#I think I’d die before succeeding and that’s not something I would use much anyway compared to the ones I’m interested in

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Duolingo being like “this is the 15th time you’ve misspelled this word, you’re on thin ice” and my ass is fucking crying because I probably have dyslexia but didn’t get diagnosed as a kid and now I’m being reminded of it all over again when trying to learn another language for the first time since highschool

[yanderenightmare]

bitchy bratty catty pretty-girl who gives fuck-all, the school tries to straighten her ways by introducing her to a temporary captured shiggy, who is soooo fucking pissed off at this smug pretty bitch, going to track her down and make her pay!!!! >-< plez Mizz Nightmare

yandere kidnapper ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, dubcon/noncon, abuse, profanity, bullying, anxiety, drugging, kidnapping, abduction

CUTTHROAT

“Wow! Right for the kill?! You’re real cutthroat.”

She wasn’t really surprised to hear that they’d caught him, and unlike many others she wasn’t surprised to hear that they’d be holding him on campus. She had full confidence in both the faculty, the promising Hero-course students, and UA’s security system, knowing damn well it could serve well as a prison not just for the students who went there, such as herself, but for the leader of the League of Villains as well.

To say she felt safe as she walked with Aizawa to meet him would be an understatement. She knew why the teacher had been tasked with taking her there, the intention being to scare her, give her a picture of what scum she would become if she continued down the path of fuck-all she was currently on. But, even though she wanted to rebel against taking any orders, she was feeling something far more superior than the will to fight back, something that trumped safety and laid waste to fear, she was feeling thrill. 

This would be a means to an end, a cure for boredom as well as a way to show once and for all that she was a hopeless cause, maybe then these obsessive heroes would leave her the fuck alone already.

“Wow, you’re really ugly! I mean, they warned me you were, but I could never’ve imagined it’d be this bad!”

She was jeering laughs at the lanky figure who towered over her, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat and his eyes spiraling in disbelief in process of understanding why what was found beneath his fingertips wasn’t turning to ash.

“Aren’t bad guys supposed to be sexy?” Her idiotic rambling only succeeded in confusing him more as she shrugged his seemingly useless normal hand away, walking to sit down on the floor, knowing it would be a while until Aizawa let her out again. “You know, to seduce and lure people into their ranks?” She looked over the meal tray he’d flipped out of her hand before seizing her throat, nothing sharp, no cutlery, no broken glass, just one measly apple. “I’m guessing you’re not in charge of recruiting. I mean… who would ever want to follow your ugly mug?”

She watched in anticipation of what remark he’d hurl her way. She’d heard he was bratty, she’d heard he was the one who could set her straight, divert her from this collision-course she’d set herself out on. Yet, his response was more than disappointing, not at all the tornado of a tantrum she had been preparing for. “You talk too much.” He didn’t even sound at all any provoked by her words, dismissing her as he slowly made to pick up the apple from the ground, checking to see if it was his quirk that was gone or if there was something else afoot, finding his answer in the ashes of the fruit.

“Come on.” She drawled, crossing her legs beneath her, keen eyes looking at him as he too sat back down to lean against the wall, looking only a fair bit of annoyed with her presence, as though she were a stain on his shirt, an inconvenience of some sorts. “You were gonna kill me!” She laughed, his red scrutinizing orbs looking to her with a sneer. “Without a thought, in cold blood, no remorse, even after I gave you food like the mutt you are, the least I can do is spit in your face!” 

He didn’t answer. Eyes still set on her where she sat planted without a single care, annoyed with how comfortable she looked, as though she were in her element, as though she was winning some sort of game, a game that wasn’t even about him as her eyes flittered to the black-glass of the window every now and again.

She clicked her tongue, beginning a new ramble. “Tell me, Shiggy.” She smiled, eyes wicked and gleaming and untamed. “That quirk of yours…”

She might have phrased it all like a question, but Shigaraki could hear it plain and simple, how her one goal was to mock him, poke at him until he burst, and not even for the sake of watching him burst, but for the sake of proving to whomever was on the other side of that glass that they couldn’t tame her. He didn’t need to know her entire story to see that much, how he was being used as a pawn to convert some meaningless pretty-girl.

“Can you control it? Or does everything you touch turn to ash no matter your desire?” It wouldn’t have been out of place if she’d licked her lips with how dripping with venom her words were. “It’s like the Midas touch, isn’t it?”

Her poetic phrasing of his deadly quirk had his eyes narrowing, but he hadn’t much time to think her wording over before she began a new escapade.

“Have you ever fucked anyone, Shiggy?” She didn’t even look at him as she asked, alerting him of what he already knew, how she had no interest in his answer, only his reaction, and the reaction his reaction would beckon from the people in the other room. 

She was trying to rile him up, prove how vicious she could be, prove how she hadn’t a single fuck to give. 

“I bet you’ve never truly touched anyone. How could you? I mean, first…” She laid down on her back with a careless roll, looking to the ceiling, ignoring him if it weren’t for the fact she was talking to him, or about him, or at him. “Who would ever want to fuck you? All those wrinkles and all those scars. You look like the onset of death.” She giggled, and he watched her tits bounce as though they were laughing at him too. “I cannot imagine anyone willingly wanting whatever you have to offer. And even if you force it on them, you’d be bound to fuck up with how much they’d struggle.” You’d think she carried a vendetta toward him, with how personal her attacks were, yet it was all given away with how little she was paying attention to him, as though she’d judged already whatever it was she found interesting and was now done with him. All she remained focused on was creating a show, to see how far she could take it before anyone came in to stop her, how much she could poke until something snapped, how much she could bend until something broke. “Just one slip of the hand and you’re left with your dick only halfway wet in a pile of dust.”

He didn’t know if she knew how correct her imagery was, he guessed she didn’t, he wanted to believe she’d show a bit more restraint then, a bit more unease, more respect. She acted as though she wasn’t trapped in a box with a notorious villain, seemingly unaware of her own stature as well as his. She was nothing but a school-girl and yet she felt comfortable enough in her safety to be lying on her back, flinging insult at the person she was locked in with.

“I don’t see how it could bother you for too long though.” Again, she had him intrigued. “I mean… pretty stupid bitches who’re only worth one fuck anyway can’t really be counted as a loss, can it?”

It was clear she didn’t view herself as one of said pretty stupid bitches, even though a pretty stupid bitch is exactly what she looked like in Shigaraki’s eyes. Perhaps that was her point exactly.

“Have you ever dusted someone who did count as a loss?” She rolled over, head propped up on her elbows, laying in her palms, her feet kicking the air behind her. “You ever fuck up so bad? Committed an irredeemable act? Something so unforgivable even you can’t forgive yourself?” Her eyes were set on him again now. “Do you think about it every day?” Her tone shifted then, to something sadistically sweet. “Does it hurt just as much now as it did then?” Her face split into a grin, eyes ablaze as she observed, searched for a breach in his composure. “What happened to mommy and daddy, Shiggy.” She singsonged, toying with him. “Were they your first victims? Did you cry? Do you still cry? Or did they deserve it?”

Her look was earnest, salacious until she rolled her eyes in boredom at his lack of response.

Sighing, she calmed back down, briefly. “I get it… You don’t want to play with me ‘cause you don’t think I’m a worthy player.” She scoffed as she looked to the side with a melodramatic drag. “You should check yourself. We keep you in a cage, give you food, have you on a leash and collar. You’re nothing but our pet!”

She giggled again, biting her tongue, gnawing on it between the rows of her teeth with her mouth open in a wide smile.

“You know… My quirk is called immunity, but it should really be called repellent.” She looked at her hands then, now kneeling in front of him. Her gaze split like lightning, snapping to look at him again, a catlike smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You and I aren’t that different, are we?” It looked for a second as though she were about to stand up, but the movement fell short as she instead gave way to crawl closer to him, one elegant arm followed by the other, all with the grace of a huntress, a panther easing in for the kill. “In fact… I think I’d go as far and say we’re the exact same…” His eyes didn’t deceive him, this time she did lick her lips, only now her words weren’t dripping with venom, but with some other sickly-sweet nectar. “’Cause…where I never let anyone come close, you let ‘em come close… only for them to die!”

“That’s enough.” He must have closed his eyes the second he felt her breath fan over his face, because he’d missed the time the erasure hero had walked in. “This was a waste of time.” The dark-haired man groaned, disappointed.

“Aw, really?”

She wasn’t in front of him anymore, to his surprising disappointment, though her sweet smell still lingered about him pleasantly.

“And I was just getting to the fun part…” She walked to the threshold of the cell-door, not once indicating she’d turn around and take one final look at him. “Well, anyway… tootles, pet.”

Even as she insulted him, she did it twice over by not returning his gaze.

-

She was still sleeping, she noted as her mind, though still groggy and drowsed out, became lucid enough to start thinking. She was sleeping, yet the sleep felt unsafe, as though her alarm was bound to go off any second, firmly shaking her awake and telling her time was running out for her to get to school. And if she’d slept through the alarm, a teacher was soon to come fetch her. Yet, for now she remained halfway asleep, waiting for an alarm or a knock on the door unknowing of how it would never arrive.

He wasn’t sure if it was the drug that had perhaps made some of her senses dull under the impression, for… surely she should feel that her mouth was stuffed full and made to suck on a rag, surely she should feel that her wrists were tied together behind her back, and how her thighs and legs were secured together in a frog tie, the rough rope, scratchy in texture, and how it scraped against her soft doughy skin. Perhaps he didn’t tie them tight enough. It was hard to get a good grip without accidentally dusting the ropes, but he knew the struggle was worth it, seeing her now, in all her defenseless vulnerable rightful glory.

“Not so tough now…” He taunted at her small sleeping frame. Even with her clothes still on, he knew her naked body was only a mere touch away from him. How he could spread her open without her being able to kick, only wiggle for him, like a worm on a hook. No… that imagery is too ugly to be describing her, when she’s so far from ugly. She’s more like a butterfly trapped on a pin, wings fluttering hopelessly, reduced to nothing but beauty, nothing but a little doll for him to play with, tamper and poke fun at just like how she’d done back when he was captured at UA.

He decided pro putting the blindfold on her, perhaps the product of her bullying him in the cell, her jabs at his appearance subconsciously having gotten to him despite himself wanting to dust them off like he did with everything else. Her comments were sharp, and seemed to have the same type of immunity her body had, where his ego, much like himself, hadn’t the thickest of skin. Besides, she was… so painfully out of his league.

It hardly mattered though, now that he would regain all the control.

She laid on her stomach, face mushed against the mattress. He’d removed the pillows and comforter so she’d be placed like a centerpiece on his little operating table. She looked so harmless now, so sweet, especially tied up the way she was, and with those whimpering moans that were simmering to the surface, breaching her sleep, escorted by her wiggling, her delicious tempting little wiggling, begging for Shigaraki to come introduce himself, now with the turned tables.

“Did you really think I was just gonna let it slide?” Her wiggles came to an abrupt holt, breath caught in her throat, making her choke out a curt gasp through the thickness of her makeshift gag. “Did you think you were safe? Like you were simply spitting on a grave. No ghosts coming to haunt you.” She panicked once she felt the bed dip, four fingers sharp in their venture, sweeping up her back, settling around her neck, drawing out painful sudden studded goosebumps, spreading across her skin like wildfire in a field. “Silly little slut.” She squealed at the feel of his warm breath on her cheek, unable to move away, her head halfway buried in the soft mattress, teeth sinking into the cloth in her mouth when his tongue, wet with drool, large and flat, dragged up her already teary cheek. “Boo.”

Her ears were burning, so much blood gushing and rushing and pooling in her head like a storm, she barely registered him drawing back with that maniacal giggle, where with as trademark as it were, there was no doubt where she was or who she was with. Yet, she hadn’t the time to think about it, she hadn’t the time to regret or answer questions she hadn’t even the time to ask, because as her mind was cooking up chaotic whirlwinds of fear, crippling fear despite being crippled enough already, brutal fear that her gut feeling like acid festering and mind reeling in on itself in such vehemence she felt she might just faint, give out like a light in a blizzard, she was given no time before he was talking again, pushing her even further out on the edge she found herself, stepping on her fingers one by one, with no mercy as she dangled above jagged rock that were sure to spear her like an arrow through a dove.

“You were wrong, you know.” She felt his hands trace a careful set of four fingers down the fabric of her shirt, rubbing into her spine, further pushing the breath from out of her lungs. “I’ve fucked before.” He spoke casually, though peppered in between the notes of nonchalance was found the spiked flavors of spiteful mockery, like the mean girl on campus, like how she usually talks, like how she had spoken to him. “But, what I haven’t done is played with someone’s body the way I’m gonna play with yours.” He listened to her whimper, sobs surely to soon wrack through her body, uncontrollably and thoroughly, making her gasp and choke on nothing but air and fear. “I mean, it’s only fair.” She heard the shrug in his voice, that sarcastic sigh and lightheartedness. “You fuck with me, I fuck with you.” This time he growled and she swore she would piss herself with how scared she was.

He was going to kill her, she knew it, she could feel it crawling up and down her body as though mites were hidden in her clothes. She already sensed him peeling off her skin, flaying her with her screaming. And in those seconds, those hopeless seconds, she wished for death, for it to be quick, painless, like simply snuffing out a light. She nearly prayed, squeezing her eyes shut to pray to that God or Devil she never believed in, never needed as badly as she needed them now. She wished for her heart to give out, for the right vein to pop, for a lung to collapse, anything, just for her to be dead before he had the mind to torture her to death.

“Does that sound fun, pet.” And there she broke, waterworks in full effect, no longer simple silent tears but something that had built under pressure like boiling pot of water, bubbling, soon to be blubbering incoherent sobs out into her gag, all to his vengeful amusement.

He watched her for a moment, one longer than he’d probably intended, despite not having view of her eyes, watching the blindfold wet as her eyes leaked at the complete overwhelming loss of hope, lips sucking on the gag those tears that managed to escape and run down to salt her lips.

“So pretty, aren’t you?” He accused, giving her barefoot a squeeze, making her wiggle with what mobility the bonds allowed her, looking handicapped, as though he’d disintegrated both her arms and legs when he’d simply tied them up where they would be stored safely and out of the way until he deemed it okay for her to use them again, where until then… she’d remain his little immobile toy. “Pretty little girl, all tied up.” He giggled, both amused and pleased, leaning down to tug those locks of hair that had curtained her face behind her ear, making the thin wisps at the back of her neck bristle in alarm. “All alone with the big bad ugly villain.” He bit it out with a smirk, and she swore she felt venom drop where he spit the words on her face. “Pretty girl… dressed in such pretty things.” He mused, tugging on the fabric of her silk pajama shirt, his other hand stroking a thumb over himself and his caged member, the beast behind the boxer, the one she was still so completely unaware of. “To hide her rotten core.”

He snickered some more at the notice of how ticklish she was, or perhaps it wasn’t as much a reflex but rather a violent display of her fear, how she kicked, or tried to kick her legs, once his hand with its lanky slender fingers danced a pattern on the sole of her foot.

“They won’t be of much help to you now…”

It’s was a cute display, seeing her struggle in an attempt to swat away his spidering hand, endearing, had him drooling he realized, but didn’t bother to wipe his chin, instead giving into the urge he had to touch what was so temptingly sprawled out before him.

“I bet you think of these as your armor, don’t you?”

All five of his fingers touched down on her shirt, and soon there was no shirt left to separate his dry course fingers from her warm skin. He nearly let out a gasp as he watched how she stayed in place, having not become a pyramid of ash. Her beautiful body still right there, warm glowing skin still touchable, more touchable than anything else.

“Keeping you safe from prying eyes and hands… Not my hands though.”

He could excuse how he hesitated on the fact of him wanting to enjoy himself, wretchedly and thoroughly, gorging in every moment he was gonna make her scream, but… he knew that wasn’t the reason… he was… and he hated to admit it, but… nervous. He had this gorgeous creature trapped and under his thumb and he was nervous? No matter how terrified she was and immobilized it was like she still had the power, just like she had in that prison cell.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that he’d thought about her everyday he was trapped in there. She had said she would see him later yet she never once, not once, came a second time. Why would she lie? Just to fuck with him some more? One last and lasting punch in the face? He had dreamed of it. How many times had he fantasized about doing every possible nasty thing in the book to her, teach her a lesson, make her beg, make her kneel, make her bow before him? But now, having her right there, this frail little girl who wouldn’t have the strength to fight him even without the tight rope holding her down, this little girl who despite being just that had him enthralled for months, still just as hellbent, enslaved, spellbound to make her pay… but that wasn’t it either… making her pay was only half of it, maybe even less… what he wanted, what he truly wanted, was to prove to her that he could have her wrapped around his finger despite being what ugly freak she’d made him out to be, that despite being ugly, he could have a pretty-girl like her melting.

He gave fully into his wishes then, her shorts gone with a touch, leaving her in a precious pair of cotton boxers. A sigh of reverence left him, a shudder running through him. He was expecting red lace or something exotic, something vain and narcissistic meant to enhance or simply show off just how pretty she was. He figured that was what she’d dress in, something sexy, because she had the full body that one believes go hand in hand with hot lingerie, yet… she’d chosen comfort. And why wouldn’t she? When she could make it look like the hottest item his eyes ever had the privilege of seeing.

“Fuck…” He drawled, now with a wanton whine, his hand giving himself a squeeze as his cock was beginning to strain uncomfortably inside the confines of his boxers. “Just look at you…”

He only barely dared touch her, not just out of fear of her disappearing like anything else would, but because he didn’t at all feel as though he had the right to put his hands on something so beautiful.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to wear clothes.” He stated, still in awe. “Not when they cover up this perfect body.”

She screamed into her gag as he grabbed around her waist, pulling her pliable little body up into a kneeling position, then pulling and arranging some further to have her in the same position, just over his slap this time, with his bulging cock rubbing through the fabric of his briefs up into her still clothed sex, though with both cloths a thin material she felt the abrasive ticklish friction begin to stir something in her lower abdomen despite her fear and no regard to her disgust. And now, provided with the full view of her delectable little frame, her precious tits sprung free and strutting towards him with how her arms were bent in their confinement behind her back, and perky by both the cold wind of his breath and the goosebump-giving anxiety, leveled with his face, looking eager to receive his mouth, perfect nipples for him to suck on, gnaw between the rows of his teeth.

“These perfect tits…” He licked his lips, hands kneading one mound greedily as the other held her steady. “And this…” He placed all five fingers on the fabric of her panties, turning them to ash, all five staying to touch the delicate skin of her sex, feeling her quake, such a good replacement to feeling someone disintegrate. He groaned out a curse, body sagging, slouching at the sight of her exposed bare little private, he hunched over in awe as he ran his fingers through to disappear in the slit of her precious pussy. “This perfect little pussy.”

She wiggled on his digits with a squealing whimpering sob, so alive and warm and soft he could cry with how safe he was beginning to feel, without the fear of touching just a bit too much getting in the way. Although he was feeling the slight sensation of inferiority in the light of her perfection, or maybe even because of it, he decided he’d give a little scare, perhaps as a means of tipping or evening the scales.

“You know, pretty girl…” His other hand, the one not currently preoccupied with cupping her pussy, brutally brazen for the first time, spread its fingers to stroke the dome of her ass, before curling like claws to grab a fist-full of the ample flesh, making her jump and lose balance, resulting in falling flush against his chest all with a muffled cry. Her face mushed against his collar, her wet reddened nose painting tears onto his throat, such a strange type of comfort against his scars. “I’ve never slapped anyone?” He could feel her heartbeat and how it hammered like a race-horse on the track. “Or, no, I’ve slapped plenty, but a slap from me means death, usually.” His hand ascended, wrapping around her throat, all five fingers with hungry-pressured fingertips, guiding her back off his chest to sit properly, though leaning to bite her earlobe, all to feel her rub down on his aching cock some more. “But I slap you and it means pretty marks and pretty screams, doesn’t it?”

He laughed, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to hurt her, or at least not as badly as he had given reason to think.

“Such a fucking pretty girl, aren’t you?” He trailed a path of wet open-mouthed kisses down her neck and between her breasts, gripping her waist as she recoiled back. “With pretty tits.” Breath labored, or hefty with greed and desire. “Pretty girl with a pretty pussy.” He squeezed her sides, as though getting ready to make a ragdoll of her again, pulling her into the desired position. “Let me taste you.”

Her heart hammered like a hammer hitting an anvil, as she was placed on her back, hands crushed beneath her, uncomfortably wrenching in their bonds. Her mind, stuck in its prospect, hadn’t pieced it together, despite having been stripped naked, she still hadn’t given it a thought, hadn’t dared give it a thought, but his comment made the realization coat thickly, drape her and the pressure seemed too much for her mind to take, plummeting into a free-fall. He wasn’t just going to kill her, he was going to rape her first.

Thighs easily pried open for him to settle in between, scooting back on the bed so he could lie down, lower half humping the mattress desperately, imagining having her wrapped around him, but all in good time. She shook more than writhed, seizurely beneath him, with her blushed pussy a beautiful slit so ripe for the taking, quivering at the warming breath he whispered upon the tender flesh. With his hands wrapped around each their ankle he pushed her thighs and legs up and out of the way as to not have her knee him in the head while he feasted.

He listened to her struggling to breathe, her stomach rising and falling sporadically with her sobs, untuned and painful and begging for any kindness he had to spare, he was going to give her exactly that. Kindness.

His chapped lips felt so good it was cruel, abrasive and inescapably delicious, welcomed yet unwelcome by the bucking of her hips as she squealed into her gag, falling prey to more and more hopelessness. His tongue came second, warm and wet and long and strong, sliding in between her folds only to swipe up and flick off at her clit, forcing a shudder to run all the way through her core into the tips of her toes, mind reeling.

“So cute.” He noted the sensitivity with a mocking jeer, the sound simmering on her skin. “I bet a pretty girl like you’ve never been fucked by a guy like me before.” Then his teeth were the ones to make an impact, grazing over her budding clit with how it reached out in search for stimulation, having its wish granted in such a sense forcing her toes to curl. “Come on my ugly face, pretty-girl.” She really couldn’t resist with how his words were tickling on that sensitive spot, and how intent on finding and following that spot that had her coming on done and abusing it, playing with it with his tongue and chapped lips, switching between such smooth soft yet forceful pressure and bristled rough chaffed contact, making her spasm, wanting so desperately to tug her arms loose to push his incessant face off, because she wouldn’t be able to resist it, she was going to come and make an humiliating mess on his tongue just like he wanted, the knot was going to snap and she would be screaming from the force of it.

He smirked with the taste of her essence on his tongue, giving her a couple more torturous kitty-licks that had her brutally recoiling by the oversensitivity he was abusing. It served well as an ego-boost as he was suddenly feeling the urge to take her blindfold off, make her gaze upon who had her wrapped around his finger. What more, he wanted to remove her gag, hear what she had to say to defend herself, what pathetic please she would come with to try and prevent him from going any further.

His mouth sloshed its way up her stomach, hands touching and grabbing and groping with greedy fingers onto anything and everything they got ahold of, feeling up her smooth skin and soft flesh, before having made their way to grab at the blindfold. Her eyes were petrified, blinking rapidly, especially every time his clothed cock bumped into her bare pussy, leaving strings of spit and fine silken cum to hang from between where she parted with the cotton of his pants.

She was thoroughly out of it, delirious, fear-ridden and numbed with pleasure, cotton yet swivel-eyed as he fought to be her focus. He pulled the gag out of her mouth too, wiping his chin before turning the fabric to ash, eyes looking her over all the while.

His tongue rolled over his lips. “Such a pretty face.” He gathered her face between his fingers, blunt fingertips pushing into squishy bloated cheeks. “Even prettier with those tears you fucking crybaby.” It will never get old, the feeling of nothing happening still under all his five fingers. “Even better with my handprint, don’t you think?” It was funny how she didn’t seem to pick up anything of what he was saying. “Or covered in my cum.” Her brows had scrunched so hopelessly close together, whimpers upon sniffles and whiny mewling and hiccupping panting, so pathetic and precious. “So fucking pretty.” He groaned, giving his lips a second wetting with his tongue. “Kiss me, pretty-girl.” He scrunched her lips together some more, leaving her incapable of refusing.

She tasted herself on his tongue, choking on the sweetness as he forced it like a slug down her throat. Her own tongue submissive in nature, staying beneath and out of the way of his. It was a series varying from needy whimpering moans and growls that followed from his throat, poured into her receiving mouth, giving nothing but weak whines in return. His one free hand, the other one still holding a firm grip onto her chin and cheeks, continued in its hungry exploration, grabbing with an almost childlike curious freedom, leaving painful marks in their wake, having her yelp against his willful lips, which smirk grew upon every inch of reaction she fed him, until pulling away in a haze, panting, with a new little wish he was going to have her be the star of.

“Let me fuck that pretty face.”

She hadn’t the time, nor the mind, to form any protest, reduced to mere whimpering as he pulled her back into a kneeling position, conjoined thighs and legs folded beneath and supporting her ass, still with her arms tied snuggly and unbudgingly behind her back, made to watch him fiddle with the band to his sweats, pulling them below his hips and falling to his thighs, displaying his surprisingly clean boxers and not so surprising hardness. Cock throbbing within its confines, fighting desperately to come free. His hand pulling his boxers down and, cock springing loose, slapping against his abdomen, standing long and hard, tip blushed red and angry, a bead of pre-cum spilling sweetly from his slit.

“Open up, lick it up.”

She’d been lost in taking in the sheer size of him, girth thick and threatening, looking bigger than what she could wrap her hand around, her stomach twisting in tension and unease. Too caught up in imagine it ripping her apart than realizing how he was going to fit it into her mouth first.

Her eyes widened upon the thought, lips slightly apart in horror, bottom-lip quivering. “Come on, pretty-girl.” One hand tugged on his shaft, the other gripped her face, protruding nails to sink into her jaw, prying her mouth father apart to accommodate his size.

She whined at the taste of him, arms struggling behind her back, knees shuffling wider apart to support herself as he pushed on further, fingernails still digging into her soft cheeks, making her lips pucker into a soft welcoming oval. He liked the way her brows furrowed into that beautiful look of plead that had his balls aching where they hung, soon to be pressed up against her soft skin, smothering her chin. He also enjoyed how her whimpers had turned to delicious little vibrations of his cock, drumming alongside his length, such pretty friction.

“Come on, take all of me.” He licked his lips as he urged, other hand coming to caress the back of her skull, gathering her pretty locks between his fingers, abandoning all regard to how she should be turning to nothing but dust molecules instead of being a nice warm soft wet pleasure hole for him. His usually small scrutinizing scarlet eyes turning moon-wide with lustful frenzy. Voice ragged as he clawed at her scalp to obey him, no thought to her whining in protest. “You can do better.” His tip met with the back of her throat and her whine turned more desperate, nearly a scream, but he couldn’t care, not with the memory of her talking to him like he was some pussy-bitch, he was going to show her who the bitch and who the boss was. “Such a pretty little thing with such a nasty filthy ugly fucking mouth.” He spit through grit teeth, begging to fuck the back of her throat, having her gagging on him, hopeless in search for breath. “A mouth like that is only good for one thing.” He gave a few more painfully deep ruts, having her eyes roll back at the loss of breath, before ripping loose again. “Same goes for that pussy.”

“No, no.” She scrambled on the bed, trying to get away, trying to rip free, so hopeless he should have felt bad, but couldn’t bring himself to the feeling as he sat there and laughed, eyes wild, dick prospering, hand pumping his length to the sight of her.

He followed her pathetic struggling little shame, climbing on top of her. The panic swallowed her again, forcing a overwhelmed rush of sobs to come spluttering and blubbering and screaming from her little shape caught beneath him. “Such a little slut.” His fingers were at once groping her pussy, diving between her folds to rub her slit and clit. “Still so wet, are you excited?” She turned her head away as she struggled, eyes squeezed shut. “Aw, pretending it’s not me.” He snickered. “Good luck.”

Offended, he decided against making it pleasant for her, thinking she deserved as little sympathy from him as she had showed him, but his brutal actions slowed at the feel of the pressure around his finger when he’d pushed it inside her.

“So tight.” He stated, shocked as he tried swirling the digit inside, to feel the walls giving little wiggle-room to do so. She winced as he hooked, a heavy breathy shrill type of wince, as though he was pulling a knife from her gut.

He left the finger there, much to her discomfort.

“That comment…” He started, working her tightness as much as he could, still with only one finger. “When we first met.” His other hand gathered her face again, forcing her to look at him as he leaned down, resting his forehead on hers, wanting to see those eyes as he got confirmation on his suspicion. “You said you push people away… that you were a… repellant.” Her breathing hitched as she sniveled like a little girl who scraped her knee. “Did that count for this as well?”

He hadn’t yet let the smile stretch on his face, but the chiding smirk started to grow as the answer was clearly displayed all over her face and by the telltale feeling his finger shoved inside her way too tight hole told him.

“Aww, is the pretty little girl a virgin?” He gave her no inch of regret, even with the fact clear as day. Having worked her tightness well enough to cram another bony-knuckled finger inside her, making her cry out. “Don’t worry, that pretty pussy is in good hands.”

She owed him, this way they would be even. Besides, he wasn’t making it completely miserable for her either. Her face might be telling one story of torment, but her drooling pussy was telling him something utterly different. Perhaps it was due to her amateur ability to hold on, but she was soon creaming all over his fingers, body spasming in tired bliss, eyes fluttering for a moment or two, trying to grasp what the fuck was happening. It was adorable.

“I think my little slut is ready.”

She murmured a sigh, energy spent on crying and struggling and coming twice already, all she could do was moan when his cockhead broke through her tight little weeping hole. He had to moan as well at the snug hug her pussy squeezed and seized him with, biting roughly into his bottom lip, tooth snaggling in the dip of his scar. Brows raised in bliss, scrunched in an eruption, as he sunk deeper and deeper into her tight convulsing cunt, preciously clutching around him, fluttering upon the fulfilling snug fit that had her toes cramping in their curled state, eyes zoning out, unable to focus, mouth blubbering and chewing on incoherent sentences, only capable on slurring out muddled moans and wet gasps as he fucked slowly into, lolling his hips forward carefully, holding onto the mouthwatering feeling of her warmth around him.

He pushed his thumb into her clit, which had her back arching and moan ripped from her throat before she settled down into the mattress again, welcoming the stimulation where she was crippled to preventit. “Your pretty pussy loves being taken by my disgusting cock, doesn’t it?” She could only hum and croon in reply, as he hit the very back, pushing into her cervix with a rather soft nudge, having her result to sucking on her bottom-lip, purring whines like a little kitten taking pleasure from their master. “I hear it in your pretty moans.”

He was no longer biting out the word pretty as though it were a curse or venom on his tongue. It sounded more like praise than anything, something akin to awe, pride even, smug for having it all under his thumb, burying his cock inside the word, for being the one to have reduced such a pretty thing to such a pretty mess, all for him, all by him, making her all his.

She made a shuddering gasp, moaning into his mouth as he leaned down. “Oh, is the pretty girl gonna cum all over my disgusting cock.” He cooed, all five fingers placed on her cheek when cupping it to have those gorgeous opium-blown eyes look at him when she came undone, for him to find such dangerous satisfaction in seeing her conquered beneath him, finding it to be the last push to send him off his own edge as well. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum in that pretty pussy.”

He made to have that final bone-crushing kiss, faces mushed together in a sloppy mess of wet slippery tongues and drool, moaning and groaning, inhaling each-other.

Reduced to mere gasping and panting. Cock, having for the first time felt the fulfilling pleasure of blowing inside the warm comfort of a precious goddess, feeling her gush and come all over him in the near split-second, feeling her clench and tighten around him like a vice, robbing and ringing and milking him for every drop he was worth. He gave some more pumps, pushing deep within her, felt a shudder run down the underside of his cock, overstimulated and satisfied for the first time.

Still coming down from his high, he made to take in her shape and state.

He hadn’t really fantasized she’d be so pliant after being fucked, but looking at her now, he couldn’t imagine her any other way, anything more right then her glossy sweat-slicked body spasming in aftershocks of her orgasms, laid so preciously snug against his chest, thighs visibly shaking with still small feeble stuttering moans slipping from her lips in blubbers. He wasn’t too far from the same state himself, having had only barely the mind before exhaustion rendered his limbs too heavy for moving, to untie the knots and rearrange them into something more comfortable. He decided tying her wrists together in front of her to be better, legs free but too tired and dumbed-out to struggle.

He looked at her drowsy state with a smile, betting he could make such a grateful little pet out of her, and if not, then scramble her mind through so many cruel methods, and make do with a brainless toy instead. But, looking down at that blissed-out hopeless look on her face and that dainty defenseless body he’d manipulated and forced to its knees, he couldn’t really see how any cruel methods would be needed.

It seemed to him that all she needed was cock, a couple of orgasms forced from her pent-up body, a little relief. The little brat was just a bit grouchy and grumpy because she hadn’t had her pussy played with. He could relate, he also gets frustrated when not getting his dick wet for a while. She was just begging for someone to come handle her and that’s all there was to it. Just look at her now, so sweet and spent, lying in his arms.

Come to think of it, he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be needing to apply any harsh treatments in taming her, she just needed to be tied up and made to feel just how good being taken care of feels until she accepted it willingly. And if and when she decides on being bratty, he’ll have plenty of methods of shutting that trap right up, or in making her scream.

TIP-JAR

[neometalmadness]

[[ Some ramblings about Neo under the readmore; i typed all this out before I wen’t to sleep so some of this might not make any sense lol BUT HOPEFULLY IT DOES

Been thinking about what I kinda wanna do with Neo recently after a bit of chatter about my characterisation of him.

So most of y'all probably know of Gamma's story in SA1. I basically am thinking of an approach similar to that, with Gamma's self reflection into himself & what he was made to be, & changing it and thusly sacrificing himself (perhaps without the sacrificing himself for Neo in the literal sense But Hey I’m Not Saying No He Sure Can Die!)

To preface this with some context. Neo isn't programmed to follow Eggman's orders at all, being entirely sentient, & all choices he makes are purely his own.

Although some of his anger seems to be directed at his creator, most of it is very much internalised & towards himself. Because whilst he almost succeeded, he still failed. He really does hold onto that feeling of failure, hence all his aggression & general disdain for other people (which certainly existed before, but before, he simply wouldn't have given such things the time of day).

During his peak, he definitely thought he would finally begin to make progress in any of Eggman's plans. And whilst Eggman definitely has the willpower to keep trying, when he was just a Metal Sonic, he was there to just take orders & to not question, even with the limited thought for himself.

This is the first time he'd experienced such failure by his own hands, when he truly believed success was not far away. I mean he even says it a few times during the final battle & the ending of Sonic Heroes;

"Sonic, I was created for the sole purpose of destroying you, but I can never seem to defeat you! That is why I transformed my own body with my own hands.”

“But that was the past. Now you're nothing but a speck of dust to me.”

“See me as I am, no longer afraid of anything.”

“Gyaaaaaaah! WHY?! I HAD IT ALL!! I am the ultimate overlord, Metal Sonic! I AM THE REAL SONIC!“

And then this is what he says riiiight at the end of the game;

“It's no use. But why can't I defeat you?“

So. yeah?

I think I also kinda wanna explore the idea of like... I do want Neo to make friends (I've already said before but Neo will very affectionately refer to his friends as "connections" or "allies", lol), but like... Many of his friends will not be machines like he is. If the chance to rise up and become all powerful again, to overrule an army & potentially a world full of robots, would he take his friends feelings into accounts? Would he spare them at all?

I guess the point I'm making now that Neo has chosen to become independent & his connection to Eggman is extremely loose, a lot of his moralities have come into question... And, if & when these are resolved, would he still choose to work alongside his creator, over his own connections he has made? Or even go ahead with any of his own plans? The grief of failure still weighs him down, but the grief of losing someone that has gone out of their way to be alongside him is something else.

It's just some shit I'd like to explore. Idk just rambling. I do kinda want Neo to become a sort of Chaotic Neutral type in some verses with peeps. But also like... I do kinda wanna explore The Other Side and make him Worse but GAJSHAJSB that's not the topic of discussion here rn

But anyway yeah to conclude I love Neo Metal Sonic that’s all i gotta say. if you read all this thank you soldier here’s this funny picture

[sundiscus]

wangxian dragon age au: ficlet

[part of a larger au i’ve mapped out + started drafting, but want to post as snippets for now! i’ve taken many liberties with the worldbuilding, and as such i think most can be inferred with context if you’re unfamiliar with dragon age.

part one now here

this snippet: the meet-ugly, ~1.7k]

✨✨✨

When Lan Wangji wakes up, he isn’t alone.

He doesn’t realize it right away. The first thing he notices is that, this time, there are no shackles. He shifts his hands the slightest bit, enough to confirm they are indeed free. The movement pulls at the little cuts on his fingers and forearms from where the shackles shattered apart, already scabbing over—so he has been unconscious long enough for the magebane to burn out of his system, which he confirms, finding his meridians free and clear. He’s lying on his back, something that feels slightly too soft to be a stone floor under him and something that feels slightly too rough to be a blanket draped over him. An odd green light pulses against his eyelids and the only sound is a muted, continuous hiss, like a distant waterfall. Wherever he is, it isn’t the cell from earlier.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t be here long.

He takes one more slow breath, listening closely. There. To his left, a few paces away, he hears a tiny, cut-off inhale. Now he knows where to aim. His eyes fly open as he launches himself upright, summoning his sword into his raised hand, and—

It’s like expecting the ocean and finding only a puddle. His sword flickers into existence for the barest moment, its glow illuminating a circle of stone walls, a pallet beneath him, and then Lan Wangji’s lungs stutter, pressure squeezing his temples, as if all air has been sucked out of the room. Bichen dissipates and Lan Wangji is left gasping, one hand still raised uselessly in the air.

From the shadows, someone says: “Ah, that’s not going to work.”

Lan Wangji is already looking to the side. He sees only a figure at first, because when his sword disappeared so had the strange, omnipresent green glow. The glow returns now, slowly illuminating a young man curled against the opposite wall, his hair a dark, tangled wave over his shoulders, wrists chained together with thick iron manacles. For a moment his eyes, staring right back at Lan Wangji, are the brightest thing in the room.

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji demands, finding his voice. “Is there a suppression array?” It must be powerful to choke off his magic so finitely. If he can see it, though, he can figure out how to undo it.

The man wrinkles his nose. “Not exactly. But—ah, ah,” he says as Lan Wangji starts to stand, “don’t move too fast, the blowback from that is going to be pretty harsh.”

Lan Wangji understands almost instantly as a wave of vertigo hits him. His knees buckle before he’s halfway to his feet and he collapses back on the pallet, bracing his weight on his elbow to keep from falling entirely. When his ears stop ringing he can hear his own ragged breathing.

Enough, he thinks, and forces himself to even his breaths. To shift focus. Clearly whatever precautions Wen Chao and his soldiers have taken to secure this room go beyond magebane and a simple suppression array. He won’t be able to escape by sheer force like last time, but this will still be no more than a brief detour on his journey. He will make sure of it.

Yesterday—was it yesterday, now? The chamber has no windows, just the eerie green glow emanating from the walls—Lan Wangji had been traveling with a retinue of junior enchanters to retrieve research texts from the Circle in Hedong, where scholars claimed to have promising studies related to fade rifts. They were nearly there when a raven alighted on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, bearing the message: Siege on Gusu Circle. Reconvene to the north. He’d sent the junior enchanters ahead and turned back before the raven even took flight.

(The note had not mentioned his brother, so his brother must be alive. Rumors were already spreading outward from Gusu as he rode, saying Wen Xu had an archdemon, Wen Xu burned the Gusu library to the ground. They did not say Wen Xu killed Zewu-jun, Wen Xu killed a mage with a glowing hand. So his brother must have escaped. Knowing this did not stop Lan Wangji’s heart from racing as he spurred his horse faster, past refugee settlements and Templar camps, toward the distant gash in the sky.)

And then: a poisoned arrow biting into his arm, his horse crumpling on a hardpacked road outside Lingchuan. The Wen soldiers, ready for him. (Not ready enough, when at least six of their bodies fell before Lan Wangji did.) One day in the first cell, his failed escape attempt.

And now: magicless, trapped in a strange room with a strange, sharp-eyed prisoner watching him struggle to sit upright, the slow crawl of time a physical weight on Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

“Honestly, just ride it out,” the prisoner is saying. He has his chained hands up and open, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “You’ll feel better in about an hour. Maybe less, if you’ve had a good meal recently.”

Lan Wangji’s head spins sickeningly. He ignores it, pushing himself up until he can prop himself against the wall, putting himself eye-level with the prisoner, at least.

“Or sit up anyway, I suppose,” the prisoner says. His voice has a ragged edge, as if it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “Sorry, I’d offer you some water, but I drank it all before I knew I’d have company. What are you doing here, anyway?”

If First Enchanter Lan wants his nephew back, he’ll have to lend us a few books, Wen Chao had mocked from outside the first cell. And if he wants you back with all your limbs attached, he’ll have to throw in trading deeds with the eastern lyrium mines for good measure. Do you think he can deliver that before you die here?

Wen Chao wanted demonic texts, Lan Wangji had guessed, the ones hidden deep within the library. No doubt for some dangerous, power-hungry scheme, and no doubt connected to the rifts. From there, it wasn’t hard to piece together that the attack on the Circle was meant to discover which texts were critical enough to be rescued and transported away, and likely steal them in transit. There are protocols for such events, Lan Wangji knows, and his presence here means the raid was unsuccessful, and he will be used as leverage for a second attempt.

If Wen Chao meant to scare Lan Wangji with his demands, he had only succeeded in doing the opposite. Because if all they want from Lan Wangji’s family are books and deeds, it means they don’t know about his brother yet.

Lan Wangji doesn’t share any of this. “Political prisoner,” is all he says.

“Ahh.” The man nods. “I figured, what with the…” He gestures at his own forehead, chains clinking as he does. “You’re obviously a Lan. Someone will pay well to have you back home.”

“They should not have to pay at all,” Lan Wangji bites out. Something about the prisoner’s casual attitude grates at him. The world outside is quite literally falling apart at the seams, and Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to be used as bait in Wen Chao’s small-minded games.

The prisoner shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s not much choice at the moment, is there? For now you’re stuck here with me. I’m—my name is Wei Ying, by the way. What should I call you, while we wait?”

“Do the Wen soldiers enter this cell often?” Lan Wangji says instead of answering. “Is there a chance of overpowering them?”

A grimace. “Often enough. And no, I’ve tried. They’re stupid, but they’re prepared.”

Lan Wangji casts another glance over the man—Wei Ying—and carefully keeps any skepticism out of his expression. Then he looks around properly for the first time. Wei Ying is right—there’s no visible array on the floor, no glyphs on the circular stone walls. The green glow fades as it climbs the wall, leaving the ceiling cloaked in shadow and dizzying to look at, like an endless tunnel. Disturbingly, there isn’t a visible door, either. There isn’t much of anything but the one straw pallet, a lidded pot against the wall, an empty bowl next to Wei Ying, bone-dry, and Wei Ying himself.

“A Lan,” Wei Ying says when Lan Wangji is silent for long enough, pitched low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’m surprised Wen Chao would be so bold. He has to know that won’t go over well in the long run, I wonder if his father has any idea? No, he would’ve sent Wen Xu. Maybe Wen Chao thinks that by the time someone comes for you, he’ll have—” Wei Ying cuts himself off. Blinks. “You are real, aren’t you?”

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re not…” Wei Ying waves a hand at the room around them. “But, ah, why would I dream up a whole Knight-Enchanter? A Lan at that? You felt real enough, when I dragged you onto the pallet, but it’s still hard to tell.” Lan Wangji must have some reaction to that—to knowing this stranger’s hands have been on him, when he was unconscious—because Wei Ying adds, defensive: “What was I supposed to do? They left you on the floor.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have an answer to that.

Wei Ying tips his head back against the wall. “Well. Your Circle, they have your phylactery, right? They’ll find you. Pay the ransom, or lay siege to Wen Chao’s little fortress here. That would be nice.” He casts his gaze over Lan Wangji again. “Looks like our captors were gentle enough in the meanwhile.”

There’s dried blood tugging at the hair of Lan Wangji’s temple, and he still has the nauseating sense that if he moves too fast he might collapse again. Gentle isn’t how Lan Wangji would describe his treatment so far. But it is also far below the threshold of what he can withstand, so it doesn’t seem like a point worth arguing. “And you?” he hears himself say.

“Uh.” Wei Ying shifts and holds up his shackled hands. “Less gentle, I suppose.”

“I meant—who will be paying your ransom.”

Wei Ying drops his hands into his lap. “Oh. No one.”

“Then,” Lan Wangji says, “why are you here?”

For the first time, Wei Ying flashes a smile. A hooked dagger in the dim light.

“I have something they want.”

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 8.2; Lantern Rite Part 1

You never had the chance to push Childe for answers on his vague statement, even after the two of you arrived in Liyue on the afternoon of the Lantern Rite.  It was as busy as you remembered, though it was nothing compared to how it would be once the sun set.  You weren't new to the festival, as you had gone a few times with Granny when you were a child, but that was a long time ago.  You were around twelve years old the last time you had joined the festival.

Being here again was like a breath of fresh air.  

It was a shame that breath of fresh air turned stale when Childe continued to prod at you.  "So, ojou-chan, what will you be doing after dark?"  He had intentionally turned it into a suggestive question, his smug brow raising slightly even after you glared daggers at him.

"I'm going to walk around, of course," you replied without giving him an inch.  "And I'm going to find Aether and Zhongli, too."

"Oh? Aren't you forgetting someone?"

"What I do in my free time is none of your business," your jaw tightened.  "You, Tartaglia, are literally a child.  Why don't you step aside and let your elders do what they want?  I am older than you, you know."

"I see you've picked up Signora's attitude," he moped and finally dropped the subject.

Perhaps you had, even though you hated her with all your life force after the trick she pulled at Angel's Share.  Even so, you couldn't help but bite the harbinger that fed you after he made strange offhanded comments about his own behavior, or his self-proclaimed 'apology' gift, or the way he held you the first time you felt Xiao's suffering.  You still couldn't figure out what was going on with him, and quite frankly, you could care less.  That's what you told yourself, anyway.

Was he an ally or an enemy?

"Earth to Mezzetin."  He rudely poked at your forehead.  "Is everything alright?  You've been obnoxiously loud all day and now you're quiet."

"You do realize you're equally as obnoxious?"  You met his eyes head-on after pulling away from your thoughts.  "I'm hungry."

"Ah, thought so.  Here," he handed you a heavy sack of mora without warning.  "I'll be at Northland Bank if you need anything."

"Eh? That's it?"  You watched him begin to walk off, expecting much more of a threat to your life if you so much as thought about running.

"You said it yourself ojou-chan, you're an adult," he called out over his shoulder.  "I'd expect you to act like one in these circumstances."

"Wha--!"  You scoffed at his shrinking figure as he climbed the stairs to the Snezhnayan bank.  "Ugh, whatever." Your gaze fell to the mora pouch in your hands.  Maybe I'll stop by the funeral parlor first and find Zhongli.

When you did, the archon paled at the sudden surprise appearance.  "How did you find yourself in Liyue Harbor?"  He scanned your body as if you were to be handled with care.  "I was under the impression you would remain at Zapolyarny Palace until further notice.  How did you happen to gain the Tsaritsa's trust so quickly?"

"Eh, you'll have to ask Childe that."  You didn't notice Zhongli's eyes narrow with contempt.  "He won't tell me why they decided to have me accompany him here," you answered without skipping a beat.  Though the archon was certainly thrown off guard, the two of you appeared to start right where you had left off like none of the events in the past two months had ever occurred in the first place.  It was refreshing to be with a friendly presence again, and you sighed in relief, hiding a wince from the sharp pain in your ribcage.

The movement didn't go unnoticed by Zhongli.  "Ah, yes...Allow me to brew you some tea.  The leaves I've gathered recently have exceptional pain-relieving qualities, though they don't compare to that of Xiao's medications--"

"How is he?"  Your interruption stopped the man in his tracks.  "Is he okay?"  If Zhongli knew you were feeling Xiao's pain, that meant the yaksha had been in contact.

"He's as well as he can be, given the circumstances he's been burdened with.  Do not worry yourself with him.  Please, take a seat."

You watched Zhongli's graceful movements as he prepared a kettle and brought the water to a boil, dropping the leaves in when it was hot enough.  You were oblivious to the thoughts that ran through his mind as he sent a wry smile your way.

That day, I made a grave miscalculation, Zhongli thought back to the group's encounter with Childe in Fontaine.  A guilty sigh escaped his lips as he poured the tea into two ceramic teacups.

.....................

Deception.  Maybe Zhongli was a little too good at playing the part of an innocent bystander, if he had succeeded in fooling Aether not once, but twice.  But this route would be the only way to ensure yours and Xiao's sanity...The archon grit his teeth as he parried Childe's relentless blows in the pouring rain.  The harbinger didn't hold back even though this was all for show.

How long did the fighting go on? Twenty minutes? Thirty?  An hour?  Childe gave the signal to Zhongli as he summoned his fifth and final narwhal using the rain that fell around them.  Most of the group was worn out from constantly changing tactics as the harbinger switched between his vision and delusion.  Childe was so much stronger than the first time he faced off with Aether...but so was Aether.  Zhongli understood the only way to make this plan work would be to sacrifice his two closest allies in one way or another.

"Retreat!"  Zhongli gave the order and an exhausted trio followed it without question.  Well, except for Aether.

"We can't leave Xiao!"

.................

He had hoped he gave Xiao the push he needed to seal the bond, but it apparently was not enough..."Here is your tea," he placed the teacup in front of you before sitting at the opposite end of the table.  "Tell me, have they remained true to their word and put an end to your experiments?"

You blew at your steaming cup before taking a small sip.  "Yeah...They've already begun testing on Fatui agents, but every single one of them dies.  It's funny, actually.  Dottore still can't figure out the correct ratio for my blood.  I've watched hundreds die."

"And how are you?"

That question was loaded, but you swallowed the nervous chuckle that had bubbled in your throat.  "I'm just glad to be so close to home." To him, you meant, even if the two of you never actually met up during your stay here.  Your eyes trailed to the window, and Zhongli noticed the sadness in the depths of your gaze as you watched people decorate the buildings with xiao lanterns.

"Xiao will be especially busy today, fighting off the demons that rise from the festivities," he answered your looming question.  "But I am sure he would find the time to meet you if he knew you were here."

"You know, I hold most of his memories, but I can never seem to know what he's thinking."  Your low voice captured the archon's attention again after a few silent minutes.  You were saying it more to yourself than to spark a conversation, eyes still gazing out the window.  "Maybe I am chasing after a fruitless dream."

"Your love for Xiao is strong."

"Eh?" Your head snapped back to the present moment.  "H-how did you--did he--?"

Your flustered composure drew out a low chuckle from Zhongli, and he set his teacup aside.  "I've lived for six thousand years; I know a thing or two about human concepts and emotions.  The entire group has known for quite some time."

"I was that obvious?" An insane amount of heat rose to your cheeks and you buried your face in your hands.  "So did he know before I...?"

"Xiao may be a few thousand years old, but he understands humans less than I do.  I can confidently say you caught him off guard."

You peeked out from behind your fingers.  "Hm?"

"It is not my place to say anything more on the matter," his lips tugged into a friendly grin as he brought the teacup to his lips once again.  "But I would not call it a 'fruitless' dream."

.................

The lanterns that lit the streets of Liyue illuminated the bustling crowds of people that were focused on getting food, souvenirs, and lanterns that were to be released later that evening.  You had parted ways with Zhongli in an effort to find Aether, with no luck in locating the boy even after nightfall.  Despite this, you navigated the festival alone in hopes of running into him as you eyed the food stalls.

That is, until the voices grew louder.  You swayed on your feet from the unexpected wave of nausea that overcame you, and grabbed onto one of the support beams next to the stairs.  Xiao was fighting something again, wasn't he?  You had felt the damned creep up on you as the day progressed, but nothing prepared you for the jarring pains that were too similar to the first time you had felt this side effect.  You nearly puked from the overwhelming sensation, coughing into your hand only for it to be splattered with blood.

Not again, you stared in horror as you hastily blinked away the splotches in your vision.  A quick glance around confirmed that there were children in the immediate vicinity, and you didn't want to scar them with the sight of you on what was supposed to be a happy night.  Your eyes flit to the distant building that housed the Northland Bank, and you were determined to make it there even if it was a bit too far for you to walk at the moment.

You stumbled through the crowd on unsteady feet and shallow breath until you bumped shoulders with a boy and tripped.  "Ngh!"  The impact worsened your dilemma, and your eyes caught those of the person you ran into.

"Sorry!  Wait, are you okay, ma'am?"  The white-haired boy retracted his outstretched hand and instead knelt at your side to offer his shoulder.  "You..."  This energy....could it be that I can finally...?

"U-um, excuse me."  You struggled to your feet and tried to make your way to the bank again.  This time you were immediately halted by the boy.  

"Ma'am, are you by any chance experiencing paranormal activity?"  His hard gaze made you hold your breath without realizing.  When he saw your eyes flash as if someone had held a lantern to your face, his grip on your shoulder loosened ever so slightly.  "My name's Chongyun.  I'm an exorcist.  Do you mind if we speak in private?"

He brought you to the docs, which were a little less crowded than the main area of the harbor.  Chongyun watched as you sat down and steadied your breathing while attempting to sneakily wipe away the blood that dripped from the corner of your mouth.  

I finally haven't scared them off, the boy thought as he stared at you in wonder.  Why now, though?  "Ma'am, can you tell me what's going on?"

"I-I appreciate your concern," you ground your teeth together while another wave of pain consumed you, "but I d-don't need your help."

"When did you start feeling this way?"  Chongyun sat with his legs crisscrossed in front of you, and summoned a deck of cards from his pocket.  Anger boiled as you watched him shuffle them in his hands and set them in the space between you one at a time.

"I wouldn't do that," you growled while your thoughts grew hazy.

"Don't worry, this won't hurt you."  He started mumbling some sort of incoherent verses before flipping one of the cards.

"I said DON'T!"

Chongyun caught your hand before it could swipe the cards away from the pier's surface, and he locked eyes with you.  He took a deep breath before speaking as if you were the one agitating him.  "Those are the evil spirits talking.  I can tell you're not that far gone.  Sit patiently, and I can help you."

You blinked for a moment and regained some control over yourself, relaxing your shoulders once he let go of your wrist.  "What is it you're trying to do?"

"Purge evil; it's my job.  We exorcists have protected Liyue for generations," he flipped another card over, noting your tension rising again before dying down.  Whatever he was doing with those cards seemed to piss off the voices in your head.

"Like adepti?"  You grimaced when he replaced one of the cards with another.  

"Yes, much like the Guardian Yaksha of Liyue," he replied calmly while testing your reaction with another card.  "I have much respect for him, but--"

"Xiao?  Have you seen him?"  Your hand burned when you grabbed his, but you ignored it once you caught his attention.  "Have you seen him recently?"  

"You know him by name?"  Chongyun was as confused as you were.  "That's odd, I thought we were the only ones who--"

"Hey!"  A high-pitched voice interrupted the conversation, and the two of you turned your heads toward the sound.  Paimon was flying towards you, Aether running right behind her.  "What are you doing here?! Are you okay? Did you escape? Did you kick Childe's butt?"

"I--" Aether stopped himself from hugging you when he saw the dried blood on your hand, his relieved smile fading into a concerned frown as his feet came to a halt.  "...Are you okay?"

"You know each other?"  Chongyun looked between the trio and summoned a new set of cards.  These ones held terrifying symbolism of demonic entities you didn't wish to know the name of, and he placed them over the other ones that sat on the ground.

"Ngh!"  A hand covered your eye in an attempt to put pressure against a sharp pain.  "You can't help me! Enough of this!"

"...W-what's wrong with her?"  Paimon trembled slightly when she heard the uncharacteristic aggressiveness in your voice.  "Is she...possessed?!"  

"Not quite," Chongyun returned his eyes to you in deep thought.  "I've never seen this before..."

"Wait, your positivity didn't scare them off?"  Aether suddenly looked a lot more concerned, and he moved so that he sat beside you.  Chongyun scared every spirit away...if that didn't happen this time, it must've been a bad sign.  "What happened to you in Snezhnaya?"  His voice was a mix of both guilt and anger.

"Zhongli didn't tell you?"  It took all your strength not to attack the three of them as Chongyun put another card down.  

"The group went their separate ways after you..." Aether shook his head and put a hand on your shoulder when he noticed the malice in your stare.  "What did Childe do to you?"

"It's just another side effect," you growled and pushed his hand off.  "I'm not possessed like this guy is saying."

"Is this true?" Paimon's skepticism antagonized you further, but you bit your tongue.

"We should take you to Zhongli," Aether pulled you to your feet without hearing your objections.  If your words were accurate, then there was no way the exorcist could help.  "Sorry, Chongyun!  She'll be fine!"

"W-Wait! Ah-"  Chongyun already lost them in the sea of people that were getting ready to release their lanterns.  It was almost time to fill the sky with the light of human prayers and wishes to the adepti.

..............

Once out of Chongyun's vicinity, the voices dispersed as if nothing had happened.  "What the hell--"  Your confused grumblings caught the attention of Aether as he guided you through the crowd.  "This is so stupid."

"So you're able to feel Xiao's mental distress?"  He glanced back at you for a brief moment once he figured out what he had witnessed.  "At least now, he has someone that can understand a little bit of what he's going through, right?"

"I don't know," interjected Paimon.  "Didn't Zhongli say the yakshas fell one by one from karma?  Wouldn't feeling Xiao's karma kill you?"

"Probably."  Your uninterested answer brought both of them to look at you, only to find that your eyes were surveying the crowd with expectation--or was it hope?  Your companions exchanged knowing, but glum glances.

"He won't be here."

Aether's words went through one ear and out the other.  "Yes he will."

"Um...Paimon doesn't think so.  Xiao doesn't like crowds, remember?"  You were so different than a few months ago...Each sound seemed to startle you or make you wince, and you had a peculiar distant look in your eyes.  Your friends were growing more and more concerned about you.

Xiao, I'm here, you called out in your heart, not fully aware of it.

..........................

Coming up:  A long-awaited reunion.  The fears of a yaksha.  A display of trust.

[sixeyesgojo]

can't you see me - txt: "Can’t you hear it? My voice searching for you | Once again I’m left alone, save me” + i was thinking geto but HONESTLY WHATEVER CHARACTER YOU WANT AND FEEL COMFY WITH DFHEUIWHDF - fellow tengen fucker (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

drowning (Geto's POV)

Prompt: Can't you hear it? My voice searching for you | Once again, I'm left alone, save me

Word count: 642

Character: (pre-defection!) Geto Suguru

Content warning: Manga spoilers - Hidden Inventory Arc

A/N: Bestie, why are you going for angst? I took a nap and I shouldn't have because I woke up broken-hearted for some reason, this came out of it lol Not really satisfied with this but me tired; maybe I'll write another version Anyway, this is written in Geto's POV entirely.

When I entered this school, I already knew: nothing would be easy. In fact, I was anxious about all of that dumped onto me. I tried to play it cool back then but I knew, deep down, this was going to take a toll on me at some point. My ability had always been something I despised. Swallowing curses? Using them? There was nothing to be proud of, as a possessor of such an ugly power. I had always tried to convince myself to ignore that feeling. I’d use this ability for good deeds, for justice. At least that was what I had been telling myself. Yet the feeling always brooded in the back of my mind, even as I entered Jujutsu Tech.

However, that changed a lot. It became more comfortable, day by day. I met Satoru. I met Shoko. I met you. All of you, my closest friends, made it so much easier to accept everything around me. The comfort of having you by my side made it easier to respect the power that was bestowed upon me. Your gentle touch showed no disgust, only tenderness. It was a reward. For once in my life, it felt nice enough to be able to protect you with this ability.

Satoru and I prided ourselves on being powerful without regard to anyone else. Practically invincible, that’s what we were. The strongest duo; undefeated. Perhaps this was where we were wrong. No, we were strong… but it shouldn’t have gotten to our heads so much. The conceited smiles we had flashed back then would come back to haunt us quicker than expected.

One year. One year, you kept this feeling at bay for so long. One year until the strongest duo fell. It was the first and only mission we had been told to not fuck up. Yet it went wrong in any and every way. Even if we failed, I wasn’t supposed to be forcefully dragged down to the depths of the ocean like this. Why did this affect me so much? It wasn’t the first mission for me. In essence, I knew long ago. This world was cruel.

The Geto Suguru that departed from your warm hug to take on the escort mission and the one that ultimately came back were two different people. A month later, Satoru might have moved on, in a better and healthier way, but that didn’t apply to me. I saw my best friend working on getting stronger and stronger and ultimately succeeding in refining his craft. You were always on missions and even Shoko was occupied with her dream of becoming a doctor.

Everybody was busy, seemingly moving forward towards a bright future. But me? I felt left behind, stagnant, and didn’t know what to do. Mentally, it was as if I was thrown into a bottomless ocean, left to die with no one but myself.

Maybe I was waiting for salvation, waiting for a hand clutch mine and to pull me out of this sea of misery. I debated talking to you.

‘Save me.’ I wanted to scream for help but every sound my throat produced died, carrying bubbles to the surface of the ocean. Even after time, I couldn’t utter a word to you and just swallowed them, like curses, before they could escape from my mouth. I wanted to hold onto you and ask you not to leave me behind as well. Ultimately, I wasn’t able to do even that. The title of the strongest sure felt like an illusion that ended up being my demise.

I can’t help but wonder… If I had told you back then, would you have gripped onto my hand? Would it have ended differently for me if I had done that? Would you jump into the sea for me? Well, whatever. It was too late anyway.

Taglist: @megumifushi @assbuttbaek @melonnbar @delammi @silversatoru

[labrats-and-clonetroopers]

Writing Prompts

“Well, this couldn’t get any more awkard.”

“I mean, you’d be my second choice…”

“I’ve already died twice today. Let’s not make it an odd number.”

“You call that a pet?”

“I thought an assasin would look more intimidating.”

“Did you really have to shoot me?”

“You being jealous is really entertaining.”

“Were you always this annoying?”

“Being captured by pirates was not on my bucket list, just yours.”

“Honestly, at this point surviving just isn’t worth the trouble.”

“I’ve always succeeded at failing miserably.”

“If I have to endure your presence for another five minutes I swear I’ll commit murder.”

“You really hate him, don’t you?”

“I don’t have to like everybody.”

“Being a hostage really isn’t convenient.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“It would be easier to just kill you.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have an emotional attatchment.”

“If I kiss you, will you agree to leave me alone?”

“You’re right. I lied about everything.”

“I swear I am not jealous!”

“Are those tears?”

“If you weren’t so busy protecting me, we would’ve finished this mission two days ago.”

“I’m not that familiar with human customs, but it sounds like you’re asking me on a date.”

“Is that all I am to you? A friend?”

“I wasn’t supposed to survive this mission.”

“Falling in love with me is a terrible idea.”

“Sometimes you have to disobey orders.”

“I don’t know what I feel, but that’s irrelevant.”

“You look good, really good.”

“Why do we have to stop pretending?”

“You promised you wouldn’t die on me.”

“You’re jealous. Admit it.”

“I always knew about your past.”

“Don’t play games with me. You start it, I’ll finish it, and you won’t like how it ends.”

“I lied when I said I loved you.”

“I’ve never kissed someone before. And no, you wouldn’t count as a someone.”

“Your hands are cold.”

“I think you need your eyesight checked. I’m not pretty enough to be stared at for an hour.”

“You said I looked homely.”

“That kiss we had? Never happened.”

“You’re shy, aren’t you?”

“What a dumb place to die. I’m sure you were responsible for arranging it.”

“I’m turning into a cliché, there should be antibiotics or something to take care of that, or maybe a good dose of cyanide.”

“Just don’t go off and do something stupid like dying.”

“Why are you still here?”

“My hands were covered in your blood.”

“You were dead, when I buried your corpse you were already beginning to decay.”

“I may be attracted to you, but that in and of itself is not significant.”

“That would be forbidden.”

“You have to trust me.”

“I thought we agreed I would play the part of the slave.”

“Thanks for your name, but I wasn’t really interested in learning it.”

“I want to kiss you.”

“I’m not jealous, just…concerned.”

“It’s alright, it was only a nightmare. They can’t come true.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the impossible.”

“The truth is, none of this is real. I’m not real.”

“No, I don’t love you. I never have.”

“Let’s just leave the past behind, forget it ever happened.”

“It used to not matter to me whether or not I died in this war, but with you, I finally have something to live for.”

“We’ve kept their secret for years, it’s only reasonable they’d do the same for us.”

“Does it matter what the galaxy thinks? I care, why can’t that be enough?”

“I can’t forgive you. Not this time.”

“Just promise me one thing. No cutsey couple nicknames. I can’t stand those.”

“I know we’re breaking all the rules, but chances are we’re going to die anyways.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you, but there was too much at risk.”

“You promised you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“That’s irrational.”

“Forget it, I won’t take that chance, not with you.”

“You know, for a spy, you’re pretty terrible at lying.”

“You wouldn’t love me if you knew who I really was.”

“I never asked you to save my life, you know. So don’t get upset when I don’t shower you in gratitude.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that I’m irresistable and you’re…well, you.”

“You know, this whole undercover couple thing is gonna go downhill pretty fast if you refuse to speak to me.”

[elizabeethan]

Spaces Between Us Chapter 13: You & I

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

Complete

As my grandma used to say,"theyah." (she meant "there" and she would brush her hands together, but she had a very heavy a Maine accent) 

Thank you to everyone who read this, and to everyone who commented, left kudos, liked it, reblogged it, sent flails.... you're the best!!

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly​, and to @donteattheappleshook​ and @xhookswenchx​ for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

Read the Rest

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

His warm fingers tickle her awake, dancing delicately over the skin of her waist and making her giggle before she hisses at the bright sunlight stinging her eyes. “It’s too early for all that.” 

 “No it isn’t,” he argues, kissing a hot trail down her neck until his lips reach her breast. She swears she was wearing a shirt when she went to bed… “We’ve got to get up soon anyway.” 

 “Then why are you initiating what you're initiating?” 

 “I can be quick.” 

 She snorts, reaching her fingers into his thick hair and letting out an appreciative sound as he flicks his tongue over her nipple. “I’m sure you can.” 

 “Let me do my work in peace, please,” he chastises playfully as he drags his mouth down her stomach, tucking his fingers into the hem of her underwear and tugging them down her thighs. 

 “If you insist,” she sighs, letting her head fall back against the pillow and grounding herself as she scratches her fingers against his scalp. 

He certainly does take his work seriously, succeeding in his promise to be quick and getting her ready for him in just a matter of minutes. She pulls on his hair a bit harder and he lifts his head, looking up at her with shiny lips and a glint in his eyes before he wipes his chin and crawls up her body slowly, peppering kisses along the way. “Already?” he asks when he reaches her ear, and she giggles. 

 “You promised to be quick, I thought you’d be pleased to know that you delivered.” 

 “Oh, I’m very pleased. If there’s one thing parenthood has taught me, it's how to get my lady love off in a jiffy.” 

 “Shut up,” she laughs, though the sound is cut off quickly when he plunges himself into her, nearly to the hilt before he pulls back out and slides in again, slowly this time. She groans in appreciation for the way he stretches her, hitting everywhere just right as he sets a steady pace. 

 “I love you,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, tracing his tongue over the sensitive skin just below. “So much.”

 “I love you, too,” she whispers back breathlessly, then with a moan, “don’t stop.” 

 “You like it like this?” he asks, biting her skin and pushing into her at just the right angle. 

 She whimpers and nods, her nails clawing at his back. She’s so close already, his mouth bringing her halfway there before they’d even started, and when he reaches his fingers between them where she needs him the most, she cries out again. 

 “There,” she begs, her legs shaking as she holds him in place. “Oh, fuck, right there.” 

 When he whispers, “come for me,” with his tone commanding and gentle, there's little she can do but obey him. 

 He’s heavy on top of her, her chest heaving beneath him, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She loves being here with him more than just about anything. The way he kisses her cheek over and over while they catch their breath makes her heart flutter more. 

 “You don’t actually have to go, right?” she asks jokingly as she runs her fingers up and down his back. “You’re actually just going to work? Won’t Will be mad if you miss a day, Mr. Mechanic?”

 With a laugh and another kiss to her cheek at the charming nickname she gave him when his friend hired him to work in his garage, he answers, “I bloody well better go. I promised Ruby I’d be there and I certainly don't want to be on her bad side.” She giggles, though he continues, “and I want to watch that bastard get exactly what he deserves.” 

 She nods, letting out a long, steady breath. Walsh’s trial is today, and while Killian isn’t allowed to testify because of his relationship with the victim-- her-- Ruby has a lot to say about that evening. At first, there was talk of Killian being unfit to serve and having made irresponsible choices because of his emotional connection with Emma. But after Ruby’s accounts of that night and the body camera footage, it was clear that he acted as appropriately as he ever has. Walsh shot first, and the sheriff responded using non-lethal force. And besides, Killian left the force on his own accord, anyway. 

 At first, she was almost angry that he’d lived. Part of her wanted the surgeons to let him die; another part of her wanted Killian to have taken a better shot. But he was shot himself, so the fact that he got him in the shoulder was pretty damn good. Plus, Walsh will never be able to fully use his arm again. 

 And… he’s probably going to jail for a long time. Which would be cool, considering the amount of times he’s been beaten up already.

 “There’s too much going on in there,” he murmurs, kissing her temple. “Tell me what you’re thinking?” 

 With a shrug, she says, “just thinking about what happened. It’s been a long eight months.” 

 He hums. “Aye, it has. Hasn’t been so bad, though.” 

 “No,” she agrees softly. “But I’ll be glad when this whole trial thing is over. Maybe we can finally leave this place.” 

 “Are you implying that you aren’t a fan of my apartment?” he asks through feigned offence. “I find it to be quite quaint.” 

 “Oh, it’s quaint,” she giggles. “I just feel bad making Henry sleep in a closet.” 

 “It’s not a closet! I pay extra for two bedrooms!”

 With a soft smile, she cups his cheek in her palm and says, “I’m sorry, my love, but that is a walk-in closet.” 

 He rolls his eyes, then rolls off of her and offers her his hand to hoist her off the bed. “Soon we can get him a nice big bedroom, promise. Once the trial’s over, there’s nothing holding us here.” 

 It’s true. While they haven’t fully talked about where they’ll end up when all is said and done, Walsh signed the divorce papers from his cell a few weeks ago. And with the pre-nup null and void, Emma took her half of his fortune and donated it to an organization that supports victims of domestic violence and their children. 

 “Henry’s appointment is at ten, right?” 

 “Yeah,” she nods. Starting him up with Archie has been a blessing. Emma had a lot of fears that he would handle the transitions with difficulty, but with Dr. Hopper’s help, he’s been well adjusted, and she couldn’t be prouder. 

 They struggled with how to tell him about his father, but she never wants to lie to him. They moved out of their old house with haste, grabbing everything they could as quickly as possible so that Emma wouldn’t have to be there for a second longer than she had to. And while Henry was confused, he didn’t seem overly upset. He enjoyed living with the sheriff for a few days, even creating a comfortable nook for Abby, before they sat him down and told him everything. 

 When Emma told her son that the man who’s been in his life all along isn’t actually his father, she thought he would be upset. In reality, though, he simply shrugged and asked if Killian’s house had macaroni and cheese. 

 When Emma told her son who his real father is, a few days after they moved in with him for both safety and stability, he cheered and gave Killian the biggest hug she’s ever seen him give anyone. 

 She still can’t think about that day without crying. 

 “So Sherrie is actually my dad?” 

 Emma nods. “Yes, baby. I’m sorry that this is so confusing.” 

 He ignores her sentiment and asks, “and I can call him daddy?” 

 “You can call him anything you want.” 

 Turning towards Killian, he asks again, “can I call you daddy?” 

 The look on his face is so heartbreaking that Emma’s tears flow freely. Killian looks up at his son, meeting his eyes with glassy ones, and nods. “I’d love that.” 

 “Have you got one as well?” he asks, shaking her from her memories as she wipes away a rogue tear.

 “Wednesday. You’re okay to watch Henry in the morning, right?” 

 “It’s not exactly babysitting, Swan,” he reminds her gently, and she grins at the name he uses and the fact that it’s finally her name again. 

 “I know, but…” 

 “Go and see Ingrid on Wednesday, love. I’m glad you’re still finding it beneficial to talk with her.” 

 Honestly, finding a therapist who happens to have experience working with victims of domestic violence in this small town was a surprise to Emma, but she’s found her work with Ingrid to be invaluable. While she’s known all along that what happened wasn’t her fault, and that she shouldn’t feel guilty about what she and her son went through for all those years, it’s been helpful to hear that from a professional as well. Ingrid reminded her that, while the physical abuse happened only near the end of their relationship, Emma was being emotionally abused the entire time she knew Walsh. She was trapped from the moment she met him, little by little being gaslighted until she believed that she would have nothing if she left him. As hard as it was for her to see how toxic he was at first, it was even harder to imagine leaving when she thought he had so much power over her.

 The guilt that came with finding out she put herself and her child through that for nothing was unmatched. Her feelings and thoughts about herself as a mother, about how she failed to protect her son, are something she’s been battling for months and will likely never be able to fully let go of. Finding out that Killian is Henry’s father gave her the freedom to leave, but it also gave her the most traumatic experience of her life and brought endless feelings of self-hatred, and that’s something she’s been working on coming to terms with, slowly but surely. 

 “Alright,” she agrees, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as she walks past him towards the bathroom. 

 “I’ll go give him his nebulizer while you get ready.” 

 Stopping short in her path to the shower, she turns to him and smiles. “I love you.” 

 Returning her smile with his own, he says, “I love you, too, Swan.” 

 In eight months, he’s become more of a father than Walsh was Henry’s entire life. 

 ~~~~

 As he watches Walsh being escorted into the courtroom, donning his orange jumpsuit and shackles, Killian is reminded of the last time he saw the man who almost took everything from him. It was months ago, once he was finally transferred to the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department’s jail cell. He was still clearly favoring his left arm, his right shoulder completely out of commission as a result of Killian’s rather good shot, and he felt a sick sense of accomplishment seeing the monster struggling to get comfortable on the firm cot with the sling wrapped around him. 

 “Need something?” he’d asked, although he wasn’t too chuffed to give the bastard anything that would take away his obvious malaise. 

 He scoffed and responded, “yeah, my pain meds would be nice. Are you always in the business of torture?”

 “Aye,” Killian responded without thinking, then he stood up and walked to Walsh’s cell, keys in hand. “I suppose I am. But I really only focus on torturing the absolute most wretched inmates. Like you.” 

 Walsh shook his head and laughed, but Killian didn’t miss the look of fear in his eyes as he inserted the key and swung the cell door open, shutting it behind him. “Talk about protect and serve.” 

 Killian hummed in response and nodded as well as he moved to stand over Walsh’s cot, staring down into his eyes with anger, the strength of which he won’t ever feel again. “The fact is, mate, I couldn’t care less about my duties as the sheriff. Not when the safety and happiness of my son and the woman I love are on the line.” Walsh laughed once more and rolled his eyes, so Killian moved quickly to thrust his open hand down upon his neck, pressing just hard enough to make the animal’s eye pop from his head. “You threatened them. You tried to kill her. You neglected the child you thought was yours for his entire life. You are garbage; a waste of oxygen. Trust me when I tell you that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you never live to see the light of day. You will never take a breath outside of a barbed wire fence. You will never eat anything but the slop they feed you. You will never experience pleasure for as long as you live. And I promise you, you will live for decades in an iron cage, right where you belong.” 

 He was quiet for a moment as his cheeks started to turn red and his eyes grew wider, before he finally gruffed, “I can’t breathe.” 

 “Perfect,” Killian responded. “Then you know exactly how she felt. Count yourself lucky that I’m not going to try and shoot you again.” 

 He released his forceful grip, shoving Walsh down onto the cot as he took in a forceful breath, before he turned and locked the cell, walking back to his desk and collecting his things. When his shift ended, Killian Jones walked out of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department precinct for the final time. 

 ~~~~

 Henry’s birthday is definitely cause for celebration. He’s turning six. It’s the first time Killian will be able to celebrate his son’s birthday. He’s finally with his Emma, with nothing stopping them from being happy together. There’s a lot for his family to be happy about. 

 “Daddy!” Henry calls as he sprints at full speed towards his father. “Daddy, can I have cake yet?” 

 “No, not yet. You haven’t even touched your lunch. And don’t let your mother see you running wild like that.”

 His more intensive therapies have been working as well as they can, but they know they have to be careful to avoid another serious attack-- one that might not end as well as the last had. Killian only just became a part of his son’s life. He doesn’t intend to lose him. 

 “But it’s my birthday,” he complains, rolling his eyes and giving him a look that could rival his mother’s. 

 “Your birthday isn’t until Monday.”

 “Well, it’s my tarty.” 

 “Your party.” 

 “I think I wanna ask mommy.” 

 Killian chuckles. “If mommy doesn’t tell you to wait until after lunch, I’ll give you five dollars.” 

 His eyes light up and widen immediately, cloudy gray perfectly complimenting the black pupils as he turns from him and runs straight for the door. He watches from the deck as Henry begs and pleads with his mother, giving her his best bambi eyes, before he sees her nod, the lad jumping for joy and shrinking excitedly. He runs towards the sliding door and pounds his fists against it, shouting through the glass, “you owe me five dollars!”

 With a sigh, Killian brushes past his son, ruffling his hair just a bit, before he wraps both arms around Emma’s waist, pulling her in for a hug from behind. “You really got me there, Swan.” 

 “Did I?” she asks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 She leans back into his chest, turning her head so that she can press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No? Are you telling me our son didn’t inform you of my poorly-made offer?” 

 With a giggle, she answers, “of course he did. That’s what you get for trying to negotiate with our six year old.” 

 He squeezes her a bit tighter, reveling in their loneliness in the kitchen. “He’s still five,” he reminds her, content to never let him grow up.

 “Yes,” she hums. “And what a big difference the two days will make.” 

 He pushes his lips against her cheek and says, “I’m afraid he’s getting too old. We’ll have to return him soon.” 

 “And what,” she laughs, “trade him in for a newer model?” 

 “Aye, that’s the price of fatherhood most men aren’t willing to pay. But I’m not like those other men.” 

 She doesn’t need to be facing him for him to know that she rolls her eyes. “You are absolutely ridiculous.” 

 “--ly in love with you,” he corrects. She does spin around now, turning to face him and burying her face in his neck as her arms hold him in her iron grip. “What is it?” he whispers into her hair more seriously. 

 “Nothing,” she responds softly. “I’m just… happy. It still surprises me sometimes. That we’re here and celebrating our son’s birthday together; that nothing’s stopping us.” 

 “Aye, love, me too,” he agrees, running his hands up and down along the contours of her spine. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” 

 “You won’t ever have to,” she reminds him with a smile as she pulls away just enough to look at him. “We won.” 

 He grins down at her, running his thumb along her cheek as he holds her jaw with his palm. With her ex-husband being found guilty on all charges, his life sentence without the possibility for parole means they’ll never be apart again. “Yes, my love,” he says, leaning down to kiss her chastely. “Let’s simply avoid the scorned husbands and attempts on both of our lives in the future, aye?”

 She agrees with a nod. “Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Fucking idiot got exactly what he deserved, though.” 

 He laughs and says, “as eloquently put as always. I couldn’t agree more.” 

 As it turns out, the prosecution lawyer was very experienced and was able to use Walsh’s statements of intent to kill his wife, as well as the loaded gun pointed directly at her and at the sheriff, to prove two counts of attempted second degree murder, plus assault with a deadly weapon, plus domestic violence, plus election fraud, plus embezzelment. Suffice it to say, Walsh won’t be seeing much daylight for quite some time. 

 Of course, the honorable man in Killian almost thought that sending his mistress’s husband to jail for life as a means to be with her was taking the cheap way out, but he got over those feelings very quickly. It’s not about Killian being with Emma, after all. Not really. 

 As their son laughs raucously on the swing set with his cousin, he sees exactly what it’s about. 

 “I suppose we should do the cake,” Emma finally sighs, lifting her head 

 “I suppose,” he concedes, squeezing her tighter in his hold and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

 ~~~~

 The afternoon rolls into evening, everyone finding a lawn chair or chaise lounge to relax in as David starts a fire and Mary Margaret prepares for an outdoor movie. Honestly, Killian’s son is spoiled with the grandeur of his sixth birthday party, with the giant white screen and the projector displaying The Good Dinosaur for all the children to enjoy. 

 Emma sighs happily as she leans back against Killian’s chest, taking his wrists in her hands and pulling his arms around her middle. She feels warm against him as the fire heats her skin and her sweatshirt, and he can’t get enough of the feeling of the weight of her body pressed to his own. 

 “I love you,” she finally whispers into the dark as the movie starts, the sounds enough to drown out her voice so that only Killian can hear.

 “I love you, too,” he agrees softly, sentimentally, squeezing her just a bit tighter. “More than just about anything.” 

 “Just about?” 

 He hums out a laugh and nods. “I’m afraid I love our son just a tiny bit more than you. That’s normal, right?” 

 “Yes,” she agrees softly, turning to face him and pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’m afraid I love our kids more than you, too.” 

 He smiles and laughs lightly against her, returning her soft kiss with one of his own as he sighs and looks on at their son happily enjoying his special day. “Wait,” he says as it finally dawns on him; the specific wording she chose and the coy smile she dons through a giggle. “Kids?” 

 She hums in agreement, nodding against his chest and pulling his arms tighter around herself until his palm is pressed to her stomach. “I found out this morning.” 

 “Emma,” he breathes, unable to comprehend her meaning. 

 “I was thinking if it’s a boy, we could name him after your brother. At least his middle name. Thoughts?” 

 “Emma,” he tries again, separating his arms and pulling away only far enough to help her turn towards him. “Are you…” 

 “Shh,” she insists, pressing her finger to his lips and grinning at him and she turns to face him head on. Then she whispers, “it’s a secret. I’m pregnant.” 

 He can’t breathe, a shocked sound coming out of his mouth as he leans towards her and captures her lips in his. She grins against him, holding onto the neck of his sweatshirt to pull him impossibly closer to herself. “You’re sure?” 

 “I’ll call the doctor on Monday to make an appointment, but I took three tests. All positive.” 

 “Fuck,” he breathes almost silently, trying hard not to alert those around them of their shift in mood but finding it near impossible. “Fuck, I love you. I thought…” 

 She shakes her head, cradling the back of his neck in her hands as she answers his silent question. “I probably never would’ve been ready,” she explains. They’ve talked about it in passing, and she’s insisted that her last pregnancy was difficult and that she’s still recovering from the trauma she’s endured and is therefore unable to consider the possibility of having another child. “If I had a say, I probably would’ve kept putting it off,” she whispers. “But… surprise.” She shrugs and grins at him.

 He kisses her, because he can think of no other way to express his feelings towards her than to show her what she means to him. There are no words to tell her exactly what she’s given him, not just now, but every second he’s known her. No words, except, “marry me.” 

 She giggles breathlessly, the air escaping her lips hitting the tip of his nose as she gasps, “what?” 

 With a grin, he responds more seriously, “marry me. Please.” He clears his throat and tries again. “Emma Swan-- love of my life, mother of my children-- will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

 “You’re serious?” she breathes softly, careful not to alert the other parents present of the sudden shift between them. “You know I just got divorced, like, two months ago.” 

 “Aye, but I should've asked you to marry me seven years ago. The divorce is merely semantics.” 

 She laughs breathlessly again, disbelievingly, and nods her head before pulling him close to her. “Yes,” she whispers against him before pressing a passionate, if not also chaste, kiss to his lips. He can tell that she wants to deepen it, perhaps she wants to take him inside and show him how excited she is, but they're at their son’s birthday party and they have to keep things G-Rated. PG; nothing higher. “Yes,” she says again. Then once more, “yes, I’ll marry you.” 

 Andrew Liam Jones was born seven months later. He was monitored closely throughout Emma’s pregnancy to ensure proper development of his lungs, and when he was born, he screamed like a banshee to alert his parents of his healthy arrival. He weighed seven pounds, three ounces, and was twenty-one inches long. His big brother, newly renamed Henry David Jones following an amendment to his birth certificate, refused to leave the baby’s side until he fell asleep, needing to be carried out of the maternity suite by his uncle while his parents took in the bliss and terror of having a new life to care for. 

 Emma and Killian were married two months after the arrival of their second child, the small ceremony taking place on the secluded, rocky beach in Storybrooke, Maine. At first, Killian wanted to remove his family from the hellish town that nearly stole his life away from him, but she disagreed. This was where they were reunited. This was where they found each other again. This was where she found herself again. It’s where her children were born and raised. So, when she finds a beautiful, blue victorian style home on the outskirts of town and cries at how perfect it is for their family, at how close she would be to her sister, they place an offer. And they win. 

 They won when they found each other again and they know that they will never lose at anything ever again so long as they have each other. 

~~~~

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​ @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor

[snarkwrites]

honesty | shane walsh ; the walking dead

Notes:

I’ve always written Evie with Shane and I’ve always said that I wish I could find a beginning for the two that wasn’t so loaded or angst filled. I was in my feelings earlier about the dark path Shane’s life took after Rick came back. And I think that as this was taking place, I just kind of wondered.. What if I just started their whole story out here? So the idea took hold and I wrote this out? Anyway.. If I were to start their own sort of story ( which I’m not ruling out, it all depends on what you guys wanna see or not), I honestly believe I’ve finally found that solid starting point.

Also, fluff. Because now and then fluff is nice. There is a hot little touchy feely kissing session in here too, I got you fam.

Pairing:

Grimes!Sibling OFC, Evie x Shane Walsh.

Warnings:

An overload of fluff. Hurt comfort. Complete and total au version of Rick’s return to the world -and the group after awakening from his coma. Lori’s not cast in the best light when Evie’s doing her heavy internal reflecting. Pining.. Years of pining all built up until it just can’t be tolerated anymore and the words have to come out. 

Other Stuff:

[ faq | tag list doc ] 

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave​

@kyleoreillysknee​

@mrsstevenbuchananstark​ 

                                           H O N E S T Y,

I couldn’t sleep. My tent was leaking and the drip drip drip of the rain as it poured down from above were driving me to the brink of insanity. And maybe somewhere deep down, I was worried about Shane.

How he was going to handle things now that Rick was alive and a part of the group. He’d been through so much stress. He’d been the leader, stepping up and taking charge. Keeping the group that assembled at the quarry in the beginning together. Keeping us alive. 

And true to form, my brother showed up and it almost seemed as if Shane were forced to the side by literally everyone who depended on him before. Right off the bat, he seemed to just step right into a leadership position. 

But that wasn’t what bothered me most. What bothered me most was the pained look on his face when he watched Lori and Rick having their little heart warming reunion. Something had changed in Shane in that exact moment. His eyes had gone dull. It looked like he’d lost any shred of hope and any fight he had left.

And every part of me wanted to choke Lori for that. Because for as long as I’ve stood back watching things play out between my brother, his wife and a man that we were basically raised to think of as a brother, one thing has been a constant.

Lori’s always quick to use Shane when she needs him. She’s even quicker to let him go and turn her back on him when she’s gotten what she wants or needs.. Or she stands a chance to lose my brother.

I took a few deep breaths and shoved all of that out of my mind. Well, I tried to.

The leak in my tent wasn’t getting any smaller. And the more the rain came down, the louder the dripping got until finally, it succeeded in driving me from my  tent.

I found Shane sitting on the tailgate of his Bronco, the Mossberg beside him. He was sitting there, staring at his hands. Even from across our campground I could see the tension in his muscular frame.

And then something else clicked for me.

All this time I’ve kept one thing buried and hidden. Too afraid to voice it. I’ve always wanted Shane Walsh all to myself. I’ve always felt something beyond friendship for the man. And the feelings only seemed to grow with each year that passed in our lives.

Life’s too short to keep wondering.

Life’s entirely too short to keep sitting back. Watching things play out the way they always seem to between the three of them. I could be bitten and turned tomorrow and the thought that I’d die without ever even hinting that I loved him and cared for him deeply was unsettling to me.

Before I could chicken out, I crawled out of my tent. Jogging over to the Bronco just as the rain really picked up.

I cleared my throat and Shane looked up.

What had been so easy in theory became so much more complex than I anticipated. I went to open my mouth, to say anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Shane nodded to the space next to him on the tailgate and I hoisted myself up, swinging my legs as I settled in. 

“Yer soakin wet.” Shane mused. I could feel him staring at me. Damned if I could grow the necessary strength to meet his gaze though. God knows I tried at least a thousand times as I sat there, struggling with how to go about doing what I’d wandered over to do.

“Kind of what happens when your tent’s got a fucking hole in the roof.” I muttered, my eyes drifting down to bare and mud caked feet.

“ Didn’t get Rick t’ patch it?” just the flat tone he took had me frowning a little to myself. Hugging myself as the breeze picked up and I went from cooled down like I’d been bitching about wanting to be hours ago to me actually feeling a little cold.

“Nope.” I answered. 

We reached for the bottle of Jim Beam sitting between the two of us at the same time. My hand rested against the top of his hand and I took a few shaky breaths. My heart felt like it might just beat out of my chest at any second.

He let go of the bottle and I took a generous sip from it, holding it out to him. He glanced at me and took the bottle, taking a few long pulls before sitting it back down between us again. Then he cleared his throat.

“Y’ can’t sleep in a wet tent, hon. Fastest way t’ get sick. Especially with the wind blowin like it is.”

“Kind of why I’m here.” I admitted quietly, swinging my feet back and forth. Staring down at them intently because I did not dare glance over at him.

“Figured you’d go t’ Rick and Lori’s tent.” Shane muttered, a note of surprise creeping into his tone as he spoke.

“They need their time and space. Besides, if I have to spend one more second in closed quarters with that woman, I might actually snap and choke her to death.” I rambled, my words falling away at the end because I realized just how harsh my tone sounded.

Shane chuckled quietly. “Always wondered why y’ didn’t like her.”

“She played the two men I love most against each other and tried to make them hate each other. If it would’ve worked at any point, I would’ve probably killed her. She’s lucky I haven’t killed her since I came back, come to think of it.” I shrugged.

Beside me, Shane shifted around a little. Cleared his throat. His mouth opened and closed like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t say anything.

“ It never would’ve changed nothin between you n’ me, Evie. If she had come between me n’ Rick, I mean...”

I took a deep breath.

“ It would if I don’t mean love in the sense you think I do.” I quickly reached for the bottle of Jim Beam, anxious for anything to occupy my mouth before I made an unholy mess of this whole spur of the moment idea of mine.

Shane’s hand shot out, circling my wrist. Lowering the bottle I held in my hand back down to the tailgate. As soon as the bottle was out of my hand, his fingers curled under my chin, guiding my eyes up to meet his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I love you. Not as a friend or a brother. “ ,, you could’ve been so much more graceful in your phrasing. Did you really have to just dump it all out like that?” my mind taunted and my stomach proceeded to twist itself into thousands of tiny little knots as I waited for something. Any kind of reaction one way or another from him.

When that reaction came, I was shocked, to say the least. He reached out, plucking me off the tailgate. Settling me in his lap.

“How then?” he questioned, his eyes searching mine. His tone firm and yet still… Unsure. Almost as if he were afraid to pin any hopes on anything.

“ I left town to try and escape it back then because it was driving me crazy. Standing by and watching you three and your rollercoaster. I… I tried a thousand times to tell you how I really felt.” I admitted quietly, toying with the front of his shirt to distract myself. He tilted my face again, making me keep eye contact. As a feeble afterthought I sighed and shook my head, added in a hushed whisper, “You don’t have to.. I’ll be okay if you don’t feel the same way. I just wanted to tell you.. In case something happens down the road.”

I was going to try and just gracefully extract myself from his lap and the situation so I could keep the thin shred of dignity I had left at this point, but his hands settled in place on my hips, holding me in his lap.

He chuckled quietly. Looking at me as if he wanted to say something, his mouth opened, only to close again as he shook his head. “So instead of just sayin somethin.. Y’ left.”

I cringed. It sounded every bit as ridiculous now as it did to me when I decided to do it. “ I was afraid, okay? I know she’s always been it for you. I just couldn’t stand back and watch everything play out anymore, I…” I trailed off because there was this look in his eyes as they fixed on me.

“Y’ didn’t have a clue, hm?”

My brow raised.

“ Why else would I pick fights with th’ idiots you tried datin all the time?”

My breath caught in my throat and I raised my hand, dragging it through my hair. Really trying to puzzle out things. 

“ Woman… I got y’ a locket. I wasn’t just spendin all my time over at your house because we were all friends. Most of it was because I could be around y’. I gave up back then because I figured you weren’t interested. Kind of the only reason why I ever let Lori get t’ me in the first place. Because I thought y’ deserved better than me.”

I reached down into the front of my shirt, pulling the locket he’d given me years ago out, showing him that not only did I still have the locket, I still wore it. It’s never actually left my neck since the night he gave it to me, silly as that sounds.

“I’ve been through four chains now. Held up court once because it fell off my neck before I was due in but I wasn’t going in the court room until I found it.” I admitted, managing a sheepish smile as I met his gaze, holding it. Scooting closer to him for warmth. He raised his hands, rubbing over my arms. My legs settled around his waist and I sighed quietly.

Taking a few long and shaky breaths to get myself centered. To process my surprise at his own admissions thus far.

Because I hadn’t been expecting things to take the turn they had, at all. I thought that if anything, I’d pour it all out and he’d awkwardly but politely point out that he didn’t feel anything at all for me. He’d try to let me down gently or something.

“Remember when I asked for that help senior year? The big English paper?” Shane muttered after a few seconds of us just wordlessly staring at each other, lost in thought. Trying to process everything. Clumsily touching each other, our bodies migrating closer together. He raised a hand, smoothing my hair back out of my eyes as I nodded yes to his question.

“ I didn’t need help. I just wanted to be around y’ without Rick popping in and out. Had myself all convinced that I was hot shit. That I could go for it n’ kiss ya. Every damn time I tried, always managed to talk myself out of it. Except that last time. When we leaned in at the same time and wound up bumpin noses and Rick wandered in? If he hadn’t, I was going for it again.”

I swallowed hard because that was one of many nights I replayed over and over again in my own mind.. Each time a different ending that seemed to pave the way for some fairytale ending.

,, if the world weren’t falling to pieces…” my mind was at it again, trying to stop me from going further, trying to make any excuse to back out now. But this time, I shoved down the thought. This time I wasn’t backing out. The world might be falling to pieces but that didn’t mean I couldn’t at least try to squeeze some shred of joy out of it before it all came to a grinding halt.

We were talking now. Being more open than we’d ever really been with each other.

He’d even managed a weak smile here and there. Which was more than I’d seen out of him in hours by this point.

I felt the weight of the world lifting just because I knew that if everything came to an abrupt end tomorrow, I’d finally gotten it all out. He knew that at least one person loved him. Wanted him. Needed him.

Somehow, I got the feeling that right now, he needed to know that almost as badly as I needed to finally get it off my chest.

His hands were starting to wander. Our mouths kept migrating closer and closer and it seemed as if the storm and everything else in the world around us was just sort of falling away. It was so quiet that I could hear my heart beating loud against my chest. My mouth brushed the corner of his mouth and then he snapped.

What started out as a clumsy little halfway kiss turned into his hands tangling in my hair and gripping my hip, pulling me completely against him as the hand tangled in my hair pulled it free from a messy braid and dragged through it, tugging at it. His teeth locked onto my bottom lip, tugging until it started swelling. My tongue dragged over the outline of his mouth slowly, savoring the moment for all it was. My fingers dug into his shoulder and carded through his hair as my legs squeezed his sides and I basically clung to him when our tongues tangled and our mouths crashed against each other, the soft smack of deep and hot, frenzied kisses echoing in the still all around us. Shattering the bubble that seemed to have formed to keep everything else at bay.

By the time I was rubbing against him clumsily, we were breaking apart to breathe and his forehead rested against mine. The hand on my hip raised, settling on my cheek as he rolled his thumb over and caressed it.

I yawned, cuddling myself against him. Looking over my shoulder to where my leaky tent sat unused across the campsite. Shane chuckled and turned my gaze back to him, closing the distance between our mouths all over again, muttering quietly into the kiss, “We should probably get some sleep. We’ll figure somethin out tomorrow. Y’ can borrow one of my shirts to get dry, darlin.”

I nodded, swallowing hard as the shock started to wear off at last, replaced by honest to God sheer bliss...

[prepare4trouble]

Idk if you ship Heahmund/Ivar but if you do, wanna write something with Hvitserk dealing with the fact that his brother is falling hard for a christian menace?

I don't ship them, but I thought I'd give this a go anyway. Unfortunately, it didn't go according to plan, and I ended up writing and re-writing it for over a week until I ended up with one single scene that... isn’t exactly what I intended to write. Still, I have to post it or I'll keep chipping away at it forever

Sorry if it's not what you were hoping for...

(Prompts are still open, by the way)

Seated on a bench in the hall of King Harold’s home, Hvitserk watched out of the corner of his eye as Ivar made his way slowly across the room. His brother leaned more heavily than usual on his crutch, his steps shorter and slower than they had been earlier in the day, and it was clear that he had spent too long on his feet.

Hvitserk knew why. He had been visiting the prisoner again, the Saxon priest that they had, for reasons known only to Ivar, brought back with them from England.

Ivar reached the table and carefully lowered himself onto the bench next to Hvitserk, but leaving some distance between them. He sat with his back to the table, then turned to meet Hvitserk’s eyes as though daring him to say something. Hvitserk declined the offer, and turned his attention instead to the cup of ale that sat on the table in front of him.

Hvitserk didn’t trust the prisoner. The priest had betrayed him once before, when he had left he and Ubbe bruised and bloodied before sending them back to Ivar as a message that there would be no peace between their peoples. It was a move that had precipitated the rift in their family, and even if he chose to believe that it had been fate, Hvitserk couldn’t help but hold the priest responsible.

Holding onto the table for leverage, Ivar leaned forward, grabbed one leg with his free hand, and hoisted it up onto the bench with his foot pointing toward Hvitserk. He began to unfasten the buckles on the leather straps that held the brace in place. “Problem, Hvitserk?” he asked.

“Uh…” Hvitserk picked up his cup of ale and downed it in a single gulp. “What?”

“You looked as though you had something to say,” Ivar told him. His voice was calm and measured. He looked Hvitserk in the eye as practised fingers continued to work on the straps. “Why don’t you just say it instead of grinding your teeth and glaring at me?”

Hvitserk tapped the back of a fingernail on the side of his empty cup, and considered the request. “Okay,” he said. “I will. He’s dangerous, and you shouldn’t trust him.”

Ivar’s fingers stilled on the final buckle of his brace, and his brows knotted into an exaggerated parody of a frown. A hint of an amused smile played on his lips. “Who are you talking about?”

Hvitserk scowled, not in the mood to play games. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“No…” Ivar shook his head thoughtfully as his frown deepened. “No, I do not believe that I do. After all, I know a great many dangerous people.” He paused, then smiled somewhat pointedly. “I am a dangerous person myself.”

“I was talking about the Christian, Ivar.” Hvitserk told him. “As you well know.”

Ivar gave him a dismissive shake of the head and turned his attention back to his leg. He unfastened the final strap, then winced noticeably as he removed the brace. He placed it on the floor next to the bench, near to where he had rested his crutch, for some slave to collect and return to his room later.

“Heahmund?” he asked.

Hvitserk scowled at the sound of the man’s name. “Are there any other Christians around here?”

“How would I know?” Ivar asked with a dismissive shrug. “Probably not, but we are in a new place. King Harold’s kingdom could be rife with Christians for all I know. Anyway, Heahmund is a sly one. He tried to convert me to his faith. Perhaps he has succeeded with somebody more weak minded than myself.”

“He…” Hvitserk found himself smiling at the idea of the Christian attempting to convert Ivar of all people. “Really?”

“Really. It did not exactly go as he had hoped.”

No, he imagined not. Hvitserk shook his head. “But that’s exactly what I mean. He’s dangerous, and not just because he will try to poison our minds against the gods. He would kill you without a moment’s thought if he believed that his god wanted it.”

“I know,” Ivar told him, apparently unconcerned by the idea.

“But still you carry on visiting him like he’s an old friend, talking to him for hours at a time. It’s almost as though you are infatuated with him. Almost like you’re...” he stopped as a realisation hit him.

“Almost like I…?” Ivar said, waving a hand in the air as he prompted him to continue.

Suddenly Hvitserk understood. He knew what was happening between his brother and the Christian. He shook his head, as though he could shake loose the thought, but it was stuck fast. Ivar really was infatuated by the Christian. Perhaps he even loved him.

“Hvitserk?” Ivar said. He waved a hand before his eyes mockingly.

Hvitserk blinked. He couldn’t say that, not with everything that it might imply. Not yet, not when he had no idea how his brother might react.

“You… like him,” Hvitserk said instead.

Ivar chuckled quietly under his breath, then turned his attention back to his legs. He moved his other leg onto the bench and began the slow task of removing the slightly more complicated brace. As he did, he shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I? Why else would you have brought him here? And why else would you spend so much time talking with him?”

“I brought you back, didn’t I? Ivar said. He winced in pain again as he released one part of the brace and got to work on the next. “He’s a great warrior, he has insight I can use. I find him interesting, that is all.”

“He’s a Christian priest.”

Ivar shook his head. “A bishop, actually.”

Hvitserk frowned. “And what is the difference?”

“I don’t know, but perhaps I could ask him for you, and then we will know. And that is why he is useful; it is important to know as much as we can about our enemies, wouldn’t you agree, brother?”

Hvitserk rubbed a hand wearily across his face and reached for a jug of ale. “He would happily kill you, given half a chance.”

“I know he would,” Ivar told him, “and that is one of the interesting things about him. But don’t worry, brother. He’ll never get that chance, and even if he did, he wouldn’t take it.”

That was not a promise that Ivar could make. Hvitserk frowned, unconvinced.

“It is true,” Ivar assured him. “I haven’t simply been talking to him, I have been slowly winning him over, convincing him that I’m not the monster he thought I was. I think he’s starting to like me, too. Anyway, he knows that I am the only person keeping him alive. If he did manage to kill me, you would have him put to death immediately, and he doesn’t want to die. If he were so eager to join his god, he would have tried to do so already.

There was an undeniable logic to Ivar’s argument, as usual. Hvitserk forced down a stab of irritation. “One of these days, Ivar, you’re going to make an assumption like that and be wrong.”

Ivar shrugged. “Maybe. But not today.”

“You should still be careful. Take somebody in with you when you see him.”

“Having an armed bodyguard present is no way to build trust. I am hoping that he will fight for us, remember? Do you think he would do that if he thought I was afraid of him?

“You told him you would crucify him if he didn’t. Don’t you think that is incentive enough to fight for us?”

“Perhaps,” Ivar shrugged, “But I would prefer it if he wanted to do it. That way he is less likely to betray me to my enemies. Besides,” he reached to his belt and removed a short but dangerous looking knife, I am not so stupid as to go in there unarmed. After all, as you say, he would happily murder me if his god asked him to, and I am just a helpless cripple.”

Hvitserk reached for the jug of ale and refilled his cup, then poured one for Ivar too, and pushed it across the table toward his brother. “You are anything but helpless, Ivar, and you know that wasn’t what I meant.”

Ivar finished removing the second brace and placed it carefully next to the first, then accepted the drink with a nod. He smiled knowingly. “Oh, but that is exactly what you meant, brother.”

And once again, he was right. In a way, that was what he had meant. Ivar would be terrifying to face across the battlefield, coated in in the blood of his enemies, screaming a battle cry from his chariot, but in close, one-on-one combat, especially if he caught him off-guard, Heahmund would have the advantage. Even Ivar would have to admit that, surely.

“And you are right,” Ivar told him.

Hvitserk blinked in surprise. “What?”

Ivar slipped his knife back into its holster, produced a length of strong cloth from a pocket and tied it around his legs below the knees. “I said, you are right. Heahmund is a great warrior. I have no doubt that he would be able to overpower me if he chose to do so. In fact, I have no doubt he could overpower you too. But yet I am safe with him, as I have already explained to you.”

“It’s not only that he could hurt you,” Hvitserk told him. “You might find him…” he hesitated, “You might find him interesting, but I don’t think he feels the same way.”

Ivar laughed quietly. “Are you worried about me, brother?”

Hvitserk set his lips in a thin line. There were only so many ways that it could end, and there was no room for the possibility of happiness. He decided to change the direction of the argument. “Father had a Christian that he found interesting once,” he said. “Do you remember?”

“Athelstan.” Ivar shook his head. “Not really. I was too young when he died to really remember.”

“Well, I remember,” Hvitserk told him. He had been a child too, but he had been old enough to understand what had happened, and to follow what the adults around him were saying. “I just don’t want the same thing to happen to you as happened to father.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “Ragnar was dropped into a pit of snakes by a king that we have since killed.” Ivar shook his head, then took a long gulp of his drink. “It is unlikely to happen again.”

He was playing dumb, of course. Or, perhaps he wasn’t, not completely. Ivar had been little more than an infant when Floki had killed the priest; a coddled and protected child who had had very little contact with his father. By the time he would have been old enough to understand, the people had stopped speaking of Ragnar and his pet Christian. There was a chance that Ivar didn’t know how deep their father’s feelings for the other man had been, or that after his death, Ragnar had never been the same.

Hvitserk sighed. “Yes, Ivar.” he said, returning to the question his brother had asked him a moment earlier. “I am worried about you. No matter what happens, Heahmund will eventually turn against you, and when he does, I think that it will break your heart.”

Ivar shook his head. “It would not be the first break I have had to endure.”

Hvitserk shook his head. “It’s not the same thing, Ivar. It’s not the same thing at all.”

“I disagree,” Ivar told him. “You think my heart didn’t break when Father died? Or Mother? When Floki climbed into a boat and disappeared into the open ocean? I know heartbreak, Hvitserk. I know it every bit as well as you do. Perhaps even more.”

Once again, his little brother was right. Hvitserk sighed and nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry, Ivar.”

“Anyway,” Ivar added, dismissing the moment with a wave of his hand. “If Heahmund betrays me, I will simply kill him, or have him killed.

“And you think you could just kill somebody that you love?”

Ivar frowned. “Whoever said anything about love?”

Hvitserk closed his eyes briefly. He hadn’t meant to say that, it had simply slipped out.

“Anyway,” Ivar added. “I am sure that if I could bury an ax in my own brother’s chest, I would have no trouble doing the same to a Christian priest. Whether I 'love' him, or not.”

Uninvited, the image of Sigurd staggering toward Ivar before dropping lifeless to the ground, forced its way into Hvitserk’s mind, and he took another swig of his drink as though he could wash it away. “He’s a bishop,” he reminded him, repeating Ivar’s words back to him.

Ivar smiled, apparently unaffected by the memory of their brother. “So he is.”

“And whatever you feel for him, Ivar, he doesn’t feel the same way about you.” Hvitserk was still thinking of Sigurd; he had already lost one brother, and after everything that had happened, he doubted that he could ever repair things between himself and Ubbe, or Björn either for that matter; they were trying to kill his mother after all. That left Ivar as the only family that he had left. He sighed deeply, trying not to think of everything that he had lost, but suddenly unable to think of anything else. “I don’t want to lose you as well.”

Apparently unmoved by the plea, Ivar finished his drink in a single gulp, put the cup down heavily on the table, pressed his palms into the bench to lift himself, then slid down to the ground. “You won’t,” he said. “I think we are stuck with each other, I am beginning to think the gods want us to stay together.”

With that, using his hands to move across the ground, he made his way to the door far more quickly than he had arrived on his feet.

For a moment, Hvitserk watched him go. “You might not love him yet, Ivar, but you’re halfway there,” he called after him. “Don’t deny it.”

Ivar paused briefly. He turned back to look at his brother with a smirk on his face, then continued on his way. As he reached the door, he turned again. “I deny it,” he said, then quickly pulled himself out of the door and disappeared out of Hvitserk’s sight, leaving behind nothing but his crutch and braces, and the sound of a quiet chuckle floating back into the room.

Hvitserk glared after his brother helplessly, left, as Ivar had no doubt intended, with two equally unappealing options; chasing after him and attempting to finish a conversation that Ivar clearly didn’t want to continue with, or shouting a response after him through the wall, with no idea whether Ivar had heard him.

Instead, Hvitserk finished his drink and poured himself another. For all that he still thought of Ivar as his little brother, he was a grown man, and he was capable of making his own mistakes. Hvitserk just hoped it wouldn’t be as costly a mistake as he feared…

[thenightgazer]

A Long Way Home

While still trapped in the Underworld, Dante and Vergil have to resolve their family issue. One that can't be solved only by swords and guns.

It's been two years since Red Grave incident, one week after Christmas, and still no news about Dante and Vergil. That leaves Nero terribly upset, but little did he know that miracle will come to him very soon.

Merry Christmas @nibbbs! Surprise surprise, I’m your secret santa from @dmcsecretsanta! Hopefully you enjoy the gift I wrote for you! Happy reading and happy holiday!

You can also read it on my AO3!

~~~

The Underworld has never been this quiet before.

That forsaken place is the real no man’s land; always boisterous with fights between demons to take over the throne of the Underworld. Be it a slaughter between lower demons or higher demons, they couldn’t care less. Their primal instinct is just craving more power and of course, human flesh. But since the portal to cross into the human world isn’t always unfolded, cannibalism is ineluctable. It’s either eat or be eaten. It’s bound to happen and demons don’t have any choices but to yield to the Underworld’s natural law. Surviving and escaping the Underworld seems like an absurd fantasy for humans, even for demons as well.

Which is why voluntarily jumping into the depth of the Underworld to save the world is considered to be a valiant and honorable act, yet also frivolously lunatic.

Well, for Dante, lunatic sounds like his middle name, if he ever had one.

He chuckles by the thought of that.

“What are you laughing at?” Dante’s problematic twin brother Vergil snarls.

“Nothing,” Dante closes his eyes. “Just having a weird thought.”

Vergil replies nothing. He shows no interest in Dante's daydream, but that’s just probably because he’s too tired to even think of a reply. The twins couldn’t count how many days have passed since they cut the Qliphoth tree down. They spared and killed any demons nearby, exploring other regions of the Underworld simply because they are bored and need some time to rebound their lost time as brothers. Now, exhaustion forces them to take some rest. They lean side by side on the scorched desert, staring at the perpetual black sky while restoring their energy.

Dante can sense a demon’s presence not too far from where he is right now, but that presence fades eventually. “You feel that too, Verge?”

“I do,” Vergil murmurs. “The words have been spoken, I presume. That they better not to disturb us if they still want to live.”

“Well, once we recover, they’re going to die anyway.”

Vergil’s short hum speaks of his concurrence.

Dante shifts his hands under his head as he glances to his brother. Vergil stiffly lies on the ground with Yamato on his chest while his hands gripping on it. He might close his eyes but Dante knows his brother can still attack his opponent while closing his eyes. As hard as a steel, this old bastard, Dante amuses at his idea. “Rest means relaxing, bro. You don’t have to be on guard all the time.”

“I’m preparing for any attack.”

“It’s not like there is a demon near us at this moment.”

“Have some self-consciousness, Dante. You could attack me at any time, given a chance.”

Dante wakes up straight away. “Why would I wanna attack you?!”

“There’s always a possibility.”

“Says the guy who always has the intention to kill me, huh,” Dante lies back again. “Seriously, Verge. Just for five minutes, stop thinking and go to sleep. Bet it’s been a while since you have a proper sleep, right?”

Neither show any agreement or disagreement, Vergil turns his head to Dante. “Why are you still awake then?”

“Huh? To keep an eye on you, of course. Who knows you’d do some weird shit outta there again.”

Vergil curves a smirk, then turns his eyes to the dark sky again. “I see. You are also scared of me attacking you while you’re asleep, aren’t you? We’re twins, after all.”

“I don’t-” Dante almost bite his mouth.. “Man, you’re as sharp and annoying as you always have been.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“Yeah right.”

And there’s silence again. It’s been days, or weeks, since the last time Dante hears any demonic voices around him. To be honest, he kind of expects their appearance. He likes talking to Vergil, but the older brother has an issue in healthy communication. Hell, Vergil is a difficult person and Dante wonders if the eldest children around the world are always like this. But Dante realizes he is also no expert in social interaction, and fighting is also the only thing they both are good at. Vergil would talk a little bit much when fighting, even if it’s mostly taunting and mocking Dante, yet it’s better than having Vergil succumb to the dark side again.

“By the way,” Dante breaks the ice. “Are you ready now to tell me who’s the lucky girl a.k.a Nero’s mom?”

Vergil draws the Yamato above Dante’s throat. “One more word, and I’ll cut you into pieces.”

“C’moooon! I’m curious!”

The Yamato is now touching Dante’s skin. “Final warning, Dante.”

Dante flicks the Yamato’s blade. “Fine. Whenever you’re ready, bro. You might not want to tell me, but you owe that to Nero. He’s your son. He deserves to know.”

Vergil sheathes Yamato, scoffing at Dante’s warning. “It’s not like I’m going back to the human world.”

“Well, we HAVE to!”

“Pray tell why I should agree with you.”

“I have a shop to run and there’s a new menu at my favorite pizza parlor. You should try it, by the way. And you got a lot to explain to Nero. You don’t wanna be a deadbeat like Father, right? Though you kinda already are all this time.”

“You know it better than anyone else that I didn’t know Nero’s existence until you told me so.”

“Which is more reason why you have to come back to the human world soon. You can say you don’t need to catch up with Nero but I know you want it. You left him your frigging book; the same one you didn’t allow me to borrow. Dear ol’ Vergil got some soft spots for his son, huh?”

Vergil turns his back from Dante like a sulking child, ignoring his younger twin’s laughter. As expected from a cold man like him, he won’t ever admit that every single of Dante’s words is true. Again, a long and neglected fear consumes him. What’s fatherhood for a man who ran out of place and time like him anyway? Is there any chance for him to fix his family? Getting back in terms with Dante is one thing, but with Nero, the son he had never met before his escapement from the Underworld? Does he even have a right to call him his son after all he had done to him?

After quite long of silence and battle with himself, Vergil murmurs a question to Dante. “How old is he?”

Dante almost squealed if only he didn’t remember not to ruin Vergil’s mood or else they won’t have any friendly conversation anymore. “Nero? Twenty-something, I guess. Haven’t asked him myself.”

“How did you meet each other?”

“Long short story, some weird-ass cult that worshipped our father as a god turned out evil and wanted to use our father’s power to rule the world-”

“The Order of the Sword?”

“Right! You did your research! Nero was one of them but rebelled after they kidnapped his girlfriend and killed her brother. I came to Fortuna to retrieve the Sparda sword and apparently your kid was able to summon the Yamato and I got the picture already. He got white hair, he summoned Yamato, tried to kill me repeatedly, stab me with Rebellion and Yamato, craving for more power to save his beloved. I wondered where he got that from, by the way~”

A hint of smirk curves in Vergil’s mouth.

“Then we worked together to save Fortuna from a pope who was obsessed with our Father and destroyed the island. We succeeded and brought peace. Nero got his girlfriend back, and we established the branch of Devil May Cry in Fortuna. The end.”

“A heartwarming, and very unoriginal story.”

“You think I made up that story?”

“Didn’t say that. I am merely implying that I heard stories similar to your experience.”

“Hell knows you are the coldest person alive, but you are a terrible liar. You are a man of pride, after all. Lying doesn’t suit you.”

“I can tell thousands of lies as I please, if only that’s necessary,” Vergil takes a brief look at Dante’s mischievous face. “But I won’t, if it’s concerning my son.”

Is this really the Vergil I used to know? Dante can’t hold his grin while elbowing his brother. “Starting to feel like a real dad, huh?”

“Silence.”

“Admitting that you love your son won’t do any harm, Verge.”

“I-” Vergil stumbles upon his own words. He growls impatiently, hurrying himself to get up and sit down as he wipes his face frustratedly. “We’re not having this conversation anymore.”

“Why? Just because you can’t admit that you grew care for your son?”

“Because I’m a terrible person!”

That was the most honest words that came from Vergil, if anything, ever. When was the last time he showed his vulnerable side like this? Even as V, crumbling and dying slowly, he didn’t even spare Dante any sign of defeat and regret. Dante gets up, clapping Vergil’s shoulder. “Only if you still want to destroy the world and kill your own family, then maybe I’d call you the worst shit in the world too.”

Vergil shakes his head. “If only…”

“Huh?”

“Had I known I have a son back then…” Vergil says bitterly. “I would never leave him. I would never go pursuing power or raising that foolish tower and this ridiculous tree…” he points to the remains of Qliphoth tree with his sword. “I would have a better chance to be… a good father for him…”

Regret always comes late, isn’t it? The ‘if onlys’ never come at the front of the mind, merely whispering behind the head but never appearing into the surface before regret comes. Vergil knows that, but never really understands it until Dante tells him that Nero- the very man whose arm was ripped by him and still willing to help him in every way- is his own flesh and blood. His priority was to seal the gate of the Underworld and cut the Qliphoth tree, so that Nero and the rest of the human world are safe and sound. He will stay in the Underworld to redeem himself, for he thinks he has no place in the human world for all he has done. He planned to create a portal to the human world after he fixed things up with Dante to kick him out from the Hell with force, because he knows Dante won’t leave him alone again and will do anything to drag Vergil out from the Underworld. The plan is simple. It should have been easy to execute.

Yet ever since Vergil landed at this hellhole, his steps are getting heavier as time goes on. A haunting voice inside his head kept telling him to come back to Nero as soon as he finished his job cutting Qliphoth roots. Another sound tells him he should stay longer here with Dante to catch up with their sibling bound. The third sound, more demanding and urging, tells him to stay in the Underworld forever as a redemption.

“Y’know, bro,” Dante folds his legs as he seizes the Yamato from Vergil’s hand and puts it on the ground, which dismays Vergil. “Gotta admit that I wanted to kill you because I wanted to free you from evil, and get rid of Nero’s burden of having you as his father. Though he proved to us that we are just a bunch of nonsensical idiots who got unsolved sibling problems between us-”

“I am not an idiot!”

“You might have scored higher on the Math test than me but you’re still an idiot!” Dante barks. “Anyway that’s not my point! What I mean to say is, as much as I hate your dumb-as-rock head, you’re still my brother. And it’s never too late to fix things up.”

Vergil scoffs and takes his sword back to his embrace again. “How can you be so sure?”

“I blamed you, y’know, for that day” Dante admits, his eyes getting darker and the carefree vibe in his voice is gradually gone. “For not rescuing me and Mother.”

Vergil streaked at that confession. “What do you mean?”

“You thought Mother only saved me and left you behind while she died searching for you,” Dante woefully chuckles. “But for me, on that day, I thought you would come to rescue us.”

“I was planning to-”

“She could have hid with me in the closet until you come to save us. That’s what I thought back then when she died, and you never came back. I thought you left us, before I heard one of them say they had you killed. There I was; frightened and thinking that I was alone. My mother and brother died. No one could save me but myself. I was blaming you for running away that day. If you didn’t, we could have defeated them all and protected our home.”

“Or, we could have died. All of us.”

“Exactly. Instead of blaming you, I blamed myself for picking a fight with you. Should’ve left you and your book alone,” Dante stands up, spinning the Ivory before shooting a flying demon that approaches them. “I lived by loathing myself, until I met you again in that cursed church, remember? I was genuinely happy to see you.”

“I remember,” Vergil nods slowly, recalling a blurry picture of their younger selves. “You said you are a devil hunter and will be filthy rich someday.”

“Still waiting for that day, actually. Yet you fucker started being a dick, saying shits about power and stuff,” Dante’s harsh voice trembles slightly. “I thought we could start over as a family, but you decided to fucking stay in the Underworld. I couldn’t save you at the gate of the Underworld. I couldn’t save you at Mallet Island. I could save everyone else, but not my own family.”

Vergil raises up. His arm is reaching Dante’s shoulder, but it never touches him. His hesitation is rational, for he knows words can’t describe how Dante must have felt towards Vergil. Hatred might be the wrong word; it sounds too soft. Too lenient, too merciful.

One could tell it’s disappointment, Vergil gets his answer as Dante turns over to face him. The mischievous little brother side of Dante has gone as he aims his gun at Vergil. It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend. Let alone a family.

Dante wails horridly. “Always the quiet one, ain’t cha? Remember how our parents always told me to be quiet like you? ‘Why can’t you just behave like Vergil?’ Guess what? At least I’m not the one who fucked the world up and ripped off my son’s arm-”

“Dante-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Dante’s grip on Ivory is slightly trembling as he snaps. “I’ve been through shits too, Vergil. I missed Father and Mother. I missed you, for fuck sake! After all this time I believed I killed you in Mallet Island, then you came out of nowhere to destroy the world. I came out with the conclusion that you didn’t even change a bit, just an egomaniacal who thinks the world only revolves around him. I needed to kill you again because I don’t want my nephew to kill his own father. Don’t you fucking realize how maddening was that?!”

A bullet passes through Vergil’s head. The older hybrid stands still without any intention to return the attack, only wiping the blood from his forehead. I don’t have the right to be irritated, he reminds himself while his mouth forms a bitter grimace as Dante puts the gun on Vergil’s forehead, ready to pull the trigger anytime soon. For a second Vergil can sense Dante is going to lose his temper as he catches a glimpse of red flash in Dante’s eyes. Ever since they were kids, Vergil was always aware that Dante in his total wrath is dangerous. A ticking bomb , Vergil recalls what their father said about Dante’s anger as he watches the raging fire in Dante’s eyes ignite until it’s slowly fading.

“But I changed my mind again,” Dante continues. “Instead of blaming you and carrying on the bad blood, I choose to start over. And that’s how I can be sure,” he pokes Vergil’s head with the gun before putting it back into his coat. “That everyone deserves a second chance and it’s never too late to fix what you have done.”

The red devil yawns as he slams himself on the ground again, stretching his hands before he closes his eyes. “Sorry for raising my voice. It’s just impossible to use soft words whenever I’m talking to a stubborn jackass like you.”

He opens one of his eyes to see what Vergil would react. His older brother sighs heavily, sitting beside Dante’s lying body and puts his katana on the ground. For a man with a soul of a true warrior like Vergil, putting weapons down on the ground is a sign of defeat. Which is the reason why he was slightly aggravated when Dante seized the Yamato and put it on the ground as if he told Vergil to surrender. It should be a humiliating act, but for once Vergil throws his pride away.

Because you are right, Dante.

“Dante,” he calls his brother. This time there’s no hostility in his voice, only sincerity and repentance. “I am ever so sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Dante smirks playfully. “Why do you think I’m here if I still hold a grudge against you?”

“I mean it,” Vergil emphasizes. “Truthfully. For everything I have done… and my sincere gratitude for taking good care of my son while I wasn’t there for him.”

“Honestly, Verge. Forget it. I only do what I have to do.”

Watching his little brother finally howls in laughter, a surge of warmth fills Vergil’s veins as he joins the laughter. It’s comforting, since they can’t remember the last time they laugh together without any fight and bad blood. I barely remember how it feels like to have a family, Vergil chuckles while Dante kicks Vergil’s knee mischievously. Was it always this… warm?

“Dante.”

“Yup?”

“I think we should go back to the human world now.”

Dante whistles in joy. “Ready to meet your grandkids?”

“Do tell me the truth,” Vergil growls, impetuously tugs Dante’s collar. “Are you serious about grandchildren or you just make it up?”

“For fuck sake, Verge! Didn’t you know that already when you ripped your son’s arm?”

“I didn’t pay much attention... I can only recall a voice of woman called Nero for dinner- not the voice of that mouthful friend of Nero-”

“Yeah that was Kyrie. Your soon-to-be daughter in law. Anyway they adopted kids called Carlo, Kyle, and Julio,” Dante pats Vergil’s shoulder with pride and teasing manner. “Congratulations, you’re officially a grandpa! What a fine day for revelation!”

As if my life could get any worse, Vergil grinds his teeth in frustration as he releases Dante from his grip. “How unfortunate.”

“C’mon, swing that flimsy sword of yours and make a portal to the human world. We got plenty of things to do! I gotta pay those bills, refurbish my shop, return Kalina Ann to Lady, and buy a birthday present for Patty.”

“Rather a cumbersome list you got there, Dante.”

“What can I say? I’m a busy man! Now get your ass up, old man! Nero’s waiting!”

---

It’s already two fucking years.

Nero was never a believer. There’s no such thing as a miracle, he told himself. Protecting Kyrie and the kids is an endless responsibility that bestowed upon him. There’s nothing he won’t do for their happiness and safety, even if it means to cost his own well-being. He relies on nobody but himself. He doesn’t pray. He never tries to exceed any expectation, because hope is a dangerous and fragile thing. Hope bothers him, and he hates to be bothered.

Yet, lately, he almost surrendered by the temptation to hold some hope.

What hope? Nero rejects his own thought. For those douchebags to return safely? Gimme a break.

Sitting in his garage and polishing the Red Queen, Nero takes a brief look at the snowy ground outside of the house where the children are building a snowman. He grins at Kyle who waves at him; the youngest from the three children he adopted, who’s now taller and braver than he used to be when he found the little boy searching for some scraps at Fortuna’s slum. Nero chuckles when a glimpse of a picture of Vergil meeting Kyrie and the boys pops out from his head. Would they be pleased to meet him? Would Vergil be pleased to meet them? Would he himself be pleased to meet Vergil again? There’s no fucking way for them to coming back, Nero slaps himself. They either die or shit themselves in the Underworld. Probably fucking fighting again like toddlers.

Still, the thought of his father and uncle somehow return and meeting his little family is overwhelming. Nero can’t even hide his smile anymore. He throws away the rug he uses to wipe the blade and hangs the Red Queen on the wall.

Come to think of it, that fucker ripped off my arm in this garage too.

He lays a hard punch on the wall.

“Keep punchin’ the wall, and ya would destroy the house.”

Nero glances at his friend and partner in crime, Nico, who rests her back on the van and lights her cigarette. He still finds it strange to witness Nico in her winter outfit, a contrast to her usual tanktop and shorts she used to wear before winter comes. "How many times have I told you to smoke outside the house?”

“Ya blind or what? It’s cold outside!”

“Darn it, Nico! Then don’t smoke!”

“Too late~” Nico barks a laugh while blowing a smoke. “Anyway, why did you punch the wall like a madman?”

Nero shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing. Just feeling like punching something.”

“Cut the bullshit. Ya missed yer old man, ain’t cha?”

“Buzz off, Nico.”

“Aaaaw, don’t be so meanie~”

“Seriously, Nico. Go bugger off someone else. I’m not in the mood for having a chit-chat.”

“Everyone’s worried, ya know,” Nico exhales exaggeratedly, pointing at the children outside. “Those lil’ brats asked me if somethin’ pissed ya off because ya look like ya wanted to punch someone in the face since the Christmas party last week.”

“I indeed want to punch a certain person,” Nero lets out a cackle. “But he’s not available at the moment.”

“Y’know, I’m not an expert of daddy and son shits, and yer dad is obviously not an ideal father, but it’s totally okay for ya to miss him. The jackass did save the world, at least.”

“Thanks, Nico. That’s so motivational. I’m deeply touched- ouch !” Nero swears when a sturdy plug lands on his head. “What the fuck Nico?!”

“Talk to Kyrie,” Nico lowers her voice. Her brash mouth always sounds kinder and empathetic when she talks about Kyrie. “Ya locked yerself in this garage the whole day! You’re making her worried, ya know?”

“I think you should double your eyeglasses. I didn’t lock myself. See that door? It’s unhinged, because I need to make sure the kids are alright.”

“Yeaaah whatever. Go talk to her, pretty boy. I’ll watch over the brats.”

“Fine…” Nero scratches his nape as he walks away from the garage. “Don’t let the kids go anywhere near my weapons!”

“Gotcha~!”

Nero never meant to worry anyone, of course. He lives a happy life; he married the love of his life, adopted a bunch of orphans whom he loved and took care of equally, and ran a business with his best friend whom he considered a big sister. The world is currently safe from danger. So what's to worry about?

His confusion disappears when he sees Kyrie’s figure covered in a thick blanket at the terrace. She smiles happily as the snow continues to fall and catches a drop on her palm. Nero feels like he could melt anytime he sees Kyrie’s soothing smile. He takes his time to watch her catching snow as he leans against the door, ignoring the cold breeze that sneaks inside his body. It doesn’t take a long time for Kyrie to be aware of Nero’s presence as she asks him to join her at the terrace.

“You should put your coat on, Nero. It’s cold here.” Kyrie speaks her concern while she wraps him with her blanket.

“Chill out. I’m fine,” Nero gives her a light peck on the forehead. His right hand envelopes Kyrie’s waist to give her a sense of comfort. “The kids are building snowmans back there. Been hours and who knows when they will stop.”

Kyrie giggles. “The more they grow up the more energetic they become! At least we don’t need to worry about how to get them to sleep on time. I believe they’ll get exhausted after play and filling their stomachs with delicious dinner would quicken their way to sleep!”

“You’re right.”

Kyrie looks up at her lover’s tensed face. She brushes the tip of Nero’s nose slightly to make him smile. That little maneuver always succeeded to cheer him up. Kyrie rests her head on Nero’s chest. “Are you not happy with the Christmas party last week? I know you hated surprises but-”

“No- I liked it! Really! You know we rarely celebrate things lately and last week was one of the best days in my life! How could I hate that?” Nero tightens his grip on Kyrie’s waist, gazing at Kyrie’s eyes deeply. “I’m happy, Kyrie. I’m happy here with our little family.”

“Then it must have something to do with your father and uncle, is it?”

“That obvious, huh?” Nero smirks bitterly. “I just… I don’t know. You know how Dante is. To think that he’s actually my uncle is… weird. Then I found out the man who screwed up Red Grave was his brother. My father. Vergil, he left me when I was a child… as V, he manipulated me to do his agenda. He reemerged and left me again. And Dante didn't even bother to tell me the fact before Vergil was back. That made me feel… kinda betrayed. It still doesn’t make any sense to me. I got a pair of dysfunctional family members and I don’t know what I should do if they come back. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

The only parental figure Nero ever had was just Kyrie and Credo’s parents, and they didn’t even live that long to give little Nero more love and parental advice. Kyrie truly understands Nero’s struggle to accept his heritage and keep holding on his humanity. “Nero… do you forgive your father?”

“What?”

“I don’t mean to bring it up again, but after all the ill he caused to you, do you forgive him?”

The memory of him and Vergil on the top of the Qliphoth tree rises again. He succeeded in bringing some sense back to his father and the old man entrusted him his precious book- the one which Nero kept safely on the shelf- before jumping to Hell and finishing what he started. Vergil didn’t say much, but his promise… his damn promise!

“I won’t lose next time. Hold onto that until then.”

“I forgive him,” Nero admits. “I think… I just miss him. And Dante. I really want us to be a proper family. That's all.”

“Just as I thought,” Kyrie cups Nero’s jaw with her hands. “I’m glad that you’re honest with yourself. There’s nothing wrong with missing them. They might be flawed, but they are your family."

Nero carefully caresses his beloved hands as if he's afraid of hurting her. "I'm sorry I keep putting you to my demon lineage problem…"

"Hey, we talked about this. Demon or human, it's you I want to be with…" she kisses him on the lips. "I love you, Nero."

"I love you too." He returns the kiss deeper.

Nero wraps her around his arms, seeking comfort and warmth from her presence. Kyrie's words succeed in getting his head together. He can feel a degree of burden has left his shoulders as he finds himself finally letting go his worries. Kyrie is right. There's nothing wrong with missing those douchebags. They're my family-

"NERO!"

Nico appears out of nowhere at the terrace, panting and panicking like she ran for her life. Every single nerve inside Nero's body tells him that something wrong is happening, but the sassy smirk on Nico's face while she tries to breathe normally tells another thing. "You're not gonna believe me if I told you this-"

"Are the kids safe?" Kyrie asks anxiously.

"Yeah they're fine. They have company."

What the fuck? "Company? What are you talking about?!"

Nico rolls her eyes as she grabs both of Nero and Kyrie's hands. "Just follow me quickly!"

Nico seems excited… if it wasn't a danger, then what?

The children are giggling and shouting happily at something Nero can't see yet. But as soon as Nico delivers them in the backyard, he spots two familiar figures among the kids. The red-coated man joins them to decorate the snowman as he helps them crafting the pile of snow with stones and branches. He summons a cowboy hat and a shiny red scarf from thin air- which excites the kids- before he puts the hat on the snowman's head and wraps its neck with the scarf as the last touch. The children are applauding and hugging him, saying their gratitude and bombing him with questions on how he could summon stuff only from thin air. The cocky red man barks in laughter and tells them that he learns some magic tricks.

In a contrast to the red man, the blue-coated man stands a bit far from the crowd, facepalming and reluctant to do anything despite the children's curiosity as they glance at him and whisper their surprise on how similar his face is with the red man. Carlo states that the blue man is scary, and quickly hides behind the red man when the blue man hears his mutter and glares at the poor kid.

"C'mon, Verge, stop glaring at the kids! You're scaring them!" The red man chuckles.

Dante?

Vergil?

How-? Since when…?

"You…" Nero breathes heavily, barely trusts his vision. "You guys are alive…"

Dante grins and waves a salute at Nero. "Heya, kid! Miss me? I know we're late, but Merry Christmas!"

Kyrie holds her giggle when she catches Nero's dumbstruck face. She grips his hand and whispers him a word of advice. "Time to let your doubts go, Nero. They are here, at last."

Nero gives a nod, but his mouth isn't capable of forming any words. He reluctantly approaches Vergil, who seems nonchalant about his surroundings, if only Nero failed to catch his father's warm gaze as he stands before Vergil. A minute has passed and none of them say anything. Words cannot describe how they feel towards each other.

But Nero decides to solve the problem in Sparda's family old-fashioned style: punching his father hard right in the face.

There echoes Dante and Nico's laughter as Vergil's body lands violently on the ground, covered with snow.

The older son of Sparda can taste a metallic scent liquid dripping from his lips.

"That hurts," he murmurs and proceeds to get up as he wipes the blood from his mouth. "Two years and still have no manners, I see."

"Fuck you, old man!" Nero spats angrily.

Dante, still laughing at the picture of his brother getting sucker-punched by Nero, sloppily walks to approach them. He pats Nero's shoulder in pride. "You're doing the right thing, Nero. You gave him the right Christmas present-"

The legendary devil hunter gets a very lethal slap from his nephew before he finishes his sentence.

"And that's a present for you, deadweight!" The young devil hunter shouts.

The view of Dante and Vergil getting slammed by Nero only increases Nico's laughter.

"Why did Nero punch Mr. Dante and Mr. Vergil?" Carlo asks Kyrie. "Nero always punches bad people. Are they bad people?"

"Well… no, they are good people! Mr. Vergil is Nero's father and Mr. Dante is Nero's uncle," Kyrie chuckles to hide her worry and struggles to find the correct way to explain the situation. "They haven't met for a very long time. Nero misses them so much that he… doesn't know what to do anymore. But punching people doesn't solve problems, so don't ever do that, okay?"

The kids nod obediently despite not completely understanding the circumstances.

"Can we stop Nero from punching them, Kyrie?" asks Julio, the oldest one from the three. "Family doesn't hurt each other, right?"

"Nah, don't worry. They will stop soon," Nico says as he points at the three hybrids. "Let 'em get the reunion they deserve."

They become calm and smiling at the sight of Nero bringing his father and uncle in a tight embrace together as the young man lets out a cry.

"You both are full of shits and stinky… like a scavenger…" Nero sobs, his teeth grinding hard. "At least take a shower before you show up, dumbass…!"

Dante sneers as he taps Nero’s back. “Yeah, I miss you too.”

The red devil glares at his twin. Say something to your son!

Vergil, unmoved and stiff, doesn’t know how to react from this awkward embrace. He feels uncomfortable, yet finds himself melting between this fuzzy feeling. “Nero…”

“Shut up,” Nero interrupts while breaking his embrace and burying his teary eyes on his palm. “Just fucking shut up.”

“Forgive me,” the blue devil insists to continue. “For leaving you again.”

“Yeah yeah, just shut up...”

Nero jolts by the unexpected weight on his head; Vergil’s hand ruffles his hair as he curves a very subtle smile.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Oh how Nero wanted to punch him again, if only he could bring himself to.

“Uhm…” Kyrie comes to Nero’s rescue as she smiles politely to the twins. “I’m sorry to interrupt this reunion. It’s dinner time and… we would be very happy if the two of you join us for supper.”

“We’d be glad!” Dante accepts cheerfully. “Nero once told me you cook the best meal in Fortuna!”

“Shut up, Dante!” Nero grunts. He remembers he hasn’t told the twins that Kyrie and him are married. He pulls Kyrie closer and holds her hand firmly. “Anyway, Father. This is my wife, Kyrie. Kyrie, this is Vergil. My father.”

Kyrie smiles warmly at Vergil. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Vergil.”

Vergil appreciates Kyrie’s bravery and gives his sincerest nod of approval. There is not a single hint of fright from Kyrie as he recalls how people tend to tremble and stutter in fear whenever they talk to him. He can see why Nero loves her and is very protective towards her. “Thank you for taking good care for my son all this time.”

“Sorry for missing your wedding party, babe. We’ve been busy cleaning up Hell,” Dante grins at Kyrie. “Congratulations. My nephew is lucky to have you as his wife.”

“Can you shut up already?” spats Nero, feeling terribly embarrassed.

“I’m hungry~!” Nico shouts mischievously. “Let’s continue inside! It’s damn freezin’ out here!”

Kyrie gives the twins a final nod as she invites them to come inside the house. She runs to the kitchen with Nico while Nero gathers the kids to enter the house. Dante chuckles like a cocky cool uncle when Julio asks him to do another magic trick, and the little chuckle turns into a bigger laughter when he sees Vergil’s hand tucked in Kyle’s hand as the youngest child calls him Grandpa Vergil.

“Grandpa’s hand is cold!” Kyle says, unaware of Vergil’s death glare. “Once you eat Kyrie’s food, you’ll be warm in no time!”

“Let go of my hand, little rascal.” Vergil scoffs, uncomfortable by the strange kindness from the little child.

Kyle laughs and keeps guiding him to the kitchen. The food is prepared and everyone is about to get their seats. Carlo drags a chair beside Dante’s seat and shyly asks Vergil to sit there, which Vergil accepts.

“Starting to feel like coming back home?” Dante asks his brother.

“This is not bad.”

“I’ve contacted Lady and Trish. They will be here soon,” Nico says as she puts the cigarette on the ashtray. “Lady said something about returning her Kalina Ann. Trish gave her regards, and said that ya need to pay the rent as soon as possible.”

“Damn… those devilish ladies…” Dante buries his face on the table.

“Your office looks like shit without you.” Nero sneers at Dante.

Further family resolvement can wait. Now let them enjoy their first family dinner for the first time. Christmas might have passed a week ago, but Nero thinks his most valuable present had just arrived today. He still wants to beat the shit out of his father and uncle for some unknown reasons, but it can wait for later. His eyes meet Vergil’s, and his father forms a warm smile to him. He never says much, Nero knows that, but he can give him time to adjust in the human world.

Amidst the chants and chatter in the house, unbeknownst to each other, the three descendants of Sparda secretly hope that this rare moment can last forever.

[koreanmadeingreece]

Why, why, why (4)

University student!Yuta x reader

Genre: slight enemies to lovers au, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff, and several mixups

Summary: You just got into uni and decided to move in with your childhood friend!Taeyong at the city where you are going to study. As you’re about to start your new, adult life, you meet his friends, and you realize that not everyone likes you. Nakamoto Yuta in particular almost seems like he hates you.

A/N: In this fic, Jonghyun from NU’EST appears for a while (just to avoid confusion). Also, wow I never thought I’d post this. I hope you guys like it. Also I thought I’d update every Sunday but I couldn’t restrain myself. Welp.

Warnings: n/a

Word count: 1.6K (I should let you know that I’ve finished writing it so I’ll update it every 3 or 4 days!)

Part 4/11 (I think) First / Previous / Next

Taglist: @melitadala @chxotickpoptrash @aiforyuu @fineapplehoe (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

As soon as you told Chan what happened, after the other two left, he was speechless. He immediately offered to come home with you and help you choose what to wear, as he was the one person of those you had met that day that you were sure you reached your house, where you found Taeyong sitting with Yuta at the balcony. You let Chan in and Taeyong came to meet him in the speed of light.

“SO, you’re in her class, right? I’m Taeyong, oh and this is Yuta. We’re two years older. Do you like it here? Did you find a nice place? Oh, and let us know if you need anything…”

“Taeyong, just let the man breathe.” They both laughed at your comment and you went outside to find Yuta.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Great, thanks. You?” he asked, with a smile on his face.

“Awesome, honestly. My first day was amazing and I also met a lot of people, actually. I didn’t expect to be so lucky on my first day, so I’m kinda thrilled,” you said.

“And she’s got a date.”

“Chan, oh my god, it’s not a date!”

“Yet…” he smirked. Taeyong was looking at you in shock, and Yuta wasn’t even blinking for two seconds.

“Well, we went for a coffee with two other guys and the waiter kinda hit on me.”

“You hit on him first.”

“Fine. I hit on him first. The point is that I’ll see him again tomorrow and Chan came for emotional support.”

“Oh my god, my baby’s got a date!” Taeyong shouted in enthusiasm and ran to hug you.

“Did you say a waiter? Where?” Yuta asked.

“At that coffee shop close to our building. His name is Jonghyun. He’s a third-year student, so you might know him.”

“I do,” Yuta answered.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Is he nice? Like, am I going to die if I’m alone with him? Is he a good guy?”

“I think so, yeah,” Yuta replied. “I don’t know him well enough to have more details though.”

“It’s okay. I guess I should be thankful for the fact that you’ll know who to blame when you find me murdered at the bottom of a cliff.” You made everyone laugh. Yuta laughed as well. It was a beautiful sight to watch. You thought of that every time you saw him, but quickly snapped out of it, when Chan started dragging you back inside the house and towards your room.

“So, what’s the deal with you and those guys?” Chan asked, as he was going through your closet.

“Well, Taeyong’s my best friend ever since we were little and now, he’s my roommate, and Yuta is a friend whom he met here. He’s a nice guy.”

“Kinda cold though.”

“Yeah, he is. Taeyong’s other friends told me he’s a sweetheart when he opens up to people though.”

“I sure hope so, because he barely said hello to me earlier.”

“I hope so too…” you mumbled and continued searching with Chan, until he thought he had found the perfect outfit for you to mesmerize your potential date.

A while later he had to go, leaving you alone in your room to sit, when you heard a knock on your door.

“Are you decent?”

“Yeah, come in,” you said, and Taeyong opened the door.

“Will you come sit with us?”

“Taeyong, I wanted to talk to you about this.”

“What? Sitting with us? Did anything happen with anyone?”

“Oh no, not at all. But it’s not necessary that they always want me around. I just moved here and stole their friend away. And I don’t want them to think that.”

“But Johnny would never… And V, no.” He paused. “Is Yuta acting weird?” You didn’t even have time to react and he was already making assumptions. “If he is, I’ll kill him for sure. He has nothing to worry about! Tell me. Has he said anything to you?”

“No, of course not. He was being a bit distant and I asked Johnny about it, is all. But, Taeyong, think about it. You used to be two, and now I’m here. It’s not irrational to feel like this. Now, please go. You’ve left him alone.”

“Fine. Come whenever you want though. I have other friends besides him, and he needs to know that.” Taeyong left your room, obviously irritated. You worried that something would happen with Yuta, but you didn’t hear them raising their voices. You feared that one day it would happen, but you were safe for now. Besides, you had already met enough people to hang out with and not become a load on Taeyong and his friends. You were already becoming independent.

The next day, you wore the outfit you had found with Chan and went to college, where you found him staring at you from afar, admiring the work he’d done.

“Oh my god, red suits you so much.”

“Come on, you’re making me blush,” you said and he laughed.

“Are you ready for five long hours of class and then for your date?”

“Shhh, don’t say that so loudly. Someone might hear it.”

“Someone might hear what?” you heard and turned around, only to find Yuta standing right beside you.

“Nothing. What are you doing here?” you asked in panic.

“What do you mean? I study here.”

“Oh, right.”

Chan didn’t hesitate to interfere, seeing you were in complete panic mode. “Don’t get her wrong, she’s just nervous for this afternoon.”

“Ah, right, the date.” Yuta smiled. “I hope everything goes well with that. But, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. Can you come with me for a second?”

“Oh no, don’t bother. I’m going to class, alright? I’ll get you a seat next to the others,” Chan said and you thanked him.

Yuta waited a few seconds for Chan to leave before he started talking, which seemed like the longest seconds of your entire life. “So, since you’re new here, and you probably don’t know about this, our department hosts movie nights two times a month for people from different departments to get to know each other. And it’s this Saturday. We’re watching The Zodiac Killer. Would you like to come? I told the others already and they said yes.”

As shocked as you were from Yuta’s suggestion, you thought you wouldn’t dare to lose this opportunity, since it only happened once in a lifetime. “Yes, I’d love to!” you exclaimed, trying and not succeeding to hold back your enthusiasm.

“Okay, I’ll text you the details,” he smiled. “Well, I probably won’t have to, though, as I’ll be seeing you all the time from now on. Anyway, I have to get going. Bye,” he said and left soon after, leaving you speechless and unable to go to class. Yuta, who was colder than an ice cube, had invited you voluntarily. If that wasn’t progress, you didn’t know what could be.

You went at your class, sat next to Chan, who was mocking you for Jonghyun all day, and BamBam, who was practically sleeping on is desk, and that was how the day passed until you actually had to man up and go to the coffee place.

“Chan, please slap me in the face. I can’t go in.”

“No, I can’t slap you. We need you to be pretty for your date.”

“Ah, come on! This is not the way to give some strength to a friend.”

“Neither is slapping you before meeting a hot guy!”

“Fuck, you’re right. Okay, I’m going in.”

“You’ve got this! I believe in you.” He waved goodbye at you and left as you entered the coffee shop around 5:30. You spotted him on the counter, taking an order from an older lady. You hadn’t consciously noticed it, but you spent a few seconds looking at him, admiring his subtle but rather gentle smile that showed off his cheekbones and all the beautiful characteristics of his face.

You soon snapped out of it, as you heard his voice.

“Y/N, you came! Hi! What can I get you?”

You blinked a few times, trying to get it together and actually retain contact with the planet earth, and replied to him. “Oh, hi! Um, a double cappuccino with a lot of sugar please.”

“Sure. You can sit for a while until I finish my shift and then we can go for a tour around the city, since you’re new. I can show you a few places if you’d like and maybe we can sit somewhere…?” he said, smiling. You couldn’t take your eyes off his smile. He was incredibly handsome and seemed like an amazing guy. What could possibly go wrong?

“Yeah, sure! I’d love to,” you replied. Besides, it wasn’t really that hard to watch this guy work while enjoying a perfect cup of coffee.

After a few minutes, you noticed him going at the back of the shop. He returned moments later, wearing his normal clothes and not the shop’s uniform, finding you emerged in your thoughts.

“You look so good in red.”

“Oh my god thanks,” you were already blushing, three seconds into your date. That was when you realized he was wearing a dark gray shirt and black pants that made him twice more handsome than usual. In fact, you wished Chan hadn’t left the city center just to see him like this. You were sure your words would not even be close to how he really looked. “You don’t look bad yourself,” you teased.

He offered you his arm and you followed, watching him show you the basics in the city since you were new there. He knew all the best coffee shops, bars and stores you wouldn’t notice at first glance. After a while, you decided to sit at a place near the park for a beer, since there was the best view. The orange leaves falling off trees were the best setting for your date. Or, at least what was starting to look less than a get-to-know encounter and more like a date.

[chalkrevelations]

Episode 31 of Word of Honor, and in many ways OH MY GOD YES, but also, no, show, wtf?

As in, wt actual f is going on? Literally, what is happening?

(Spoilers, so scroll away and come back later, if you need to.)

So, first thing’s first: I feel like this one may end up a bit short, because a lot of it is likely to be just a bunch of keysmash flailing? (EDIT: No, I just came back up here to the top from the bottom, because this is NOT AT ALL any shorter than usual.) I’ll attempt a bit more than exclamation points and worry over whether my poor heart is able to take this, but we’ll see how it goes, because the first thing I’m going to do is say I knew it! and I told you so! I knew you weren’t planning to die, Zhou Zishu. I did call you a liar after Ep 30, and I was right. I mean, what’s the point of having the terrifying master of the Ghost Valley as your boyfriend husband if he’s not going to rescue you after you’ve been kidnapped for attempted ravishment by the evil prince? And get you the best wedding present ever, i.e., a bunch of new disciples? Omg, Zhou Zishu’s face when Wen Kexing finally calls himself a disciple of Four Seasons Manor! (I think he’s so overwhelmed, he doesn’t even realize when WKX calls him “shixiong” a minute before that!) Wen Kexing’s tiny pained smile that he just can’t seem to help when ZZS lays his hand on WKX’s head! That long shuddering breath ZZS lets out, and the way his shoulders just drop, like he’s finally let go of a huge weight! (The worry this brings me, because there are five and a half episodes left, my dude, and your husband is a troublemaker, and I would not be getting complacent, if I was you.) The fact that WKX has knelt to ZZS and called him zongzhu in front of the Ghost Valley contingent – there’s gotta be some political implications to that. Horseback riding! The way WKX keeps holding (up) ZZS! Lol at WKX being all, you all can leave now, we can take our honeymoon alone from here! ZZS knew he would come (I told you so)! Their smiles! Their soft little faces! (Merciless killers! How so fucking adorable?) The hairpin! MARRIED, Y’ALL. Censorship? I don’t know her. ANYWAY, that’s all just a bunch of flailing reaction to the first almost 20 minutes of emoporn. Also, Zhang Zhehan, you should not do suffering so pretty. It makes me feel like a bad person for still enjoying your face so much when your character is in so much physical and emotional distress.

Secondly, show. We need to talk. You should not be this opaque. I’m trying to piece together everything that’s happened in (vaguely) chronological order:

Sometime before dying (before breaking his heart meridians?), Han Ying tells Wen Kexing about the Four Seasons Remnants back with Prince Jin. All of Ep 30 happens, with Zhou Zishu and Xie Wang both making a mess of Awful Prince’s/Yifu’s plans. Xie Wang, the rest of the Scorpions, and the Ghost Valley team retreat back to a lair. Which lair? Who knows, at this point. Cao Weining talks to Fan Shishu. (He explicitly tells this to A-Xiang.) But does he also confront Mo Huaiyang? Because I feel like it must be significant that we get the same turn of phrase to describe Zhao Jing’s relationship with Xie Wang – asking a tiger for its skin – from Mo Huaiyang to Fan Shishu, and then attributed to Cao Weining when A-Xiang quotes it to WKX in the same ep. The show even emphasizes this for us to catch by drawing attention to A-Xiang’s use of it via her struggle to remember the idiom properly. (A. This episode’s convo between Mo Huaiyang and Fan Shishu, which is when we see Mo Huaiyang actually use the idiom, happens AFTER Cao Weining and Gu Xiang leave Gentle Wind Sword Sect. I went back and checked, and it is Mo Huaiyang who uses it, not Fan Shishu. B. In this same convo, Fan Shishu says he still needs to explain all this to the disciples somehow, so C. Was there a prior, unseen convo between just Cao Weining and Mo Huaiyang in which Mo Huaiyang practiced his excuses on poor, hapless Cao Weining first?)

Anyway, Cao Weining then goes to A-Xiang, who’s lit. and fig. in the dark at this point, in her rustic cabin outside the gated community. I notice Cinnamon Roll already has his bag packed. He is done. He lays out the current political web, and A-Xiang seems pretty sure of Liu Qianqiao’s ultimate loyalty to WKX. This is probably important in what happens next. Gu Xiang and Cao Weining decide to run away and elope but then … get captured and taken to the lair. On purpose? A-Xiang did see Liu Qianqiao with Xie Wang in the Secret Cave, standing shoulder to shoulder with Du Pusa as an apparent top-tier henchwoman, and she probably expects to be protected, but this seems like a pretty big gamble. I suppose you don’t survive the Ghost Valley without learning to take some risks. A-Xiang then leads Xie Wang and the Ghost Valley contingent to WKX (at burned-down Four Seasons Manor?) to, she says, let WKX take down Xie Wang. She notes Xie Wang’s use of some potion to control everyone – I assume the Drug Man potion, and I assume the monthly antidote is what’s keeping everyone in the Ghost Valley from going full Drug Man?

WKX and Xie Wang confer in secret. Probably about how much they both hate Awful Yifu. I mean, I assume Xie’er still hates Awful Yifu at this point, but who knows what tomorrow will bring? Probably a key point here: WKX is hiding whatever this was about from his husband. My dude, why are you still like this? I guess that explains the pained cast to that tiny little smile earlier. WKX then takes some of the Ghost Valley contingent and coordinates with the Four Seasons Remnants back in Prince Jin’s territory to rescue ZZS. Husband safely rescued, WKX now heads back to Ghost Valley, to … abdicate? He promises A-Xiang he’s going to come back safely, and my dude, I’m trying to believe you. I really am. I’m trying to have as much faith in you planning to be back all along as I had in ZZS not planning to die in Jin Palace all along, but here’s a key difference: HE LET YOU IN ON HIS PLAN. Which you were a key part of. I find your secrecy, by contrast, concerning.

Other things:

Love the little moment between Gu Xiang and Liu Qianqiao and Luo Fumeng when Beauty Ghost and Tragicomic Ghost turn to Xie Wang in righteous indignation and want to know what the fuck he thinks he’s doing to their little girl. Compare the reaction of these two moms to Happy Ghost being all, “Nope, this is a complete and total in with Wen Kexing right here in a pretty pink dress.” The show continues to draw a fairly bright line between the characterization of the women in the Department of the Unfaithful - who are terrorizing certain people, true, but also watching out for each other after ending up down on their luck – and the general run of men in Ghost Valley, who are basically rotten sociopaths straight out of Batman’s rogues gallery and will sell you out in a minute for their own gain. Yes, this has been made fairly explicit in Wen Kexing’s and A-Xiang’s commentary in past eps and later in this ep about trying to get the Department of the Unfaithful out of the line of fire while not caring if the jianghu burns down the rest of Ghost Valley, but this isn’t just favoritism or a whim, just some fond memories of Luo Fumeng being kind to them a couple of times in the past. I think there’s some commentary here on the kind of men who are so far gone they find themselves outside the bounds of “civilized” society and the kind of women who do – how much easier and quicker it is for a woman, that it could be any woman in the wrong circumstances, and how much further gone a man has to be than a woman to be considered a “devil.” We’ve seen these supportive interpersonal relationships among the women since Gu Xiang “adopted” her two girls in the first handful of episodes and told off Lovelace with the threat of Tragicomic Ghost – and the show is continuing to show it, not just tell it. It’s one of the things I’ve found frustrating about Wen Kexing a couple of times in past eps, when he’s trying to get A-Xiang’s two girls, or other women from the Department, to just leave and go do something else – I feel like even though WKX realizes their circumstances and their personalities are different from the rest of his Top Ten Devils, he’s not fully comprehending that they literally have nowhere else to go, that if they had any other options, they wouldn’t have ended up there in the first place. He called the two girls “puppies” when he talked about A-Xiang having to take care of them, but as Ghost Valley master, who’s enforced the independence of and protections for the Department of the Unfaithful, he’s walking away from his own basketful of puppies. Not to mention, this is one of the vanishingly small places in this particular version of the jianghu that we’ve seen women have any autonomy and power. I … think there may have been a few young female cultivators in Yueyang Sect, but while I’d have to go back and watch to be sure, I remember the Hero’s Conference being a whole bunch of men throwing their … weight around. Anyway, I also love that it looks like A-Xiang tries to kick Happy Ghost in the shin, because of course she does.

Visually, they had a cool thing going on there with the Tian Chuang behind WKX falling in concert with WKX lowering his fan, but they didn’t quite coordinate it enough, and then they cut away too soon. Bah. It was set up to be a very cool visual, if only they had committed to it. Meanwhile Duan Pengju, this asshole, omg. He’s trying to pull off the Collar of Evil and is not succeeding. Srsly, his Collar of Evil is droopy. It doesn’t stop him from monologuing like he’s the actual villain and not some sad-sack lackey. You showed the correct amount of amused disdain during your interaction, but I can’t believe you left him alive at the end of it, Wen Kexing.

I wasn’t really feeling Jing Beiyuan and Wu Xi up until this ep when Jing Beiyuan was teasing A-Xiang about her lack of shame over running away with her lover. OK, fine, you can stay, Qi Ye. Also, wow. Speaking of lack of shame, I can’t believe you just accused your husband of bride kidnapping right in front of everyone’s salads, because that is totally what just happened there.

So the band is (almost all) back together, minus Chengling, who has definitely found out in the worst possible way that one of his dads is the terrifying master of the Ghost Valley that massacred his family and sect. So, this should go well.

Lol at Xie’er lounging in Wen Kexing’s Ghost Valley master seat like some kind of consort. He’s already got a husband, Xie’er. One that would not be happy with a concubine running around, I think. I do wonder what the full scope of their plan/understanding is, bubbling away under this stare-down.

A note – WKX’s hair is styled differently in this ep in the Ghost Valley master scenes than it has been before. Previously, those side bangs were further forward and a little bit chunkier, which, I think, narrowed his face and also helped emphasize the wild-eyed look. They’re wispier and back further, now, which I think softens his face, even when he’s trying to look imposing. Makes him look more, dare I say, human.

And now, I’m going to go have a few Han Ying/Bi Xingming thoughts, actually. God, those months after ZZS left, can you imagine what that was like for them? Han Ying having watched those nails placed in Bi Xingming’s shifu in the first ep, and then having to turn around and go to Bi Xingming and tell him that ZZS was gone, with the seven nails in him? Both of them trying to hold the Four Seasons Remnants together – and then Ying-ge comes back one day and says he’s found ZZS? Mutual aid and comfort, my dudes. Also some projection. I’m just sayin’. Meet me, I guess - this kind of sideline action and extremely rare pair thing is how I tend to roll.

[resonating-kitty]

I spent the last two days writing this little.... uh... I don’t think I’d call it a gem tbh. XD 

Just some head-canon ideals that were swimming around in my head about the Dream SMP storyline and how many paths it could go down. And my hands slipped, as they have been known to do. 

I would just like to preface this by saying that I am sorry! LOL 

Final Word Count:  2,884

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Implied Reference to Suicide, and Character Death

A03 Link

Exile.  

Tommy sat on the beach, staring vacantly out over the raging ocean. Dark swirling clouds rolled over head and the wind whipped around him, chilling him but he made no move to head for cover. He was paler, skinnier. His clothes were in tatters. Dark circles were visible under his eyes. The spark that usually lit up his bright blue eyes was gone. Nothing remained.  

His exile had taken its toll and every day his isolation ate away more and more of him. He longed to see his home again. He longed to see the land he knew and loved so much. Most importantly, he missed Tubbo. 

Tubbo, who was supposed to stand by him, unwavering and loyal, and yet. Yet here he sat. Exiled and alone. 

A twig snapped somewhere behind him.  Well not completely alone. 

“Tommy” Dream’s voice was nearly drowned out by the wind but Tommy still heard him.

Tommy felt the other’s presence materialize behind him. Knew that if he turned to look, the green hoodie cladded figure would be stepping from the shadows. That infuriating white smiley mask regarding him.   

“The storm is getting closer Tommy,” Dream spoke again, closer this time. 

“I don’t care.” Tommy replied, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the raging waters. Nearly everyday since his exile, Dream had materialized to taunt him. Reminded him that he was truly alone and that he would not see his home again.   

“You do.” Dream insisted and Tommy felt the weight as the hand landed on his shoulder. “You do care. Get up Tommy.”    

Tommy doesn’t know why he obeyed, he doesn’t want to obey but he pushed himself to his feet and turned to glare weakly at Dream. 

“Don’t be like that,” Dream says and Tommy can hear the smile in his voice, the sheer amusement, “We’re friends Tommy come on.”  

Tommy lets himself be led away from the raging waves of the ocean and toward Logstedshire’s sturdy walls. Dream guided him as if he were some poor pitiful peasant. The anger that tried to ignite within him was quickly washed away. After all, as Dream had so eloquently put it days before, what was his anger going to solve? He’d been truly abandoned by his friends, left to rot in strange lands. He had no one anymore. No one except a ghost with no memories, and even Wilbur abandoned him to return to L’Manburg for days on end, and Dream, a demon who constantly taunted him and appeared in his nightmares night after night. 

Dream was the only true constant in his life. His only connection to a world he was no longer a part of. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, Dream was the only thing that kept him from losing what small thread of sanity he had left.

Logstedshire was quiet when they entered, the walls blocked the wind, creating a safe haven from the nasty weather approaching. Tommy was led to the barrels and he plopped down heavily onto one. He watched, warily, as Dream meandered about, inspecting the area. He watched as the green man walked over to the signs he’d hung up. His to-do list. 

“Blaze powder.” He heard Dream mumble to himself before the green man turned to address him, “You hunting for blaze powder Tommy? Why would you need blaze powder?” 

“Oh you know, the same reason anyone else would need blaze powder, drugs obviously,” Tommy snarked, averting his gaze. Dream had been doing that too. Showing up and asking him what he had, making him throw his belongings in the dirt and making him watch as they were destroyed. Keeping him at rock bottom. Little did Dream know, Tommy succeeded with that item on his to-do list. He had gotten the blaze powder and made the enderchest. It was hidden beneath the prime log. 

“Really?” Dream didn’t seem convinced. Tommy saw where this was going before the man even spoke his next words, “Well then, you wouldn’t be opposed to emptying your inventory on the ground then would you?” 

“Why?” Tommy asked, hopping off the barrel. He’d done this dance with Dream many times before. Was so used to it that he didn’t even flinch when Dream drew his sword. 

“You know why.” Dream said, exasperated, stepping closer, “Empty your inventory Tommy or I will kill you.” 

“No you won’t” Tommy sighed. It was a bluff. He had figured that out a bit ago. Dream wouldn’t kill him because Dream wouldn’t be able to taunt him anymore if he were dead. Wouldn’t be able to make his life a living hell anymore. He’d learned this after the first time he was allowed in the Nether, with Dream trailing behind him. He’d been allowed to go to the hub that led to his home but Dream would not let him through, promising to kill him if he stepped foot inside that portal. That’s when he’d contemplated it the first time. Contemplated just throwing himself off the edge of the pathway to the awaiting lava below. Dream had appeared at his side, grabbed his arm and pulled him back, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “It’s not your time to die yet Tommy.” 

“I will,” Tommy was brought from his thoughts as Dream all but purred and stalked closer, pressing the blade of the sword right under his chin. They stood, staring at each other, as the first streak of lightning flashed overhead. 

“Just do it.” Tommy sighed. He was so tired of playing this game. He looked up, his blue eyes boring holes into the white mask that started back at him, and said, “Kill me. End it all.” 

“I didn’t know that even you could swoop this low mate,” A new voice sounded, causing Dream to immediately shove away from Tommy. Tommy stumbled back, catching himself on the barrels. He and Dream turned toward the entrance of Logstedshire, his eyes widening in shock as Dream’s frame tensed. 

Leaning against the outer wall, stood Philza. His black wings were folded tightly against his back. He held a sword loosely in hand. His blue gaze was focused intently on Dream.  

“Thought you were neutral in this Philza,” Dream remarked, hard edge to his voice now. Danger seemed to radiate from his form, turning the air around him heavy. 

“Oh I am,” Philza smiled, pushing himself from the wall. He walked into Logstedshire, glancing briefly at Tommy before focusing back on Dream, “However, torturing a child is just a bit too much for me to ignore. Even if that child is Tommy.”

“Gee thanks Philza,” Tommy mumbled, sarcastically. 

“Shush child or I will leave,” Philza warned and Tommy clicked his mouth shut. 

“You’re going to leave anyway,” Dream ordered, swirling his sword in his hand.

“Am I?” Philza smirked, flaring his wings out. A challenge. 

“Yes you are. Or else you’re going to meet your end.” Dream promised as light rain started to fall from the sky.  

“I’d like to see you try mate,” Philza tensed, readying himself. 

Lightning flashed overhead and Dream struck. Philza brought his sword up, just in time to parry the blow. Tommy watched, horrified, as the two men lunged at one another. Clashing over and over again.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Dream lunged and lunged, backing Philza back with every thrust and blow. Philza sidestepped on one of the blows, sending Dream stumbling past him and into the wall of Logstedshire. Dream quickly recovered, dodging just in time to avoid the downward swing of a sword. 

“Not bad,” Philza grinned, twirling his sword and dropping into a stance. A bit of hope sparked within Tommy as he watched Philza face off with Dream. If anyone could defeat the green bastard, it would be Philza. He had experience. Knew how to fight. Was friends with the literal Blood God himself.  

“Hm.” Tommy’s gaze slid over to Dream. He knew that Dream was pissed. The way he stood rigidly, knuckle tight grip on the hilt of the sword. Tommy figured that this might just be the first time that Dream had to face an adversary that could potentially outplay him at his own game.

The hope that had started to sprout within Tommy grew just a little bit more, until Dream started to chuckle softly. 

“Philza, Philza, Philza,” Dream started in between his bouts of chuckling, “Do you honestly think you stand a chance against me?” All at once, the whole air seemed to shift with some sort of unseen power. 

Philza frowned, his brow creasing and his eyes narrowing as if he could see something that Tommy couldn’t. His wings spread out, readying for flight. Dream dashed forward, faster than any human. Philza took to the sky just in time to avoid the attack. 

“Now Philza,” Dream growled as a crossbow materialized in his other hand, “You know flying isn’t allowed here!” He aimed and fired repeatedly, multiple bolts appearing. 

Philza twisted and turned, diving and skirting. Dodging some of the arrows while deflecting others with his sword. He flew closer to the trees, letting the branches take the brunt of the arrows. Unfortunately, he lost sight of Dream and heard, too late, the tale-tell whoosh of Dream teleporting directly behind him. 

Pain laced across his wings, causing Philza to shout out in pain. His sword clattered to the ground and he plummeted, landing heavily in a heap just feet from Tommy. 

“Philza!” Tommy screamed, horrified. Blood coated Philza’s back, feathers hanging crookedly from where they’d been cut. 

Dream landed from the tree with a heavy thud. He stalked to where Philza laid unmoving. 

“Dream. Dream don’t!” Tommy pleaded, dropping down to his knees as Dream raised the sword, readying to drive it home. “Dream! Please don’t!” 

Dream’s head snapped up, as if he’d forgotten Tommy was even there. He said nothing. Tommy watched, frozen to the spot as Dream raised the sword a bit higher, poised both his hands on the hilt.

“No!!!” Tommy screamed as lightning flashed and Dream drove the sword down, straight into Philza. Philza’s eyes snapped open and a silence scream escaped him. 

The ground shook with the force of the thunder that rumbled. Tears slipped down Tommy’s face. He gazed unseeingly at Philza’s still body. He didn’t even notice when Dream yanked his sword free and moved toward him. 

The hand that landed on his shoulder startled him, his gaze shot up to the masked man. Fear bubbled deep in his gut as Dream leaned down slightly, just enough to whisper in his ear, “Let this be a lesson. I am your only friend.” 

Dream leaves him. Completely disappearing into the shadows once again. 

Tommy crawled over to Philza’s sprawled body. Sobs racked his body as he wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in the junction.

“Tommy,” Tommy’s head snapped up at the sound of Philza’s voice. 

“Phil! Oh gods! Oh gods! What do I need to do? Should I get a health potion?” Tommy panicked. “Wait! I think Will has some stashed around here somewhere.” he made to get up but was stopped as Philza’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.

“Won’t do any good mate” Philza wheezed, a slight smile on his face, “I don’t have much time so I need you to listen to me.” Tommy settled back down beside Philza. He was released and watched as Philza reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crimson stone that just fit in the palm of one’s hand. The stone was glowing dully, pulsing every few seconds. 

“Do you know what this is?” Philza asked and Tommy shook his head. He truly had no idea. 

Philza chuckled, “I figured. This is a blood stone.” 

“Blood?” Tommy interrupted, “Phil don’t tell me that’s from Technoblade!” 

“Hush,” Philza sighed, “The blood stone was a gift from Techno. When my heart stops beating, it will shatter. And Techno will come. You go with him. Make him take you with him Tommy. I know you two haven’t always seen eye to eye but you need him right now. He is your only hope to escape that green demon. Promise me. Promise me you’ll do that for me, Tommy.”

“It’s Techno! He’s more liable to kill me than to help me!” Tommy argued. 

“You’re my son.” Philza stated, his breath hitching slightly, “Techno won’t harm you. Tommy, promise me.” 

Tommy regarded his father. His father who was quickly slipping from the land of the living. His eyes flicked down to the equally dying blood stone. “I promise.” He mumbled. 

“That’s my boy,” Philza smiled, eyes slipping shut. Seconds later his body fell still. In his palm, the blood stone gave one final glowing pulse before it shattered. 

The rain grew heavier, until it was pelting down in sheets, soaking everything. Tommy sat unmoving, eyes staring blankly at Philza’s body. He didn’t notice the rain or when he became soaked to the bone. He barely paid any attention to the chill that was starting to creep in, causing him to shiver slightly. 

He also didn’t notice the galloping sound of an approaching horse. Didn’t notice when the horse was stopped nor when the figure stepped into the mouth of Logstedshire. He finally noticed, starting violently, when a pair of boots appeared in his peripheral vision. 

Tommy looked up and was greeted by the sight of the Blood God. He was adorned in his royal blood red robe and the signature pig mask that he never took off. His long, pale pink hair whipped around violently in the wind and the crown that sat atop his head glittered faintly in the torch light. The heavy scent of blood lingered faintly in the air. His hand rested loosely on the hilt of his sword, tapping it periodically with long fingers. 

Silence hung between them, Techno not speaking and, for once, Tommy had nothing to say. His words had been taken from him and Tommy just hung his head when it was apparent that Techno was not going to speak. 

They stayed like that for a few more moments before Techno moved. Tommy found himself gently being lifted from the ground as if he weighed nothing at all, which he supposed he didn’t, not now anyway. He didn’t even fight it as Techno carried him over to the small shack that Wilbur had built for him and settled him under the overhang, out of the rain.  

Tommy’s eyes widened in shock when the blood red robe was settled across his shoulders and tucked against his shivering body. Warmth swaddled him and he all but melted against it. He watched Techno move across the yard. A sharp whistle sounded and moments later a demon looking horse was trotting into the space. Techno went to the creature, untying a shovel from the saddlebag.  

Wordlessly, Techno started to dig a grave. Tommy watched until exhaustion overtook him and he couldn’t stop his eyes from slipping closed. The last thing he saw before falling unconscious was Technoblade waist deep in the makeshift grave. 

--

When Tommy woke up, he was momentarily confused. He was wrapped in warmth and felt safer than he’d felt in weeks. It took only seconds for the pleasantness of the feeling to be washed away by the horror of the events of the previous evening. Tommy sat up sharply, finding himself on the makeshift bed in the shack with Techno’s robe thrown over him like a blanket. 

His heart was racing and his breath was coming in short pants. His hands buried themselves in his too long blond hair and a sob tore itself from his throat. Philza, his father, was dead. Dead by the hands of Dream. Dead because of him. Because he’d been too weak to resist Dream’s will. If he’d just jumped on that day Dream let him go to the Nether- 

That train of thought was stopped abruptly as the door to the shack was thrown open and Technoblade walked in. 

“Tears won’t make it better.” Tommy laughed humorlessly. Of all the words that Techno could’ve said, those weren’t something that Tommy expected to hear. 

“What will then?” Tommy questioned, gazing down at the robe. He felt more than saw Techno draw closer. He watched as the other reached out and pulled the cloak from his loose grasp. Tommy looked up, gaze lost as he stared at the older man, looking for some sort of answer, “What will make it better Technoblade?” 

Techno smirked and leaned down so he was eye level with Tommy before saying, simply, “Revenge.” 

It started clicking into place as Tommy sat there, staring into the pig mask’s eyes. The old flame that had been extinguished, burst back to life. The chaos within him rose to the surface. 

And Techno, as if he could see what was happening, laughed and straightened up, offering his hand out for Tommy to take. “What do you say, Child of Chaos, ready to cause some destruction?” 

A smile lit Tommy’s face for the first time in weeks. It was a cruel thing as he reached out and gripped Techno’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. 

“Let’s go kill us a Green Bastard.” 

[zodiyack]

A Christmas Carol

Pairing: Bo Sinclair x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, some angst, no proofreading

Words: 1,412

Summary: Christmas spirit has entered Y/n’s heart, along with Vincent and Lester’s, however, the three haven’t managed to convince the other Sinclair brother to let it in. “Ebenezer Scrooge” his ass.

Note: This was so weird and probably sucks but I got the idea and couldn’t let it go so, here ya go, enjoy some Bo and Christmas lmao

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @simonsbluee​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​, @thewarriorprincessxo​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​

Masterlist | Slasher Masterlist

The Ghost of Christmas Past.

Vincent. He was the one for the job. While Lester loved his mother just as dearly as the twins, he didn’t have the bond that they did. Nor did he have the bond with Bo that Vincent did. Twins, literally connected at birth, Vincent would have more luck.

The reason they’d agreed to doing this odd remake of the Christmas tale was because of many reasons...one being that it was December. It was December and Y/n was helplessly in love with Vincent’s twin. His lack of enthusiasm for the upcoming holiday was wounding. Not only was it wounding to his lover, but wounding to the rest. She’d hyped them up, made their spirits brighter. If Lester was being honest, he’d forgotten the holiday existed because of how damn gloomy it’d been.

But then she came along. Y/n stumbled into the lives of the Sinclair brothers and brought along a wardrobe of emotions that they couldn’t help but steal from. More like she unintentionally forced them into their arms, but either way, they weren’t ones to complain about anything she gave them...until today.

The three attempted to bring the holiday cheer into Bo’s sturdy walls, however, he was relentless at keeping them up and guarded at all times. Y/n brought up a new strategy, and the two brothers agreed it was worth a try.

“The hell do you want?” Bo grumbled, picking through his tools at the gas station. Vincent, unable to verbally respond, stood still, planting his feet until he had Bo’s full attention. A small over the shoulder glance was all her earned.

It wasn’t enough though. He knew it took a lot of courage, especially with Bo, but he powered through and pushed his tools out from under him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” A slight flinch was all Bo could draw from his brother with his sudden outburst. He’d grown all too familiar with his brother’s agitated reactions though.

Another lift of his hand, and he’d knocked over some more random shit that was in arm’s length. Red seemed to consume Bo’s skin, “Fucking idiot! Don’t do that!”

He walked away slowly, and sure enough, Bo followed. Aggressive, angry steps stomped behind Vincent, the calm and reserved twin leading his fuming brother with a new rush to his pace. With how small the town of Ambrose was, he made it to the Church in no time. There, in the casket, was his mother’s body. The only thing about the past that bonded Bo to any emotions, that convinced Bo to let go of any anger, that bonded the brothers.

“Ma...”

Vincent had stopped beside the casket, placing his hand on the top of it with a slump of his shoulders that spoke the words he was unable to form. Bo’s temper faded almost instantly; he’d jogged in, a massive rage in mind, but the moment he saw Vince by the casket, he slowed to a stop.

“Shit, Vince... This what you wanted me to see?” He walked over to his brother and tilted his head in question. Vincent nodded, still staring at the memory they both cherished heavily. The silence between the two had shown all it needed to. Hearts heavy and eyes full with water that threatened to spill, the ghost of Christmas past had done all it could.

The Ghost of Christmas Present.

Lester leaned against Bo’s truck, hat in his hands and a look of sympathy upon his face. Bo walked over as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “The fuck you want?”

“Nothin’. Just uh... To show you somethin’.”

He scoffed. “You too? Listen, I appreciate it, but-”

“Nah, you don’t have a choice. Even if you convinced me to leave you the hell alone, I don’t have one either.” He pressed his lips tight together and nodded politely. After putting the hat back on his head, he rounded to the other side of the truck, hopping in and yelling to Bo, “C’mon Bo, lets go to the house.”

The ride was silent. Bo was still full of a well hidden sorrow, and Lester was letting him mourn in peace. They got out of the truck once they’d arrived, but Lester stopped Bo before he could reach the door.

“What the fuck?” He wasn’t mad, just confused.

“No, don’t go inside. Follow me,” he spat out the side of his mouth, “there’s somethin’ you oughta see.”

Surely enough, Bo followed. Curiosity nagged at him more than his want to just ignore his little brother and walk in anyways. They stopped at a window to see Y/n in the living room of the home, holding the topper to the tree they were going to bring into the house...before Bo told them not to put “that shit” in his house.

He saw her and his disinterested expression melted. Sadness covered her beautiful features, bringing an ache to his heart and returning a little water to his soft eyes. She looked so disappointed. And it was his fault. Wasn’t it?

“Did...did I do that?”

Lester turned, adjusting his hat nervously, “Whaddya mean by that?”

“So then yeah... I did then, didn’t I?” He knew better than to ignore the look that crossed Lester’s face. The look that screamed, “this is your doing”. “I fucked up, Lester. I took her happiness away because I...” Why did he? “I dunno-”

“You can still fix it. C’mon.”

The Ghost of Christmas Future.

“Right on time.” She sniffled, still facing the corner the tree would’ve sat. Bo chewed on the inside of his mouth. He wasn’t sure this was the best idea.

“What does that mean?” He tried to hold down the scoff-like laugh that threatened his throat, but it came out anyways. The snicker earned him a harsh glare from the second woman he ever loved, and the first woman he ever loved romantically. He would be lying if he said he didn’t cower at least a little.

“Come with me and you’ll see.”

Out the door she went, and out behind her Bo scrambled. She had his undivided attention. The moment she stopped, he stopped. The moment she turned, he sucked in a breath and prepared to listen to her every word. He was like putty in her hands. Oh how the tables have turned.

“Where are we?”

“Gravesite. At least, where I’d like to be buried...next to you, hopefully.” She moved to stand beside him, grasping his hand in hers and leaning her head against his shoulder. The two stood in the chill of the night, Ambrose’s heat adding a bearable touch to the cold instead of a teeth chattering feeling.

In front of them was a tree, the leaves dead with winter, but the tree could be seen. He’d seen it before. Their first picnic together was under that tree. In the summer, the leaves in full bloom, providing the perfect escape from the sun but not so much so that they didn’t have any at all. Just the right amount.

She lifted their joined hands to her mouth, pressing a kiss to Bo’s hand. “I told Vince that I didn’t want to be made into wax. That I wanted to be buried, properly, and I wanted you to be by my side. If I should die before you, I expect you to live a full life, your brothers to do the same.”

“And what if I happen to pass before you?”

“Well...I’d rather not think of that.” They turned to face each other. He took in her beauty, and smiled as they leaned in and their lips pressed together.

“Um...” He began after they parted. “Why exactly did you three...do whatever you did?”

She stared for a few seconds, Bo beginning to grow a little worried, before a smile cracked on her face. “To get you to understand how important ‘this shit’ is to us- or something, I don’t know, ask Ebenezer Scrooge.” Y/n laughed, pressing another kiss to Bo’s lips. She began to walk back to the house, a pep in her step and butterflies in her stomach.

Bo smiled too, but it slowly began to drop from his lips as his brows knitted. “Wait- Ebenezer Scrooge? The old guy from the children’s story?” He turned, “Y/n?” She was gone, leaving him yelling the question again with confusion.

They’d succeeded, he’d give them that, but right now he just wanted to know who the fuck Ebenezer Scrooge was.

[clumsyclifford]

i can’t focus when you’re with me (i can’t sleep when i’m alone)

hello i wrote some jalex because i had XO by nightly stuck in my head and this came from that

thank you @tirednotflirting and @reveriesofawriter for the love i love you guys so much all the time

title from XO by nightly

read it here on ao3

-

It’s on a pink sticky note on the fridge.

back soon. xo

The sign-off is familiar. The sticky note is also familiar, though Alex doesn’t really see why Jack leaves them anymore. There’s no point to the sticky note when Alex already knows Jack will be back and is no closer to figuring out his system for deciding when. Maybe there is no system. Maybe he truly just appears whenever he feels like it. 

Alex knows about variable-ratio reward schedules; he knows how the lottery works, promising an eventual reward and paying up just often enough to maintain the ruse. He isn’t an idiot. He can understand he’s not really winning the lottery when he spends every single night wondering if this will be the one Jack decides to grace him with his presence. One victory is nothing when it’s borne of a thousand failures. But Alex will take one night with Jack for two weeks without, and Jack knows that, too.

So maybe Alex is an idiot, but it’s worth it to be. Nights spent with Jack are some of Alex’s favorites. Mornings waking up without him are just an occupational hazard.

Jack doesn’t belong to him. That was never part of the agreement.

The spontaneity of Jack’s visits also cause a lot of problems in Alex’s life. He can’t plan his work around Jack when Jack has no schedule. And if Jack shows up while Alex is in the middle of something, forget it. As soon as the lock clicks and the door swings open — as soon as Alex hears the familiar footsteps and the toneless humming of Jack’s entrance — everything else becomes static.

It’s distracting. It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating.

A cool breeze edging on warm sweeps through Alex’s open window tonight. He has a textbook open on the desk and his laptop beside it. The contents of the textbook are entirely failing to stick in Alex’s brain, and he doubts taking notes is helping in any way. It’s important that he learn this, especially when they’re moving on so swiftly from this section of the material; Alex can already foresee the late night he’s going to have trying to reteach this chapter to himself once he finishes reading it.

Three excruciating pages later, Alex decides the textbook can wait for a cup of tea.

It’s quiet around Alex’s place as he treks into the kitchen to put the water on. It’s quiet more often than not these days, as Alex has gotten more and more entrenched in his coursework. He’s had less time to play music. When he has free hours now, he typically uses them to sleep. It’s not an exciting life, but it’s the one he needs to lead so he doesn’t collapse from exhaustion at any given moment.

Still, the staticky hiss from the kettle as it starts to boil is comforting. Alex leans against the counter with his eyes closed, somehow simultaneously trying to refresh his memory on everything he just spent two and a half hours reading and trying not to think about that. As much as he knows he needs a break from all the studying, he’s not sure he can really afford it.

Naturally, this is when the lock clicks and the humming starts.

Alex’s eyes fly open. He stares out across the kitchen. The kettle finally reaches a loud conclusion and clicks to let Alex know it’s officially done boiling the water. And through the open doorway, an off-key rendition of ‘American Idiot’ announces Jack’s presence.

He’s humming the guitar solo. Of course.

Warring parts of Alex’s brain fight to react to this unexpected arrival. He wants to groan, because this is the worst time Jack could have fucking chosen, on tonight of all nights. He’d like to spin Jack by the shoulders and push him back out the door where he’d come in before he gets too comfortable. Sorry, not tonight, too much stuff to do that I can’t afford to let you distract me from, he’d love to say.

But the other part of him is imagining pushing Jack by the shoulders against a very much closed door, and Alex, in his weary state, isn’t disciplined enough to ignore that thought. 

Jack won’t come into the kitchen —  he says it’s too domestic for him. Alex pretends he hasn’t heard the door open and close and makes himself a cup of tea anyway, fully prepared for it to go cold. Maybe Jack will understand if Alex lays it out for him. Maybe if Jack sees the textbook he’ll latch on.

Not that Alex thinks Jack doesn’t understand how much work Alex has. Jack is an intelligent person. He knows. It’s just he doesn’t care. 

And Alex has to take some responsibility, because it’s not like he’s trying very hard to express that it matters to him if he passes his classes. When Jack shows up, Alex gives up. He could try harder to focus on his work, to send Jack away, but he doesn’t want to. He likes when Jack is here. He’d just like it not to overlap with nights when he has an entire textbook chapter to read, memorize, and internalize.

Steam is rising off Alex’s mug like wispy cirrus clouds. He brings it to his lips, burns his tongue taking a sip, and sighs.

Jack is sitting in Alex’s desk chair when Alex finally returns to his room.

He looks up with bright eyes when he sees Alex come in. “Hi, finally.” As he clocks the mug: “Ooh, whatcha drinkin’? Did you make me any?”

“Tea, and no,” Alex says. “I made it for me, because I’m trying to study.”

“Operative word being try,” Jack says.

“Yeah, and hopefully soon I will be succeeding,” Alex says. He’s not sure why he insists on pretending to refuse Jack when they both know with one hundred percent certainty that this is not what Alex wants nor a hill he plans to die on. For his own dignity, though, he has to at least look like he’s making the effort to be responsible. “You wanna learn about childrens’ development in their first year of life?”

“Such a hard no from me,” Jack says. “But be real. Do you want to learn about that?”

“No,” Alex says. “But I have to.”

Jack sighs. He holds out a hand and Alex places his mug in Jack’s grip. “What’s this? The usual?” Alex nods. Jack brings it to his lips, barely drinking any before exhaling harshly. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Yeah, I just made it. As you came in.”

“You want me to go?”

Alex sighs. “Obviously I don’t want you to go. I’d love to get some advance notice for when you’re gonna show up, though. Tonight’s such a bad night.”

“Tonight’s a bad night so far,” Jack corrects him, setting the mug down on Alex’s desk. It’s dangerously close to the laptop; Alex nudges it further away, and Jack just shakes his head a little, smiling.

“I mean tonight is a bad night for you to be here,” Alex clarifies.

“Then I’ll leave.”

“But I don’t want you to leave.”

“So I’ll stay.”

“Yeah, but then I’ll be distracted.”

Jack shrugs. “I’m honestly okay with that.”

“I’ll be distracted from my work,” Alex says, although he’s sure Jack had understood the first time. “By you. Like always.”

“And I’m okay with that too.” Jack tilts his head, stretching his neck to look up at Alex, deliberately baring his throat. He drives Alex insane, in whatever way is most accurate to the moment. Alex wishes he had more self-control, but thinking about turning Jack away and instead spending several more hours at a desk reading page after page of information he won’t absorb makes him want to cry. 

And it would be rude, after all this time, to mess with the rules of the game. Jack shows up expecting that Alex will surrender, and Alex being taken aback and generally inconvenienced by this is all part of the guidelines for playing. He signed his agency away the first time he kissed Jack against the door. It’s too late to ask for it back.

(It’s not really too late — if Alex wanted it, he’d have it. He just doesn’t want it.)

Alex holds up one finger and with his other hand he lifts the mug to his lips. It’s still too hot to drink but he lets the liquid scald the tip of his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he swallows. 

“You could call me,” he says.

“I don’t have your number,” Jack says.

“You could ask for it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“It’d make my life a lot easier.”

“But way less exciting.” Jack stands up, and he’s taller than Alex, and he’s so close now that Alex can count his eyelashes as they flutter shut and then quickly open again. “You can’t plan for everything, Alex.”

“Okay, I realize that, but I could definitely plan for you,” Alex returns. “Like if you just told me when you wanted to come over I could plan for that to happen. Instead of just appearing out of nowhere and—”

“What, ruining your night?” Jack casts his gaze to the open textbook. He looks back at Alex, quietly smirking. “I’m so sorry for distracting you from the absolutely fascinating timeline of child development.”

“Yeah, you should be.”

“Alex, this is a rescue mission.” Jack’s fingers land feather-light on Alex’s wrist and travel up his arm, pushing his sleeve up to his shoulder and bracing against the slope of his neck. His grip tightens as he massages the tense muscles under his fingertips. “I’m like your guardian angel. I show up when I can tell you need saving.”

“Saving from the horrors of developmental psychology?” Alex mutters, posture slipping like a landslide. Nobody on the planet can ease the tension permanently at home in Alex’s shoulders, but Jack is welcome to try. 

“Yes,” Jack says seriously. “From the horrors of developmental psychology. And because I can literally feel the tension in your shoulders. When’s the last time you relaxed?”

Last time you were here, is Alex’s real answer. “I’m not clear on the relevance of this.”

Jack frowns. “I don’t want you to be stressed.”

“Then stop showing up out of the blue,” Alex huffs.

“Really? I’m the biggest stressor in your life?" Jack sounds genuinely incredulous at this.

“No, you’re not.” Alex sighs, looking anywhere except Jack’s face. “But you’re not not a stressor. You know I’m busy. You know I like to have a schedule. A little warning goes a long way.”

Jack is quiet for a moment. His fingers dig into Alex’s skin, working muscles that ache under his firm touch. It feels improbably good for something that kind of hurts. Alex closes his eyes.

“Forget I said that,” he mumbles. “We’re not gonna get anywhere. I’ve made my peace with it. You’re just going to be absolutely unpredictable and I’m just gonna be fine with it, I guess, because I like when you’re here, even if you never want to tell me when that’s going to be. It’s fine.”

Jack’s hands still. “I just think you’re overthinking it. I’m not complicated, Alex. I’m so easy. This is easy. If it were that important to you, you would kick me out, and I’d go. But you never do.” He resumes his massage, this time on the back of Alex’s neck. “You’re always working. And I’m here on a rescue mission, like I said. To keep you from drowning in it. It’s just a question of if you’re willing to be rescued.”

Alex groans. Even he’s not sure if it’s from the frustration of knowing he won’t get through anything else tonight or an effect of Jack’s halfway massage, though he figures it’s probably both. They’ve exhausted this topic and they’re making no progress. Alex is out of patience.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Rescue me.”

Jack’s warm hands move to Alex’s face, and he’s still smiling a little bit when their lips meet.

The sticky note is gone from the fridge. Alex is not surprised. 

Sleep is still clinging to him, weighing from every limb. There’s a stiffness in his neck that has returned from wherever Jack apparently banished it to last night. Out the window, a blanket of clean morning light covers everything it can reach. Inside, a blanket is still dragging on the floor around Alex’s shoulders.

It’s when he’s reaching for the kettle that he remembers his cup of tea.

The blanket drags behind him as Alex treks back to his room, and there he halts in confusion. The mug is gone. He’d definitely left it here last night, and now it’s not here anymore. It had been completely full and now it’s missing.

Huh.

Alex glances at the textbook, open to exactly the page he’d left it at the night prior. There’s a pink sticky note he’d failed to notice earlier.

good luck, this seems boring as hell. xo

p.s. put your tea in the fridge xoxo

A smile crawls into the corners of Alex’s mouth and stays there.

He returns to the kitchen and finds his mug of tea in the fridge, as promised. There’s aluminum foil over the top, which seems pointless but a nice gesture. A confusingly nice gesture. Why is Jack changing the rules of the game all of a sudden? It’s unusual for him to move anything around, for him to leave any indication of his presence other than one single sticky note stuck somewhere for Alex to find.

Now, not only has he moved Alex’s tea, but there’s another sticky note. Alex finds it on top of the mug.

you’re cute when you sleep. xo

Alex stares at the piece of paper until his fridge starts beeping at him that the door has been open too long. He pulls the mug from the fridge and closes it. And then he stares some more. What is happening? What is Jack doing? Is this just going to be another new rule to which Alex is oblivious?

As the microwave reheats last night’s tea — Alex wondering as it spins how Jack had known that Alex is the kind of person to reheat the tea rather than toss it and make a new cup — Alex shuffles into the bathroom to splash some water on his face and deem himself presentable for the day.

And there, on the bathroom mirror, is another pink sticky note.

It reads:

I want to make your life easier. no pressure. xo

Underneath the words, there’s a phone number.

Alex smiles.