#And the numbness still hasn't worn off

[dragons-hoard-of-fandoms]

Does J kinda give anyone else Screaming Death vibes or is it just me?

[dandyshucks-moving]

that F/O really CAN get you through the horrors huh !!

[missmilliegojo]

Ai No Saikyou

Chapter Three

A Jujutsu Kaisen Fanfiction (Gojo X OC)

Warnings -> SPOILERS for Jujutsu Kaisen 0, topic mentions of miscarriage

<- Chapter Two

“Sweetheart?”

Millie doesn’t answer husband’s call. She doesn’t have the energy to respond, or to get up and welcome him home with a kiss. So, she just remains where she sits bay window, looking out into their new backyard. There wasn’t anything interesting going on. She wasn’t even really watching anything, anyway.

“Hey, honey.” Satoru leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “How was your day? Don’t tell me you’ve been in this spot since this morning.”

Mille shrugs one shoulder.

Her husband sighs softly. “Have you eaten anything?”

Curling in on herself, she shakes her head. She couldn't bring herself to face his disappointment, or express the painful ache in her still healing stomach that’s killed any and all desires for food.

Satoru wraps his arms around his wife and lifts her from the window seat. “Let’s go have dinner, yeah? You gotta eat something, baby.”

Baby. That’s right. She killed their baby.

A violent sob ripped through her chest, the fragile shell around her mind cracking. Thousands of red hot nails pierced her soul, the burn a punishment for her unforgivable sin.

"Oh, sweetheart-" Satoru panicked as she cried against his chest. "I didn't mean to- I'm sorry, honey, I'm sorry." He lifted her higher and buried his face in her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Millie."

It's been a while since Millie last felt so numb and worn down. She forgot how much relapses suck, how it feels to suddenly backpedal after finding the momentum to keep moving forward. It's not quite time to get ready for work, but it's definitely later than she usually got up. The other side of the bed is empty, a rare occurrence unless Satoru was away on a mission. Her husband never left the bed without a good morning kiss, claiming he didn't have the energy to move without it.

Unless he's finally given up on her. Maybe he's realized how much better off he'd be without her mentally weighing him down. The loss of a child is known to do significant damage on relationships, and maybe he just can't take it anymore.

"It's been months, Shoko. I don't know what else to do."

The sound of her husband's voice drew Millie to the slightly open window in their bedroom. It overlooked the backyard, where her husband sat on the deck swing, talking to an old friend on the phone.

"It's not helping. At least, I don't think it is." Satoru runs a hand through his hair, and even from behind his sunglasses, Millie could tell he was tired. "Getting her to eat is a battle, she hasn't stepped outside the house in a week, and god, Shoko, she always looks so guilty when she looks at me. I lost my baby. I don't want to lose my wife, too."

Shrinking away from the window, Millie pressed her back against the wall and sunk to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face in them, shoulders shaking with her silent cries. She couldn’t keep doing this to him. He was walking on eggshells around her, and that, she knew, wasn’t healthy for him.

She could see the light at the end of the tunnel, but it was so, so far away. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to reach it.

Sighing heavily, Millie closes her eyes and pulls the blanket up over her head. She doesn't want to think about the past, nor does she want to keep having such self-conscious thoughts about her husband. She knows Satoru loves her unconditionally. Those few months after her miscarriage were tough on their marriage, but he stuck with her through it. The first three years of their marriage was wonderful, the last two and a half has made their bond stronger. The rough patch they went through seems so little in comparison, so why does she still have moments like these where she frets over it?

The hinges on the bedroom door alert Millie that it's being opened. "Honey?"

Uncovering herself, Millie lifts onto an elbow and twists to look behind her. She finds her husband standing in the doorway, a bed tray in hand filled with food.

Satoru grins and walks around to her side of the bed. "Good morning, my lovely wife~ Are you hungry? Your doting husband has prepared breakfast just for youuuu~"

With a hushed giggle, Millie sits up against the headboard and makes room for him to place the tray over her lap. "Oh, Toru, you didn't have to."

The white haired sorcerer gasps and places his finger over her lips. "Honey, don't say things like that. I wanted to. My beautiful wife deserves to be spoiled." A look crosses his face, as if he just remembered something, and he leans over to peck her lips. "There. Now we both have more energy for the day."

Millie's heart swells with affection. This encounter is just so Satoru, she can't help but throw her head back and laugh. His smile turns tender as relief flashes in his eyes.

"This is perfect, thank you." Noticing something, the tilts her head. "Where's yours?"

"I'm not too hungry. I'll snack on something before we leave."

Millie lifts a brow. "Don't suppose this lack of appetite is from you snacking on sweets while cooking, is it?"

He doesn't even try to mask his guilt. "What? I'm a grown man. I can have sweets for breakfast."

She playfully shakes her head. "Oh, you. What am I going to do with you?" She pats the edge of the bed, waiting for him to sit down before placing her hand on his cheek. "I appreciate you so much. You know that, don't you?"

Smiling, Satoru wraps a hand around her wrist and turns his head, pressing a kiss to her palm. "I know, angel."

Satoru sits with his wife as she digs into her breakfast of steamed rice, grilled bell pepper slices, tamagoyaki, and her favourite, two slices of golden brown toast with the butter soaked in.

"You've gotten better." Millie says, smiling after tasting a few bites of everything. "I remember when you couldn't cook for shit."

"Make sure you tell that to Megumi. He still hesitates whenever I try to bring him something, always asking if you made it or not."

She giggles again, but it quickly slips. Perhaps it would be best to rip the bandage off and address the elephant in the room. "I'm sorry I scared you last night."

Satoru tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No, not she doesn't, but she's come too far to go back to bottling her emotions again. Satoru deserves at least that much. "I dreamt about my last battle... and the aftermath. I don't want to repeat the details, but it was very graphic and very disturbing."

His expression goes from patient to understanding, to sadness, then appreciation. No one gets to see this unfiltered side of him, no one but his wife. "I'm sorry, baby."

Millie shakes her head. "It's not your fault."

"And it's not yours either." Placing a hand on the back of her head, Satoru leans over and kisses her forehead. "Do you need to take the day?"

"No." Millie's answer is quick and certain. "Someone might need me, and I decided a long time ago that I don't want to hide anymore. I'm not going to start now."

He looks at her with so much pride, it almost makes her shy. "There's my strong, beautiful, incredibly smart wife. I am so proud of you."

Millie squeals in laughter as he dots kisses all over her face. "S-Satoru! You're going to make me knock the food all over the bed!"

Satoru gives her a knowing look. "Our bed is already filthy, sweets."

She chucks one of her precious pieces of toast at him.

A knock on the door of Millie's office frees her from her mid-morning boredom. Setting down the psychology book she was flipping through, she rises from her desk and adjusts her cardigan on her way to answer the door.

Millie smiles at the young man standing outside. "Good morning, Yuta."

"Ah, good morning, Miss. Gojo." He scratches his cheek with one finger. "Um, is it okay if we talk?"

She smiles warmly. "Just 'Millie' is fine. It's less confusing that way." She steps aside and gestures towards the couch. "Please, come in."

Yuta steps inside and makes his way to the couch, looking around the room as he does. Millie closes the door behind him and grabs the tablet off her desk before taking a seat in the chair across from him. She settles the flowing excitement of her first session, easily slipping into a calm, professional space.

"So, how are you settling in with everyone?" She asks while turning on the tablet and opening a documentation app.

"Okay, I guess." Yuta replies. He flushes a little, though Millie can't tell if it's due to shyness or something else. "Panda and Inumaki are really nice, but I don't think Maki likes me very much."

Millie tilts her head. "Why do you believe that?"

"Ah..." The boy chuckles nervously. "Maki's pretty strict and serious, so it's kinda hard to read her, you know?"

She nods her head with a small hum of understanding. "Does being liked by others matter to you, Yuta?"

Her question catches him off guard, much so that he has to blink and think of an answer. When he does, he sounds serious and confident. "While Maki and I were on our mission, I decided something. I decided that I don't want to be alone. I want to be needed by someone, and I want to break Rika's curse. In order to do that, I need to get stronger. I want to be strong enough to protect my friends."

Millie smiles at his honest confession. "I'm happy that you've found a goal to work towards, Yuta. It sounds like being liked by others does matter to you, correct?"

Yuta blinks. "Is that bad?"

"No, it's a perfectly normal thing to want. Humans are social by nature. The reason I ask isn't to make you question whether or not people should care about being liked by others, but to remind you that people's perception of us is out of our control. We can be polite, be kind, but we can't physically change the way people think."

"So I should just... give up on Maki?"

Millie shakes her head. "No. Not give up, just remind ourselves of what we can and can't control." She pauses to think of another approach. "Let's imagine for a minute that there's a co-worker I'm trying to befriend. I say good morning every day, offer my help, invite them to spend our breaks together, but nothing seems to sway this co-worker into wanting to be friends. What do you think I'm doing wrong?"

Yuta scratches the side of his head as he thinks. "I can't think of anything. It sounds like you were being really nice."

"I can control my actions and the way I treat this co-worker, but I can't force them to like me. Maybe in time, this co-worker will warm up to me and things might change, or maybe they won't. I haven't done anything wrong, so however this co-worker feels about me, it has to do with them. I encourage you to keep reaching out a hand to Maki, but when and if she reaches for it, that's for her to decide."

The boy cracks a small smile. "You're really wise, Miss. Gojo- Ah, Millie."

Millie breaths a quiet laugh and readjusts her position. "We all have our own unique journeys, Yuta. We're here to talk about yours. Can you tell me more about how your mission went?"

She worked with Yuta for the next hour before bringing the session to an end. After he left, Millie spent some time making more formal notes about their session, documenting his state of mind and anything else worth keeping track of. For Yuta, this was especially important. Given how the higher ups felt about him, having reports of his mental state could serve as another layer of protection if his execution was brought back up for discussion.

About forty minutes later, there was another knock on her door. This time it wasn't a student on the other side, but someone she hasn't seen in person in a while. "Kento?"

The tall, blond man dipped his head in greeting. "I heard you were here. You look well."

Kento Nanami, a fellow Grade 1 sorcerer and also a former student of Jujutsu High. Although they were the same age, and should have been in the same class, Millie's cursed energy levels influenced the school to bump her right to the second-year class, where more experienced sorcerers could help keep an eye on and mentor her.

Millie steps aside to let him in. "You look well. How has work been treating you?"

"It sucks. Everything sucks." His deadpan delivery makes her swallow a laugh. "I heard from Gojo that you're running a mental health program."

She nods. "That's right. There's not enough of that in our world. I don't want to see anyone else die or go astray because of their own demons. We fight enough monsters as it is."

Nanami adjusts his tie before sitting in the middle of the couch, the same place Yuta had occupied. "I'm... glad to see you back, Millie. You've found your path, and I hope you keep walking it."

Millie smiles, innocent tears pricking her eyes. Somewhere during their school years, Millie started to adore him as a brother, and though he never would have admitted it back then, he looked out for her like one, too. "Kento-"

"Hey."

A pair of arms wrap around her from behind, a tall figure leaning over the back of the chair. Millie sighs, already knowing the identity of the culprit.

"What are you doing with my wife, Nanami?" Satoru askes, his tone light yet accusatory.

The blond man's jaw ticks in irritation as he pushes his goggles higher up his nose. "I'm checking in on a friend. Is that a problem?"

"A 'friend', huh?" Satoru grabs Millie's left wrist and lifts her hand, pointing at the impossible-to-miss ring on her finger. "She's taken. Guess you'll have to find a new friend to get cozy with in their office."

A vein throbs in Nanami's temple. "Of all the idiots in the world, why did you marry this one?"

"Because he was persistent." Millie says with a sigh, ignoring her husband's flabbergasted gasps.

Nanami stands and fixes his tie once more. "I'll be going now. I don't want to eat into your time helping the students." He notices the confused look on the woman's face. "Aren't you aware of the names written on the board outside?"

Names on the board?

Eyes widening, Millie jumps up and rushes into the hall to look. Just as Nanami said, several students have written their names down on her appointment board. Panda, Inumaki, two second years and a third year... all requesting appointments throughout the rest of the week.

Sensing her husband come up behind her, Millie turns and beams up at him. "Is this real?"

The grin he wears is just as proud as the one from this morning. "Looks like you're winning them over, sweets."

Laughing in amazement, Millie stands on the balls of her feet to give her husband a kiss.

"Gojo! Yamamato! Not in the middle of the hall!" Principal Yaga's voice booms.

Talking to the higher ups always puts Satoru Gojo in a bad mood. Getting scolded by them - well, he's used to that, and quite frankly, no longer cares.

Reapplying the bandages around his eyes, Satoru pauses to watch the group occupying the training field. Maki, Inumaki, and Yuta are running laps around the track while Panda and his lovely wife keep time and shout encouragement.

"Maki and Toge! It's your last lap!" Panda calls as the two sorcerers run by where he sits on the grass.

"Come on, Yuta!" Millie shouts from her spot beside Panda. She's smiling brightly, clapping her hands to encourage the boy to keep pushing forward. "You got this! Don't give up!"

"Honey?" Satoru called the second he stepped through the door.

He didn't get a response, but he didn't have to go hunting for her, not when he could detect her presence in the kitchen, thanks to his Six Eyes.

Peeking his head beneath the arch, he spotted his wife standing in front of the counter with a mixing bowl in one hand and a whisk in the other. She was heavily concentrating on a video playing on her phone, one that's listing off step-by-step instructions for a recipe. He couldn't tell what the recipe is for, but he took a wild guess that it was some kind of dessert, given the flour and chocolate smeared up her arms and all over the counter. She even got some on the floor and on the window.

"Millie?" He called to her again.

Startled, she jumped and turned towards him. Her wide eyes relaxed as she took him in. "Hi, welcome home." She looked down at herself, then at the mess around her. "I, ah, I'm trying to make cupcakes, but-"

Satoru pulled her into his arms before she could finish, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled like chocolate, sugar, and butter, and it's the sweetest thing he had ever smelled. "You're making cupcakes for me?"

"I'm trying." She clarified, looking adorably shy when he set her back on her feet. "It's not going very well."

He was thankful for the wrapping covering his tearful eyes. This was the most life he'd seen out of her in months. "You're trying, baby. Thank you."

Satoru smiles as he watches his wife hand water bottles to the students, students she loves and adores as if they were her own children.

"No one will take their youth away." He vows, descending the steps towards them.

And nothing will ever take his wife's smile again.

Masterlist

Chapter Four ->

Satoru Gojo

He is obsessed with his wife, Millie. His nicknames for her are endless, but the most common are: "Honey", "Baby", "Sweets", "Angel". He brags about her to everyone.

They got married when they were 21 (Gojo) and 20 (Millie). The higher ups disapproved due to the Yamamato Family history of jujutsu sorcerers being splotchy and unreliable. They got married anyway.

The fastest way to sign your death certificate is to go after his wife.

[starryeyedjanai]

i feel so fucked (at least i’m feeling)

a very, very belated birthday gift to emily @judasofsuburbia!!! i hope you enjoy this!!! 💕💕💕

chronance | explicit | chapter 1: 6k tags: vampires nancy and robin, human chrissy, dom nancy, subs robin and chrissy, hooking up, angst and smut read on ao3

Chrissy has no idea what she's doing here.

Okay, that's a lie.

She's here because she needs to feel something other than the apathy and lingering dread she's been feeling lately.

She's here because she hasn't been doing well since the breakup. She's been just floating through the motions of her everyday life, stuck in this cycle of nothingness—she feels nothing most of the time, numb to it all.

And she heard that a vampire feeding from you is one of the most intense things humans can feel. She's heard it isn't always a good intense, but she's willing to take the risk to feel something at all.

So here she is.

Not even a full month after her breakup with Jason, finally pulling herself together enough to get out of the house and try doing something to jumpstart her, get her back to some semblance of normal.

She's felt lost since breaking up with him. She knew she didn't want to spend her life with him, but she feels like she doesn't know who she is without him. A big part of her identity up until now has been being a perfect girlfriend, a perfect daughter, a perfect friend.

A core tenet of her personality is shattered and the others are falling apart too. Her parents are disappointed in her for ending things with Jason despite seeing the bruise around her wrist when she told them. Her friends don't understand why she broke up with him either, even though she's told them multiple times about how he treats her, how he makes her feel like she doesn't matter.

She feels like she's lost so much and if everything is falling apart, why not self-destruct a little bit more?

This feels like she's doing something for herself for maybe the first time in her life, even if it is self-destructive. Nothing has ever been about her in her life, it's always about someone else—Jason or her parents or her "friends" who won't even speak to her now that she's poked a hole in the bubble that they live in.

So that's why she's here, at a feeder bar, wearing a slinky dress Jason bought her to wear to his company's Christmas party last year. She hadn't worn it because the back was too low and it was too tight, but she kept it shoved in the back of their closet—her closet now that he's gone.

She dug it out and dusted it off, pulling the skintight fabric up her body, donning the high heels she wore to one of Jason's work events.

Ugh. Everything in her life somehow leads back to him, still. She puts on the dress he bought her and the shoes she bought for his work event and gets a Lyft to the vamp district because he took the car when he left.

The driver asks her three times if she's sure she put in the right address.

She's sure.

Walking into the bar, she's less sure.

Her heart is in her throat, rabbiting fast in her chest like she's being hunted, like the eyes on her are assessing how easy of a prey she'll be.

She feels like prey. She's going to feed one of them tonight, maybe- maybe even more than that, so how could she not?

She's never had casual sex before and that fact is at the forefront of her mind as her heels clack on the hardwood floor of the bar.

She's been with Jason since high school and she's in her mid twenties now. She's never dated anyone but him. She's never fucked anyone but him.

That feels kind of pathetic right now. She's in her twenties and doesn't even really know what she likes. He never wanted to try things, never wanted to do anything except for the way that he liked it, even if she never got off that way.

She feels so out of her depth, this all feeling a lot scarier all of a sudden as she takes a seat at the bar. Maybe she should have started with a regular hook up before ramping it all the way up to seeking out a vampire, but she came all this way and she doesn't want to back out now.

The bartender is friendly, probably taking pity on her inability to conceal her nerves. She orders a mocktail, wanting to keep her wits about her, at least for this part.

She sips her drink when it comes, subtly trying to look around.

It's a Thursday, so she wasn't expecting many people to be here. There are groups of friends hanging out in booths, laughing together, single people at the bar like herself.

Just by looking from afar, she's not sure who's a vampire and who isn't.

The vampires here must know who's human, can smell their blood or maybe hear their heartbeat. She's not totally caught up on the intricacies of how vampires interact with humans.

But she supposes that's part of the thrill of coming to a place like this.

Unless someone flashes her a fang or something, she's not going to know who's a vampire and who's like her, trying to get bit.

She locks eyes with a guy down the bar and he grins at her, a feral thing, making her heart beat faster in her chest, her skin crawling.

She's doesn't like this, feeling pinned by his stare, watching as he sets his drink down and goes to stand up—

"Hey," a soft voice says in her ear and she breaks the eye contact, looking over her shoulder.

Two women are standing there, looking at her—she thinks they were at a booth when she came in.

"Oh, hi!" she says, grinning fake and wide, glancing back down the bar. The guy is seated again, his drink back in his hand.

Chrissy turns more fully towards the women who saved her from what was likely to be, at best, a very awkward encounter.

"I'm Robin," the taller one says. "And this is Nancy." She gestures to the woman next to her, all wild curly hair and red lipstick.

"Chrissy," she says softly.

"Do you want to come sit at our booth with us?" Nancy asks before running her tongue over one of her fangs. Chrissy feels faint, looking at Nancy's mouth. Her lipstick is blood red, stark against her pale skin.

She looks at Robin and when Robin smiles at her, her canines are slightly longer and sharper than a human's would be too. They're both vampires and Chrissy's face is flushing all of a sudden.

She says, "Yes," answering Nancy's question, getting up and grabbing her drink before following them over to the booth.

She sits across from them, feeling the weight of their stares, but it doesn't feel anything like the guy who was getting up to come talk to her.

It doesn't make her feel like an object, it just makes her feel seen and present and alive and. Wanted, maybe.

Robin breaks the silence, saying, "You're new here." A statement, not a question.

Chrissy nods, gulping. "This is my first time here, yes," she says, skirting around what she's really being asked.

Nancy hums, her eyes still piercing into Chrissy. She says, "Well, you're here for a reason. And your heart rate was erratic when that guy looked at you, so maybe we might have what you're looking for."

Chrissy stares at her. She hadn't considered that lesbian vampires existed. But looking at the easy way Robin and Nancy are leaning close together, the way they both came up to the bar to help her, she thinks she's looking at a pair of them right now.

"What do you mean exactly?" she asks anyway just to be sure she's reading this right.

Robin says, "You want someone to bite you, we've got two sets of fangs right here. You want someone to take you apart and piece you back together? Nancy does that better than anyone I've ever met."

A shiver runs down Chrissy's spine. At the thought of being taken apart, at the thought of both of them biting into her.

"Do you want to come home with us?" Nancy asks, cutting to the chase. They probably do this a lot, then, propositioning women who wander into the bar, wanting something their mundane human life can't offer them.

This isn't exactly how she saw her night going, but she was already determined to be reckless, so she might as well.

"Yes," she says decisively, sounding more confident than she feels.

She doesn't know if the myth that vampires can hear when you're lying is true, but either way, they're satisfied hearing that she wants to go with them.

Her mocktail sits half finished on the table as she slides out of the booth to follow them.

"We don't live very far," Robin says when they get outside, holding Nancy's hand in her own.

"Okay," Chrissy says, walking a step behind them on the small sidewalk.

"Are you from around here?" Nancy asks, looking back at her briefly.

"From here in the sense that this is the city I tell people I'm from because my tiny little town is kind of a blip on the map," she says, falling into step with them as they slow down as the sidewalk gets wider.

"We're also from a tiny town near here," Nancy says, her lips quirking up into a smile when Chrissy looks over at her.

This is easier than she thought it would be.

She feels like she should ask something- isn't that how it works with small talk? Someone asks you a question, you answer, and then you ask a question back.

Her mind is blank as she tries to summon any question to ask them, but luckily, they arrive at their place before the silence gets awkward.

They veer off the sidewalk down a stone path that leads to an ordinary looking apartment building. She's not sure what she was expecting- something lavish maybe. But so far, they just seem to be normal people.

Robin pulls the carabiner off her belt loop and swipes a fob on her keyring to open the front door.

The apartment is on the first floor, so she follows them and tries not to start panicking as Robin unlocks their door.

She has no idea what to do with a woman. She barely knows what to do with a man, but she has no experience with women or with vampires and she's kind of just jumping in feet first.

They lead her inside and it's- it's really cozy. Warm lighting and plush throw pillows and normal things that everyone has in their house.

She feels kind of silly for thinking their apartment would feel cold and clinical, that it might just feel like she was getting blood drawn at a doctor's office and nothing like she's read about online.

This is their home. They brought her back to their home.

"Sorry for the mess," Nancy says, looking chagrined as she tidies up the pile of mail that's overflowing out of a basket on the coffee table.

"It's okay," Chrissy says. "Your place is really nice."

She looks around, sees pictures hanging up of the two of them, sometimes with other people, sometimes alone - the one closest to her is just to two of them, Robin wrapping her arms around Nancy from behind, both of them grinning at the camera. It's nice. She can't remember the last time anyone took a picture of her smiling.

"Come sit," Nancy says, gesturing to the couch.

She sits down next to where Robin is already seated, feeling her temperature raise when Nancy sits down on the other side of her. She feels surrounded. She feels- not trapped, but caught, maybe. Caught by a couple of vampires who want her blood. She feels dizzy at the thought.

"So," Robin says, dragging out the 'o' sound. "How do you want to do this?"

"You were right that I want to be bitten. So you both can, you know, do that," Chrissy says awkwardly.

"Where would you like to be bitten?" Robin asks.

"Anywhere," Chrissy breathes out.

"And the other part?" Robin asks. If you want someone to take you apart and piece you back together...

Chrissy looks at Nancy, looks at her mouth, and she wants. She feels the want so deep inside of her, it feels like it might come spilling out. So she says, "Yes, to that too."

Nancy smiles, this smug little thing that has Chrissy squeezing her thighs together tighter. She looks like she wants to devour her. Chrissy wants it so much.

"You should, you know- you should also use your charm on me," she stutters out, blushing when Nancy raises her eyebrows. That was the other part of this that she looked up, a vampire's charm. It's why she sought out the feeder bar specifically.

She wants to feel good, wants to not have to be in control of her every micro expression for fear of someone getting mad at her.

"We should?" Nancy asks, leaning closer to her.

Chrissy nods. "I like it, like to feel- commanded," she says, as if she's done anything like this before. Her heart is beating so fast in her chest.

"Do you now?" Robin asked from her other side.

Chrissy looks over at her, noticing her dark pink lipstick. The shade is close to the one on Chrissy's own lips. If they — if they kissed, neither of the lips would look any different.

She looks at Robin's mouth and she thinks she wants her lipstick smeared all over her, staining her skin, both Robin's and Nancy's.

So she says, "Yes," a hint of desperation in her voice. It's what she wants. It's all she wants. To not have to think or make decisions when she doesn't know what she's doing. They've obviously done this before, so they should be the ones leading, the ones deciding how this goes.

They look at each other over Chrissy's shoulder. She glances between them and can't discern what they're silently discussing, but they seem to come to a decision without ever having spoken a word.

"Okay," Robin says. "We'll use our charm on you. But we'll check in with you every step of the way. Stoplight system work for you?"

Chrissy nods eagerly. Her online dive into what vampire bites feel like led her to a few racier websites, but a lot of them were educational, explaining kink and the like for beginners like her. She thinks she read enough to be safe.

And she feels safe with them, despite the thrumming in her gut, despite the fact that they're going to make her spill blood, probably sooner rather than later.

"Okay then," Nancy says. "Robin is going to charm you. In the bedroom."

She stands up and offers Chrissy her hand.

Chrissy takes it, letting her lead them all into the bedroom.

Her heart is beating fast, racing in her chest as Robin stands in front of her.

Her pupils bleed red a little as she says, "I want you to let us take care of you, can you do that for me?"

And Chrissy feels herself nodding.

"Can you take off your dress for us?" Robin asks.

Chrissy thought the feeling of a vampire's charm would be different, maybe that she would feel it more intensely. She feels lighter, almost, in her movements, her head a little fuzzy, as she slips the dress straps off her shoulders, but she still feels in control, like she could stop this at any moment if she wanted to.

She doesn't feel out of her body, like some people online have explained feeling, but there's a tingling sensation in her scalp so she knows it must be working.

It's possible that it's different for everyone, like the bites are. Maybe it doesn't feel like someone else is taking over completely for some people. Maybe some people just have this weird sensation wash over them like Chrissy's feeling right now.

She lets the dress slip down her torso and then pushes the tight fabric down her hips, letting it fall to the floor.

The look in Robin's eyes is hungry, like she's hungry for Chrissy. It makes something in Chrissy ache.

Nancy hums from somewhere behind her and Chrissy's cheeks burn. The thought of being looked at and judged, even if they like what they see, is a little overwhelming.

"You can take your heels off too," Robin says and Chrissy does it, the suggestion making her stumble trying to get her shoes off quick enough.

Nancy comes up behind her, putting a hand on the center of her back, and Chrissy shivers, the touch doing the same thing as Robin's charm—sending tingles down her spine.

"Let us take care of you," Robin repeats and Chrissy nods, the sensation from before getting more intense and spreading throughout her entire body.

Nancy steps in front of her and Robin takes her eyes off Chrissy to look at her. Chrissy looks too, her face heating up as she takes her in.

She's stripped off all her clothes too, her smooth skin on display for them both to look at.

Robin leans forward when Nancy comes to stand in front of her and kisses her, running her hands up her body like she's done it a million times, the tenderness and familiarity making Chrissy feel like she's intruding somehow.

And Chrissy stands there, aching—both from watching them kiss and touch and from knowing that Jason never knew her body like this, never cared to. She spent so long trying to make something work with someone who never seemed interested in actually knowing who she was or what she wanted.

Robin touches Nancy as Chrissy watches, knowing exactly how and where to touch to have Nancy sighing into her mouth, leaning closer, and clutching at her shirt like she can't get close enough.

Nancy pulls Robin's shirt over her head, flinging it to the ground, her hands going to unbutton her pants as their kisses turn harsher, nipping and biting at each other. When Robin's out of her pants, they pull apart and look at Chrissy again.

"Can I kiss you?" Nancy asks, stepping close to her.

Chrissy nods and Nancy presses forward, brushing her mouth against Chrissy's.

This is only the second person who's ever kissed her, she remembers suddenly, her mouth opening in a gasp as Nancy's hand slides up her stomach to cup her breast. The second person to ever kiss her is naked and touching her and it's making her dizzy to think about.

Nancy licks inside her mouth as she thumbs at Chrissy's nipple.

She tastes a little bit metallic, Chrissy thinks faintly, like blood.

Nancy pinches Chrissy's nipple lightly between her thumb and forefinger and she moans into Nancy's mouth. She didn't know her nipples were sensitive—they normally aren't.

She licks back into Nancy's mouth and tilts her head further, trying to kiss her deeper, trying to get her to kiss her the way she was kissing Robin a minute ago, all teeth and tongue like they weren't afraid to hurt each other.

Nancy pulls away and Chrissy tries to follow, swaying forward, but Nancy stills her with her hand on her collarbone.

She's strong—the force of her hand isn't overpowering on her, but she can feel the strength there.

"What's your color, darling?" Nancy asks, her hand slipping down to rest on her hips, fingers touching the waistband of her underwear.

"Green," Chrissy says, feeling a little hazy from the kiss, from feeling Nancy's strength, from everything about this.

"Can I take these off?" she asks.

"Please," Chrissy says—begs, really.

She helps Chrissy out of her underwear and Chrissy can't help but preen when Nancy makes a pleased noise, seeing her slightly unruly bush—she hasn't really felt like dealing with it, but Nancy seems to appreciate it.

Nancy grabs her hand and leads her to the bed. She sits on the bed with her back against the headboard, propped up against the pillows there.

"Come here," Nancy says, her voice ringing in Chrissy's ears, and she scrambles to follow the order, moving to straddle her.

Nancy redirects her, putting Chrissy's back to her chest, her legs on either side of Chrissy's.

"Lean back on me," she whispers in Chrissy's ear and she shivers, leaning back.

They aren't cold, like some people think—vampires aren't cold. Nancy is warm against her back, not warmer than a human, but not ice cold like some people were saying online.

Robin looks at them for a minute and Chrissy feels pinned by her stare.

Nancy's hands come down and spread Chrissy's legs out, putting them on the outside of her legs, putting Chrissy on display for Robin to look at, her cunt exposed to the cool air of the room.

Robin gets on the bed and crawls up towards them. She sits with her knees under her between Chrissy's spread thighs.

"Here's what's going to happen: Robin's going to put her mouth on you and you are not going to come until I bite you," Nancy says in her ear as Robin puts a hand on Chrissy's thigh, knocking the air out of her lungs. "Does that work for you?"

She nods even though she feels like she can barely breathe. Her cunt pulses between her thighs with the heat that rushes through her. Robin hasn't even kissed her yet and she's going to put her mouth on her. Fuck.

She's only had this done to her a handful of times and she kind of thought it wasn't good, that people were exaggerating about how good it can feel, having someone's mouth on you, but she's coming to realize that maybe Jason is what wasn't good.

Robin's hand stroking her thigh makes her feel like she's on a hair trigger and they haven't even started. She somehow knows it's going to be better than anything she's experienced before and she's so worked up about it.

But Nancy said she has to wait to come until she bites her, so she will. She'll hold on as long as she can.

Robin slips between her thighs, laying on her stomach between them, her mouth so close to where Chrissy wants her.

"She's so good at this," Nancy sighs in her ear, her hands both coming up to massage Chrissy's tits, pinching her nipples between the thumb and index fingers of each hand. Chrissy tries not to shudder at the feeling.

Robin puts one of Chrissy's thighs over her shoulder and then kisses her thigh, her lipstick leaving a mark on her skin, right over the vein there. Or is it an artery? Whatever it is, it's the important one, the one that would bleed her dry if they damaged it.

It feels so fucked up that her pussy clenches at the thought, at the danger of this all.

Robin smirks up at her like she knows exactly what Chrissy was thinking.

The first touch of her tongue to Chrissy's clit feels like a revelation. It feels electric, like she can feel it all throughout her body.

Robin licks her clit again and Chrissy tries to spread her legs wider, she wants to be splayed wide, all laid out for Robin to do whatever she wants with her.

And what she wants, apparently, is to drive Chrissy insane with her tongue. Because she dips her head lower and licks over her hole, a broad stroke over her entire pussy.

Chrissy lets out a shaky breath, gasping the next breath in when her tongue returns to her clit, flicking over it.

Robin sucks her clit into her mouth and Chrissy cries out, her back arching, her tits pressing more firmly into Nancy's hands.

"Told you she was good," Nancy says, pressing her mouth to Chrissy's shoulder. Fuck, they're going to get lipstick all over her. The thought makes Chrissy's head spin. She wants to be covered in their marks—lipstick prints and bruises and bite marks—so anyone who looks at her will know exactly what Chrissy got up to tonight.

The onslaught of sensations, her sensitive nipples being played with, her clit being sucked on, has the muscles in her stomach clenching already. She doesn't know how much of this she can take—she already feels close, strung tight, her being played like an instrument.

Nancy moves one hand up to tip Chrissy's head to the side so she can slide her lips against hers once more. The noises are pouring out of her mouth now, pried out by Nancy's tongue.

She almost doesn't recognize the noises coming from her mouth—she doesn't think she's ever been this loud before. It's for good reason though because Robin does something with her tongue that makes Chrissy's eyes roll back, her hips jerking up into the sensation.

Nancy pulls back to say, "Look at her. Look how much she likes it. She loves this, loves making you feel good."

Chrissy looks down at Robin, at the way she's looking up at them with hazy eyes as she swirls her tongue and sucks on Chrissy's clit, her thumb coming down to dip into where she's so wet and open.

Nancy whispers, "Robin loves this. She loves putting her mouth to use. She loves how you taste, loves the sounds you make."

It's so much, the feeling of Robin's tongue on her, the knowledge that she likes it too, likes pleasing Chrissy, Nancy's hands on her tits, the whispered words in her ear.

The heat is building within Chrissy, her core tightening as Robin tucks two fingers inside of her and presses on her g-spot as her tongue draws circles on her clit.

"I'm so close," she says, a high-pitched whine coming out of her mouth.

Nancy kisses her neck and then drags her fangs over the sensitive skin there. She says, "But you're not going to come until I bite you. Then we'll both taste you."

Chrissy nods, so desperate to get this right, her thighs threatening to close around Robin's ears even though she's trying so hard to hold it off.

"Please," Chrissy whispers as Nancy drags her fangs over her neck again, teasing her. Tears spring up at the corners of her eyes.

She feels Nancy smile against her neck before she says, "I like it when you beg."

So she says it again, "Please," like she can't help it, because she wants Nancy to praise her again, tell her she's doing a good job.

Nancy just opens her mouth against Chrissy's neck, holding it there as Chrissy hangs on the edge, on the precipice, so fucking close.

"Okay, sweetheart," Nancy whispers right before Chrissy feels the most insane sensation she's ever felt.

The feeling of Nancy's fangs breaking through her skin is intense, but Chrissy can barely isolate the feeling because she's too busy coming harder than she ever has, her eyes rolling back and her entire body trembling as Robin's mouth works her through it.

She read that there's something in a vampire's saliva—maybe venom—that makes people have a reaction and she believes that now. It feels like her entire body is on fire, starting from the point where Nancy's mouth is sealed over her neck, radiating down her entire body.

The noises coming from her mouth are loud and desperate and she's helpless to do anything to stop it.

She shudders through it, the prick of pain in her neck seeming to drag her orgasm out, or maybe it's just Robin's mouth that's doing that. She can't make sense of what's happening to her. She only knows that she's feeling more than she ever has, the orgasm washing over her and tingling all the way down to her fingertips and toes.

Robin gentles her mouth and pulls away to kiss Chrissy's thigh, but Nancy keeps going for a few seconds longer. And Chrissy knows it's the charm and the venom in her saliva making her feel like this, but she's never felt this good before, never felt so taken care of and wanted and it's embarrassingly bringing tears to her eyes, the intensity of it all.

Nancy pulls her mouth away and licks at the bite mark to clean up any spilled blood and Chrissy shudders. Just the knowledge that she actually did this, actually fed a vampire, is doing so much for her. Her cunt pulses around Robin's fingers weakly.

Nancy licks over the bite marks a few more times, before she says, "She tastes so sweet."

Robin pulls her head up from where she was kissing her thighs, her mouth still a little wet with Chrissy's slick. She licks her lips and says, "She's sweet here too," with a wicked grin.

Chrissy groans and drops her head back on Nancy's shoulder as Robin's fingers inside her press on the spot that makes her eyes cross. She feels so wet—open and dripping around Robin's fingers.

"Are you feeling okay?" Robin asks.

Chrissy picks her head up and looks down at her. She nods and almost groans when Robin grins at her, her fangs glinting in the low light of the room.

"We don't want to take too much blood. Are you going to be okay if we both bite you? We won't take a lot this time," Nancy says, running a hand down Chrissy's stomach, her fingers finding Chrissy's clit.

"I'm okay," she says, her breathing picking up again as Nancy rubs at her slowly, the promise of feeling that sweet, tender pain again making her pussy throb.

Nancy's fangs are at her throat again and Robin is mouthing at her thigh and Chrissy thinks she might shake apart if they both sink their teeth into her at the same time.

Nancy's fingers move deftly on her clit and she's going to come, she thinks, already. It's so soon, but she's so worked up she thinks it's not going to take much.

They both tease her, running their fangs over her skin as she moans.

"Please," she begs, wanting to come, wanting to feel them drink from her.

They must have some kind of telepathic connection or something because they both sink their teeth into her simultaneously and she's coming, arching up into the pain, into the insane feeling of her blood rushing out of her and into their waiting mouths.

The twin sensations of pain in her neck and on her thigh had Chrissy panting, her eyes rolling back at the pain and the pleasure, unlike anything else that she's ever felt. The rush of blood is warm and intense and dizzying.

With Nancy's fingers circling her clit and Robin's fingers still stretching her open, it's like she whites out from the pleasure, her eyes unseeing as she falls apart in Nancy's arms, her blood rushing past her ears, her heart thumping loudly.

They pull back after a minute and Chrissy's body sags back against Nancy's.

Robin gets up onto her knees, leaning over them. She takes her wet fingers out of Chrissy's cunt and presses them against Nancy's lips.

Chrissy tilts her head to watch as Nancy sucks the slick right off Robin's fingers, a shiver running through her.

Robin leans down and kisses Chrissy for the first time and Chrissy moans into her mouth.

She can taste herself on Robin's tongue—her slick and metallic blood both smeared around Robin's mouth.

Nancy's first two fingers are still drawing circles on her clit and she's going to come again, just from this.

She shudders, still feeling lit up from the inside from everything that's happened tonight. She's tensing up and coming a third time faster than she ever has before, Nancy's fingers deftly working her through it. The noises she makes get swallowed up by Robin's mouth on hers.

Unshed tears cling to her eyelashes, the pleasure feeling very suddenly overwhelming. She pushes Nancy's hand away from her sensitive clit.

They rearrange themselves and her on the bed, with Chrissy lying next to Nancy, still somehow feeling the aftershocks of her last orgasm.

"Was that okay?" Robin asks, like they didn't just totally blow her mind.

Chrissy nods. "That was, that was good."

"I'm glad," Nancy says and then, "Do you wanna watch Robin get me off?"

She feels her face, already overheated, get hotter at that. She nods.

Robin straddles Nancy's thigh and leans down to kiss her. It's the same intense way of kissing that they apparently save for each other—biting and sucking each other's lips.

Robin reaches her hand down and presses her fingers inside Nancy as she grinds down on her thigh.

Chrissy watches as they get each other off, hands harsh and demanding, taking what they both know they want. The slick sound of Robin's fingers moving inside Nancy—fuck, the same fingers that were inside of her—is loud in the room.

She watches and gets that familiar ache in her chest. Watching them move together so naturally, something that must have come with time and patience and getting to know exactly what they both want, has her wanting that kind of thing for herself. She wants to know someone the way they know each other.

Robin and Nancy make a beautiful picture, tangled up in each other. The sounds they make as Nancy comes around Robin's fingers and as Robin reaches her peak grinding on Nancy's thigh make Chrissy flush even harder than she already was.

They sound good together, they look good together.

Their kisses gentle as they come down, softening into something loving, smiling against each other's mouths.

Robin pulls herself off Nancy after a while and then climbs over Chrissy to smoosh her between the two of them.

They cuddle on either side of her and she allows herself to rest between them for a while as her heart rate comes down and she gets her bearings again.

Nancy's hand strokes over her hip, her body pressed up against her back. Robin kisses her soft and slow the way she did with Nancy after they came and Chrissy kind of feels like crying because she didn't know it could be like this. The pleasure, the kindness they've shown her is one thing, but she hadn't known it was possible to feel so content lying next to someone.

And this part, after, being wrapped up in them, between them, being touched with no purpose other than to touch—it makes Chrissy's heart splinter even further than it already was.

She can't stand it after a while, so she sits up after letting herself indulge in it for too long.

She doesn't know how to do this, how to leave after hooking up.

Robin looks at her and says, "You can stay, if you want. We can take you to breakfast in the morning."

And Nancy says, "There's a nice little cafe a couple blocks from here." Her hand traces up Chrissy's back and she closes her eyes at the feeling, more intimate than she knows what to do with.

Chrissy wants to, but she can't stay. There are thoughts swirling through her brain saying she doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve the kindness they've shown her. And she can't stay the night wrapped up in their arms and have breakfast with them in the morning and pretend this is something other than what it was.

She shakes her head. "I should go," she says, untangling herself from them.

"At least let us call you a Lyft," Nancy says, grabbing her phone.

Chrissy gets dressed, pulling the too tight dress up her body, putting on her heels again.

She takes Nancy's phone when she hands it to her and puts in the cross street near her apartment as the drop off location.

They walk her outside and Chrissy's back to feeling kind of numb.

All the excitement and the rush is gone, vacating her body even before she crossed the threshold out of their apartment.

Nancy holds her hand as they walk her out and Robin kisses her one last time before the Lyft arrives and it feels like something that could be something. It doesn't even make sense in her mind—could-bes and maybes aren't actually anything at all.

There's no room for her here. Nancy and Robin have a life together, something they've built together, something that they let her see just for a brief moment and it was beautiful and sweet and kind of everything she's been wanting.

But it's not hers to have.

It's not hers to keep.

So she goes home to her empty apartment with half her closet still sitting empty, memories of this night imprinted on her brain like a brand.

[cemetery-irises]

No thoughts just Aesop cuddling up to one of his (cold, unfeeling, but ultimately human textured) effigies in one of his coffins when he's especially tired or stressed or worn out. He can puppet them a little to hold him, so even if the movements are robotic and numb, he can feel loved.

And Aesop, currently, is absolutely bone tired and not thinking straight. He hasn't been sleeping well lately, trying to keep himself busy and useful. Sometimes his brain gets overrun by the urge to help people. So he does. As much as he physically can.

It doesnt help that when he's been sleeping, he's been snapping in and out of nightmares. He's running off a lot less sleep and a lot more coffee in the morning than he's used to, except it's starting to catch up. And thus, he finds himself practically delirious from lack of energy.

So, deciding on what he perceives as a a very good and normal idea, he summons a coffin in a mostly empty room. He climbs in to sleep in it then and there. The room it's in is rather dark, and he's too occupied with burying his face into the neck of the effigy as he falls asleep to realise or care that the lid is still partially open.

After a little while, he finds himself gently shaken awake by someone unseen. Which he responds to with stressed murmuring to let him sleep just a moment longer as he presses himself further into the comfort of the coffin and tries to block out the world.

The person above says that he can't stay here, but another voice to the other side of him suggests moving the coffin instead of Aesop. He silently hopes that he isn't too heavy to lift as he falls back into dreamland.

When he wakes again, it's in Naib's room. The man in question has seemingly been watching over Aesop as he slept, if him making accidental eye contact with them as soon as he opened his bleary eyes is anything to go by. Aesop attempts to hide away in the effigy again, but the mercenary sticks a calloused hand between him and his cuddling partner.

"Hang on, wait a moment-! I'll let you get back to that in a second. Just need to ask a few things first, ok?"

Naib only gets an exhausted "mhm..." as a response. Aesop shifts around, laying on his back to face them. They look rather worried.

"Have you been sleeping okay? You look exhausted." After a moment's hesitation, he shakes his head. There's No reason to lie. "Right, that makes sense... do you want to talk about it?"

Aesop decides turning back around and pressing his face into naib's hand (still blocking him from his effigy, but more comfortable and honestly more appealing than it anyway) is a good enough way of saying "no. I want to sleep." The hand twitches.

"Oh. Yeah. Alright, quickfire time, nod or shake. Were you preparing for something?" Shake. He was not. "Working late?" Hesitant nod. Sometimes. "Why? Were you trying to keep yourself awake?" Nod. Yes he was. "Is it because of nightmares?" Shrug. That's only part of it.

"Hm. One more." Thank god. It's nearly over. "It's been about a week, right? Have you been wanting to sleep the whole time?" Very enthusiastic nod. Aesop so badly has wanted to sleep these last few weeks, but that's why he needed to stay awake until he crashed.

When his brain was overrun before the manor, it always ended like this. With him exhausted, burying into whatever he could find as his mind and body completely shut down. So he needed to do a good job before that happened. Otherwise it was a waste. Otherwise it is a waste. He can't just smoulder, he needs to burn brightly and warm as many people around him in the process as he can.

The rough hand his face has practically melted into in the silence starts to retract, leaving him scrambling to grab it again. He succeeds. It's warm as he nestles back into it, his own hands stroking it absentmindedly as he does so. It awkwardly strokes back, a thumb trailing down the side of his cheek.

"huh..." Naib's other hand hesitantly joins in, coming to rest on Aesop's back. "Well. you can go to sleep again now. I'll see you when you're better, okay?"

The "mhm..." the man lets out as a reply sounds considerably happier than the first one Naib heard from him. Rather unsurprisingly, he's asleep in only a few seconds.

Naib is starting to understand why Aesop decided to curl up with that weird doll in the first place, as his unconscious smile seems to waver when Naib tries to take their hand away.

It appears they may be stuck here until he wakes up.

gahhh i love this i love this i love them

[sealrock]

poem - or specifically, a character reading a poem that particularly strikes them as meaningful or enjoyable

{-creeps along in Sea's footsteps to deliver YET MORE prompts-}

cw: depictions of illness

(ty for the ask @thefreelanceangel!)

"I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading – treading – till it seemed That Sense was breaking through –" Paris paused for a moment, glancing beyond the worn and yellowed pages of their cousin's poetry book to an unmoving body as it lay in the infirmary cot in front of them, its emaciated frame swallowed under layers of itchy blankets and sensitive medical equipment to control the frayed aether reserves. Evander continues to gawk in childlike wonderment at Physis Technon's "scientific ingenuity and advancements in aetherology," but Paris sees this as inhumane. It's sickening. The monotone beeps and hums of the machines are here to keep a corpse alive, to pump fluid and nutrients into otherwise wilted flesh. It's scientific necromancy for all Paris is concerned. A growing collection of flowers and sentimental tokens sat on a dresser in the corner of the room—most of them were from the Scions, even if they didn't know this person.

It's Paris' turn to look after the body. Andromache—their mother—looked like shit after pulling an all-nighter. She's not young like Paris, but Paris refused to stand by and let her intentionally neglect her health to cater to a husk. The artificial sunlight of Labyrinthos cast Paris' shadow long and dark from the open window behind them, cutting across the body's torso in an act of pseudo-bisection. Paris couldn't look at the unruly black hair and sunken face attached to the body. It's not the gentle, smiling face they once knew, for it belongs to a stranger. The skin, once a rich shade of brown and so soft to the touch, grew pale and dry. The healthy meat, strong enough to carry Paris even after they got too big to be held, withered away to reveal dull blue veins and sinew. A lot has changed in the fifteen years of separation, but Paris continued wishing for things to return to how they were before. Especially now.

Paris had excised a tumor from the body in the same manner as they did Thancred. But Thancred wasn't down and out for this long—his friends didn't have to watch him languish away to something unrecognizable. Not even Gaia suffered this much. The tumors were phantoms feeding off of their life force, like parasites. This parasite dug too deep, it nestled in the very marrow of the husk. If only Paris had been quicker to flush out the infection. They were still a child then.

Tumor.

Parasite.

Infection.

Paris calls it many names. To be this detached helps them cope. Halmarut is dead, yes, but the destruction left in their wake resonates like thunder. Case in point: the body being kept alive with somanoutics.

The equally artificial breeze from the facility's wind turbines blew into the room. It felt temperate. Paris felt their thick hair tickle their goosefleshed nape. The body wouldn't feel it. The body hasn't felt the sensation of sunlight for a long time. Paris ran trembling fingers through their hair and shifted around in their uncomfortable chair before continuing,

"And when they were all seated, A Service, like a Drum – Kept beating – beating – till I thought My Mind was going numb –

And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots and Lead, again, Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race Wrecked, solitary, here –

And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down – And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing – then –"

The poem stopped abruptly. Paris shuddered.

"How can Patroclus read such morbid stuff like this?"

Paris talked aloud to no one in particular. The body couldn't hear them. Paris carefully flipped through the pages, briefly scanning the stanzas to find something less depressing. For the half a year the stranger's been here, all but dead to the world, Patroclus would read poetry to keep it company. The lad never met this person before, but he was willing to travel from Ul'dah just to spend time with them. Paris failed to understand his reasoning, but Patroclus had always worn his heart on his sleeve.

Patroclus believed this therapeutic; he reported witnessing a smile as he read his favorite poem one autumn day—it must mean the body liked it, too. Paris could vaguely recall Evander, swellheaded as ever, brushing off his brother's excitement and saying it was an involuntary response to the environment due to the persistent vegetative state. Evander then gave an example where he recalled when the skeletal hand grabbed his wrist as he shaved the face free of patchy stubble, but he appeared too giddy telling the tale. He's no different from the Sages running this facility. Between their bickering and Achille threatening to lose his breakfast, Paris didn't want to hear anymore.

Paris doesn't expect the body to spontaneously rise and converse with them, but the fact that two people with no relation to it were present for these events settled wrong in Paris' gut. It should've been Paris. Paris let out a sigh and continued to read,

"If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin, Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain."

This poem is what Patroclus loved the most. Paris finds it ironic. They've helped ease many people's pain, but who can help Paris with theirs? Stealing another glance up, Paris felt a shriek catch in their throat as they jumped. The book fell from their hands and landed on the tile floor with a soft thud. The head had turned towards them without Paris noticing.

Black eyes, more like black holes with no visible bottom, were watching them. As the Warrior of Light, Paris has seen many things that would disturb the most hardened individual, but this is different. Hector—their dad—is watching them. Paris froze in their seat, unable to look away. Their heart hammered roughly against their ribs. Their dad blinked slowly, his weak eyes scanning their face for something to land on. His expression remained unchanged, the hollows of his face more apparent up close. He looks… so old and frail. Paris couldn't move.

Dad… Do you remember me?

Please look at me.

Paris wanted to say it, but they just sat there, mouth gaping like a fish as dread filled their belly. It twisted and roiled. Their hands gripped the arms of the chair with such force that Paris thought the metal began to bend. Before Paris could react, Hector's eyes rolled up as his eyelids fell. A soft sigh escaped his nose. He returned to being a corpse.

Paris' throat clamped shut. Tears burned fiercely behind their tired eyes, and Paris would be a fool in not letting them out. Paris isn't one to cry, they stopped crying a long time ago. Paris told themselves to be stronger than that because no one was there to wipe away the fat tears from their face anymore. But Paris reached a breaking point. They couldn't keep the façade going any longer.

First, it was one. Then two. Before long, tears drenched Paris' face. Their shoulders shook violently as stifled sobs threatened to break free from their clenched teeth. The tension fled from their body as they sagged in the chair, callous hands coming to hide their face from no one. Through bleary eyes, Paris reached to take their dad's fragile hand into theirs and squeezed.

"Please, open your eyes. It's me, dad, it's your little sprout."

Paris' voice pitched higher with each word before they finally lost it. Paris' head dropped onto the edge of the bed as they continued to sob, their tears falling at the toes of their worn boots. Patroclus' poetry book lay discarded and open next to them, its pages gently fluttering in the breeze.

"Hope" is a thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm –

I've heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me."

[osakisz]

obscure | danny johnson

an unfortunate tale of a timid reader's first experience in the realm.

gender neutral reader, partially not proofread, shy & timid reader, medic reader, major character death (they'll be alright o7), danny is his own warning.

When the obnoxious ringing on your ears disappears, and the numbing strain on every inch of your body follows, your eyes flash open, viewing the scenery of wooden boxes piled up each other, several wooden carts with barely nothing containing them, and the bleak gray sky, evident of the souls trapped in the realm. You know nothing of the place you're in, even going as far as having no memory of standing, but here you are, all alone as the cold wind taunts you. When you try to move your arms, it feels unreal and painful, similar to when you wake up and try to leave your bed after oversleeping. Perhaps you were, perhaps this is a dream, but you don't know that there is barely time to think of reasons as to why you're here.

You snap out of it, seemingly have found the energy to walk around. You look around while doing so to investigate more. A small structure of what seems to be a factory with several broken windows is the very first thing you notice, scattered wood planks that are tied together with ropes that can barely hold it up all over the place are the second, a wooden cabin with an open window and entrances are the last. The latter pops out more than the rest you've noticed because of the vibrant lite encasing the hut.

After your investigation, you have yet to acknowledged a detail that you should have realized the moment you were conscious. This eerie place was as bleak as the sky was, with only crows squawking filling the silence.

It's not very comforting to know that fact, being by yourself is serenity itself, and the air does smell refreshing considering there is a factory nearby, but it seemed to be incapable of working again.

You continue to move your feet, despite how chilling it is to know that you have suddenly woken up here, only to be by yourself. The illuminated cabin has taken your notice once more. It's a mystery as to why it doesn't have a door on both sides and at least the thinnest glass from the factory to cover up the window, and... why are there lockers in here?

Besides all of that, you notice a staircase leading deeper down the shack. Considering the lack of vibrancy, you note that the stairs lead to an area that is absent of light. Fear only hits you when you're in the middle of walking down the stairs, what if... somethings waiting for you there? Lack of vision will only leave you vulnerable.

You don't find it in you to go back with your body even refusing to go any direction but downwards. The want of knowing whatever your eyes lays upon is rushing in you, you're too far gone.

Your hard work of resisting the fear of something harming you has paid off. The very first thing you see in the center of your vision is a metal bar glued to the also metal floor, which is scattered with blood that seems fresh. On the top of each side of the bar sticks put a wooden hook, comparable to the hook attached to the roof of a slaughterhouse. From then on, you start to question what this place is, and why are there lockers here again...?

Your lust for adventuring still hasn't worn off. When you turn to the very corner of the basement, a wooden chest is in display. You attempt to open it without questioning it's existing in this odd place, and when you finally manage to open it, the chest is filled with odd materials sticking to each other. Plastic, paper, dirt, and debris are present to your disappointment, yet you still rummage and your patience wears off when you see a medical kit. You are happy with your discovery to say the least, even if it won't be of no use currently. Such small thing forces you to remember the the very thing you loved the most to do, helping others who are in need, physically and mentally. You love to establish for those who are vulnerable, seeing them recover because of you is enough for you to be shed tears of joy, especially if the wound is brutal.

You don't realize that you came out of the cabin while reminiscing. When you do become conscious once again, a big device is right at your feet. Wires sticking out, cogwheels popping up, and many more buttons that you do not know the purpose of.

Electronics aren't in your area of expertise, nor do you think you should be laying your hands on such things, but you still try anyways, worry-free of the penalty it may cause for doing one wrong move.

You place your focus on switching handles & buttons randomly, despite that, the device emits loud noises as time progresses, seemingly becoming more louder and louder, until the only thing you hear is the sound of metal clashing against each other.

A gloved hand comes in contact with your shoulders and you yelp and accidentally kicked the med kit that stood on the ground as a result. The device sounds like it was about to explode hence you did not hear the approaching of the stranger just right behind you.

You attempt to catch your breath as you stare at the boots of the stranger. As you gradually look up, you notice that they are clothed with a black leather hood, small ribbons flying behind their back, and a mask children loved to wear in the near end of October. None of those piqued your interest, instead, it is the blood encasing every cosmetic they are wearing, unclear if they are fresh or not.

The hooded figure crouches down to your level, their head tilting to the side. "......."

Both of you sit in silence before they fill the stillness with a question.

"Hmm... Haven't seen you before. You new here?"

"N-n-new here?"

They sigh, letting their head lay low before bringing it up to face you again.

"You lack the awareness, doll. But I suppose I like it that way", their voice laced with a teasing tone.

You both sit staring silently once again, with only the generator besides you able to fill the silence this time.

They sigh before reaching their other hand to you, "Danny."

You shake his hand with yours, "(name)... umm..."

He forces your hand upwards as he stands up, ordering you to stand before him. "Lovely name, dear. Tell me, what's a beaut like you doing in a place like this? All alone, to add."

"I... really don't know. I couldn't see anything for a while but then I just... woke up, standing still..."

Danny says nothing yet again. You're tired of the occasional silence appearing between the both of you.

"S-say... I noticed patches of blood in your clothes and I was wondering... if you were hurt...? I-if so I can patch you up!". You look around you to find the med kit you have unconventionally kicked away. You present the med kit to Danny with huge tension on your shoulders and an awkward, yet friendly smile.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm alright. Besides, you'll need it for later." He says with a haunting chuckle, forgetting to mention that the blood was never his in the first place

"What... do you mean?"

Danny's on his last straw and you broke it. The way you look at him with such horror of the future, your eyes almost watering, he is savouring it.

In a flash, he whips out a knife from his back while using his free hand to push you down, all in what seems like a second.

"Danny! Wh-What are you doing!?"

He avoids the question, more focused on engraving his knife on your shoulders.

You scream as the top of his blade encase the flesh of your shoulders. For a man who is drunk in bloodlust, he chose to harm you in the harmless way possible. That changes as he retrieves the knife and stab you in the stomach multiple times.

You are unable to let out coherent sentences because of this. Meanwhile, Danny is having the time of his life, painting your body red as he is panting and breathlessly laughing from how happy he is. What a joy it was to destroy such a pretty thing like you. A shame that he couldn't save you for last.

It feels like hours before Danny removes the knife on your stomach, is perception of time important when you're in and out of your own consciousness?

Danny stands up and looks at your frame, enjoying his work. He preps up a camera and sat on the ground with you, he slips his arm on your back to maintain your balance. A bright flash is the last thing you see before dropping.

"I'll make sure we'll meet again, maybe I'll be a little benevolent next time. See you for now, dove."

You feel a light peck on your forehead before you completely lost your consciousness and all of your senses.

luvenary on tumblr — please do not repost.

[a-moth-to-the-light]

Most-Listened of December 2023

(via stats.fm/spotistats)

This was finals month, and a particularly rough set of finals, too. But I always tend to enjoy music as a whole more in December, as everyone takes time to appreciate their favorite songs of the year! So, though there weren't a whole lot of new releases, this was a great listening month for me, hence all the five-star songs :)

[last month]

1. The Very First Night -- Taylor Swift

This is an exuberantly painful song--just how happy Taylor Swift sounds, as she dreams of the impossible, breaks my heart and then brings me back for yet another listen.

2. Elevarte Caer -- Xoel López, Repion

This song is so powerful, hit after hit after hit of melody. The headbanging goes WILD whenever this one comes on.

3. Pierre -- Ryn Weaver

Soundtrack to my (requisite) finals breakdown, and WOW is it catchy. The bittersweet feeling chokes me up every single listen!

4. Closer -- The Chainsmokers, Halsey

Of all the songs Todd in the Shadows has featured on his yearly best lists, I don't know why THIS is the one that has made my own monthly list twice. But here we are!

5. Like I Can -- Sam Smith

Sam Smith angst is something special. I still like "Stay With Me" more, but "Like I Can" has the bite I needed this month.

6. Lean On -- Bely Basarte

I got really sick around Christmas, and Bely Basarte's soft covers of songs from my childhood helped comfort me through it :)

7. Numb Little Bug -- Em Beihold

Thanks @embroselu for the rec! When the instrumental go CRASH I go SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (the texture is fantastic we love it)

8. Blame Brett -- The Beaches

This one is so much fun!! It brings pop euphoria to rock music just as excellently as my favorite Yena tracks!

9. Favorite Crime -- Olivia Rodrigo

Yeah, none of the GUTS ballads have managed to match this one, or "1 step forward, 3 steps back", for me.

10. Temporary Fix -- Dirty Blond

This is exactly what winter gloom feels like.

11. Una Sonrisa -- Repion

I've taken this on as sort of personal theme song, I love it so much!! AL FINAL, TE CANTARÉ, PARA SI SENTIRME BIEN &lt;3 AL FINAL, TE CANTARÉ, PORQUE ME HACE BIEN A MIIIIIIIIIII PORQUE ME HACE BIEN A MIIIIIIIIIIIIIII <3

12. Royal -- IVE

This song is fine, I don't mind it! I left it on repeat while speedrunning a final essay, and apparently that was enough repeats to get it on this list--I don't think I've listened to it in any other context.

13. Heavy Lashes -- Ichiko Aoba

Accidentally clicked on this while looking for "Heavy" by Linkin Park & Kiiara--no regrets! It's mysterious but also tender, a ballad that's full of surprises. One listen, and I knew it was going to be on the five-star songs list.

14. Piklu's Vacation Dream -- Abeer Khandker

Every list needs a random meme song! Thanks to Pinely on YouTube for bringing this song into my world <3

15. All-American Bitch -- Olivia Rodrigo

Me when Olivia Rodrigo lyrics...

Five-Star Songs This Month:

BIBI Vengeance -- Bibi (i didn't realize how great this one is until it showed up on my spotify wrapped top 100 this year. bibi & the song work SO well together, it's captivating!! and there has to be something in that chorus, because its shock value still hasn't worn off)

Bruise -- Jo Yuri (this was overshadowed by the other songs on the album, but i fell hard for its delicate atmosphere this month. jo yuri's vocals on love all really are something else!!)

Call My Name -- Sunmi (yet another flawless sunmi bside. i really hope she releases another mini album--or an album, if we're lucky--soon!)

Elevarte Caer -- Xoel López, Repion

Heavy Lashes -- Ichiko Aoba

Peach Blossom -- Yuju, sokodomo (another song i underestimated earlier in the year. i'm so glad yuju's solo songs have been centering her vocals so heavily, moving away from gfriend's dramatic, showy instrumentals--she really can carry a song, and i'm so glad for the chance to appreciate her singing more!)

[dollprince]

got a particularly painful injection today and the anesthetic still hasn't worn off so it's uncomfortably numb and then suddenly owwww

the last time i got it, it was hard to walk for a couple of days. but i have class tomorrow! so i'll be dramatically flopping around and doing my worst attempt to act casual.

what if my body just........... functioned? imagine

[sttvrllightt]

the fall of blood, chp. 1

⋆౨ৎ˚ summary: A girl wakes up in the middle of a wintery forest, drenched in blood. Unsure if it's her own. With a raging fog sitting upon her mind, unable to recall her own name nor what has gotten her into this position.The world will slowly unravel in front of her eyes as she will take on an adventurous journey with someone who hasn't yet captured her trust.An invisible force pushes her into the path forged by her destiny as she goes off to conquer her own mind.

⋆౨ৎ˚ genre/tags. strangers to friends into lovers (sort of), slow-burn, mutual pining, annoyance to yearning, fantasy world divided into two territories, world full of magical creatures and enchantments, humans, elves, orgs, mystery, lots of bickering, hidden powers, amnesia

⋆౨ৎ˚ warnings. mentions of violence and misogyny, mature themes, blood, gore, mental health issues, side effects of amnesia, discrimination, name calling

⋆౨ৎ˚ chapter. 1/x

⋆౨ৎ˚ words. 1,2k

⟡˖ chpt. 2 ⟡˖

⊱ ━━━━━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━━━━━⊰

With one deep breath my eyes flutter open, my chest begins to unevenly, mostly rushingly, come up and back down to get as much air as possible into my system. I quickly sit up, at first I register the pool of dried blood underneath me which my clothes are stained by. I scan my surroundings just in case I could tell where this blood came from or for any signs of weapons. When I do not find anything useful, I avert my gaze to the palms of my hands that are too stained by the dried blood. I arch my eyebrows at the sight and the heart inside of my chest begins to pound faster than usual as thousands of questions flood over me. I try to recall what has happened, what led me to be sitting in a wintry forest. I wonder how I did not freeze to death, how did I manage to get into this position, however, nothing comes. It feels like starring at a blank page which has not yet been stained. No matter how hard I ponder, there's this fog clouding upon my brain and no amount of energy makes it unravel.

I sit still in the chilly snow, not giving up, until the coldness makes my whole body numb. It does not stop me though, it only makes me want to try harder. I do not move an inch, not until the stinging pain of the frost is all I can think about. I do stand up then. Only to collapse on my knees with my eyes filling up with the bitterness of frustration. Due to the despair, my fingers take in as much snow as they can, crushing it to the point where the vessel of blood in my palms turn purple. Till the sorrow overcomes my despair.

After that, I feel the heaviness of my own tears as they stream down the swell of my cheeks. Along with the metallic taste in the back of my mouth. With the top of my lungs I let out a wretched sound, accompanied by sobs which are grasping at my sore throat. I bury my head into the palms deprived of sensation. I do not fight the tears and I do not have an idea of how long I spent wailing. In the end it does not truly matter, because it does not change the fact I must have become mad.

I wipe the tears away with the leather of my armour. My upper arms are protected by rounded, fully covering rerebraces which sit perfectly under the shoulderplates. The lower arms are covered by vambrace. The breastplate is made from many layers of smaller leather pieces. It covers almost everything from the neck down. My upper legs are covered by rounded, half covering cuisses. The lower legs are protected by leather shin guards which have intricate gilded design patterns covering everything. Thick pants and a long sleeved shirt made from leather and fur are worn beneath this all. I scan my specially crafted leather armour and it only rises yet another longing to know how I ended up in this cursed situation. I push all the thoughts aside by shedding few layers of this perfectly made armour. If I want to move around peacefully, I need to keep a low profile. I take off the upper arm and leg armour, leaving it in the snow, not bothering to cover it up. My hands search each pocket carefully, the only thing I find is a small yet sharp knife hidden in my breastplate. I scoff under my nose and the I am on my feet once more to survey the area properly. I do not discover anything else. Strange.

The sun is nearing its centre of the sky which could only mean one thing, it is going to go lower now. Soon it will start getting dark. I close my eyes to think straight, but it is no help. Where am I supposed to go? I curse under my own breath as the world sprawls before me in all directions. I stand there for what feels like eternity. As the time passes, suddenly a string of force pulls me to one of the directions. I hear a faint voice whispering in gibberish. It spooks me enough to unleash my small dagger despite the fondness the voice carried. When my orbs do not take notice of any figure, I put the dagger back in place. I cannot make out anything the voice said, it is the last sense of hope I have left so I do follow. My feet move on their own, making the first step towards the unknown. A chill crawls my back, there is no way of coming back. No way of knowing if I am making the right decision.

Without any additional thought I move forward, the sound of snow crunching as I march away following me. After few minutes of mindless walking, the air which would normally be fresh and smell of nature's wonders is now thick with the stench of gunpowder, blood, gore and death. My steps quicken and soon enough there is an enormous field spreading in front of me. Normally the blanket of the snow covering the area would be pure and untouched, instead it is bathed in blood. There are only remains of weapons and camping, the bodies must have been taken care of. Still, the smell of demise hangs in the air. Despite the emptiness of the battlefield, I could still detect anguish of the lost souls. Suddenly my chest feels a bit heavier.

I decide to keep on walking, I do not choose to look back. Nonetheless, the battlefield does seem overly familiar. I stop in my tracks and after some debating, I change the course of my journey directly to the core of the field in hope to find something that might refresh my memory. Perhaps seeing these circumstances will punch me across my face in realisation. It truly feels humiliating and helpless to be so lost, not even knowing who I am. Each time I move closer, there is this familiarity which makes the hair on my body stand up, giving me goosebumps. I scoot over the area of where the battle has played out. Not a single thing in particular strikes my attention, although I do find some supplies in the form of food. I simply take what I find to be useful, then I hear it again. This alluring voice calling out to me. I abruptly turn around to be met with chilly wind grazing my face.

"Hello? Who is it?" I breathe out when I finally muster up some courage. The sound of my own voice sounding odd to my ears. My body turns in every direction to catch a glimpse of someone, something. I am left unsuccessful. I grip the supplies I found tighter and then I run, my feet moving on its own. I do not know what has gotten into me. The course of the feet brings me back to the forest, to be hidden by the naked crowns of the trees. I do not stop running there, I do not stop until I cannot feel my legs. Yet the pain is incomparable to the storm ragging inside of me.

[the-ultimate-muses]

Bundled up as if going on an expedition to the Arctic, Chihiro STILL feels the sting of night air shooting through her like a million tiny needles. Clinging to Mondo as the bike speeds them to where his gang is waiting to meet the programmer they've likely heard so much about ( somewhere with warming drinks and hopefully atmosphere; Chihiro hasn't been to a Bar before... for obvious reasons ) even the biker's body can't completely shelter her from the merciless wind blowing past them. She can only IMAGINE how much more intensely it must be hitting him...

Face buried against Mondo's back, she makes a mental note not to let him go on another nighttime excursion without putting on a heavier jacket. At the very least he should be wearing gloves... Paying no mind to how impossible that will be to enforce ( it's not like she has any real sway over his decisions; especially if she's not even there with him ) Chihiro feels justified in her internal chastising.

Once they finally arrive, the roar of the engine quieting into a purr that fades into silence, Chihiro's chastising becomes a lot less internal. Climbing off the bike with some help from her crush friend, she gasps at the sight of Mondo's hands. Her cheeks and nose a similar shade of red from the biting air, she grabs the much larger ones with her own, ❝ Your hands must be freezing! ❞ Without hesitation, tiny hands start to fervently rub Mondo's to try and ease the stinging. Brows knit in frustration, she huffs and hastily takes off her cute gloves, tucking them into the pockets of her thick baby-blue winter coat. Figuring that her somewhat-protected hands will be warmer, she resumes rubbing Mondo's.

Paying no heed to where they are and WHO might be watching, concentration is focused on Mondo. ❝ I knew it. They're like ice... You really need to bundle up better, Mondo. You're going to catch a cold if you keep this up. ❞ She lightly scolds. Lifting her gaze to meet the biker's, she says with an adorably ❛ stern ❜ gaze, ❝ Promise you'll dress warmer next time? ❞ As if that wasn't unfair enough, big genuinely-concerned eyes then gaze into the large man's soul as she adds, ❝ Please... ❞ - (( *hands Mondo over a smol to Get Sum Drinks and Meet His Friends dfjgnfdjkgdfg* ))

@not-bcring

Mondo would absolutely be lying if he said his hands weren't cold, his fingers going from painfully frigid to concernly numb only a few minutes into their ride. It was uncharacteristically cold for the season, the night before having been perfect for a ride, so Mondo had figured tonight would be the same.

Maybe he should have checked the weather like Chihiro clearly had.

He hadn't been cold yet where he waited by his bike, a cigarette having to quickly be snuffed when he saw the marshmellow of a programmer walking towards him. He had teased her about it as he helped Chihiro onto the bike, that they were going to a bar not the north pole. It hadn't been cold in the parking lot, but as soon as his bike started to roll he swore the temperature dropped several degrees and not just from the wind their travel created. Fuck, he might have to break out the car even before the first snowfall...

Kicking the bike stand out while the rumble of the engine changed to the cooling ping of the heated metal against the air, Mondo knew damn well he was about to get yelled at, the words of yeah, he really should have worn gloves dying on his tongue as she fussed over him. Placations rapidly shifting to a hilarious sound that got stuck in his throat, Mondo was unable to argue with his brain clicking through a reboot. Pretty girl. Pretty girl holding his hand. Pretty girl caring about his wellbeing.

Well, at least his face was quickly warming up.

Any Diamonds that were milling around the lot were only able to snicker for a single breath before Mondo was glaring their way, lips quicky being shut at that with the knowledge that Mondo can and will beat their asses for laughing at him.

"Ch-Chi, 's fine alright? I've ridden in colder weather, 's no big deal." Unable to see how that might not be as comforting as he wanted it to be, Mondo wiggled his hands from hers, his face flaring as his gaze shifted to the side. "Jus' c'mon, few of the guys are already here, see?" It was easy to tell which bikes were Diamonds' bikes, with them taking up near every space in the lot, with occasionally two or more being parked into the same spot.

"I'll get y' a drink, anything y' want. A-And after you meet th' guys, we can play some pool or somethin'." With a gentle hand between her shoulders, Mondo guided her into the bar's main room, it being exactly what one might expect a biker bar to look like, right down to the blood stained floor. "Funny story behind that, this guy-" Having started with a laugh after walking over the old, dried blood sunken into the wood, there no chance it had escaped Chihiro's notice with a light shining right over the spot, Mondo quickly trailed off when he realized that it...wasn't very funny of a story, at least to Chihiro. She was just so very...soft. Not in a bad way, Mondo liked how compassionate she was, even if sometimes he didn't understand why it was directed at certain people, including him on occasion. It simply wasn't something he thought would fall into the category of what she would find amusing.

"Um...n-nevermind actually. What do you want t' drink? Board's there, over the bar." If she could even see it over the crowd.

[goldendivinewrath]

@full-of-mercy

He can't imagine it: what the man underneath him might be thinking. About this, about how they came to be where they are, how they are, exactly what wore down their defenses.

Exactly the moment when he knew they both had defenses to be worn down. Vash very purposely does not allow that thought, not that one moment to the next is particularly lucid with the way he's so very aware that he's bucking into Wolfwood's mouth just a little more enthusiastically than he intends. It's difficult to stop. Difficult to want to stop. Not too difficult to do, technically speaking but--

He'd made a request. One not just in the process of being fulfilled and then some, but echoed back to him in actions rather than words. Entirely too much thinking in that glorious vacuum of not thinking, so he lets it go.

Even with that pleasant little electric current working its way through him, building, humming in the back of his mind like the resonance that softly swells and pulses like a heartbeat, even with Wolfwood looking otherwise occupied (and he feels it, feels it, the concentration and the bunch and strain and press of a tongue he'd never really given enough thought to before), he knows he's being observed. It's strangely... wanted, desired. Enjoyable, this way. For someone who actively avoids being the center of attention, it is surely something to revel in it. (It's a shift, he knows that. One sign of many of a change, but he's already willed himself not to think. He will not ruin this with thought.)

Vash wants to turn. Still, again, more. He wants to see. What his hand feels, the metal and hot-hard-smooth skin, the slickness easing the motions, wondering if he can see the pulse and twitches as easily as he can feel them. The motions; he wants to see what that looks like too, the squeeze and twist and stroke, rushing back to the starting point to do it all over again. He can hardly see anything at all, keeping his back arched, keeping a position that's comfortable for him for another few minutes at least, but may look like torture to others; he can still see Wolfwood's eyes in his peripheral vision with a little head tilt and turn. If he can keep his eyes open. Bright and probably telltale to how he's falling apart all over again already, adding to the way his thighs keep tensing and squeezing before he remembers himself and eases off, just to do it again--

"Oh." Just like him to miss out on the greater whole while concentrating on small details. It's the whisper of a word, a pleasant realization as he feels the pulsing in his hand, trying to move with it, and then he's--

Goal achieved, evidence spilling out over his hand and in that space behind him, between them, and Vash is moaning like it's him making the mess. (Well, it is, but not alone.) He's close himself, even closer when he feels slick heat spreading, when he closes bright eyes and imagines what it has to look like because he is, not, moving. As much as he wants to. He wants to stay right where he is and buck into Wolfwood's mouth and he does. He does exactly what he wants to do.

The full-body shiver is telling enough. Phantom electricity crackles across skin, resonance almost feels (sounds, tastes) like a multi-branching rush. Consuming. Harmonizing. He can't gather enough thoughts together to be amused: was that even a contest? Which one of them could be declared the winner? Both, both is fine. A draw. in need of a tie breaker. Which is fine, because this time he-- Oh.

It's still good. It's still very, very good, riding his way through shivery aftershocks, but this time it's different. He can already feel a little extra tremble in his abdomen, and something like sensation waking from numbness near the base of his petals. He's-- Mm. This is sooner than expected. And he hasn't properly warned Wolfwood about what happens when he keeps going, when he's relaxed and turned on enough to get it to happen (which he hasn't experienced that often, sure, and not for a long time, but enough to recognize in hindsight), sensitivity momentarily heightened even above what it was before, because--

There's a little more to touch, to be touched. Not much, not all that noticeably and not that soon; the tight bud needs time to unfurl completely, has to fill and expand and it's enough to... it's enough to...

"Wolfwood." Vash is extremely proud of himself being able to form words. Slurred and slow, but there. "We c'n-- Y'can s-stop now, if. If you wa-ant..." There are other options, besides stopping, he's pretty sure. He just can't think of them at the moment, and there's nothing alarming enough to take him out of the slow comedown.

After everything, even if he should be afraid, he isn't. It's been weird. It's going to get weirder. If he hasn't already been wholly rejected or... or hurt (not that he's ever thought that of Wolfwood, never), then he can't imagine this little additional oddness will be the cause.

Except that it's only little now. And growing. Tingling with warmth. He's dripping again, dripping a lot and it has to be getting obvious. Has to be. And he'll have to rely on some degree of trust, because he won't be ready to run if it all happens as it has before.

He can't, uh. He can't... pack it back in on a whim, but he can somewhat privately take care of himself. If he needs to. Which reminds him that he has a body all over again, and he really should politely let go of the other man's cock if he hopes for either of them to manage anything like thought or reason or... whatever else he's probably supposed to be thinking about.

It is a sight, seeing Vash like this. A different perspective entirely, bare and aching from something other than the brutality of his fellow man. Maybe this is cruelty in a way, crossing a bridge they can't un-cross, doing things that they cannot take back. When the craving began, Wolfwood cannot quite reckon at the moment… and thinking is verboten anyway, anathema to whatever-it-is, this game that they have decided to play hand in hand, skin to skin.

It is a different perspective, and one Nicholas is not soon to forget. Vash is bulkier than the crimson coat and layers of leather underneath would suggest. Heavier too, not that he has any complaints to offer, watching the ripple of muscle underneath scarred skin that is smoother in spots than he would have ever dared imagine (and he imagined anyway, wondering on dark and lonesome nights what it would feel like to skirt his lips over downy hairs, explore the textures of damage and healing, of survival against all odds, what it might be like to be tender when the days are tough and bloody, what it might be like to soothe the wounds of pride and folly and circumstance rather than cause them).

Beautiful.

Beautiful as he takes something for himself. Radiant. Effulgent. Thinking is forbidden, but worship and faith are not predicated on logic and thought.

Incredible to be at the center of it, burning up like a worm in the focus of a parabolic mirror, though here and now there are no lenses between them and eye contact, between them and the honesty of looking and seeing.

He likes what he sees.

Drinks it in like a man parched, starved.

When Vash looks back down, he finds Wolfwood tipping his head back, cradling florid heat on his lower lip and the curve of his tongue, bullied out of the reach of prehensile petals that curiously touch the stubble on his chin, cling with threads of slick and saliva. Deft flexes of fingertips and thumb keep the nub exposed, protruding from its flushed hood and the feathery-soft fuzz around folds, all contrasting colors and glossy heat. Is it a dick? Is it a clit? Whatever it might be called, he might have to ask, probe under… duress. Yeah. Duress. Something like that. Whatever Vash might name it, it seems to serve and map to his understanding of human-adjacent anatomy, and so Nicholas has some idea of what to do with it. He can operate on instinct, indulge in action and reaction, determined to be enough.

God, he hopes it can be enough.

Vash's hand closes around the weight of his cock, thick and vascular and hot. Out of sight, but not out of sensation. Wolfwood can only focus on this, on what's in front of him, what's over him, on the tense-flex-undulation of abdomen and hips and grinding against his face. They are in lock-step as they often are, even if this is not combat, even if they are not back to back as bullets fly. Challenge telegraphs in the gleam of eyes, competition Wolfwood is determined to uphold even if…

Well.

Who would lose, anyway?

Stroke and twist and he aches, throbs, surprising himself with how near to bursting he is from this, from all of this, nearly untouched and utterly focused, utterly lost. Guttural and breathless he groans, all gravelly velvet and broken desire, nothing at all performative as he channels sound and resonance with puckered lips and a renewed urgency.

His mouth seals around Vash, nose pressed to pubic mound, neck arching as he keeps pace with the rocking, with the grinding, tensing his own glutes to keep them firmly planted to the coverlet. Even he cannot refrain from tics of pelvis into the dexterous catch of gunman's fingers and palm.

Humming, moaning, suckling, knead-lashing with his tongue and the pinch-squeeze-rub of finger pads, he hollows his cheeks and wears the sheen raining on him from above, breathing it in, heedless of the desperate and hungry sounds he makes. There is no space for thought. None of shame. Minutes, moments, maybe forever, maybe embarrassingly soon, he does not know and does not care.

Not as he thickens in Vash's grasp, the russet head of him glossed and flared. Even he cannot forestall inevitability forever, losing rhythm but not enthusiasm as he burns from temples to toes. Tell-tale, the clenching, twitching, spilling hot over his belly and pooling in his navel, wanton cries muffled but not stifled, left hand locked bruising-hard to the soft of Vash's hip.

But he keeps going. Unwilling, unable to stop, determined.

[hoedorokishoto]

Random HC's for what some of the KNB Boys wear to bed 💤💕

I would like to preface this by saying these are all headcanon's that popped into my brain intermittently over the course of the day, so enjoy... yes KNB is on my mind 24/7

Shintaro Midorima

So hear me out, I have no evidence to back it up but I 100% believe it in my soul to be true.

This man sleeps 100% naked, always. Excluding basketball and school trips of course.

It all started in Middle School when he kept yawning at practice on day and Aomine caught on and said something along the lines of being too restricted while sleeping. If he just let it all hang loose he would sleep way better "take it from me Midorima"

Because side note, Daiki gets home and strips, regardless of who is there.

After calling Aomine a neanderthal and everything else he could think of under the sun he left and put his lack of sleep down to school stress. Sure to pass after exams.

That was until exams did finish and he was tossing and turning still. His sleep restless. His long limbs flailing around the bed as he moved and tried to get comfortable.

Seeing no end in sight he huffed and did the last thing he ever thought he would do, stripped down to nothing. Getting naked as the day he was born before getting back in bed and laying down.

Sleep finding him surprisingly quick, his eyes shutting as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He hasn't worn clothes to sleep ever since.

I also think that one day his mother came into his room to wake him and got the fright of her life. Both the Midorima's in shock and silence. Without another word she turned around and left. Didn't say a single thing about it and for weeks after whenever they passed each other would just communicate in one word sentences like "Shin" to which he would respond "Mother" and not another word is said.

Daiki Aomine

So to continue with this menace of a man, as previously stated he also sleeps naked.

But isn't even going to try and hide it.

As soon as he gets home he takes off his shoes and clothes and just wears underwear around the house, plopping down on the couch to watch whatever basketball game happened to be on at the time.

He goes straight from the bath or shower into his bedroom and has the towel slung over his shoulder keeping water from dripping down his body.

His parents thought it was cute when he was young and then when he got older tried to get to to at least wear a robe or something but to no avail.

His argument being "I don't know how you can have a problem with it. You made me."

Eventually they just gave up and turned a blind eye. They are now so numb to it that they just have dinner with a half naked Daiki at one end of the table.

Atsushi Murasakibara

110% has different coloured onsies.

Another head canon that has no evidence to back it up but I will go down fighting about it.

Mind you they are custom made, his family getting him one every big holiday and at the start of every school term. Just because he grows so much and has hulked out of so many.

He isn't ashamed either. If the Yosen boys are having a movie night, catch him there in a onsie with a tail. He needs to be comfy while eating snacks and the boys never say anything because really who are they to judge.

Once accidentally washed one with Tatsuya's pristine white sleep shirts and made them all turn various shades of red and pink.

His team mate not being very impressed as they were bulk ordered from some place in America and i quote "were like sleeping on a cloud."

The titan did feel bad and offered him something to sleep in, the raven haired boy being all but swallowed alive in a black and white panda onsie. Some of the fabric dragging along the ground like a train.

Seijuro Akashi

When I close my eyes I can picture Seijuro waking up in a penthouse apartment.

Slipping out of bed and walking over to the open windows, looking out over the city as his butler brings him his coffee.

He slips his hand into the pocket of his long, silk sleep pants and watches the hustle and bustle of the city below.

He prefers the long pants and no shirt in the warmer months and long pants and a t-shirt in a matching colour in the colder months.

I don't have much to say except just clothes your eyes and picture him like I just mentioned... one word. Magnificent. *chef's kiss*

[peculiarscriptures51]

~The one where he makes love to her (PJM)~

Hazel quickly unlocks the front door to her and Jimin's shared apartment. She was beyond exhausted from a long day at work. She was more worn than usual, and coming home to her empty home wasn't making her feel any better.

That ache in her chest found its place again, typically it can only be satiated by keeping herself busy. It was why she's been working as late as possible ever since Jimin had to leave for tour. Several months worth of over time, sore feet, and an aching heart were enough to make anyone numb.

Ache was all Hazel felt, and she tried to ignore it. Though that longing persisted, blooming in her chest and stretching across her whole body. It weighed her shoulders down when she could no longer fake her happiness out in the world.

The house was dark, as usual, blue hues of moonlight kissing every exposed surface, the rest consumed by shadows. She tosses her keys into the nearby bowl reserved for them, trying to maintain her composure until she could at least make it to their bedroom. Briskly she passed by the nurtured dozen of soft pink roses he'd gotten her for Valentine's Day in his absence, though it's been several months since the holiday, she still kept the roses in just as good condition as when she got them. She trudges through their large and empty home, the large bed in their room would be just as empty as it was when Jimin had left it.

She couldn't make herself sleep in that bed anymore, not since he left. It was just too much of a sharp dagger to her heart, knowing that he wasn't present to make her feel better and having to wake up and face the reality of him never being there at all. She's had enough sleepless nights to vow not to so much as put her head near his pillow so long as he wasn't there to occupy it. Nothing embodied his warmth anymore.

Hazel slips her heels off, wincing as her stocking-clad toes met the cold surface of their smooth floors. She limps over to the bathroom to shower, intending to grab her pillow from bed and sleep on the love seat afterwards.

Hazel did her usual nightly routine, reminded of how lonely it was to be doing it on her own. Jimin's cabinet was vacant of his toiletries, still. She stopped counting the days until his return, because it was never on the right day, always later than promised. She would make herself miserable sitting and waiting for him like a teenager until school is out, or a kid waiting for Christmas.

She opened the bathroom door, stopping in her tracks. The bedroom had been dark when she left it, though now it was glowing with a warm and inviting candle light. Hazel furrows her brows, not daring to move. She wasn't sure what kind of intruder would dare go through all this effort, but her anxiety had her considerably on edge.

She looks at the foot of their bed, on the floor surrounding it were soft pink rose petals, scattered intricately across the floor. Hazel clutches her robe, hugging herself uneasily.

She was speechless, to say the least, trying to make sense of the surprise. The door opened suddenly, and she bit back a startled gasp. The warm candle light kissed his face, and he put on his charming smile.

Hazel felt her eyes getting teary, she didn't want to be emotional, but he was gone for ten months, and she wasn't expecting to see him in person for another three. She covers her mouth to mask her embarrassing expression, sniffling as she quickly shuffles into his arms.

Jimin wraps his arms around her, cooing as she buried her face into his neck, still sniffling. "Hey, baby," he greeted in English, chuckling as he regains his balance, Hazel having rushed so quickly to him that he could hardly prepare for the impact. She was gentle though, she always was.

She sniffles into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly. Jimin's heart melts, he figured she'd be emotional, but she was full-on crying. She hasn't hugged him this hard ever. "Aw, Button," he cooed sympathetically, rubbing her back soothingly.

He pulled away to look at her face: no makeup and her eyes were slightly puffy from crying. Just as pretty as he remembered. He caresses her face, meeting her eyes and holding them sincerely. Her shy self looked away, however, because Hazel could hardly hold his gaze for very long and he was determined to make that change.

He swipes the moisture from her cheeks, his girlfriend still sniffling a little. He holds her eyes again with sincerity, wanting to make sure she knew what he had to say to her. "I missed you." He whispered, his thick accent was a harmony to Hazel's ears. She felt comforted now that it wasn't filtered through a speaker.

She bobs her head, finally her lips pulled into a smile and her eyes shrunk into crescents, which was far more adorable in person. She leans up and kisses him softly, Jimin melting and hugging her tighter. He missed how she felt pressed to him, and would make the most of his time with her.

He lifts her up, making her squeal with glee as he carries her to their bed. He lays her gently on her back, continuing to kiss her lovingly. "I missed you," he whispered again against her lips, voice dripping with lust and passion. "So much." He presses kisses to her chin and throat, Hazel shifting slightly at the warm, fluttering feeling.

Jimin traveled down to her clavicle and chest, bound and concealed by her fluffy white robe. She hadn't gotten a chance to get dressed yet, and he liked it that way. He leans over her delicate body, untying her robe. Hazel's breath hitched as her exposed skin met the cooler air, blushing as he stared down at her body.

He leaned down and kissed her perky breasts, parting her legs more and kneeling between them. Hazel felt breathless, gripping his silky blonde locks of hair as he moved his head down. She whimpered as his soft plump lips laid open mouthed kisses on her stomach, traveling down to her waist and hips.

Hazel felt herself shudder with pleasure, watching with hooded eyes as he pressed his delectable lips to the sensitive joints of her hips. She felt her pelvic bone jerk in response to his gentle touch. He hums, hearing her soft breath getting sporadic, admiring the heat of her body on the palms of his hands.

Jimin stares up at her for a moment, his face descending between her legs. He kneels on the floor, pulling her hips closer and gripping her thighs with his hands. Hazel quivered in pleasure, taking deep breaths as she tried to mask her soft moans.

He hums, making her grip on his hair tighten, "Ji-Jimin.... " she tried to whisper more but was rendered speechless as she felt the magic of his tongue pressed to her intimate areas.

Her legs start to close around his head as she nears her climax, though he pushes them apart aggressively, and the heat in Hazel's stomach spread as a result. Her excitement made her body quiver beneath him. Jimin felt himself smirk, he loved making her quiver like that. He felt a sense of pride and arousal stir up inside him. He lifts his head, Hazel inhaling sharply as the cool brush of air fanned over her hot and moist intimacy, courtesy of Jimin.

He kneels over her, pulling his shirt off, coaxing the sleeves of his girlfriend's robe off her arms as well. She bites her lips as she felt the smooth fabric of his pants on her core, beneath it was his tent pressed to her.

Her hands slip from his slightly tousled hair, trailing down his firm muscles. His skin was warm and soft, just as she remembered it would be. He kisses her collar, leaning down as he tugs the zipper of his pants, pulling himself out of his garments. Hazel's eyes never left his face, and he stared down back at her, admiring all the details under the flickering orange glow.

Jimin presses himself into her, watching her expression fall a bit as she whimpered, her hands slide from his chest to his back, and he keeps his hands on either side of her head, staring down at her face lovingly.

Their movement was slow, rocking back and forth with a gentle and heated rhythm. Hazel instinctively spread her legs more, becoming more flustered as the heat between them grew quite intense. Her breath was hard and deep, and quickly she was panting with every smooth stroke of his body. Jimin groans in pleasure, his eyes momentarily rolling back.

Her eyes were closed at the bliss, and he watched her face as her head moved from side to side. Her small hands grip his waist and shoulders, he leans down when she pulls him closer, resting on his elbows and never missing a beat. Her moans fill his ear as he works through the moisture of her body.

Her strong grip around him tightens, and she whimpered to herself, nearly brought to tears as she was overwhelmed by the rush of pleasure, though Jimin didn't stop. He leaned up and watched her eyes roll back, her feet resting on the back of his thighs.

They drown in each other's bliss, occasionally murmuring sweet expressions of longing and gratitude to one another. The night was long and heated, and Hazel felt relieved to finally have that sense of home with her again. It was like she had another part of her back, Jimin's touch alone was enough to awaken the nerves in her body and erase that numbness away.

She was still unsure how or why he was back so soon, but that could wait for later. Right now, she wanted to focus on her time with Jimin before she has to tell him goodbye again. She lays her head back over the edge of their bed, her body rocking beneath his.

She opens her hooded eyes slowly, sighing in satisfaction when she felt him grip her body tighter, and his struggle to keep control as his hips spasmed. He pants, gripping her thighs and leaning back up to see her face.

Hazel offers him her sweet smile, caressing his face gently. Jimin softens more, grabbing her small hand and kissing it sweetly, securing a tight grip. She read his eyes as the lust slowly faded away, noting his insistence as his body stayed pressed close to hers, his hand tucked securely beneath her back. Her heart throbs as she accepts his silent vow to keep her close.

[katrrinas]

a little something I started writing and didn't have the energy to finish: Julie hugs Hecate during the big freeze, and she thaws (in every way possible)

The noise attacks her senses violently; in the bright light of the decorated hall, the yells and laughs bounce merrily off the walls and settle in Hecate's ears, assaulting her tired, exhausted mind.

She takes a look around, her breathing getting heavier with every second, and feels her head spinning from all the worrying, and from the noise all around her, and from almost losing (giving up) her magic today, and from everything, anything at this point.

She notices Ada is dancing with Dimity, and Miss Bat has Mildred, Maud and Enid jumping all over her, and giggling, and dancing, and Hecate can hear Gwen's laughter even from her place at the other end of the hall. She feels like she has never been more envious of Miss Bat.

Hecate checks warily if everybody is here, if everybody is well and all right, not freezing, not freezing, not freezing. Mildred Hubble catches her glance and almost takes a step towards her (to help her, she supposes, because her head is spinning faster and faster and her hands seem to be shaking too). Despite all this, she shakes her head no and turns around, leaving the hall.

The farther she is from the hall, and the music, and the voices, the easier it is to breathe. The easier it is to feel the magic in the tips of her fingers again, the easier it is to transfer herself to the viewing platform at the top of the observation tower and to pretend she didn't almost turn numb today and everything she is and everything she has wasn't almost taken away from her.

The viewing platform already has a visitor, it appears. Hecate notices her curly hair before she really notices anything else. Doesn't everybody?

"I apologise," Hecate utters from behind, and Julie does not startle. "I did not know somebody would be up here."

Julie turns around, a sad smile playing on her lips. "Me neither," she shrugs, but her movements are lacking her usual energy and ardour. She seems tired instead (exhausted, whispers Hecate's own weary mind). The witch considers leaving.

"Don't," Julie's voice is a bit too desperate to belong to someone who feels all right; Hecate guesses they must all sound like this, and it makes her feel sick as well as relieved. She dreads to think which one is worse.

"There is enough space for the two of us," Julie continues. "If you want to stay, that is."

Her fingers are tapping nervously on the baluster, and Hecate wonders in which universe she should really be nervous about them not accepting her, not clinging to her like to a lifesaver she is, after what she has done today.

After what she has done today rings in her head again and again until it's almost louder than the music from the hall was. The witch still can't fully comprehend what has been done today, and it gnaws on her more than she is ready to admit.

Hecate comes closer and clears her throat, wondering if she should address what's perturbing her. After Julie has turned to her and raised her eyebrow questioningly, she knows there is no way back (somewhere deep inside her, though, a little voice tut-tuts and says, not without reason, that of course, of course there is a way back; but it must be one of those days when Hecate feels utterly worn out and particularly lonely because talking about her feelings doesn't feel more awful than being silent).

"Thank you for saving us today," she decides to begin with what she considers the safest path. The sky seems to frown at her tactic as grey shaggy clouds are gathering above their heads; but doesn't cry. "Thank you for saving me today," Julie flashes her a look and turns her eyes to the sky, seemingly unperturbed.

Hecate decides it's now or never (and she hasn't felt so bold in years, so not giving in to this bravery seems almost like a crime) and proceeds.

"I do have one question, though." Julie nods, and her locks, now visibly wet from the humidity of the evening and probably because the sky almost cries just looking at the two of them, cover her eyes. "I was aware that you attempted to save Esmerelda, Ethel and Sybil as well."

Julie lets out a dry chuckle, "Now, that is not a question, is it?"

Hecate purses her lips; not in disgust as she's used to, though, nor in disappointment, but rather in uncomfortability and awkwardness that can leave her speechless at the best of times.

"It is not a question, indeed. The question is," she takes a deep breath and puts her shaking hands on the baluster (for the coolness of it because, for some reason, everything feels so much warmer now, or for the support it may offer her, she does not know). "Why were you able to do that? And before you answer, I have heard Mildred say your magical hugging", she scrunches up her nose, "only works on those... you love."

There it is.

The sky sighs and roars with thunder.

[terrifyingstories]

"how life jackets are worn." softer, a little ashamed, maybe. her chin tucks inward into the collar of the coat, and she tries to figure out how to come back from the intensity of his stare and the bombed attempt at lightness. emily can feel her shoulders caving beneath the weight of it all, and despite everyone's assurances that the nightmare is over, it still feels like weakness that emily's strength is failing her now. words she had thought she'd forgotten come to her now with the clarity and permanence of a tattoo: and the one thing you can never be in this world is weak.

what had mona said to her? look how strong i made you. but she doesn't feel strong, certainly does not feel like the survivor they have all been branded as. she feels hollow at best, like if she ventured out to one of those california beaches she's heard from paige about she'd wash away. ali is the one with the gift for disappearing, but emily feels smaller and smaller every day.

"it's my dad's." a little sheepishness pulls at her lips, and she looks down, "i guess you could figure that out." she'll try her hand at some honesty; maybe that's how you hold onto the shore. she can't remember the last time the truth felt like something strong they could hold onto, and it almost gives her some hope. you know how i feel about hope, she can hear spencer say. it breeds eternal misery. the thought leaves her numb, but she doesn't let go, either. "he was trying to make it out here, but his request got denied." she'll finally let herself admit what she hasn't dared say to either of her parents, knowing it would hurt them. "i really hoped i would get to see him."

"guess the momentum of that kind of thing wears off after awhile," emily replies, a little of that bitterness sneaking back. what have their lives been if not a constant bomb threat? "that's good." sincere now. she wants him to be good. she really, really does. the relief that accompanies the familiarity of his persistence is enough to break her bravado down, and emily finds herself sitting on the bed, jacket so puffed around her it could almost swallow her whole.

it takes her awhile to answer, but not for evasion. no, the tears are finally coming, the words she hasn't been able to say to anyone. "i.. put this on, after the dollhouse. i wanted.. to feel strong. i thought it would make me feel like that. it's always.. felt like this reminder that.. my dad is out there protecting us. even though he's not here.. he's protecting me, no matter where he is. and.. i wanted to feel like that. like i could protect us. and then... with sara.." her voice cracks. "i wanted to protect her. she.. she seemed so... vulnerable. the.. the look in her eyes." she still can't think of it without shaking, how haunted she'd been. how haunted emily could have been. how haunted emily is. “i’d never seen anyone look so…” haunted doesn’t feel like a sufficient word. “i was so stupid.” it could have been her. it could have been her. it was her. and sara would have left her there. sara would have helped make sure she never left.

"what you're doing?" he supplies, giving her a look that suggests how pleased he is with the lie. he knows her well enough to know that it's simply a deflection, or even that she didn't realize until he pointed it out how tightly coiled she truly is. christian knows better. yet, her laugh catches him off guard. it isn't what he expects, and he doesn't know how to place it in the context of this situation.

it's too light, too warm, and she is anything but currently. maybe not since paige left, maybe not since A started playing with body parts. there were moments of light, moments where emily shone through. but she's gotten harder. mona would call that a success. he doesn't know where he would place it. is it strength if you've cast aside parts of yourself to get through the day? he's certain it'd be another lie, another facade, a story that is told to keep them standing.

they've needed a lot of those these last few years. "i'm better than can be expected for someone who almost blew up." and he is, actually. he sees it in all of their faces, the way they're all coming to terms with A truly being caught and the reasons why they were in their grasps. it isn't lost on christian that emily was in is room pissed not too long ago because friends that wished sara gone wanted her back now. it's not lost on him that they've all wished ali was gone in one way or another. it came back to bite them. it didn't make them wrong.

he doesn't know if he's allowed to go farther into the room. for all the ease the girls take in finding themselves on his bed, in his room, in the studio, in pretty much any space he would think to call his, he doesn't have that same comfort with any of them (save hanna, most days). he doesn't know how to act around them now, unclear where they all go from here without the constant threat that brought them together, with college around the corner. "i'm checking on you, and if you try to tell me you're fine again, think about who you are talking to." he's already checked on ali, he doesn't say. he doesn't know how to explain why that feels like a betrayal, currently. "want to try again? i have all day."