to him?!” Elli was shouting, voice cracking as they forced it several levels louder than they normally spoke. They’d been lifted clear off the ground by one of the other bystanders, arms pinned to their sides, but this didn’t seem to cool their ire even slightly.

“What’s it to you?” Heidi growled defensively, her hand hovering over the knife strapped to her side.

Virgil’s knife. Ah. Yes, that would do it.

“Tell me!” Elli kicked out futilely, their face twisted up in desolate anger and tears budding at the edge of their eyes. Janus stepped forward before they could reply, his presence immediately drawing the attention of everyone there.

“Curator,” Heidi greeted, already looking frustrated. “This one was not my fault.”

Perhaps normally he would have doubted the claim– she’d started more than her fair share of disputes– but not this time. “I’m aware. You can work out your differences with our new arrival and the company they keep at a later date. Right now, I believe they’re owed a long-overdue conversation with me.”

He held a hand out and Elli didn’t argue as they were lowered back onto their feet upon it. In fact, they hardly even waited for Janus to move them to a more private setting before starting their petition.

They cleared their throat, eyes still red-rimmed. “Curator, th-there’s someone who needs sanctuary from you–,”

“I’m aware of what you want from me,” Janus cut in smoothly, “and I cannot grant your wish.”

“Why not?” Their voice was softer now, but there was still that underlying thread of steel.

“Humans are not granted access to these woods.” That was the simplest way to put it.

“Why not?” Elli repeated, brow now twisted with confusion.

Janus tapped one finger lightly against their leg, the one that had been injured when they’d arrived here at Virgil’s side. “Don’t you already know?”

Elli frowned. “Virgil didn’t do that. He helped me.”

“Do you think you’re the only one here who’s been hurt by humans?” Janus proposed the question without the cutting edge he might have normally given it, and waited for it to sink in before continuing. “Your friend is alive. He’s traversing the edge of the woods, and he’ll be free to continue on as he pleases once he reaches the northern trade path. You can head there and accompany him, or stay here in the sanctuary, but he isn’t welcome.”

The naiad had sagged with relief upon hearing that Virgil was still breathing after all, but Janus’s ultimatum made them shoot him a stung look, so full of betrayal that he had to work to keep his firm expression from slipping.

Elli stepped back, shaking their head in silent condemnation. “Let me down.”

Janus lowered his hand to the ground, and they scurried off as if the touch burned. They turned to face him again before speaking, their head tilted back to maintain eye contact.

“This isn’t the sanctuary we believed in,” they told him, chin lifted up in a stubborn jut. “Not if you’re willing to let good people get hurt because you’re afraid.”

Janus refused to react, still as stone, and Elli left him behind to walk northwards.

‘The sanctuary we believed in.’

What kind of human was Virgil, to hear tales of a forest full of monsters and think of safety?

—

In the end, it was pure luck that he hadn’t been too late.

A flare of magic near the barrier had caught his attention, and he’d followed it curiously, expecting a wary myth testing his magic or signaling for aid.

(He was pointedly ignoring the little voice that told him he could check on Virgil’s process while he was on that side of the woods.)

There hadn’t been a single sign before this moment, no warnings that he could have noted.

Even so, there was no disputing the band of mercenaries that stood before him, visible from the barrier’s edge.

They stood in a loose semicircle, their backs to the woods, surrounding the last person he’d wanted to see there and the only possible person he could have expected. Virgil.

There had clearly already been a fight, and Virgil had just as clearly lost. He was on hands and knees, posture curled in to brace for a blow, and one leg was held up gingerly, as though the wounds on it had been freshly reopened.

Of course they were. He’d been up against five fully armed men, and he didn’t even have a knife.

“… just tell us what we need to know,” the apparent leader was saying in a faux-coaxing tone. He held a glowing wooden trinket in hand, the source of the magic flare up, and Janus cursed his own stupidity. He hadn’t thought bounty hunters would stoop so low as to use enchanted tracking tools, hadn’t accounted for it in his blessing.

The leader stepped closer, impatient with Virgil’s lack of response. “Come now. Everyone can see how quickly your little ‘friend’ abandoned you, and you’re still defending it?”

Virgil muttered something, and when the leader leaned in closer to hear, he lifted his head and spat directly in the man’s face.

The whole group rippled with violent intent, and the leader let out an unamused bark of laughter before backhanding him hard enough that the sound of it echoed. Virgil rocked with the force of the blow and then wavered in place, looking close to passing out.

Janus couldn’t look away. He felt a sharp, icy anger sweep through him, the trees creaking ominously as his temper swelled. Some of the mercenaries glanced over their shoulders at the forest, visibly nervous.

The leader didn’t seem to notice. “We’ll do it the hard way, then. We’ve waited this long, we can stand to keep our patience a little longer, see if a little fresh meat won’t bait out a monster worth our time.” Virgil twitched at that, his breathing going shallow, and the mercenary laughed. He pulled a wicked-looking knife, the edge ridged like a saw blade, designed to hurt. “We might even make a dime off the leftovers if we’re careful. Turns out traitors like you don’t look so different from the monsters on the inside. I’m sure your guts will be convincing enough to scam a few amateurs, at least.”

The wind kicked up sharply, clouds blotting out the sun, his fury creating an unnerving harmony of rustling leaves and hollow whistling, but it was all cosmetic, surface-level. If Janus stayed hidden, it was also all he could do.

But if he went out there, he’d be vulnerable to those mercenaries, to humans that had already proven they had magical tools and were willing to use them.

At the feeling of the breeze through his hair, Virgil lifted his head and locked eyes with Janus, past the barrier, past the veil of invisibility draped over him. His lip was split, one eye swollen and crusting with blood. The other had the unnatural sheen of true sight, the sort of gift Janus had watched humans use to hunt down myths in hiding for ages.

There was no fever haze to obscure the truth this time. Virgil could see right through Janus, all the way down to the paltry, scarred little being he’d been before this forest.

Yet there was no disgust there. No greed. No hatred.

Janus stepped forward despite himself, despite everything.

And Virgil— Virgil’s good eye widened, just slightly, and gave the tiniest shake of the head. The near-unnoticeable motion was belied by the vehemence in his gaze. ‘Don’t come.’

He recognized Janus as the guardian. He believed in the forest’s sanctuary. He wanted to protect it.

The least Janus could do was return the favor.

He let himself fold down into his original form, and dropped his invisibility, looking every bit as vulnerable as he’d been years ago. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The distraction worked, the men who had been watching the trees warily shouting out in alarm, and for a moment every eye turned to him.

Virgil went tense, seeing the misdirection for what it was, but when he angled his body to run, he did it in the wrong direction.

Really, was it too much to ask that Janus’s abrupt change of heart simply be an understood thing? Must he really communicate it himself?

Without breaking eye contact, Janus lifted his arm and held his hand out, fingers splayed. A beacon. A lifeline. An extension of trust.

Virgil reached back.

He darted past the broken ranks of the mercenaries, his pains ignored in favor of one final fight-or-flight rush, and streaked directly towards the barrier, bolstered by the wind at his back.

Janus could see the fear in him, had witnessed it lingering in this human the entire time, but it was abruptly overshadowed by sheer, dumb courage.

It was in the way he didn’t slow down, already intimately aware of how the barrier’s refusal had felt and forcing himself forward anyhow. The way he believed in that outstretched hand enough to take the chance that this was a trick. To leave the crevice. To give up the knife. To be small, vulnerable.

For the first time, the barrier parted for a human hand. For the second, a hand grabbed on to his.

At some point in the middle there, they both realized that approaching at a dead sprint wasn’t conducive to a graceful collision.

Janus stiffened up for impact, a tactic that worked significantly less well when he wasn’t a giant invulnerable magic forest guardian, and Virgil twisted so that his momentum was sent to the side rather than hitting Janus head-on.

They went spinning, a dizzying series of rotations, and despite Virgil’s best efforts to keep them on their feet, they shortly ended up hitting the ground in a tumble of limbs.

“Ow,” the first human to ever set foot in his forest said plainly.

Janus let out a hysterical giggle, one that he would henceforth deny to the end of his days.

They made eye contact, and Janus realized that their hands were still clasped. Virgil offered him a tentative half-grin, but a moment later his gaze shifted to something behind them, and then he was shuffling to cover as much of Janus as possible with his longer frame.

Janus followed his gaze, finding that half the mercenaries had advanced while the others waited warily behind. One had a crossbow loaded and aimed at them, and another had tested their luck against the barrier and was now clutching a burnt hand to his chest.

The leader stood there, a scowl on his face, knife still in hand. “You think you’re safe there? It won’t be safe for long. No magic is impenetrable.”

“Why bother with all that work?” Janus asked, his lips curling into something self-satisfied. “I can let you in right now, should you truly wish to enter.”

He disentangled himself from Virgil, who protested and attempted to follow him to his feet with no success. He was clearly feeling the effect of moving so much while injured. That was fine. Janus could stand and face their opponents for the both of them.

“Oh, but…,” he tapped a finger against his lips thoughtfully. “I should greet you properly, first.”

Between one moment and the next, he was once again towering over everyone there, as vast and implacable as the mountain and its grove. He crouched over Virgil, placing his hands on either side of where the human sat and leaning on them, a show of faux-casualness.

“As the guardian of the forest, it would only be fair to return any intentions you have towards its inhabitants. What was it they said?” He directed the question down to Virgil. “That they wanted to provide fresh meat for those who live in my woods?”

There was a pause, and for a moment Janus worried he’d miscalculated, that this was too much, and then–

“I’m pretty sure they were saying that human organs are pretty valuable if you hand them over to the right people,” Virgil mused, lips tugged up into a smirk. He leaned back against Janus’s wrist, happy to play into the act. “I wonder how many they have between the group of them?”

“We could certainly find out,” Janus practically purred, and what little color remained in the mercenaries' faces drained away. “Please, do come in.”

He moved, the slightest shifting of weight forward, and two of the mercenaries turned and bolted, bravado visibly snapping. The rest, abandoned by their greater numbers and outclassed in every other way, were soon to follow.

Once they were out of sight, Virgil burst out laughing, a hoarse chuckle that immediately cut off with a wince as he jostled his wounds.

“For goodness’s sake,” Janus frowned at the fool, shifting back to give him space but keeping his wrist still to support his weight. “Haven’t you re-opened enough wounds?”

Virgil rolled his eyes, staying right where he was. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea to get the crap beat out of me by a bunch of assholes. Give the credit where it’s due.”

“If they ever show their faces here again, I certainly plan to,” Janus replied, voice saccharine. He then paused for a moment before slowly curling a hand around where Virgil sat. “We should get you treated.”

The human blinked up at him as well as he could with one black eye. “What, I’m… I’m staying? This wasn’t just a one-time, scheme-based entry?”

His tone was forcibly kept light, but Janus could see the badly-hidden hope in his posture.

“You’re staying,” he replied, as trustworthy as he could manage. “If you want. I’ll warn you now, the others may take a while to… adjust.”

Virgil cracked a grin, shrugging slightly as Janus’s fingers moved to support his back. “Hey, between you and the lady who stole my knife, I’ve convinced two out of two people not to murder me so far. My streak could continue.”

“Nobody will be murdering you on my watch,” Janus told him, and then tried to distract from the utter soppiness of that statement by lifting Virgil up. “Besides, you haven’t even accounted for your greatest proponent.”

Virgil shuffled, getting comfortable in Janus’s grip, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Janus said, turning to set off to where he could feel a stubborn presence hiking up the mountain. “I''m certain Elli will be more than willing to counter anyone that wants to trouble you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Virgil brighten at the mere mention of his friend, and knew that he’d made the right decision after all.

[imperatorium]

Ppffff- I love sister imperator and papa nihil because they are the epitome of the “(evil) divorced parents who still occasionally fuck” and the kids have to constantly deal with it and have to do the most long winded response when people ask them if they’re parents are together or not

wbu

See, so, okay. I know it's not uncommon for people to see them as hella divorced but still horny for it and my assumption is that this must make sense for anyone who has come in post-"Kiss The Go-Goat" music video. As someone who came in about a year before that, I had plenty of time to steep in the information we previously had, which was just that a) they're fucking so obviously in love with each other and b) there's some nebulous reason that they aren't formerly together, despite clearly (to me) wanting to be.

I think GoGoat gives nice context as to some shit that's happened between them, but besides that, we have seven other chapters of content and one music video (two, if you're me and headcanon-count "Cirice") showing the hopelessly romantic way they related to one another both in the past and (maybe more importantly) present.

Here's one of my things - despite the Church being a long-lived institution, the events in "Dance Macabre" show that Nihil seems to not have previously had any knowledge or involvement with it. Because I, II, and III are acknowledged as legitimate heirs to the Antipapacy, but Copia, the only one we know has - at least by Clergy standards - been brought in as a third-party is not acknowledged as a legitimate heir, I struggle to imagine that they were children of Nihil's from his previous life outside of the Church. As such, they must have been conceived after his induction into the Antipapacy.

Moreover, Copia is easily seen as the youngest of the Papas, given the other weird canon age/timestamps we've been given - Papa I being in his 70s (I still struggle with this one)/II & III being in their mid-50s circa 2013 and Copia being almost 100% obviously the baby Sister is pregnant with in 1969. So, I, II, & III would have been conceived/born between the events of "Dance Macabre" and GoGoat, but there's also in-character interviews TF has done as Special Ghoul, indicating that each of the other Papas all have different mothers. Maybe you can assume Sister is one of them, but to me that just doesn't track given the way she promotes and dotes on Copia, while putting the others down without much as a second thought.

(Admittedly, I colour a lot of how I see this with an Arthurian tint. Sister is so obviously Morgan Le Fay, Copia is so obviously Mordred to me.)

MY POINT IS, there's something else going on that's kept them apart besides just Nihil falling into rockstar adultery. His moments of rockstar weakness may have been a temporary nail in a coffin, but I have...other (admittedly kind of dark) ideas about how that all folds together. So I do believe there was a bit of a rift between them for a little while, but not an indefinite one.

So, yes. I've always been someone who is drawn to The Main Character's Parents (or Parental Generation) in like 75% of my fandoms, but this one's just like...extra got a hold on me. Over half a century of, at minimum, absolutely longing for each other. The power and legacy she gifted him with. The utter devotion and twitterpation radiating off of him every time they interact. The way she tries so hard to engage him even while she's at her weakest in the hospital. The way his face lights up when her bandages come off. Their little kiss at the NYC tour announcement for Prequelle. The way they look at each other at the end of "Dance Macabre". Her little handgrasp in his direction as she revels (pre-disaster) in watching him perform in "GoGoat". The sheer adoration. Forget Satan, they are each other's religion.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Happy (late im sorry) birthday @aka-indulgence !!! I wrote you a special thing... with one of your special boyos whomst you managed to convert me into loving. I hope you had a fun day!!

Tw; caves, broken bones

You’d stopped screaming a while ago.

There were a lot of reasons- for one, the air in the cave was damp, thick, choking... screaming required you to take a deep inhale of the stale smog and your lungs were already starting to reject it. It was borderline unbearable and you were pretty certain that if you survived this, you’d be choking and coughing for a week at least.

... But that wasn’t the biggest reason. That wasn’t the most important reason you were keeping your mouth shut tight, as you laid on your back in complete darkness, eyes darting around as fast as they could and leg numb with agony.

By this point, screaming was a critical danger that would get you killed.

... The cave just behind the cliff was rumoured to be impossibly deep, to have once contained some kind of legendary terrifying monster that reacted violently to intruders and killed those who didn’t heed its immediate warnings to leave. Of course, there were no modern sightings of this mythical beast, and it definitely sounded less like fact and more like some urban legend designed to keep people away from a dangerous area. No one had ever mapped it... no one wanted to, even the most intrepid of local explorers. The stories (and a healthy serving of common sense) seemed to have prevailed long enough for that particular entrance to just be left alone.

...

So of course, your study group decided it’d be such a good place to spend a Friday night, armed with nothing but half-charged torches, rucksacks full of drinks, and borrowed walking shoes.

You could feel tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, gravity dragging them down the sides of your face as you stared upward into the total blackness. It was stupid to come down here, horror movie levels of stupid- but you just couldn’t say no to them. The study group was the closest thing you had to friends, and you let them lure you into coming along, you’d allowed yourself to be led by your terror of being left out.

... You had no idea how long you’d been lying on your back in total darkness with your immovable leg throbbing with pain, but it was getting clearer and clearer no one was coming back for you.

... So I guess you’ve been left out after all- left out in a cave to die. 

...

A noise. You turned your head, quickly- a familiar blood red colour standing out against the black, closer than last time. Panic jolted through you once again and you grappled with your flashlight, turning it on and pointing it directly at the red; a harsh white circle of light appeared and illuminated a section of the cave. You saw bone and a wide maw of terrifying teeth for a split second before it retreated quickly from the glow in a flurry of movement, disappearing back into the nothingness, an aggravated snarl rippling through the cavern.

...

Your friends, if you could even call them that, seemed to have followed the philosophy of ‘don’t outrun the bear, just outrun the slowest person’. When the monster had attacked your group in the dark, everyone panicked and ran for the exit... and when you stumbled, falling down a steep shaft into what was most likely going to end up being your grave, you became the slowest person.

And the ‘bear’ focused on you.

... It was hanging around in the darkness surrounding you. You could hear it, scuttling, waiting, the terrifying sound bouncing off the walls and coming from every direction at once, you hated how your panic and the enclosed space worked perfectly together to fuck with your hearing. Your only hope was the flashlight you clutched in both quivering hands.

...

You turned to the left, and caught sight of the red again. An engorged, blood coloured orb, slowly moving closer to you like a stalking wolf- it paused when you raised the flashlight, ready to recoil, and you jammed your clammy thumb onto the on button.

...

Nothing.

...

“... N-no.” You said, tiny, voice cracking, shaking the device and mashing the useless button over and over. Suddenly, just like that, the darkness around you had swallowed you completely whole. “No, no, no...”

... 

The monster made the same realisation you had. The flashlight was out of battery. The bloody red eye contracted a fraction... and then, upon realising your only line of defence was gone, advanced toward you.

...

You screamed as loud as you possibly could. You screamed with your whole chest, so hard it ricocheted across the walls and rang in your ears, you kicked your good leg against the ground in a desperate attempt to push yourself away but your heel just slipped on the floor. The sound didn’t deter it- and the eye got bigger and bigger, coming closer by the second, the true scale of the thing hunting you was dawning alongside the panic.

It’s gonna eat me.

The eye was the size of your fist. You could smell something, something warm, its breath, you were seized with unparalleled fear and you blindly swung the useless torch like a weapon. To your shock, it connected- landing squarely on what must’ve been a cheekbone. But it did about as much damage as a pillow would to a rhino and the flashlight shattered into pieces upon impact, with the monster not even so much as flinching.

It was definitely breath, you could feel it in your hair. It smelled like blood. Giant hands moved around your torso, under your arms, and picked you clean up off the ground- and the oh-so-familiar heavy ‘scuttling’ sound of him moving filled your ears. 

S-someone help me!

You punched at his ribs, still ‘screaming' (it was hardly screaming anymore because it was punctured by cracks and thin breaths), the world was beginning to drown out. The sounds and smells and pain were all so overwhelming, the dark and red of his eye were already eating you before he’d even opened his mouth, all you could think about was how no matter how much you didn’t want to you were going to die.

...

Light. Light that wasn’t his eye. It was enough to distract from your shouting, pathetic attempt at making noise catching in your throat. Little glowing rocks- crystals, maybe, they dotted the floor and walls, creating a faint white that was just enough to see by but still filled the world around you with wriggling shadows.

... It was enough to, for the first time, properly see the creature that was taking you.

He was huge; a skeletal upper half, barrel-chested, shoulders twice the width of your own and a heavy sternum with ribs like prison bars. The size of his jaw and thickness of his teeth told you he wasn’t the kind of predator that wasted any time with theatrics; there was no serration, probably no venom, he wasn’t going to be using valuable time to suffocate victims. With a mouth like that he would get right to the point- crushing straight through bone like eggshell.

He was staring ahead. Concentrated.

... Your eyes darted past his skeletal body to the main thing you'd been afraid of seeing; his lower body was a centipede. Giant scar-mottled gleaming brown carapace, trailing off into the dark, massive hooked 'feet' working in perfect undulating tandem to move him effortlessly across the uneven cave floor. You had absolutely no idea how long he was, you couldn't even hazard a guess. No wonder you'd heard his scuttling all around you in the darkness, it wasn't your mind playing tricks on you, he'd literally been all around you- you never stood a chance, did you?

You'd wedged your arms between yourself and his massive ribcage, shaking hands pushing as hard as you could. Despite how obviously little it was counteracting his hold, it was your last way of feeling like you were fighting. Your face and neck ached, your chin was wobbling, your head pounded.. you were a melting ice statue ready to shatter at the slightest push.

You were running out of fight.

... He carried you up, over a lip, into a small alcove. A recessed section of rock, a cave within a cave- a slightly more concentrated cluster of those glowing stones revealed the interior was lined with furs, rags, chunks of sleeping bags, old and well-loved blankets. Some kind of nest.

I’m... am I hyperventilating? you thought, feeling disconnected and dizzy, mind retreating further and further away from your body as a final defence mechanism. Everything’s spinning. 

...

Softness. At first, you thought you’d just gone completely numb... but when you concentrated a little more, you were surprised to find you were staring up at the glow-dotted stone ceiling. 

...

... He’d... put you down. On his nest of blankets? He was hovering over you, breath still brushing your cheeks and forehead... that terrible eye shifted its gaze down your body, you felt like a dinner being surveyed.

... You couldn’t even bring yourself to try and wriggle away. What chance did you stand? Further and further into numbness... am I going into shock?

...

He reached toward your broken leg. You didn't even want to look at it; it hurt so badly. You squeezed your eyes shut, suppressing a sob.

...

Warmth.

A pleasant kind- like you'd just laid the broken limb beside a fire. Tingling faintly... magic? Healing magic? You couldn’t look, you didn’t have the stomach to see just how mangled the leg was, that’d just make it hurt even worse. But it was... 

... Nice.

The warmth was like an eraser. It floated over the leg, fuzzy and comforting, and wherever it floated the pain just... ebbed away. 

...

You opened your eyes again. When he stopped, there was no more pain in your leg. None at all. And he was just... sitting there. Staring at you.

...

“Y-you...” You croaked. The hole in the centre of his eyelight shrank a fraction. The magic felt like it was doing something to you; you could feel your shoulders slowly unwinding, chest relaxing enough for you to take breaths that actually filled your lungs, throbbing head settling down. “... You healed me?”

... Was clubbing him with a flashlight the wrong idea?

...

... He made a sound. Several sounds, actually... soft, throated, deep and staggered... chuffing, like a tiger. Such a gentle noise, for such a giant monster...

...

He seemed to make a decision. With one last little chuff and a nod to himself, his socket lidded... and he laid down next to you. One of his thick-as-your-head arms gently looped over your middle; you were vaguely aware of his centipede body gathering itself into the little alcove, some of it draping lazily over your lower legs.

... Keyword ‘vaguely’ aware. You were so tired, so tired and sick of being in pain, that you barely even wiggled in response to his strange cuddle-like gesture. He was... actually pretty warm... and he smelled like amber and campfires.

...

You were asleep before you could remember you needed to be scared of him touching you- that claws carding lovingly through your hair wasn’t supposed to feel nice.

[enicherry]

On a Snowy Night ☆

The chilled air brushed against the lone Inazuman's pasty skin. It was a welcomed chill, refreshing against his newly acquired burns. Another reminder of what he had lost.

He had anticipated this type of weather, it was Snezhnaya after all, what he didn't expect was the lack of shelter and local villages. All that he could see ahead of him was snow, thick white freezing snow.

When The Cruz first anchored in Snezhnaya, he was welcomed by a small town filled with, what he guessed to be a little less than a thousand residents. The small streets were quiet, the only thing audible was the harsh snowy wind that brushes against the Inazuman's ears.

He silently roamed the streets for a bit, lost. This was nothing like Inazuma. There was no sweet scent of the Sakura blooms, no calming sounds of flowing water from the nearby streams, there weren't even any merchants on the sides of the paths that pestered you into buying their products (this was actually a good thing, though)

After circling the streets multiple times, the Samari eventually found a small clothing shop. The owner was a petite young woman, no older than 30 with bright blue eyes and sickly pale skin. She welcomed the Inazuman at the door, seemingly expecting his arrival. He was also welcomed by a 'ding ding' sound, he looked up slightly and saw a small bell above the door, it was obviously there to alert the owner of customers coming into her store.

He looked around the rest of the shop, quickly glaring at the price tags. One read '25,000 mora. Pure animal skin. Hand crafted by local Snezhnayans' It was a steep price, and the Samari reached down into his red pocket to make sure he remembered his mora. He had definitely remembered it. He let out a silent sigh of relief.

"Don't just stand there son, look around!" The blue eyed woman said loudly, the Inazuman looked over at her. There was something in her expression, fear? disgust? anger? She gave him a fake smile when she noticed his scarlet eyes were looking at her. He shot her a fake smile back.

"Thank you for your kindness" he bowed his head slightly, a habit he picked from living in Inazuma.

He browsed the shelves, trying to look for the warmest attire he could find, not caring for aesthetics. He ended up finding a warm looking cloak, the tag read; '27,000 mora. Pure animal skin. Hand crafted by local Snezhnayans' similar to other tags he had been reading. He picked up the dark coloured cloak, it had some weight to it. The Inazuman brought it to a small table near the back of the store, past all the stuff he had just been viewing. The owner was sitting there waiting for him, he handed her the cloak and she quickly looked over the tag.

"27,000 mora." Her voice carried none of the volume it had moments ago, or the fake excitement the Inazuman had witnessed before, instead she had spoken in a monotone voice, obviously annoyed at something. Most likely himself.

The Samari reached into his hidden pocket and took out some mora, he counted it quickly then put it on the small table in front of the woman.

"There you go, ma'am" he shot her another fake smile.

she passed him his newly brought cloak, and took the mora and walked away into a back room, mumbling something under her breath and leaving the Inazuman just standing there, awkwardly.

'what a unpleasant experience' he thought to himself as he put his cloak on, covering his red Inazuman clothing, and headed out the store.

Marking the start of an unforgiving and tiring journey.

[ayamturd]

brother│sbi family

summary: y/n will always stand by their brothers no matter the hardship or challenges they should overcome in the end.

song: Brother by Kodaline

warnings: angst to fluff(?), cursing, blood/gore descriptions, death, slight spoliers for dsmp

pairing: in-game platonic!sbi family

a/n: i heard this song the other day and knew i had to give it a try (give it a listen!). also, each section/scene change is supposed to show a period of growth for the reader, both in age and confidence wise. as always, pls feel free to comment or give feedback!

wc: (4.1k) - m.list

When we were young we were the ones

The kings and queens oh yeah, we ruled the world

“Techno, wait!” 

“Keep up then, slow poke!” 

Technoblade and y/n were running through the village, laughing like madmen while jumping over the hay bales serving as their mini obstacle course. They were passing the time while Dadza finished his tradings with Wilbur, him volunteering to assist in hopes of exploring the market place. As they continued their chase, Technoblade began to gain a lead; his long limbs giving him a far unfair advantage against his smaller sibling. He was nearing the local well in the town square, and y/n knew they would have to take drastic measure before he could claim victory. 

Quickly assessing their surroundings, y/n grabbed the first product they could snatch off the closest stand. They beamed it at Techno, the potato hitting him on the back of his head, causing him to falter and trip over his hooves. Y/n leaped over him, grin wide when hearing the vendor and their brother yell after them.

“Y/n! What gives?!” Technoblade scrambled up in a hurry, rushing to meet their stride. Y/n only cackled, shouting back, “hey, it’s like you once said, ‘What the ancients called a clever fighter is one who not only wins, but excels in winning with ease.’”

The sun beamed down in the late afternoon, yet y/n was too driven to notice. They reached the center square and rang the bell, signifying their win. “I regret teaching you the ways of Sun Tzu.” Technoblade was panting with his hands on his knees; he had tried to catch up given his fall slowing him down, but ended up running in vain to his defeat.

“Ahh you don’t mean that now, do you?” Y/n climbed up the well and jumped on Technoblade’s shoulders, forcing him to adjust to the sudden weight while they gripped his pink hair. He grunted, “I do if it means you beating me.” Y/n giggled. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll always remember your miserable loss as the origin of my success.” 

“Gee, thanks.” Despite their bickering, the two children held large smiles, snickering while spinning carefree and contently. They tuned out the world, purely existing in the moment while conquering each trivial challenge at a time.

We've taken different paths

“Come on, y/n, you’ve got to let go some time or another.” Y/n clung onto Wilbur’s side, curled into his chest while the lanky man hovered his arms above them.

“Not until you hug me back, you jerk!” Wilbur sighed, pulling them in again. “I already hugged you in the house. We’re not gonna be here for another 10 minutes, right? You know how impatient Tommy can be.”

“Alright, fine you dickhead. I’ll let you go. See if I care the next time you want a hug,” y/n huffed. They pulled away in haste and crossed their arms, turning away from him completely. 

“You’re such a cry baby, s’not like we’ll be gone forever. Can visit and shit,” Tommy spoke up, walking towards the pair with his saddle in hand.

“Shut up, bitch. I won’t miss you anyway, I was talking to Wilbur.”

“Like hell you won’t!”

Wilbur stepped between the two, hand on Y/n’s shoulder and a push to Tommy’s face. “Maybe it’s best that we’re leaving, y/n. Tommy’s obviously influenced you too much.”

“Why the hell you say that like it’s a bad thing?!”

“Ugh, God please no.”

Despite all odds, y/n was the shortest in the family compared to all the boys. They were forced to look up at Tommy while he glared down at their smug face. 

Phil came forward from the house and chose to stand besides y/n. “I’ve only just gotten them to leave, don’t tell me you’re holding them down any longer.” Y/n muttered a small no. Wilbur and Tommy looked offended at the comment, and Phil only chuckled at the sight. “You’ll see them soon, y/n. You know they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to explore, and one day you’ll take your chance too.”

“Yeah, I know,” y/n sighed and leaned into Phil’s side. They were openly pained to have their brothers leave their home, disliking the idea of their family separated, yet they knew they didn’t have the right to stop them from their ambitions.

Phil checked over their supplies once more before patting their shoulders with encouraging words. Giving them room, the brothers mounted their horses and pulled the reins to the East, taking one final glance at their home. They both waved and rode off. 

The sun laid above the horizon, strips of color spread across the sky as night began to fall. Though they were too far to hear, y/n waited a moment before speaking. “Till next time.” 

And travelled different roads

“You can’t be serious.”

“You rather I leave them to die?” Technoblade was packing, grabbing his best weaponry and stuffing rations into his satchel. Although contemplating to bring his armor, he opted out of it in favor of traveling light. Y/n was trailing behind the large piglin, eyes irritated and upset. 

“How can you say that? I’m only concerned on why you think a revolution is what they need right now!” Technoblade spun around at their words, standing above them menacingly. Any rational person would be afraid if it weren’t for the fact that they grew up together. 

“Y/n. You and I both know there’s a reason they called me and me alone. I’m going there to help and do what is ask of me. What else do you expect from all of this?” Technoblade spoke steadily, his chin still raised while his eyes looked down at them. It only angered y/n more. 

“What I expect, Technoblade, is for you to be their brother and help them! Be their brother for once and not just ‘the Blood God’!” Y/n emphasized each point with a jab to his chest. It was rare for the two to fight at all, them being considerably close and maintaining the same idealization for the most part. 

Techno only narrowed his eyes before grabbing y/n’s wrist. “We’ve talked about this, y/n. Don’t act like you don’t understand the difference between ‘the Blood God’ and myself. Don’t act like there is a difference at all.” There was a slight pause as y/n’s eyes widen at their close proximity, Technoblade having had moved closer towards their face.

“… you’re hurting me, Techno.” Glancing down at their hands, Technoblade immediately let go and grabbed his crossbow behind y/n, leaving the room as if the conversation never happened. Y/n was quick to follow him before he left the house. 

They screamed out, “This isn’t right, Techno! For their sakes, you and that tactical brain of yours should realize that at the very least!” Technoblade stopped near the exit and tilted his head to the left, a brief silence before speaking. “If you weren’t so afraid of the world, you could always go save them yourself.”

He slammed the front door close at that, leaving a still y/n in shock at his words. The night was dead quiet as y/n stood there for some time, a ringing silence impeding the air. Phil came down the hallway from his room, tired yet aware of the situation; he was admittedly awake during the argument. “Are you alright, dear?” His voice was soft as he was unsure of y/n’s current emotions, their back to him while facing the front door. Y/n turned towards him with teary eyes.

“No.”

And when you're in the trenches

And you're under fire I will cover you

“Ya’ know what, Wilbur?” Tommy was sitting on a furnace, Wilbur leaning against the cavern walls across him. They were both eating dinner together in the dark, dimly lit and empty space, the only sound coming further down the cave where Technoblade farmed until Tommy spoke up. Raising a hand to chew, Wilbur swallowed before asking a what?

“I’m getting real sick of potatoes.” They both laughed at that, temporarily finding joy in the small joke before fading back into a helpless silence. They were still reeling from their situation; no home, no friends, no government to stand with. While they were in the presence of their brother, Technoblade was focused on their main goal: revolution. Even through perseverance, the brothers couldn’t help but feel exhausted from the efforts, the previous war having taken a toll in spite of the approaching age of a new one.

“I miss home,” Tommy expressed, eyes trained to the ground. Wilbur stared at the boy before looking down at the baked potato in hand. “Me too.” 

A sudden noise came from above, as if someone broke down their stone entrance. Although Pogtopia had gained an underground support from the citizens of Manberg, their location was still undisclosed to the others, secret letters and Tubbo being the only communication. Grabbing his sword, Tommy nodded to Wilbur and headed up the steep stairway. Wilbur briefly looked up and ran to warn Technoblade of a possible intruder. 

Weapon in hand, Tommy creeped up the path determined. Footsteps echoed underground and Tommy paused to push himself against the wall. The light of a lantern glowed ever so brighter with each approaching step behind the corner above. Right as he rose to strike, a familiar voice spoke out. 

“You’re not seriously going stab me now, right?” Tommy’s gaze shot up to see his sibling smirk at his surprise. “Cause that would suck after traveling this whole way to see you idiots.”

Tommy laughed breathlessly in disbelief before shouting their name for all to hear. He ran up to quickly embrace them and pulled them down to meet the rest. Technoblade and Wilbur visibly relaxed at the sigh of the two, weapons dropping to their side.

“You’re here,” Technoblade stated, his eyebrows raised unexpectedly. Expression neutral, y/n only spared him a glance before looking to the side. “I’m here.” 

Wilbur ignored the small tension and walked forward, a soft smile at the sight of them with his arms raised. “Am I still allowed to ask for that hug?” Y/n grinned and let him engulf them in a hug. They squeezed his torso tight while they swayed slightly side to side. Tommy, elated to see his sibling for the first time in practically years, vocalized his excitement loudly behind the embracing pair.

“Are you here to help us fight?!”

Y/n hesitated before turning back to smile wearily, “I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

If I was dying on my knees

You would be the one to rescue me

“You want to be a hero, Tommy?”

The battlefield was suspended in apprehension, everyone amassed on the small platform above the caved in trench. Standing before them, separated by the broken landscape, Technoblade held large, black skulls in each hand. In front of him, two structures of sand guarding his sides. He was perched over them, eyes red in blood-like fury with tusks that pointed in pride and determination. Y/n gaped in horror at the sight, whispering a small no that fell on deaf ears. 

“Then die like one!”

A sudden light blinded the field, Technoblade having had completed the ancient ritual due for destruction. Before anyone could collet their thoughts, a small force pushed everyone back. Strong winds blew as dust covered the the terrain, and from the ashes of white fire rose two mythological beasts with holo eyes and a grotesque body of dark bones. There was a beat of stillness before chaos erupted.

Yelling and panic ensued as some began fighting the monstrosities while others worked to kill those preventing the end. Y/n felt lost as others pushed and pulled them every way. They tried looking for their brothers, crying out their names in the frantic space, but could no longer define anyone in the tumultuous crowd overwhelming them. 

By the time they were able to separate themself from the group, a building hum penetrated from above. Explosions descended around them as they became trapped by the blasts. Arms covered and crouched close to the ground, Y/n was helpless to the wither, and they stared in dread as the creature began to glow to attack once more. 

Before they met their final end, however, colors invaded the sky and erupted against the wither’s side. It roared in rage at the measly ambush and turned to find the source. Y/n was still frozen in the futile position, but was hoisted from behind and dragged up the small crater entrapping them. 

Technoblade let go of their weight once on solid ground again and stepped away immediately. Y/n, wheezing from the realization they could have died, turned to look up at their brother while still laying on the ground. Arms beneath them, they struggled to raise their head to him. 

“Why, Tech,” y/n exasperated, eyes begging for a justification for more destruction beyond that of their recent brother’s death. Tears fell in anguish of the devastation around them. “Just why?”

“Not everyone can be saved. Not everything is worth being saved.”

And if you were drowned at sea

I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe

“Come on Toms, stay with me now.” Pulling with all their might, y/n grappled the thin boy through the water as they fought to swim against the current in the rising dawn. As they crawled onto the sandy shores, the heavy weight of being completely soaked left them restless on the beach. Taking a moment to breathe, y/n gathered their strength before rushing to Tommy’s side.

“Come on, Tommy. You can’t do this to me now.” Y/n laid him completely flat and started to push his chest in rhythmic beats, shoving down as hard as they could to save him. 

He was already incredibly pale from the cold depths of the water, and y/n could only assume he had been in the water for some time before they arrived. 

Every so often they would glance to discern any movement or change but would go back to focusing on reviving their brother entirely. As more time passed and Tommy refused to move, Y/n grew frustrated and speed up their pace harshly, tears clouding their vision despite their resolution. “Please, Tommy. Please. I can’t lose another one of you. Not again.”

With a sudden twitch, Tommy jerked before coughing up water and trembling with the rush of air to his lungs. Y/n looked up to the green horizon and closed their eyes in relief, tears streaming down their cheeks before they reached down to hold the boy close. Gently bring him into their arms and caressing his long wet hair, Tommy continued to draw breaths with his arm hung limply around them. He clutched the fabric on their shoulder, whimpering in a small voice,

“Y/n? Are you really here this time?” Y/n squeezed him tighter.

“It’s really me, Toms. I’m here. And I’m never leaving you again.”

And if we hit on troubled water

I'll be the one to keep you warm and safe

“This is not a trial, Technoblade.” Quackity motioned to the anvil strung above the stage, beaming at the seething piglin through the bars of the cage. “This is an execution. We are going to kill you.” 

Hidden beneath the breath of night while under the effects of the invisible potion, y/n observed from the roof of a nearby house. Although they kept their distance from everyone in their family besides Tommy, y/n couldn’t ignore the apparent ‘Butcher Army’ when they passed through the forest where they were collecting wood, their brother strung behind them as if on a leash. 

Y/n glared at the immaturity of the young boys, despising the belief that more death will create peace in a land built on bloodshed. While their relationship with Technoblade was rough considering their last encounter, they couldn’t deny the fact that he had a right to hold his certain principles and acted out in aggression to the others’ mistreatment; though arguably to an extreme.

Their gaze shifted when the mercenary, Punz, announced his arrival with thrown snowballs and began spreading TNT as an apparent distraction. Deciding to aid in the diversion, y/n pulled arrows out of their quiver and aimed to target the boys when they tried to assault him. 

“Where the hell did that come from?!” Fundy screeched out in revelation after barely managing to dodge an incoming arrow to the leg. Despite all efforts, Quackity realized their intentions and ran to pull the level. As he let out a joyous shout, y/n dropped their bow in fear, eyes trained on the falling anvil before it was meant to strike and scrambled to their feet. To their astonishment and utter relief, a faint, green glow emitted once Technoblade was supposedly killed. The Blood God had escape death. What a surprise.

Y/n watched as Technoblade climbed swiftly out of the cage and followed a green figure mounted on his horse through a tunnel hidden beneath a stone hill. They knew from pass whispers and Tommy’s harsh words that it was the warrior, Dream, having had only seen the daunting smiling face in a blur during the war. They were aware of the torment the man had caused to their family, both in the war and in Tommy’s exile.

Sliding down the tile roof, y/n jumped off the building and maneuvered their way down, ignoring the stare of their imprisoned father on top of the nearby balcony as the potion’s effects started to fade. They noticed Quackity trace the foot steps of Technoblade’s hooves, and stalked behind him as he entered the small hole. Pausing before leaping in themself, y/n looked up to see Dream already staring down at them, arms crossed and in wait. 

He stared at them expectantly, which made y/n’s patience wear thin once hearing Quackity lowly state how he planned to kill Technoblade then and there. Narrowing their eyes in annoyance, y/n gave Dream a final glare and blocked off the entrance once entering. 

They pulled out their axe and treaded quietly down the tunnel before pausing behind the broken wall to an old vault full of chests. 

“—nd I don’t care how long it fucking takes me, or what I have to do to get you, Techno. I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“I just have on question, Quackity.” Technoblade paused as Quackity asked him to continue.

“Do you think you’re enough, to kill me? Even unarmed, with iron armor?” They both ever so slightly gripped their weapons tighter, stance shifted as they prepared to fight.

“You know what? Let’s fucking find out, you son of a bitch!” Their weapons clashed as they dodged the blow from one another. Quackity delivered each blow with blind determination while Technoblade played defense with each graceful side step. Eventually, Technoblade knocked his pickaxe into his face, Quackity yelping in pain and holding a hand to cover the wound. 

When turning his back to move further down the tunnel, Technoblade risked leaving himself vulnerable to the crazed butcher. Quackity stood despite his injury and tried to attack him from behind.

Y/n took the opportunity to run towards him, axe prepared to strike. Before Quackity could turn to defend himself, y/n swung the axe into his neck. Blood instantly pooled at the cut as he struggled to breathe, and y/n ripped their blade from his flesh. He fell to his knees while grasping helplessly at his wound, choking on his blood before falling to the side. 

While they had a distaste for violence, unlike their brother, y/n couldn’t excuse the attempted murder of their family by any means. 

Technoblade stared in reverence, eyes darting between Quackity’s slump figure and his sibling covered in an excessive amount of blood from the attack. Y/n stepped forward and grabbed a lead from their belt, having previously found it abandoned in the snow. No words were exchanged as they silently pulled Carl through the sewer system, blood casually staining the water as they walked through. Technoblade only spoke once they reach the surface.

“Pog.”

And we'll be carrying each other

Until we say goodbye on our dying day

“Are you alright, y/n?”

Broken sobs become shuddered breathes as y/n hears the voice of their late brother. They lifted their eyes from beneath their arms that held their legs together while pushed against the very corner of the room, their current position reminding Ghostbur how small anyone could look when upset. Ghostbur slightly frowned at their lack of response, floating closer to them to observe their tears, lighting the space slightly with a soft glow. 

“What’s wrong?” Despite the innocence behind his echoed voice, y/n couldn’t help the pain from hearing his concern. “Nothing that matters, Ghostbur. Nothing that anyone could fix anyway.”

Ghostbur didn’t like that response, refusing to believe that sadness could exist without a solution to bring an end to despair. He reached into his pocket, hands carefully holding some dye out towards y/n.

Y/n tilted their head in confusion, tears having stopped running but still present. “What is it?”

“It’s blue! Here, here, take some.” Ghostbur placed the colored substance into their cupped palms, explaining its significance with a gentle smile. “See, when someone is very angry or sad, the blue sucks away all your sadness and turns blue! And what you can do, is you can throw the blue away, and that’s all your sadness gone.”

Although strange and futile, y/n couldn’t help the smile form on their face from Ghostbur’s clarification. Ghostbur gasped excessively, causing y/n to chuckle lightly. “It worked! Do you feel better now, y/n? I have more blue if you need as well!” Pulling an incredible amount that began to pile on the floor in front of them, y/n giggled at the sight.

Y/n wiped their eyes with the back of their hand, breathing in and out to recollect themself. “Thank you, Ghostbur. Never change your wonderful self.” The ghost grinned brightly at that.

“Of course, Y/n! Never change your caring self either!”

Oh brother, we'll go deeper than the ink

Beneath the skin of our tattoos

“I have to ask, Y/n. Why choose them?” Y/n stood before Dream in their kitchen, the man having had shown up unannounced at their front door and began asking vague questions. 

“What do you mean?” Y/n was unnerved by his demeanor, never having held a conversation, let alone utter a word, with him before despite small, yet silent encounters. They refused to show discomfort, though they didn’t have a mask to cover every waver in their voice or their jaw visibly tighten.

“Oh, you know.”  He turned to walk around the small living space, hand skimming over a chest surface before continuing to speak ominously. “Time and time again, I’ve seen you run and fall to your knees for your so-called family. Yet as time continues on, I’ve seen them give you nothing in return.” He paused and faced them again. “What’s the point of saving something that does nothing but hold you down?”

Though we don't share the same blood

Y/n crossed their arms in defiance, finally understanding his intentions and glowered at his objective.

“You wouldn’t understand, Dream. Even if you tried.” He looked confused at their response, tilting his head slighting while his masked continued the same haunting smile. Y/n smirked.

“Your seen weakness gives me strength. I fight for everything because of them. Your lack of attachment leaves you nothing to gain.” Dream bent forward in mocking interest, though y/n knew better than to give in. “Is that so?”

“You tell me. Who will come running to your aid when your lies eventually catch up, and everyone realizes the things you’ve planned behind their backs?”

“I have my ways. Ways that insure I’ll have people on my side when I need.”

Y/n scowled before stepping forwards, leaning into his face. “Say whatever you need to say to comfort the idea of your downfall. I don’t care about you or your motives, leave my family alone or I will personally see to it you meet your expected end before its fated to happen.” Dream let out an amused breath in response. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise."

You're my brother and I love you that's the truth

[totiredtowrite]

Nonononono hear me out right? Imagine Oikawa, one of the most powerful demons around, snags a reader who wants to be a hero and just kind of says 'aight this ones mine now'

Powerless

Warnings - Mentions of killing, the word blade, a religious joke here or there, cursing, referenced nsfw, the req was short but I managed to make this long af, sorry if the ending is trash :(, might do a part 2

Note: I have one mood and this is it

Male Reader - Fem Readers DNI, Respect The Boundaries of the Writers. ✨This isn't about you✨

Demon King Oikawa Tooru.

Infamous for a...multitude of things. For one, his power. Two, the astounding number of people who lust after him. Cults and chapels have been erected in his favour, solely because of his attraction. Nobodies even sure if he's a demon of lust at this point, or if he's just naturally handsome.

And lastly, of course, his ego. His power gives him a big head, though that isn't undeserved. He's just as cocky as he's allowed to be. While it may seem like overkill to some people, they'll quickly find that all of his self conceit is well earned.

Of course, that makes him a big target. Any heroes career would be made if they could kill the demon king. Hell, some get publicity just by returning alive. Young, naive, aspiring heroes want to get his head on a platter more than anything.

And, of course, you were no exception.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ 🃑 ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I just don't think you're cut out for this, son."

At first you'd scoffed. Chalked it up to your mentor being crazy. After all, he was the one who trained you for this!

Nearing the end of the dead forest though, you were starting to wish that you'd listened to him. The energy, the atmosphere, felt like it was wrapping around your neck. You could almost see the dark tendrils around your throat.

The whispers of the forest- prominent, though unintelligible- faded the farther you got from the tree line. Anyone with eyes, ears, or even a nose could tell how corrupt the land was here. Dead birds, ravens to be exact, littered the grounds. Every few yards, you had to step over or around a carcass.

Your torch, near burnt out, clattered to the ground.

There wasn't any need for it anymore, the dim sunset illuminating the deathly area. A small shudder tore through your body. It's like you could feel eyes on you, even in the obviously vacated expanse.

The castle wasn't any better.

Cracked and broken cobblestone lined the pathway up to the doors, travelling up a rather steep hill. From where you stood, you could see the different layers. True to it's unholy resident, the castle was make of dark brick and stone. Sharp, jagged pillars jutted up at the tips of towers, pyres in small heaps littering the area. Some looked as if they were already burnt.

Your hand drifted to your side. There your sword hung, sheathed tightly in a leather casing. The sword was all you really needed, though a couple extra daggers and limited magic items were helpful. After all, it was the demon king. Just a sword wasn't going to kill him off.

You smiled at the thought of your sword being framed when you became a well-known hero, famous for being the blade to deliver the finishing blow.

Those thoughts were quickly disrupted as a bird fell to the ground at your feet.

You grimaced, gently kicking the corpse out of the way and continuing on the rocky cobblestone path. There hasn't been any sign of people for the last two miles. You knew that there was an immensely powerful demon king not even twenty minutes away from you, but it felt like there was nobody for miles on end.

Obviously though, no sane person would get as close to this place as you were.

With one final, (and tentative) step, you arrived at the front door. It felt like any and all sound was swallowed by the walls, all of your senses instantly on edge. Nothing felt right here. It almost made you want to turn around, but you've already made it this far. It would make no sense.

Drawing in another shaky breath, your hand made its way to the door handle. Not much skin touched it through your gloves, yet you could just sense how wrong it felt.

You could only hope that the next time you see these doors, you'd still have your head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ 🃑 ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nobody told Oikawa that being the demon king would be so...boring.

As opposed to what everyone thinks, it's actually rather monotonous. Wake up, go seduce some townspeople, maybe burn a village or two, kill some heroes who come by, and repeat. Nothing happened that he didn't expect anymore.

Hell, it's gotten to the point where he just smites heroes before they even finish their little speech!

In his defense though, their speeches were starting to sound the same. All the "you are an ungodly creature of darkness"s and "I must avenge my family"s just felt the exact same. They only wanted to kill him for the publicity, the bounty, or some stupid thing about their families legacy. He's so bored.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted, (thank god), by the sound of footsteps pounding on the floor. All at once the door to the throne room swung open, a sweating and panting Kuroo standing there. His black hair was wind tousled, sweat glinting on his forehead.

"Wow," Oikawa scoffed. "Somethings got you running."

Kuroo stood up straight, shrugging and attempting to appear collected. "What do you mean?"

Oikawa raised his brows.

"Right, there's a hero in the castle." Kuroo chuckled awkwardly. "Want us to take care of him?"

Oikawa perked up. Another hero? Really? He wasn't looking forward to doing the same dance again, though maybe this time it would be slightly different. "Let him in," he grinned. "Maybe this one will have something for me." He was never one to turn down opportunity.

Kuroo, plagued by a bit of disbelief, nodded and left the throne room. Presumably it was to tell the fox twins.

Another wicked smile split the Demon King's face, brown hair shifting as he tilted his head to the side. Somehow, he got the feeling that this time, something interesting would happen.

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You figured that the castle would be partly deserted, but this was just weird.

No sign of any living beings. Demons, animals, humans, nothing. Was it an ambush? Quite possibly. Still though, you continued on through the halls.

The inside, just like the outside, was made of dark stone and brick. The floors were marbled and grey, veins of gold running through it. It was actually relatively pretty. You thought that there would be skulls and bones everywhere, bodies even. The castle was well taken care of.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. Seriously, there was no one. You thought that the all powerful Demon King would at least have some guards stationed around. You were grateful for it though, the lack of protection making it easier for you to get into the castle.

In truth you weren't exactly sure where you were headed. You believed the demon king to be in his throne room, though where exactly that was remained a mystery.

Using your limited knowledge of how castles are built, you slowly tried to make your way to the center of the castle. The back center, specifically. You hoped that you'd find the throne room there, plus you were following the remnants of magic.

Even not being a magic user yourself, it would be hard not to feel the weird fluctuations of energy in these halls. Demons always left some kind of trail behind. Which, of course, made this weirder. Nobody was stopping you, but it was clear that there were being in the castle aside from the king himself.

A thought struck you as you reached two huge double doors. (They no doubt led to the throne room). Was it possible that the demons were letting you get this close? Of course, there had to be some kind of second meaning behind it, right?

Drawing in a breath, you flung the doors open.

The throne room was different than the rest of the castle, if only slightly. Grey marble and gold veins staying the same of course, the walls slightly lighter than before. If you had the time to look closely, you'd notice the oxidized bloodstains on the walls.

"Well well, look who's finally showed up!"

Your breath hitched in your throat, barely registering the door creaking closed behind you the moment you stepped forward. He was just as...no, more terrifying up close. The horns jutting out from the sides of his head, twisted upward, held a muted purple colour that shined in the equally muted light. His tone of voice was teasing, almost whiny.

You couldn't tell if his eyes were brown or red, but either way they glowed dangerously. "Well, boy?" He tilted his head, soft brown hair bouncing slightly. "You are here to kill me...aren't you?" His tone shifted. Deeper, more serious.

Your hand quickly made its way to your sword, eyes darting from his horns to his eyes.

He laughed. "Why do you keep looking at my horns like that? You are here for my head, are you not?" You wanted to nod, though he spoke before you could get an answer out.

"Wait a minute. You're here for something more...carnal, aren't you?"

Your eyes widened. "What- no! I'm here for your head!" Your grip on the swords hilt tightened. The rumors about his looks were true, (maybe even understating them), however that is not what you're here to do.

The teasing smirk dropped off of his face. "Oh. Lame."

Your brows knitted together. "Lame?" What was that supposed to mean?

"Oh nothing," he rolled his eyes. "So if you're going to deliver a speech, best do it now. Before I, you know, kill you real bad."

You only looked more confused.

Oikawa scoffed at your lack of response. "Jeez, come on, you know what a soliloquy is right?"

"Well yes but I don't think that really applies here-"

"Tomato whatever, get on with it!" He'd turned around, hands firmly gripping your shoulders.

Your breath stopped short for a second.

"Oh come one," his face moved closer. "Is a little proximity all it takes for you to freeze up? Maybe you aren't cut out to be a hero, boy," he snickered. His nose was brushing yours, breath minty and cold.

Without thinking, your sword was at his side in a flash of silver. Maybe it was just out of reflex, the need to defend yourself. The blank, shocked look on your face morphing into one of confusion. Why wasn't your sword moving further? "Was that the best you could do?" The king whispered.

Looking down, you realize just why he was so revered. He'd caught the blade in his hand, a trickle of black blood visible on his palm. No grimace, no noise of pain, nothing. "Hey, eyes up here sweetheart," one of his clawed hands was on your chin now. The wound, one that would cut almost anyone's hand off, didn't seem to throw him off his rhythm at all.

Horror and realization befell you as your eyes met his. You weren't ready. You didn't know what to do, except relax and let instinct take over. So that's what you did.

You let the sword fall out of your hand, causing him to have to catch it at an awkward angle. Using his moment of distraction, you reached into a bag at your hip. Sand. Sure, he was a demon, though it's not like his eyes were impervious to sand.

The dust hit him in the eyes, a startled, strangled noise leaving him. You turned, darting to the only open window as fast as possible. Jumping was not a good idea by any means, though maybe you could use the little magic you knew to your own advantage. You hesitated. You didn't mean to, but really it was just in your nature to be a little cautious.

Oikawa's eyes cleared just in time to see you fall out the window, hands darting back and forth and lips moving. Magic. "You clever little thing," he snarled, at the window in only a few seconds flat. He almost jumped out after you, but then he stopped. Sure he could follow you, but what would be the point? It makes more sense to simply leave you to come back on your own.

"Hey!"

You didn't look back at the sound of his voice, though you did catch the next words to fall from his mouth. "The names Tooru, by the way!"

You didn't say a word, focused on the cold burn of your heart pounding and your legs moving. You'd failed far faster than you thought you would, but you'd be back. You didn't even bother to step around the birds, only focused on getting out. After all, he'd let you leave. There wasn't any way you were taking that for granted.

Back at the castle, Oikawa's hands were still gripping the window's edge. He'd watched your form run until he could hardly see you, still gazing off in that direction. The twins were hovering behind him, wondering when the right time would be to speak. The bloodied sword on the ground, (and the grains of sand), were clear signs that you'd done something.

After elbowing one another for a minute, Osamu spoke up. "Would you like us to take care of it, Lord?" He pushed Atsumu back in an attempt to seem more dignified.

They got silence for a second before he responded. "No. That one is mine. Leave him be." The twins nodded in unison, leaving the room like they were never there.

You didn't do much. There were other heroes who'd done far more to him then you had, though still, something stuck with him. Maybe it was the utterly useless conversation you'd shared before anything actually happened. Maybe it was the vague potential he saw.

In any case, he was going to see you once more. Somewhere you'd least expect him.

Oikawa never was fond of leaving unfinished business.

[superfandomcorp]

20 Most Important Female Characters in DC

2- Lois Lane ✍️💅

Created By: Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster, first appeared in Action Comics #1.

Children: Jonathan Samuel Kent and Chris Kent. (Jordan Kent? Not officially in the comics)

Current Affiliations: Daily Planet; Galaxy Communications

Couple: Superman

Lois Lane emerged as a tough freelance reporter who wasn't afraid to take action. This strong and independent portrayal of Lois was representative of the women of her day who had taken on many roles that had not been granted to them prior to World War II.

While Lois' role and prominence in DC Comics has varied over the years and certainly from writer to writer, the core of this character as a powerful force for good in the DC Universe has always worked to return to the vanguard. In fact, there have been times where she has proven to be just as "super" as any other hero, if not more so.

Lois Lane often represents the prototype of a modern, brave, intelligent, insightful and very bold woman. her romantic life is right up there with Bruce Wayne himself. yes, that's right... she's dated a long list of superheroes from Aquaman, Green Arrow, Bruce Wayne himself and even villains, yes... like Lex Luthor himself.

In her first appearance in Action Comics, Lois Lane demonstrated her detective work and flair for reporting by infiltrating Luthor Tower. As she slipped through the tower, Lois was even confronted by the guards, one of whom turned his back on her.

During the events of The Death of Superman, Lois Lane and the world watched in horror as the villain Doomsday defeated and killed the Man of Steel. While this story was steeped in the '90s and starred one of the era's many dark new characters, it opened an interesting window for Lois Lane into a world without Superman.

In one of her many heroic moments, after the disappearance of Superman's body, Lois not only tracked down the perpetrators on Cadmus but was also able to retrieve Superman's body.

When the "New 52" rebooted in 2011, a number of changes occurred throughout the DC universe, including the reconnection of Lois Lane and Clark Kent's marriage. With this separation, Lois Lane was often relegated to the background of events in the universe and stories in general.

Obviously one of the most positive results of the DC

Rebirth was the meeting of Lois Lane and Superman and the introduction of her son Jonathan Kent. During the opening arc of the Superman title, Lois is once again front and center as she dons the Hellbat suit to defend Jonathan in an epic showdown.

Throughout Lois Lane's 80-year adventures, she has often seen herself endowed with the powers of her counterpart, Superman. The first of these stories occurred in Action Comics #60 where Lois Lane receives a blood transfusion from none other than Superman himself.

With this infusion of Kryptonian blood, Lois is given the powers of Superman and assumes the title of Superwoman. At the end of the issue, however, it is revealed that it was all a dream, but it still showed the fun side of Lois.

In addition, she is one of those women that you always want to see in a movie or in a series, with her mouth ready to say what she thinks, she gets into so many problems that she can have a thousand sagas by herself... she is the girlfriend of the almighty, Yes. but she also knows how to kick butt... and just like Lena (there isn't a chapter that the bad guys don't stop trying to kill her)

[lifeofkaze]

How to Save a Curse-Breaker

The most happiest of all birthdays to the wildest of all wild children, the most stubborn and self-determined OC I know and protagonist of my favourite coming-of-age story (or really, pretty much any story) out there. Happy Birthday, Artemis Hexley! I love you and please don't change (just maybe be a little less demanding with your lovely creator @the-al-chemist sometimes) 💛💛💛

A/N: Where Ava and Artemis have the utmost pleasure to work together for the first time and Ava has to learn that sometimes knowledge can weigh you down. Literally. Artemis Hexley obviously belongs to the most wonderful of all human beings that is @the-al-chemist

As a Gringotts Curse-Breaker Ava was used to being called many things, treasure hunter or grave robber only being some of them. While there was a morally questionable side to digging up forgotten artefacts and delivering them to the Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Ava preferred to think of what she was doing as the preservation of knowledge.  

Her new colleague Artemis Hexley didn’t seem to share that notion. From the moment she had arrived at the Egyptian office it had been clear that research and preparation weren’t Artemis’ strong points; she preferred to deal with situations as they arose. 

Artemis had initially been placed on a different team than Ava - something Ava wasn’t particularly sad about - but when one of their colleagues had to be rushed back to England with mushrooms sprouting from various body openings, the head of the expedition decided that Artemis would be a suitable replacement for the missing member of Ava’s team. 

One Artemis’ first day on the new team they were set to move further into the tomb they had been working on. They made their way through the tunnels Ava knew like the back of her hand at this point until they reached a steep flight of stairs leading further down into the darkness. This part of the tunnel system was yet unexplored and Ava was impatient to uncover its secrets. 

The Curse-Breakers worked quickly and efficiently in clearing the way of hidden obstacles. Ava had to admit that Artemis was surprisingly adept at taking out traps but her lack of care when it came to the more mundane parts of their surroundings was infuriating Ava more with every passing minute. 

“This is a tomb,” she said coolly to Artemis as she passed her. “Try and not paw at anything you see.”

Artemis, who had been looking at an earthen sculpture she had picked up from the floor, furrowed her brows. “Aren’t we here to get the treasure?” 

“No reason to not show some respect.”

“Robbing the dead doesn’t sound respectful to me.”

The authoritative voice of Jonas Croft, the senior Curse-Breaker of their team, stopped Ava’s answer in her tracks. “Campbell, Hexley! What’s going on back there?” 

Ava cast a haughty look at Artemis. “I was telling Artemis how to behave in an excavation site, Sir.”

“Were you, now?” His attention shifted to Artemis and the figurine she was still holding. “What’s that you got there, Hexley?”

“A statue.”

“I can see that it’s a statue. Is it valuable?” When Artemis shrugged, Croft turned to Ava. “Your opinion?”

Reluctantly, Ava took a closer look. “It looks like a decorative idol, nothing more.” 

“Then it’s of no use to us,” Croft decided brusquely. “Put it back where you found it and focus on what matters.” 

“With all due respect, Sir -”

“As far as I remember, Campbell, you’ve been out of training only a year longer than Hexley. I shouldn’t have to remind either of you how to do your job.” 

His tone was final so Ava swallowed her protest and followed Croft, ignoring Artemis as best as she could. When they reached a crossroads from which the path spread in each of the four cardinal directions, the group came to a halt. Croft studied his map in the light of his wand before pointing at the tunnel to his right. 

“That’s the one facing West, the burial chamber should lie at the end of it. Let’s go and get the gold. Not you two,” he said and blocked the way with his arm as Ava and Artemis went to follow the others. “I don’t need two rookies touching everything in sight or fawning over every scratch on the walls. You’re going to stay here and wait for the professionals to come back.” 

“What an oaf,” Ava muttered under her breath after Croft was out of earshot. “He doesn’t know what half the things he carries out of here even are.” 

Artemis, who was casually leaning against the wall, watched Ava with raised eyebrows. “He has a point, though.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do fawn over every scratch in the walls.”

Suddenly acutely aware of the notebooks filled with glyphs she was carrying in the bag slung across her shoulders, Ava narrowed her eyes. 

“Well, it wasn't me groping a potentially harmful object without even wearing gloves either. It’s as if you’re begging to be cursed.”

“I’ve faced worse,” Artemis said flatly. When Ava raised her eyebrows she reached into the pocket of her jacket, producing a set of thin leather gloves and putting them on. “Happy now?” 

Rolling her eyes, Ava turned from Artemis and stepped closer to the wall. Drawing her wand, she carefully inspected the artful symbols carved into the stone; there was something strange about them she couldn’t quite put her finger on yet. Behind her, Artemis suddenly shifted and started in the direction of a side tunnel.

“Where are you going?” Ava called after her.

“Did you see that?” 

“What?”

“There’s a shimmer.”

Artemis vanished in the tunnel and after a moment Ava followed her. When she caught up, she saw that Artemis had found another statue in a recess in the wall, similar to the one she had been looking at before. The statue was standing on a small pedestal inlaid with gold glyphs, gleaming in the light coming from their wands. 

“What’s it with these statues?” Artemis mumbled, weighing the sculpture in her hands. When Ava didn’t answer, she glanced up at her and furrowed her brows. “What? I’m wearing gloves.”

“That’s not it,” Ava shook her head and took the statue from Artemis. Inspecting it more closely, she found an engraved symbol of a sun on the bottom of it. 

“That’s curious,” Ava muttered to herself, “there’s sun symbols around the entrance of the tunnel as well. The sun and the akhet symbol. The akhet means rebirth.” 

Ava looked at the darkness stretching beyond the light of their wands, and then back at the statue in her hands. Her eyes searching the opposite wall, an idea was forming in her mind as she saw a second recess, directly across from the other one. It was missing its statue, however.

“What if the Western chamber was a decoy?” Ava whispered.

“Don’t Egyptian tombs face West?”

“Usually they do. But these glyphs can be read in several ways. The symbol for sunrise and sunset are the same but the context suggests the tomb facing East.” The corners of Ava’s mouth twitched. “It’s written on the walls.” 

Ava had barely finished speaking before Artemis was already on her way to go and get the first statue she had found. Ava felt a rush of excitement upon discovering another sun edged into its base. 

Exchanging glances, Artemis gave a barely perceptible shrug and set the statue down on the abandoned base of the empty recess. As soon as it touched the dusty stone, a faint rumble could be heard and the air stirred with a faint, stuffy breeze. Artemis lost no time and started walking further into the tunnel but was being held back by Ava.

“Have you lost your mind?” she hissed. “We have no idea what might be waiting for us.”

“We won’t know if we don’t look,” came Artemis’ prompt answer.

“We can go and look after making a plan on how to go about it.”

“We can go and deal with what we find when we find it.”

“That’s reckless. Don’t be stupid, Artemis.”

“Fine,” Artemis snapped and brushed Ava’s hand off. “If you’re so clever, go on ahead.”

Giving her a dark look, Ava braced her shoulders and very carefully stepped into the darkness. She progressed slowly, making sure to keep a close eye on the walls, the ceiling, and the ground. She came across several booby traps - both magical and mechanical - and with each deactivated trap, the satisfied smirk on her face grew a little. 

Already being able to see the archway that would lead them into the next chamber, Ava bent down and scooped up a handful of sand. From her open palm she gently blew it into the air, which immediately began to simmer and swirl. While the sand was settling on the ground again, covering the bumps and cracks in the stone like a fine carpet, Ava dispelled the magical barrier and motioned for Artemis to follow her. 

“The way is clear,” she said triumphantly. 

Artemis frowned. “I guess so.”

Eager to see whether or not they had really found the burial chamber, Ava stepped forward and froze when she heard the soft click coming from beneath her foot. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then the tunnel began to tremble and suddenly the ground gave way beneath Ava’s feet. 

Artemis lurched forward, managing to catch hold of Ava’s wrist. Ava desperately clung to her while her feet were dangling above a bottomless abyss. Reaching for Ava’s other hand, Artemis tried dragging her back up over the edge, but it was in vain.

“Your bag!” Artemis called breathlessly, her face twisted with effort. “It’s too heavy!” 

It cost Ava a considerable amount of willpower to free her right hand from Artemis’ grasp and fumble with the clasp of her bag. For a moment she feared she wouldn’t be able to undo it in time; her hand was slipping from Artemis’ grasp and Ava had to fight the panic rising inside her chest. 

Taking a deep breath, she focused and tried again. The clasp came undone and the bag slipped from Ava’s shoulders, falling away into the darkness below. Artemis got hold of Ava’s other hand again and with a grunt of effort she scrambled backwards, pulling Ava from the hole. They fell back onto the dusty floor, breathing heavily.

“Books,” Artemis panted after a breathless moment, “who brings books into a tomb?”

The adrenaline flooding her body made Ava laugh shakily. She was too relieved that Artemis had acted so quickly to even mourn the loss of her notebooks. After all, the most profound knowledge wasn’t of much use when you were too dead to use it. She came to her feet and edged closer to the chasm, holding her still glowing wand above the bottomless pit. Ava shuddered; the ground was too far away to be seen. 

“That was close,” she whispered, still able to feel the dropping sensation in her stomach. “Thank you.”

“What of it,” Artemis said, peering downwards as well. “You’d have done the same.”

“I guess so.”

The two women looked at each other for a moment before Artemis nodded her head into the direction of the archway. Drawing her wand, she conjured a bridge leading over the hole in the ground. “Shall we then?”

***

Jonas Croft was in a bad mood upon returning to the crossroads empty handed. When he exited the tunnel into the small atrium where he had left the two bickering women behind, he was surprised to find Ava and Artemis sitting on the floor in peaceful silence, an assortment of gleaming objects piled up between them. Ava was bowed deeply over a scroll with colourful glyphs while Artemis was inspecting the golden statue of a cat. 

“Hexley, Campbell!” he barked when he advanced on them. “Where in Merlin’s name did you get these artefacts?”

“The burial chamber,” Artemis said and shared a look with Ava. “You walked right past it.”

Croft cast a sharp look between the two women. “You went off without authorisation. You could have been killed, or worse.” 

“Don’t worry, we were perfectly prepared.”

If Croft noticed the slight grin on Artemis’ face he didn’t show it. His eyes fell on the heap of treasure and he sighed. “At least you made it worth our while. I hope you learned something from today.”

Ava opened her mouth to tell him about the East-West decoy and the parts of the scroll she had deciphered so far, but Artemis was faster. Not hiding her grin anymore, she gave Ava a sideway’s glance.

“We did. How to save a Curse-Breaker.” 

[echo-of-sounds]

cock and ball worship

Small smut drabbles of cock and ball worship with Aizawa, Gang Orca, and Hound Dog.

Don’t like/Don’t read: ball worship (obviously), rimming, and deep throating/choking

Aizawa Shouta

Shouta’s knees settled on either side of your head, bumping his erection against your nose and chin. They spread, lowering his balls, perfectly positioning them. Hair and heat brushed your lips as you opened them. It goaded him to sink just a bit further, and you drew his left into your wet, greedy mouth, supping on his smell and taste. They shifted in their pocket with your lip’s waving.

You released with a loud slurp. Spit clung to you and him. Your tongue twirled around him before moving to his right, treating it with the same adoration: toying, pumping him between your lips and teeth, inhaling the scent, savoring the bitter flavor, indulging yourself in the feel of his hair and skin.

Then your mouth was suddenly empty. You whined and followed the sweets, but a hand pushed your chest back to the bed. He commanded in a lightly winded voice, “Open.”

You did with a smile. His glans slipped in, allowing you to drink his precum. His balls plopped on your forehead, blocking your vision as you nursed, twirling your tongue around his heated head to draft more salt.

Sho groaned his first groan. He slipped deeper, letting you delight in his taste and groans. You whimpered for more, to be loaded, stuffed, choked. Veins textured over your tongue, swabbing into the back of your mouth, trying to wedge further. His balls compressed lustfully, fully nosing you against him. Weight increased. Musk laded.

Just when the cutoff air became too much, he withdrew. Saliva and precum slopped to your face. He inched forward, not needing to tell you what to do; You lapped behind his balls, kissing and laving all along his perineum, to the ring of muscles and starting pumping him, slow and steady.

“Fuck,” he rasped, humping in sync with your hand. An exploratory lick caused a handsome groan. The low pitch told he was close.

You refocused on his balls, sucking one in by your teeth, now jerking him off hastily. Curses, degrades, and compliments flew out of his mouth about yours. You moaned and kept up with your feeding and stroking, loving the continued deepening of his sounds.

Hands fell to your hips, baring Shouta’s heft, as his own thrust into your grip. After a few more swears, his thighs went rigid, almost clamping against your temples, and he released onto your chest and stomach, grunting, cussing, violently bucking.

He moved off of you. Ragged hair stuck to his flushed cheekbones. Pink ears peeked out from under the dark strands. He scowled and raised an eyebrow, questioning your smile, “What?”

“Nothing.” You kissed his thigh and rested on it. “You’re just handsome.”

Gang Orca

“Let me do it.” You nuzzled Kugo’s thighs further apart and crawled between them. Before his nerves worked up too much or he tried to curb your enthusiasm, you hushed him, cooing, “Just let me take care of you tonight, Kugo. You deserve it.”

“You really don’t need to.”

“I want to,” you whispered against his thigh. Skin cooled your lips, ever so slightly twitching from the tender touching. You sighed, trailing your tongue along him, already worked up, “Trust me. I really, really want to.”

Kugo laid back onto the pillows and relaxed. Keeping your fingers featherlight, you cradled his fluttering, growing erection. You started with a few kisses lengthwise. Thin, smooth skin tensed under your lips. And by the time they brushed his head, he curved erect, pulsing in your soft hold.

You tilted him up and licked under his shaft. His natural salt created a fragile layer. It was lush and lovely and just as appetizing as his kisses. When it was lapped away, a heated, heavier tartness was exposed, sinking into your nose and tastebuds, practically begging to be sucked off till he laid dry.

After an adoring nip to his corona, inciting it to flare, you praised, “You taste amazing today.”

Kugo grunted, staring at the ceiling. If he could blush, you knew his face would be beet red and absolutely adorable.

You flicked his frenulum with your tongue. “How long do you think you’re gonna last?”

He opened his mouth to answer. But his words were stifled into a groan as you suckled on his glans, sipping the amassed precum out of his opening. It quickly diminished. You moved down to his balls, shamelessly sucking and biting and frisking the sleek, hairless, loose skin, prizing the feel and taste.

They rose as you pushed your tongue between them, dragging your hand up his erection, pushing, squeezing precum out, drizzling onto his stomach in beautiful, thin, pearl strings. He pulsed beneath your tongue. His thick base enlarged when you repeated the action: gripping firmly, creeping up from bottom to middle, licking along his raphe, watching how your hand milked him so perfectly.

A rumble shuddered down Kugo’s spine, acoustically stimulating you. You teased, “Do you like that?”

He nodded then inhaled sharply from your grasp turning into a vice. But it gave you another handsome groan. Keeping the tight motions up with one hand and using the other to massage his balls, you fixated on his base with your mouth, feasting on the dripping-in-salt skin.

You bit his underside. The fat vein bulged. You nipped it harder, ending in a sucking kiss to apologize. But you did it again, juggling him in your fingers, noticing how swollen they’ve become, tensing, raising closer to his body.

With a smile, you bit him one last time before his thighs went stiff, his cock dilated, and he released onto his abs, groaning and grabbing the bedsheet. You continued pumping, wanting to see all of his cum seeped out, and complimented him, “You lasted longer than I thought you would.”

“Me too,” Kugo hissed, sloppily jerking into your hand. His hips persisted in the little thrusts even when you finally let go, working through the dying aftershocks.

You patted his thigh, watching his actions. “You’re so cute.”

Hound Dog

“You know what to do.” The charge on Ryo’s voice sent you to your knees, between his legs, ready to please. He drooped flaccid, faintly twitching. You looked up. His eyes narrowed with a growl, “Start.”

You grabbed and angled him, beginning by sucking on his foreskin, stretching it in your lips. Your tongue edged in. Bitter salt laced inside, doubling when you circled his glans, mixing into acute, tangy musk. You moaned as your tongue pushed deeper and tasted greater, harsher amounts.

“Use your spit.”

Gently pulling the thin skin back to reveal the pointed-like tip of his head, you gathered saliva in your mouth, drench him in it, then recovered him, pooling the spit inside. Your tongue dipped in again, supping on the medley of bitter liquids.

His full erection caused some foreskin to retract, but you still played within it. He was thick, veiny, throbbing under your tongue and fluxing finely above, waving with your sloppy-wet movements. Spittle drooled out past your lips. Thrumming thrilled your spine.

Suddenly fingers snagged your hair, forcing and holding you down, giving no mercy. You gagged and clawed at him as he remained lodged in your throat. He gnarled, “Think you can take more?”

You gagged again, but nodded, wanting to worship him like you said you would. After a few more seconds, the grip yanked you off, granting a breath.

It didn’t last. Ryo stood and directed you, “On the bed. You know how.”

You scrambled on it, laid on your back, and hung your head off the edge. Large thighs stood on either side of your temples. Craving to be full again, your mouth opened on its own. His cock sunk into its home, grinding his balls against your lower forehead. His grunt rumbled through his entire body, straight into your mouth, “I know you can take more.”

You whined the best you could with him embedded inside your throat. Sour salt steeped into your nose and tastebuds.

“You said you wanted to worship me, so take it,” he sneered, lurching his hips. Relaxing your muscles, crushing his balls to you, he plunged past the tight barrier, pushing out a warbling gag from you. Saliva swashed out and trailed up your cheeks. A few stress-and-strain-filled tears joined it.

“Fuck. You like this, I can tell.” Ryo’s hips began humping, never leaving you empty, only moving out an inch to jerk back in, jarring your neck. Pain formed at the pressure. Wetness stuck to his balls then slapped against your forehead. You scrunched your eyes, focusing on your other overloaded sense.

Suddenly, your throat was freed, left sore, stretched. It was swiftly refilled, submerging your smell, taste, and hearing with salted bitterness, warning snarls, and hot, inflated skin.

Fingers enclosed around your throat, cutting off what little air you could get. His base inflated into a small knot-like balloon, sticking him stuck, burdening your jaw and throat more. Neither of you had a choice as cum sloshed out. You grabbed his thighs to keep him still while you gorged yourself on all the thick, pungent, acrid filth.

Ryo pulled out, dowsing your face in spittle, cum, froth, and tears. The blended liquids didn’t deter him. He kneeled and licked your cheeks. “We’re doing that again.”

“We better,” you laughed.