#I would apologise but it would be insincere

[peachym00]

It's fathers day in the uk today and it really got me thinking about Vegas and Macau and how they might have coped with the day growing up together.

I can imagine Vegas as a young boy, running down the stairs as soon as he wakes up that morning; he’s gripping a homemade card he’d made at school the previous day for his dad; maybe he’d had help wrapping something up that he’d made as well and it crinkles in his little hands as he tries to get down the steps without holding onto the bannister. Gun is sitting at the table eating breakfast, he’s stressed about something and in an awful mood, and Vegas bounds over to him, nearly tripping on his still-too-long trousers, and he proudly presents them over. Happy fathers day, Pa! Look, I wrote it myself, and I put Macau’s name in it because he can’t write yet, but I can!  And he beams up at Gun, who isn’t even looking at him; he’s still reading the paper, and someone comes over to take him away to eat his own breakfast, and they’re telling him what a good job you did, but your pa’s busy, you know not to interrupt him- And that night, as he goes to bed, he’s thinking about how he probably didn’t do a good enough job, and that’s why Pa didn’t want his card; he should have practised his writing better because it’s not very neat yet, and he should have written it in English too because he knows a lot of words now and Pa has been really pushy about him being good at English-  And it takes many more fathers days after and the realisation that he will never be good enough for his Pa before he stops trying. And then Macau is six and very nearly seven, and Vegas can see him getting excited to give him a card on fathers day because he can finally write in sentences now, but by this point, he knows what his dad is like. He knows he won’t like the crinkled, hand-written thing Macau has prepared because he’d already tried.  So he tells him to leave it on the table before he goes to sleep because then he’ll see it first thing in the morning but don’t be sad if he doesn’t mention anything, okay, Cau? Because he’s swamped, you know this, so you can’t bother him about it. And he puts on a brave face and convinces Macau that he will definitely love it because you’ve worked so hard; look at how good your hand-writing is getting- And that night, after he’s read Macau a story and waited until he fell asleep, he creeps down the stairs and picks up Macau’s hand-made card and replaces it with an expensive bottle of whisky with a fancy bow on it and a generic card that he’d made sure was written neatly, and with no sentiments written because,  Because. And he looks at the piece of paper Macau had made; he’d even added crudely drawn pictures of all three of them together, and he vows to be better and do better and never let his little brother’s heart get broken because of their dad like his broke all those years ago. And then Macau is 12, and Vegas has been learning everything about the minor family business for years. He’s been trying so hard to be better than Kinn in everything he does because he needs to keep Macau out of their dad’s radar, and he has to be the best because that’s what his dad wants, what he needs from Vegas and when Vegas fails he gets hit.  Which is what happens on fathers day.  And they’re older now, and their uncle had proposed they have a dinner together to celebrate. They sit in the main family mansion listening to Korn brag about all his sons for hours while Vegas sits and tries to avoid Gun’s glare and not think about how much his cheek hurts, and Macau looks devastated, so he tries to ignore it and smiles to let him know that everything is fine.  And when he’s finally in his bed that night and can let out a breath that this day is finally over, something gets shoved under his door.

When he looks at what it is, it’s a card with cool drawings on the front of it. He knows who they’re by because Macau has been really into manga and anime recently and has been obsessed with drawing little comic strips, and he gives them to Vegas, who keeps them in a box under his bed with all the other cards he’s made. He wonders if Macau’s finally figured out what he does with his cards each year and had decided to just give it straight to Vegas instead of leaving it on the dining room table for Vegas to inevitably swap, but then he looks, he really looks at what’s on the front- It’s him and Macau, just him and Macau, and Vegas’s pet hedgehog with happy fathers day! written underneath. When he opens it, it says Have a good day, Vegas! lots of love, Mac  He cries himself to sleep that night. But for once, it’s not out of fear or hatred of himself; this time, it’s a deep sadness that he doesn’t have anyone to rely on, doesn’t have an older brother to tell him they love him, to fix his problems or help him with his homework. But Macau does. Macau does, and he’s so glad he can do that for his little brother and be there for him that he cries himself to sleep out of sheer relief that Macau knows precisely how much Vegas loves him.

And then Macau’s nearly 18, and everything is horrible and scary, and Vegas has been shot, and he might die, and he can’t even think about fathers day anymore because there’s no room for frivolity when the mafia is concerned.

And then Vegas is awake, he’s awake, and he’s got Pete, and life is hard, but he’s alive. He’s alive, his dad is dead, and he finally has someone to rely on, lean on, and hold. And being loved by Pete is a feeling so encompassing that he can’t even put it into words.

And then it’s fathers day again, but this time their dad is dead, and Pete’s dad is dead, and there’s no reason for them to celebrate, so they don’t. And Macau has finally started university, but he skips class to hang out with his brother and Pete. They don’t do anything momentous; it’s raining, so they stay inside, occupying themselves with games, movies, and whatever else, until they go to bed.

None of them mentions that it’s fathers day.

Yet that night, when Vegas is in bed cuddled up to Pete, something is shoved under their door. Pete goes to have a look, looking confused, as he holds a piece of paper and climbs back into bed with Vegas. Its a card. A fathers day card. A well-done drawing of Macau, Vegas, Pete, and their newly adopted pet cat, with Happy Father’s Day! written underneath in familiar handwriting.

He hands it back to Pete and tells him to open it, too overwhelmed to read it himself. Inside the card, in much neater handwriting than either of them thought Macau was capable of, it says-

Have a good day, Vegas.

You may not be my real father, 

but you’re the only one I’ve ever had. 

Lots of love, Mac 

ps. I guess p’pete counts now too.

He cries again, and Pete is gracious enough not to mention it. He adds it to the box, with all the other things Macau has ever made him, closing it and placing it back underneath the bed.

And it's later, years later, that a revelation occurs to him. That even though he’s spent his whole life trying to be good enough for a father that genuinely despised his existence, that even though he spent so many years trying to be better than Kinn, than Korn, than everyone.

He has always been good enough for Macau.

And he will always be good enough for Pete.

And that, that, is enough.

[doggendoodle]

fucked up and singlehandedly cost my group a kudos fight in front of someone i respect (this will have a negligible impact on their day but i will forever be haunted by their first impresson of me being ruined)

[rooksunday]

@/hastalavistabyebye asked about rosebud and his sith’buir and once again i was on a bus so

“dear… sir…”

“no, no, that won’t do at all! how do you know this being identifies as a ‘sir’?” the question echoed as the sith paced back and forth while he spoke. the sith’s ’drawing room’ was bigger than their barracks on kamino. “first impressions count in this galaxy! try again.” the sith suddenly whirled on his—his?—heels. his grey brows furrowed. “your pronouns. what are they?”

rosebud glanced at his second in command, chaff, whose wide eyes certainly mirrored rosebud’s own. there was a wrong answer here and they both knew it. all of the lost battalion knew it.

siths were tricky.

indecision stymied rosebud. he couldn’t kark this up for them. where was the trick?

impatiently, the sith gestured toward chaff and snapped his fingers. “you! have you a name? pronouns? what about the rest of your rabble out there destroying my lawns?”

chaff stuttered, “we’re clones, sir. uh, my lord sith, sir. general—“

the sith pinched the bridge of his nose, muttered something rosebud didn’t catch, then let out a dramatic sigh and sat at the table. chaff scooted their chair to make room, squeaking it across the tiles, and rosebud saw the sith’s eye twitch.

his eye had been twitching a lot. firstly when rosebud and the battalion showed up on serenno, and again when they declared their loyalty to the sith and the destruction—or at least significant inconvenience, there wasn’t quorum yet—of the jedi. then the general twitching had kind of continued until the present moment, when rosebud had failed to address his threatening missive correctly.

the sith sighed again. he sat up very straight.

“my name is dooku. i am not a general. you may call me count dooku in public, or dooku when we are without visitors. i would prefer you be more subtle with my status as a sith. my pronouns are he and him.” he gestured with what rosebud suspected to be exaggeration. “now you.”

“i am cc—“

“no! i have no head for numbers. if you don’t have a name, i will find one for you.”

that made rosebud wrinkle his nose. “but—“

“it’s my prerogative as a sith,” dooku said flatly.

“chaff, sir. my lord count sir. they and them,” chaff said, because they had absolutely no sense of self preservation. that’s why they were XO.

rosebud quickly leant forward to capture dooku’s attention. “rosebud, sir. he and him. i’m the commander of this battalion.” punish me, he thought.

dooku narrowed his eyes and his lips went thin. he slid his reptilian gaze from rosebud to chaff and back again. gold flickered in the depths of his eyes.

then he exhaled and therefore so too could rosebud.

dooku gestured airily. “then already you see the dilemma with your ‘dear sir’.” he cleared his throat. “try, ‘dear gentlebeing, if you don’t meet our demands then we will pull your dependent’s entrails out through their snout. and eat them.’ for some reason it’s nearly always more effective if you add the bit about eating them.”

rosebud nodded and got to work.

thinking about the narrative of clones “being made for the jedi” and there has to be a nonzero number of them that take the idea of ‘okay fine who is the diametric opposite of the jedi because stuff that’ and that’s how the lost battalion become the most fervent sith-sniffer-outerers in the galaxy. just turn up at dooku’s doorstep like, hi hello we’re your army let’s smush those jedi xoxo

and otoh this is playing into his master’s plan! wonderful discord!

otoh now he has two thousand badly socialised ten year olds tromping around his house and gardens what are you— would you put that DOWN— that’s not the right fork would you— okay everybody new plan, it’s time for the fine sith art of sitting very quietly while daddy deals with his headache okay

[demonpiratehuntress]

can we...cuddle?

Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

summary - Law really wants to cuddle with you, but he's just not that good at asking for it.

warnings - not proofread, wrote it at 23:30 on New Year's Eve, pretty tired from an eventful day. also wanted to get it out before my tribute to Ace for his birthday at 12am.

a/n - fluff fluff fluff, this just popped into my head because i was thinking about soft!law and how much i love him

Law had never been great at asking for anything he needs or wants. He was either too prideful or too embarrassed, depending on the situation. And with you, the embarrassment part seemed a lot more prominent, because he was starting to feel unusually clingy and needy for your attention and affection. It was embarrassing.

He has an issue with outright asking for it, though. He's usually a put-together, calm man who is always in control of what he feels and how he acts. However, around you, his body seems to forget that and his mind and heart both yearn for yours. He wants to be the only thing you think of, he wants to be the only one you love and show affection to, and he wants to be the only one you ever hold.

But he could never gather up the courage to ask you to hold him, damn it!

He would see you cuddling Bepo, and envy the bear for one of two things. One, for being so easily approachable for cuddles. Two, for being able to ask you for cuddles so easily. Law wasn't the jealous type, but he'd quickly learned that when he started dating you, he'd feel and do a lot of things he'd never dreamed of before.

"You okay, Law?"

Your soft voice brought him out of his irritated thoughts, and his expression softened considerably when his eyes landed on you. You looked tired, your eyes were drooping and your body was slumping, and Law had never seen anything cuter.

"Yes, (Name)-ya." He gently grabbed your elbow, leading you away. "Let's get you to bed now, sleepyhead."

You smiled at that, giggling in the most adorable way that had Law's heart flipping in his chest. He was both amazed and annoyed that you held such power over him, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm not sleepy, you're sleepy."

He chuckled at that, guiding you into the room you both shared. For once, his work went ignored on the desk as he steered you towards the bed, his tense body only relaxing when you were safely lying on the mattress, pulling him down beside you.

"(Name)-ya-" He started, but you were already softly snoring, gripping onto his shirt like a baby. He would never admit it out loud, but the sight was enough to melt even his frigid heart.

He sighed. Another failed attempt at asking for cuddles. He got the cuddles anyway, but he wanted to be the one asking so he could show you that he craved your touch as much as you craved his.

The next time he tried to ask, you were laying in bed reading a book as you waited for him to finish working.

Once he was sick of whatever he was doing, he got up and slowly made his way to the bed, kicking off his shoes and discarding his coat before flopping down next to you. So preoccupied by your book, you hadn't noticed his arrival.

"What are you reading, (Name)-ya?"

You jumped in fright, the book flying out of your hands and settling on the floor next to the bed. Law's deep rumble of laughter met your ears, and you blushed in embarrassment, smacking his arm lightly and playfully.

"Law! Don't do that!"

"I'm sorry," he apologised insincerely, smirking. "You're so easy to scare."

You pouted, "You're mean."

"You love me anyway," his chest swelled at the fact.

"I do, I very much do," you smiled, heart warming.

You leaned over the side of the bed to pick your book up, but when you got back up you were met with a sleeping Law laying next to you. It was rare for him to fall asleep before you, but you knew he had been working himself non-stop, even more so than usual lately. You smiled softly, setting your book aside and thinking you'll find your page tomorrow as you shifted closer to the slumbering doctor, curling up close to him.

Law woke up the next day feeling incredibly disappointed. He had fallen asleep before he could even try asking you to cuddle him. He'd woken up to you cuddling him, but he still felt displeased by his irritating inability to state his need for your touch.

You woke up a little later in the morning, to a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand. You smiled, knowing that was one of Law's ways of showing he cared. He couldn't cook, but he could make you coffee and did so every morning he woke up before you. Which, let's be real, is almost every morning. On the rare occasion you wake up before him, you have a full breakfast ready for him and a planned speech on how he should not feel guilty for not being able to do the same for you.

"Good morning, love."

You looked up at a working Law, hunched over his desk as he furiously scribbled something in his notebook. Your smile grew, and you slowly sat up in bed.

"Morning, captain."

He groaned, "I call you love and you call me captain?"

You giggled, "Sorry, my love. My baby. My one and only."

He hummed in satisfaction, "Much better." The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

You didn't mind much that he wasn't looking at you. He was paying attention to what you were saying, and that was more than enough for you. You knew how he could get, and had learned a long time ago to embrace and accept it.

"What will you do today?" He suddenly asked, a tad bit nervously.

"Well," you began, "Seeing as we are docked at an island and you're allowing everyone to take the day off, I think I might just stay right here in bed all day."

"Is that so?" He asked, amused. "How lazy."

You laughed at his teasing, the sound going straight to his heart. It swelled in response, growing warm in his chest. Your laugh was one of the few things that Law genuinely loved to listen to. He liked the way it made him feel, but also the fact that he had been the one to cause it.

"Very," you agreed. "But it's fun, you should try it sometime."

He finally turned to you, raising an eyebrow, "Oh? Are you giving me orders, (Name)-ya?" His tone was teasing, his smile wicked.

"Hmmm, maybe," you taunted, grinning.

The doctor let out a heavy sigh, before a calm smile tugged at his lips. Pushing his work aside, he got up from his seat and walked over to the bed, gingerly sitting on the edge.

"I suppose I can indulge you just this once, then. Since no one is around to hear just how bossy you really are."

You laughed at that, eagerly shifting to make space for him, "What can I say? Sometimes my captain needs a little bossing to relax a little bit."

He chuckled, "I don't deny that."

Then, again, Law found himself struggling to ask for your touch. He wanted to ask you to cuddle him so badly, but he just couldn't bring himself to say the words. Finally, after a few minutes of comfortable silence, he tried his best.

"(Name)-ya," he started nervously, "I like that thing you do...where you pull me close and hug me...but in bed." He waited for you to say something, but you remained silent but smirking, as if you knew what he wanted but you just wanted him to say it. He swallowed thickly. "You know where...you wrap your arms around me and keep me against your warm body." He blushed at his own words.

"Hmmm, what might you be speaking of, babe?" You teased him, evil grin on your face.

He sighed, taking off his hat and running a hand through his dark hair, "I'm trying to say...I mean I want to ask...do you-can we...can we cu-" He paused, silently mouthing the word. "Cuddle? Can we cuddle?"

Your eyes widened, because you hadn't really expected him to say it. Then you smiled and happily opened your arms for the flustered doctor. He obliged, sinking into them just as happily, a contented sigh leaving his lips.

"Law?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm really glad you finally asked."

"Me too."

And from then on, Law wasn't shy to ask, he wasn't shy to pull you aside and just hug you, and he wasn't shy to show you that he needed to touch you just as much as you needed to touch him.

Congratulations, you unlocked Clingy Trafalgar Law.

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [3]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 2 | Fic Masterlist | Part 4

"I can't believe I finally have a bed of my own..." You whispered as the head maid disappeared from sight, closing the doors to your room behind her. The sheets were practically brand new, and you ran your hand across the smooth fabric, sighing in content before allowing yourself to lay down.

You failed to understand why the previous noblewomen set to marry Seonghwa would choose to escape from this. In your opinion, the general appeared quite generous.

Despite not knowing you or any of his past fiancées personally, he was considerate enough to provide each and every one of you with accommodation and basic necessities. These were luxuries even your own family had failed to offer you. He was already treating you better than anyone you had ever encountered in your life.

You couldn't fight the small smile forming on your face as you looked around your room, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. In a short span of time, the general had managed to surprise you in more ways than one, and you certainly weren't complaining.

It still made you anxious to think of facing him again, given your less-than-ideal first meeting. He had already accused you of being insincere but proceeded to be kind in his actions.

Honestly, his behaviour left you perplexed.

At the same time, it ignited hope within you—a hope that maybe, in the presence of the supposedly heartless General Park, you could find the opportunity to change your life, for he had shown you more mercy than your own family ever had.

"Happiness... can I find it here?"

The words escaped your lips in a soft whisper before the unfamiliar soft sheets of your bed welcomed you into a deep slumber. Having grown used to sleeping on the floor back home, the sudden luxury brought an unexpected level of comfort, lulling you to sleep like magic.

Unbeknownst to you, Jongho and Eunsook had stationed themselves just outside your quarters, hoping to catch any suspicious conversations that might indicate your actions were part of a scheme orchestrated by your father to undermine their master. To their relief, they heard nothing of the sort.

"Sounds like she's fast asleep. That was quick." The assistant muttered, a faint smile playing on his lips.

The head maid nodded, her expression softening, "Can you blame her? She travelled all this way by herself. Oh, Jongho, you should've seen her earlier... She was genuinely pleased with this room. Not only that, she apologised for having nothing with her and even thanked me as if I had saved her life, all because of dinner."

Eunsook raised a brow as the younger man didn't appear overly surprised by the revelation. He sighed, "I believe you, all right. When I found her, she was wandering by the front doors alone, without servants or palanquin bearers. And that's not the worst; she bowed back to every servant on the way to the main hall."

The elderly woman nodded eagerly, "Yes, yes! She even bowed to me; it was the wildest thing I have ever seen!"

Jongho shook his head, "Something is definitely up; we have to find out what's happening. I don't believe for a second that the minister would have been okay with his own daughter being treated like this."

Eunsook had to agree.

"Whatever it is, I won't lie that I'm hoping for her to be our mistress for good. She's the first noblewoman not to yell or speak rudely to me. Having one of master is enough; I'm sure we could all use a kind and soft-spoken mistress around here."

The assistant didn't have to say anything for the head maid to understand that he, too, wished for the exact same thing. Despite their loyalty and attachment to the general over the years, they couldn't ignore the fact that his unpredictable anger issues turned him into a ticking time bomb. Tiptoeing around him and walking on eggshells had become exhausting on most days.

Before they could continue their hushed conversation, a servant approached them with wide eyes, "Jongho! Eunsook! The master has summoned you both to his study!"

The two gasped and nodded, "R-right, we'll be there at once!"

Speak of the devil.

Seonghwa's typically composed demeanour seemed overtaken by frustration as he glared at his desk. If looks could kill, the poor piece of furniture might have been sliced in half. The two employees exchanged a wary glance, inhaling deeply to steel themselves before entering the study, "Master, you called for us?"

They stood straight as a plank, anticipating the impending outburst from the general.

But it never came.

"I'm confused." The two blinked, awaiting further explanation.

Yeah, so are we.

"I don't like being confused because I'm never confused. Does she even know who I am? The audacity of this woman..." He muttered lowly, clenching his fists.

It infuriated him that he found it difficult to read you. Usually, he prided himself on being able to see through almost anyone, and this situation wounded his pride, sparking anger within him. How dare you waltz in here and change all that? Who did you think you were? But what he despised even more was his struggle to be angry with you. The innocence in your eyes was impossible to deny.

And he hated it with a passion.

Finally lifting his gaze, he bore a glare into his assistant and head maid, "You two, I want you to tell me every single thing that happened when you were with her."

If Seonghwa believed his confusion would be dispelled after hearing what his aide had to share, he was wrong. He was left feeling more confused than ever.

"She was at the entrance... by herself?"

"Yes, sir."

"Without any servants or palanquin bearers?"

"Yes, sir."

"And she... bowed to all the servants?"

"Yes, sir."

Narrowing his eyes, the general pushed himself off his seat, scoffing lightly in disbelief, "I don't know what she or her father is trying to get out of me, but I will not be foolish enough to walk into their trap. This must all be part of her act; I'm sure of it."

However, the reminder of her currently being at her quarters brings a devious grin to his face, "She can pretend all she wants, but no sane person will willingly agree to stay in The Cold Palace. Tell me, Eunsook, I want to hear all about her reaction to my masterpiece. Oh, it must be priceless."

The head maid cleared her throat, recognising that her master might not appreciate her response, "W-well, you see, master—"

"No, wait, don't tell me," He held up a hand, stopping her abruptly, "I want to hear it from her myself. Get her to the dining hall on time, Eunsook. I'm sure it'll be wonderful; our first and last dinner together."

All the previous candidates for marriage were given quarters that, despite being less than ideal, were still superior to yours. And they all fled at the mere sight of it, unable to endure even a single day. No matter how skilled you were at acting indifferent, the general was convinced that The Cold Palace would likely be your breaking point. He imagined you gaping in disgust, desperately trying to tolerate it for the time being.

Oh, he couldn't wait to see you finally break character and unleash your frustration, berating him for the mistreatment and expressing your disappointment in him. He looked forward to enjoying the view of your back to him, storming away from his estate, never to return.

The Cold Palace has to be a foolproof plan.

It has to be.

Except it really wasn't.

Jongho knew that. Eunsook knew that.

Every other servant in the estate knew that.

But Seonghwa didn't. And that was a problem, a huge one. The assistant and head maid feared for your well-being. They were well aware that pride held great significance for their master, and your presence was undoubtedly going to bruise it severely.

Knowing the general, he wouldn't let you off the hook easily when that realisation hit. They worried about the drastic measures he might take to scare you into leaving.

Eunsook couldn't linger on those concerns for long as the kitchen staff alerted her that dinner preparations were nearing completion. Letting out a deep sigh, she rushed to your quarters, hoping to assist you in getting ready and ensuring you wouldn't be tardy. The last thing she wanted was for you to further get on the general's bad side.

It struck her then that she was already developing a sense of protectiveness toward you, even though she hadn't known you long or well enough to warrant such feelings. Despite her master's adamant belief in you putting on an act, she had witnessed firsthand to know that it was far from the truth.

Approaching the garden path leading to your quarters, she addressed the servants working there, "Has the mistress sought assistance from any of you?" They shook their heads, "No, she hasn't. In fact, she barely made a sound since her arrival."

"Really? I expected her to at least request a bath after the long journey she took to get here. No matter, I'll ensure she's prepared for dinner." The head maid shook her head, finding your behaviour less surprising with each passing moment.

Pausing at your room's entrance, she called out cautiously, "Mistress, may I enter, please?" She heard a faint shuffle and observed your silhouette through the thin paper walls as you approached, "Hold on, I'll be right there!"

She was taken aback to see you hurrying over just to open the door for her, "Oh dear, mistress! All you had to do was grant me permission, and I would have entered. There's no need for you to come all the way just to open the door for me, please!"

The small, sheepish smile on your face had affected the elderly woman more than you realised, her heart melting as she found you incredibly endearing.

"I'm sorry; I'll learn to do that next time."

Eunsook sighed, "You have nothing to be sorry for, mistress." She murmured, observing you with a motherly softness in her eyes.

She wondered if this was the reason the minister had kept you hidden all these years. Perhaps he wanted to shield you from the cruel world due to your innocence and precious nature. But the puzzle pieces didn't fit when she recalled how Jongho had found you – alone and abandoned.

So, what was really going on?

What was going through the minister's mind, and what exactly did you experience to turn out like this?

"Well, I've come to let you know that dinner is almost ready." She observed your face light up at the mention of food, and a simultaneous growl emanated from your stomach, prompting her to chuckle at the embarrassed blush dusting your cheeks.

Why didn't you just ask the servants around to bring you a snack if you were so hungry? Eunsook wondered to herself.

"I'm also here to assist you in getting ready, in case you'd like to change or anything." You shrugged and shook your head, and she recalled your nearly empty duffel bag. Oh dear, you didn't even have clothes to change into.

"That's alright. Let me just tidy up your hair and give your makeup a little touch-up, and we can go. How does that sound, mistress?" You nodded, responding softly, "Yes, please."

The head maid resisted the urge to coo out loud as she led you to the vanity table in your room. She grimaced as she took in the condition of the mirror in front of you, wearing out just like all the other furniture in here. The reflection was no longer clear due to its old age, but you remained unfazed as you waited for her to work her magic.

Not wanting to further waste any time, Eunsook was quick in her movements as she helped comb up the strands of hair that came loose and added some more foundation where your previous makeup was smeared from your little nap.

"There, all set. You look beautiful, mistress."

Your smile faltered slightly at that before you thanked her for the compliment, suddenly being reminded that she would not be thinking that for long. She would no longer consider you beautiful when she sees you without all these enhancements.

"Come, let me take you to the dining hall before we're late." You trailed behind her obediently, your heart thumping in excitement just thinking about what they could be serving for dinner.

Your worries could wait.

For now, just for now, perhaps you could finally experience what it was like to enjoy a nice and warm meal.

Or not.

Your steps slowed down a bit when you caught a glimpse of your new husband already waiting in the hall, "I-I'm having dinner with General Park?" The elderly woman wore an apologetic smile as she nodded, "Yes, mistress."

Of course.

Who else would you need to look beautiful for, if not the general?

Eunsook wished she could warn you of what was to come, but even she had no clue as to what her master could possibly say or do tonight. She could only pray that he goes easy on you, "Let's go."

Entering the dining hall, you felt a mix of nerves and anticipation. The grandeur of the room was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but steal a glance at the general. His stern expression didn't reveal much, leaving you wondering about his thoughts.

The head maid bowed before presenting you, "Master, Miss Jang has arrived for dinner."

Seonghwa nodded in acknowledgement, "Ah yes, I've been waiting. Come take a seat, wife."

"Good evening, my lord." You bowed and approached the table cautiously, settling beside him. Your eyes widened as you marvelled at the colourful dishes laid out, and the tantalising aroma made it difficult to resist the urge to dive in.

Although you hadn't shared any meals with your family, you knew enough to remember the basic etiquette: the eldest or head of the house should start eating first. So, you patiently watched his untouched chopsticks, hoping he would initiate the meal.

To say he was merely annoyed by your apparent fixation on the food would be an understatement. The fact that you remained so nonchalant, especially after spending half a day in that pathetic excuse for a room, irked him. You should have been making a big fuss about it by now.

Instead, there you sat, seemingly drooling at the sight of the food but still polite enough not to start eating first. Your impeccable manners were getting on his nerves.

Still keeping up with the act, huh?

Smirking, he moved his hands from his lap to the table. Your immediate straightening up betrayed your anticipation, thinking he was about to grab his utensils. However, your disappointment was palpable when he only moved to rest his elbows on the table, intertwining his fingers.

"So, tell me, wife. How do you like your new quarters?" He pressed, a sly grin playing on his lips.

This is it; this is your chance.

This was the moment, your opportunity to convey your gratitude for his generosity. Maybe, by expressing your thankfulness, you could open a path for him to consider accepting you more readily as his wife. And then, both of you could finally savour these delightful dishes together.

Unlike you, Eunsook, in her corner, wasn't as optimistic. She tensed immediately, sensing that the impending drama was just about to unfold with his question.

With a wide smile, you started, "Oh, I couldn't be happier with it, my lord. I want to thank you for your thoughtfulness. The room is beyond my expectations; it's everything I could ever wish for and more. It was so comfortable that I'd already had a good rest before coming here."

Seonghwa's grin wavered at your words, his eyes narrowing dangerously at you. You blinked, perplexed by the threatening glare he directed your way despite the genuine sincerity in your words.

After what felt like an eternity, he scoffed in disbelief before growling, "Are you mocking me, Miss Jang?"

You gasped, shooting up from your seat immediately. You shook your head furiously, "N-no, I wouldn't dare! I meant every word—"

But he leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest in amusement, "Is that right? This must all be very entertaining for you, huh? I know you're only here because your father has some ulterior motive. You sure are a skilled actress; I see now that the minister has trained you well all these years. And now you're finally old enough to come carry out his dirty work for him."

Feeling wrongfully accused, you fell to your knees and cried. You wished he would just listen to you, "Please, that's not true..."

Eunsook could only lower her head in pity, wishing there was anything at all that she could do for you, but intervening might get her into a whole lot of trouble. She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for the best.

Rising from his seat, Seonghwa approached and tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze, "You can repeat those words all you want, my dear. I didn't expect you to come here and admit to me that easily. I know you and your father are scheming something. Feel free to send him my regards. Tell him General Park is not foolish enough to fall for this little act."

Tears streamed down your face as you bowed all the way down, pressing your forehead against the cold floor tiles, pleading, "I beg you to believe me; that's not true at all."

Suppressing the subtle pang in his chest at the sight of your desperate plea to clear your name, he maintained his resolve, telling himself not to be easily swayed, "If you're so eager to prove your innocence, then you can remain there on your knees all night."

Detecting his head of maid's intention to step in, he shot the elderly woman a warning glare before she could utter a word, "I've lost all my appetite. Dispose of all the food here."

You sobbed against the floor, once again reminded of why they called him the cold-hearted general as you listened to Eunsook let out a strained, "Yes, master," before hearing the sound of your new husband's footsteps stalking angrily out of the dining hall.

All your hopes of sharing a meal and gaining his favour crumbled in just a moment. Even far from your family home, your father still had the means to torment you. You acknowledged that Seonghwa's struggle to trust you was influenced by the minister, and your mysterious identity only complicated matters. A sense of heartbreak overwhelmed you as you questioned if anyone would ever believe your side of the story.

If you were to reveal that the precious eldest daughter of the Minister of Military Affairs had been confined and subjected to torture like a prisoner in her own home for all these years, who would believe you?

The servants exchanged sympathetic glances as they hastily cleared the table, removing all the untouched dishes as per the general's directive. Despite their desire to help you, they understood the consequences of defying their master's orders.

Remaining on the ground even after the other servants left the dining hall, Eunsook knelt beside you, gently trying to lift you up by your shoulders, "Come, mistress. Let me take you back to your quarters."

"N-no! I m-must remain here all night t-to prove my innocence," You whimpered, shattering the elderly woman's heart once more, "Mistress, I'm sure master doesn't really mean that. Perhaps he was only saying it out of anger."

Despite her efforts, she couldn't persuade you to stand. You remained resolute, anchored to the spot. However, Eunsook worried for you. You hadn't taken a single bite of food since your arrival, and it had been who knew how long since your last meal. The idea of you kneeling there all night seemed ridiculous. Surely, her master didn't mean it literally.

« Preview of Part 4 »

Jongho's eyes widened upon hearing the head maid's latest update, "She's still kneeling in the dining hall?"

Deciding they couldn't let this continue, the two staff members gathered their courage and approached the general's private quarters, only to find the room empty. To their surprise, Seonghwa was still in his study at this late hour, an unusual occurrence as he was typically asleep by now.

Perhaps the guilt was keeping him up.

"S-sir, may we enter, please?" The assistant called out, breathing a sigh of relief when their master broke out of his trance and nodded, "What is it? Why are you both still up so late?"

Eunsook nervously cleared her throat, "Master, we wanted to let you know that Miss Jang hasn't moved from her spot in the dining hall since dinner."

The general's eyebrows shot up in surprise before he composed himself, "What a fool. Did she genuinely believe that kneeling all night would prove her innocence? She'll have to do much more than that." He rolled his eyes, but his employees could see through the façade.

"Take her back to her quarters before she frightens the servants who will be there to prepare breakfast soon."

Just a heads up, I apologise if the next part takes slightly longer to come out because I've fallen sick since yesterday. Even for this part, I was working on it between my rest.

Aside from that, thank you for 700+ followers! And as always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[kaonarvna]

Every now and again, I remember that my disability (EDS) isn't invisible, actually. People are just uncomfortable when they can see it. People don't want to see it. People like to ignore it. Other people just stare at it, and don't even look at me. All they see is a pile of bones and fascia and something to pity.

I've worn a shoulder brace the past week, because it subluxed horribly a week or so ago. Still healing. Visible.

I always have compression sleeves on my arms, full coverage. Bicep to wrist. Visible.

I have soft braces and compression kit for every joint imaginable. Visible.

I'm covered in KT tape. I've worn it on my goddamn face after a jaw sublux, for that little extra support and proprioception help. Tape. On the face. Very visible.

The people I've worked with for years are used to it by now, the good ones, at least. They don't remark when I take a minute to stretch. They know I'll say something if I'm not okay. They know I'm in a constant state of variable dysfunction. They've seen enough, they're used to it.

But then there's people who aren't used to it. People who see me stretch on the ground, watch in discomfort, then they ask someone else if I'm okay. I can hear them quietly mutter it to other staff. I hear them go, "oh, he does that". I can see their discomfort with me (just existing as I need to exist). I can see the discomfort in these new people who aren't accustomed to bodies with slightly different needs, and it's a visceral reminder of being "other". I wonder, how terrible and scary and different I must be, for them to not even have the fortitude to ask me themselves.

And then there are the new people who see it and ask too many questions. The ones who go "but you're so young!" as though my connective tissue has a concept of social expectations for people under (arbitrary age). They go "but you look great!" as though I'm not covered in bruises and held together by tape (nevermind the implication that the disabled must look "bad"). They go "but you never call in!" as though I'm not often two seconds away from doing so, before the fear of losing my job sets in.

...and these are the ones who seem to wish not to see it the most. The ones who ask questions like I should be on display, and as soon as the conversation ends, so does my disability. They'll ask the same questions the next time, and the next time, and the next. It always ends with statements of pity, or something pity-adjacent. If I'm "lucky", they might even make an inappropriate comment about how I shouldn't be working, or sex must be "interesting", or act like I'm some eldritch horror that shouldn't exist.

And I'm reminded of the training I was once made to sit though. A ninety minute training, where you sit and watch the PowerPoint for ninety minutes in a too-small plastic chair, while someone reads the PowerPoint. The presenter started with a cute little "haha I know it's long, feel free to get up and walk around, or stretch".

I did.

I got up, walked myself to the side well out of the way of the tight chair lines, and laid down to stretch (a good spinal twist, loosen things up).

And she stopped the presentation.

She asked if there were any first-aiders present.

She was going to keep going on and on, until I heard someone say, "oh, he's fine, he does that." and a few "that's just (name), he does that". She started apologising profusely, waffling about how she thought there must have been a medical emergency, how people don't usually get up. She seemed baffled by the mere concept that someone would actually need to get up, and couldn't sit for ages. Her statement was entirely performative and insincere.

Today, after the day was effectively done, I laid down on the clean, carpeted floor in my classroom to just...be horizontal for a moment. Find some way, any way, to get my lower back to move and function and not feel like it was being clawed apart from the inside. Relieve myself a little, so I could finish the day without abject misery. And this very-new member of staff sat on the other side of the room, presumably watching me. When I got up, she asked very quietly, "Is something wrong with you?" and all I had the energy to say was "I'm fine". I'm tired of explaining my body. I'm tired of explaining my needs. I'm tired of justifying taking care of myself.

Someone recently told me "You're very brave. I think I'd rather die than live like you."

I didn't respond. I didn't have the energy to break down that she'd effectively told me I should die. I didn't have the energy to tell her that it's not bravery to live "like this".

It's my only option.

I know nothing else.

And I'm just tired. And hurting.

I'm grateful for the few good ones, the ones that are used to it. The people who have stopped asking me if I'm okay when I stretch, or need a little break, or get out the tape and scissors.

They know I'm not okay. That's why I'm on the ground. That's why I'm checking my range of motion, or feeling a joint, or holding pressure on a digit that's come undone. I'm not okay, and I'm trying not to get even worse.

I'm not okay, actually. I'm never okay, and that's fine. I'll never be your version of "okay", and that's fine. I've no choice. Thank you for knowing that I'm not okay, but that that's normal, and that if something was seriously, horribly wrong, I'd do something. Thank you, for just going about your business and talking to me as normal when I'm taking care of myself, instead of sprinkling eggshells on the ground for your own personal crunching.

I'm just tired. I'm visibly disabled if you look for ten goddamn seconds. I'm a person if you look for twenty. I'm a fetish if you just keep staring and staring and asking about my body like you're entitled to my flesh. I just want to sleep for more than two hours without my body waking itself up to remind me it hurts. I'm so tired.

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 16.

Summary: In which we observe a few nights during the first week of the Summer at Saltburn while you set your plan into motion for putting on a show for Oliver. You don't tell Farleigh about the plan despite definitely using him in it, because you reason that he'd only object because he still loudly hates Oliver whenever he can. You... don't think too hard about all of the ethics of this. But there's also a lot you don't think about. Anyways, what Farleigh doesn't know won't hurt him.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; Farleigh/Reader(/Oliver kind of). Dom!Reader, praise kink, no AGAB specified for the reader, brief mention of oral (M receiving), implied voyeurism and also implied non-consensual voyeurism, degradation, choking, discussions about the reader's sex life and about whether or not their partners get them off.

A/N: 3193 words. not to be hit by the fic writer's curse but sorry this chapter is late i had a seizure for the first time in my life on a main road by the bus stop and was hospitalized for four days. this was going to be longer but i wrote and rewrote the "ending" and neither fit right so i said fuck it. very nsfw chapter and we get to love farleigh a bit more. LOVE YOU!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

So it was definitely working.

And after you'd explained it to Felix, he was more than on board.

Farleigh was of the opinion that Felix monopolized too much of your time whenever you were away from the Estate, so he would never complain about your sudden increased desire to be pressed against him as you lay about the property. Likewise, Venetia had absolutely no complaints about the contact. Venetia relishes the contact, and not that she'd ever say it, but she'd wrap herself around your shoulders like a mink coat for hours at a time if you'd let her.

You know Oliver's eyes are on you often in the early days, the first week at Saltburn. His gaze burns you in the days, and he finds you in the lilac study at night.

At first it's innocent enough; you'd left a copy of Saltburn: The Art of Saltburn House, The Catton Collection on his bedside, to help him familiarise himself with the history of the Estate and the antiquities therein. You sit at the desk, looking through your dossier, he curls up like a cat on one end of the off-white, leather sofa beneath the window. He looks beautiful in the moonlight.

"You're watching me," Oliver murmurs. He looks like a dream, shirtless, relaxed against the sofa, painted beautiful and blue by the clear night sky. You sigh softly, apologising faintly but insincerely as you reach past your dossier to the pack of cigarettes resting there. Its Oliver's turn to watch you once more, book closed in his lap where he waits for you to join him. You open the window, sitting on the back of the sofa, half on the windowsill.

Oliver leans forward, looking up at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his as he asks you about the dossier. You explain about the various events, big and small, that Saltburn plays host to over the Summer. You explain rather clinically about your interest in the guests, while keeping your mouth shut on any information about your own parents out of habit.

The next night, you forgo the desk entirely and simply sit on the sofa, window open, lamp on behind you. Oliver sits, and you stretch your legs out over him, invading his space without looking up, but blithely telling him that he's free to ask you to move. One of his hands holds your ankles, crossed in his lap, secure as he braces his book against your shins.

You've become acutely attuned to the way Oliver thinks he's skulking around Saltburn. As quiet as he tries to be, he'll never be able to out-fox you here. The Cattons and Farleigh? Most definitely, but you? Well, not since you spent a full year trying to convince Duncan to let you join the staff for events. Neither he nor Elspeth had agreed, but the skills you'd taught yourself made you a sometimes uncanny presence in the house even to this day.

But you appreciate that Oliver's aiming for subtlety, even if he doesn't meet his mark; it makes him easier to ignore on purpose.

There's the barest shift and creak outside of Farleigh's room the night he invites you back to drink wine and hang out. Considering the artistic inclinations of his own immediate family, Farleigh had often found a great deal of solace in you and the stories you could tell him if your grandmother, a great artist in her own right. Many nights were spent in Farleigh's room, drinking, listening to music, and painting across each other's skin before it devolved into a mess of another kind.

This third night, you hear the faint groan of the floorboards, the creak of the barest weight against the other side of the door. You tell Farleigh he's beautiful as you ride him, rocking back and forth in his lap, and you wonder if Oliver can tell the painting on your back is a dreamy field of wildflowers through the keyhole.

Gorgeous boy, so good - fuck Fars, you feel so good - you tell him as he grips you tight, paint smearing across your hips and thighs. You're the one covered in his art, but you call him breath-taking with absolute sincerity. Part of it is of course a show for Oliver, but you can't deny your genuine affection for Farleigh. His bitchy shell gave way to so few people that you considered the moments in which he'd relinquish control to you to be rather special.

Plucking control and responsibility from him while lavishing him with affection was something you delighted in. The shallow doting of fair-weather friends and short term partners was something Farleigh was used to, but you knew he was worth - and capable of - so much more than that.

While you were more than capable - and he was more than willing - for you to bark orders, push him around, make him kneel and obey your every whim, you knew all too well that you had all Summer to show off. Not that you wanted these games to drag on that long.

The bed rocks with your consistent rhythm, so you can hear the way weight shifts just outside the door, but doesn't move. A thought occurs to you, a new script, a new hook -

"Ollie thinks you treat me badly," you tease loud enough you know your voice will carry, but leaning in to press yourself to Farleigh, braced over him to keep him on his back despite the irritation in his eyes the minute they flick open. Still, you carry on before he can comment, despite how much you know he wants to, "he even asked how we got -" you moaned faintly for effect, settling yourself on him for the moment, hips pressed flush, his hands on your ass, "close," your smile widens, "considering, how awfully mean you can be to me." You pout, putting on the act thickly enough that it gets Farleigh to smile despite himself.

"You need to tell me this now?" Hands sliding up your body, Farleigh's hips begin to roll, taking over from you, fucking you softly as he takes your face in his hands. The touch is tender, more gentle than he'd ever allow if he knew he had an actual audience. Perhaps you should feel bad for using him like this, but you tell yourself that Farleigh will understand. If he ever finds out.

Still, the more you think about it, the more it... bothers you. Oliver's voice in your ear.

You need to be needed. Want to be wanted.

Farleigh stops. There's genuine concern in his face as he holds your face close. But it's his voice too, casually cruel to the entire roster of your past sexual exploits without giving you a moment to really think about it.

You rate sex by how good you can make your partner feel.

Maybe that's all you were to Farleigh, just like Venetia; a warm body you weren't related to. Be a partner in crime, someone he could bitch to about the finer irritations he suffered under the Cattons, someone he could fuck when he felt bored or unwanted. An affectionate little imp who'd accept his every apology, who'd still let him get away with feeling like he had the moral high ground. The dog forever at the foot of his metaphorical bed.

But was that not enough? How could you say he did not love you, not care about you, not look out for you? It's there in his eyes in this moment, these brief few seconds that to you have felt like a lifetime.

Pushing down the urge to ask the kinds of questions that would give real answers, but would complicate things tremendously, you let yourself lean into the messy, shameful lust that pits low in your belly, burning as you think of Oliver, though you've lost track of if he was still there, you have hope. It's his voice once more, from this morning this time, the praise he'd so casually offered. It that spurs you on.

"Tell me I'm good," shifting your focus back onto Farleigh, it comes out as almost an order. Your companion takes a moment to reassess the situation, smile lighting up his face when he's finally sure your behaviour isn't worrying.

"Of course you're good, you're you -" he laughs, but you sit back up, taller this time and out of his grip, hand braced on his chest as you level thin, cold smile at him, playing far more into the dominant role than you had been earlier.

"Exactly," and your hips begin to move again; you think you can actually feel Farleigh shiver with sudden anticipation, "tell me I'm good, Farleigh," you drag your nails down his chest, "make me believe it." The words escape him in a hiss as you clench down on him, tight and sensitive as your hips pick up the pace. Hearing the words begin to spill from him like a prayer unlocks something deep within you, a want you hadn't even realised you had. Recognition. Praise.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Farleigh," hand finding his throat, you press firmly to the sensitive pulse points in the way you know he likes, and he actually whimpers, tries to shake his head that he's not. Agonisingly slowly, you leaned in. You know he's close, he's begging and whining as much as he's affording you praise, so you dare not stop. It's a messy kiss that you plant on him, all teeth and shared, desperate breath, his lip between your teeth to the point he actually yelps and you let go.

"You ever call me a dog again," you whisper into his ear dangerous and seductive all at once as you have him where you want him, "you'd better make sure you call me a good one," and you bite gently at his ear as he swears, "now it's your turn to be good for me."

Reaching between you both, as you pull yourself off of Farleigh's desperate, all but twitching cock, your hand takes over for the half second it takes you to move down him, to let him finish in your mouth, all but singing your praises.

Farleigh's quiet and rather giggly in the afterglow, sharing a cigarette with you. The tension leaves you as his fond teasing returns. You don't hear any sign of Oliver beyond the door in these moments; you don't think you hear him leave, so he must be gone already. You wonder just how much he stuck around for; you wonder if he'll ever let on.

That night you stay with him, talking and joking about nothing and everything, and the fears you had about your place in his life matter less and less with each passing moment. Head on his shoulder, reading the last Harry Potter book with him in the early hours of the morning, you think any pet should feel lucky to be half as loved as you were by Farleigh and Venetia. Even if they had a strange way of showing it.

Ever true to form, there's absolutely no indication at breakfast that anything remotely note worthy happened the night before. These trysts had been occurring for so long at this point that as long as it was confined to the private quarters of one of the four - now five, you supposed - youth of Saltburn, everyone else pretended to feign ignorance. It was simply a truth of life at Saltburn; death, taxes, and you knowing Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh biblically since high school. So if there was to be a reaction, it would be from the exact person you were hoping would give one.

Oliver.

His gaze does linger on you over breakfast, but it's strangely unreadable. For a long while he watches your hands, but you don't call him out, or draw attention to the fact that you know; you let him stare. You let him watch as you have resolved to do.

Okay, there is one point where your hands drift into a lewd, sexual gesture while you're busy making plans with the others to head to the field for the day, and when you glance back at Oliver he's pink around the ears when he guiltily meets your gaze. The smile you flash him, so quickly that no-one else sees it, is wicked. Even if he seems to grow further embarrassed, you're pretty sure he's focusing straight down on his food to hide a smile.

"What kind of pervert do you take me for?" Felix mutters, despite the flush on his cheeks in the golden afternoon sunshine as Farleigh continues to tease him while you three and Venetia settled into the field, waiting for Oliver.

"Like you aren't even the slightest bit curious about the only other dick to get Y/N off besides you," Farleigh smirked, even as Venetia gasped with a kind of scandalised glee, and you practically screeched with fury, berating him with a flurry of smacks against his shoulder.

"Not true!" You clarified immediately, looking to Felix, who had slid his sunglasses down his nose to give you an incredulously amused look. You could feel yourself growing more flustered by the moment, but you're not exactly sure why. Surely - if it were true, which it decidedly is not - it would be just an awful reflection on your past partners, "and if it were, which it... mostly isn't," you stuck your nose in the air, giving Farleigh a final shove, "wouldn't you just be writing your own shit review with that lie?"

"How can it be mostly true?" Venetia's eyes are alight with intrigue as she fully rolls over to get closer to you and the boys, propping her chin on her hand as she dedicates her focus to you. Farleigh's actually kicking his feet and giggling, the bloody shit-stirrer.

"I told you that in fucking confidence," you snapped to Farleigh in what was more a stage whisper than anything else. Farleigh's giggling turns to cackling.

"So what I was told," Felix sits back with a smug little smile and a tone that you knew could only mean he was about to be a menace, "was that Ollie was so good that none of our friends," his grin grows wider in the face of your pouting, "Farleigh included, I'd assume, would believe you if you'd told them." Smug bastard; if he put half as much effort into studying as he did to remembering stupid shit you say about your hook ups, you wouldn't have had to go in and change nearly as many of his marks in the system.

"I get off!" You defended your past self, though it almost sounds embarrassed, but the ridiculousness of the situation sets the others off snickering, "people other than Fi, and, yeah, Ollie," you admitted awkwardly, "get me off- have gotten me off! Both of you cunts have gotten me off! You were there!" By now they're all practically cackling, and you let your embarrassment wane and let yourself get caught up in the laughter too.

As your coming down, it's a lot easier to admit without feeling self conscious.

"He got me off first is all," you lay back in the tall grass, lighting up a cigarette with an easy smile, "which, yeah, is admittedly a rare enough occurrence that it made whatever counts as mine and Farleigh's news cycle," you snorted.

"Seriously?" You hear Felix's incredulous voice and you sigh, admitting that while, yeah, that list consists of him and Oliver, it's also not that big of a deal, that you have your fun. But Felix isn't talking to you; "no, seriously," he's looking between Venetia and Farleigh like he's personally offended, "how long have you two been fucking my best mate and you haven't even had the decency to -"

"I keep track," Farleigh insists, which, yeah he actually did, "I repay back every one that I promise," his hand over his heart like this is anything close to serious. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you see Felix is still wearing a severely unimpressed look at them both, and despite the ludicrous situation, something about his indignation on your behalf melts something in your heart. It's almost like he can tell; without even looking at you he reaches out and rests a hand on your shin beside him.

"And a very worked up lesbian in Montreal told me I was a pillow princess," Venetia says in that same tone as Farleigh, as if her words were any kind of justification.

"I have follow up questions," Farleigh, however, immediately takes the bait, if only to steer the conversation away from Felix's frustration at them both, "how did you know she was a lesbian and why were you arguing?"

"The answer to both is that we weren't arguing," Venetia tells him smugly, voice laden thick with inuendo. Felix makes a face, but lets them go about their conversation without further interruption from him, despite his continued discomfort with the news he'd just learned about you.

Sitting up beside him, you mirror him, knees up to your chest, but you tuck your arm in his and bump your forehead against his cheek.

"Feels kinda gross to know about you," you hear Felix mumble, though almost immediately he clarifies, "you're not gross," he's speaking low enough that only you can hear, "everyone else is," he jerks his head towards Venetia and Farleigh before he leans back against you, "they're gross."

"Lucky I have you and Ollie then," you murmur with a chuckle, but are met with silence. Felix lets out a long sigh, and you know him well enough to know what's on his mind, "you so are curious about Ollie," you poked him in the ribs with a sly grin. Felix snorted, pressing a kiss to your forehead instead of answering. You know all too well that he's blushing by now, attempting to hide most of it from his perverse family members by keeping close to you.

Venetia and Farleigh for their part have shifted over, given you both more space as the gossiping had come to an end. As it always seemed to be, the last two to remain unreasonably close were you and Felix.

"What made him different from everyone else wasn't his dick, for the record," you murmured as you were going through the picnic basket, searching for something cold in the afternoon heat. Felix the only one close enough to have heard your quiet aside, looks at you with intrigue; how does he not get it? You give him a strange little smile, "it's... that he was Oliver." Felix frowns a little, as if trying to decipher what you're trying to tell him. Instead you shrug and unwrap and ice lolly, gaze focusing on where you can finally see Oliver on the horizon; you wave, but keep your voice low as you add to Felix.

"There's no dick that's going to cure world hunger by itself, you know?"

And no, at the time Felix doesn't exactly understand what you mean by that. Yet.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Hi, I would like to ask for a story / script about kabe-dong with the guys from Lookism (Seo is desirable, but you can make it to your taste)

God I love your work so much 😗❤️‍🔥

(Sorry for my English, I don't really speak it and I do everything through a translator)

Anon! Please don't apologise for your English, and through a translator?? Dedicated! Thank you for teaching me something new! I had to google this, and I didn't realise there's a name for this move. It might just be my greatest weakness ughhhhh.

Lookism x Reader: Kabedon with Samuel, Gun, Johan, Goo, Jake

+ HTF: Taehoon, Seongjun

Very different scenarios for each one. Daniel and Zack giving you a taster of what kabedon is 👇

You feel a tug on your wrist, whirling you around until your back slams against the wall, all air knocked out of your lungs.

"Oof!"

A hand lands onto the wall next to your head, and a solid body stands in front of you. Trapped.

.

.

Samuel Seo

Your eyes widen in surprise at his forwardness. This had been strictly off-limits according to him. Absolutely no funny business at work Samuel had warned.

"Samuel?"

You can see your own look of surprise reflected in his glasses as he smirks.

His free hand lands on your waist, caressing down to your hips before winding its way around to grope at your ass.

A very undignified squeak slips out.

"I couldn't resist," Samuel chuckles against your neck, leaving feathery kisses.

"Samuel... we... shouldn't!" You force out between gasps, though you make no move to stop him.

"I know," he says, pressing the full length of his body to yours. "Tell me to stop."

You blush furiously when you meet his eyes.

"Tell me to stop," he repeats again.

"...N-no." You stammer, and that's all the invitation he needs.

.

.

Gun Park

"Do I scare you?" Gun taunts, face inches from yours, smirk on his lips and victory within reach. He has you cornered and he knows it.

You give him a toothy grin, teeth stained with blood and tell him no. And that's the truth. This game of cat and mouse makes you feel alive.

He arches a brow, "Only an idiot would have no fear in their final moments."

You notice his hand against the wall trembling almost imperceptibly, the pose half for show, half needing the support to hold himself upright. His other arm hangs limp by his side, having lost use of it after your first strike. His left eye already beginning to swell and bruise. The crimson pouring from the slash on his stomach, your scratches on his chest, his split lip.

You want to see him drown in his own blood.

"Gun Park," your fingers walk their way up his ripped shirt until you reach his neck. "You can kill me but you would miss me."

Gun's curiousity is piqued, not being able to figure out your next move.

With a vicious yank of his collar, you smash his lips to yours.

.

.

Johan Seong

"Johan?! What are you doing here?"

At your words, all energy seems to leave Johan. He removes his hand and looks at you as if he doesn't know why he's here neither.

"Johan?" You ask, brows knitted in concern why your boyfriend would turn up at your school.

"I... " he starts, but can't bring himself to say the next words. He turns his head, averting your gaze.

"Is everything ok?"

Johan murmurs something under his breath that you can't catch.

"What?"

"Imissedyou" rushes out in a jumble. And then you notice the flush, from his hairline all the way down to his collar.

"Oh." This boy. Seriously. Can he get any cuter.

You tell him so and that's what causes his prickliness to return.

"I'm not cute," he scowls.

"Sure you're not," your words are insincere but Johan is placated, defences crumbling, when you reach up on your toes and kiss him.

.

.

Goo Kim

Goo blinks owlishly at you as you just continue to stare.

You expect him to do something, but he just stands stock still, not having planned this far ahead.

"Ok... Now what?" you ask.

"I dunno," A shrug. "Just thought it looked hot in animes. That was hot, right?"

You nod. Although you find almost everything Goo does pretty hot, which you would never tell him because his ego does not need any more inflating.

"Hmm," he taps his chin with his other hand for a moment as he thinks.

A devious glint in his eyes and smarmy grin appears.

"Wanna kiss?"

And unfortunately, you find that pretty hot too.

Goo knows he has you wrapped around his finger. You give another nod.

.

.

Jake Kim

"Fancy meeting you here," he purrs and the urge to roll your eyes doesn't come because with Jake, the line works.

Your thoughts fizzle and on auto-pilot, you move your lips to his. Just wanting a quick taste. Just for a moment... Before you snap to your sense.

"Jake!" you scold, face pinched, "You're interrupting!"

"Hmm? I thought someone was bothering you."

You glare at him, unswayed by his handsome grin.

"Sorry, sorry, where are my manners..." Smoothing his hair back, Jake turns and directs his charm to your classmate.

A rather cute and popular boy. Apparently. You didn't see it though. But everytime you mentioned him in front of your boyfriend, talking about your time spent together, him helping you out after school, Jake's jealousy would flare up. There's been a few times you haven't been able to walk properly for days after.

(So what if you occasionally use this to your advantage.)

Reaching out for a handshake, "Jake Kim. Y/N's boyfriend."

Jake at full force really is something to behold. He smiles and even throws a wink at your friend.

You see his magnetism take hold in real time.

Like something out of a k-drama, time slows down and a luminance radiates from Jake. The other boy gasps, taking in his tall stature, eyes running down his body hungrily and cheeks flushing.

His hand inches slowly towards Jake's. When they finally meet, an unexpected gust of wind literally sweeps your friend off his feet and straight into Jake's arms.

"N-nice to meet you," he stammers, now beet red, staring at Jake with stars in his eyes and making no effort to move. Who knew such solid and muscular arms could be so comfortable?

Third wheeling in the background, you loudly scoff at the scene unfolding.

.

.

Seong Taehoon

"Get your stinkin' feet away from me!"

Your efforts to free yourself and push his leg away from the wall is futile. Taehoon unruffled and unmoving, watches with his hand in his pockets.

"Those are Korea's legs you're manhandling,"

"Hmph."

"You still mad?"

Evidently.

Taehoon clicks in tongue in exasperation, "Cmon, stop being an idiot."

"..."

"How is it my fault that I'm this hot."

"..."

"Why am I being blamed for those girls flirting with me?"

"..."

"I didn't do anything!"

"..."

"You should be happy you're with someone so handsome-"

You hand shoots out, having heard enough and wanting to clamp his stupid mouth shut.

Taehoon easily intercepts and holds it steady in his. Damn this guy and his lightning reflexes.

"Don't be like that," he brings your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles. "I'm yours, you dumbass."

.

.

Baek Seongjun

"You're here." Seongjun holds your chin with his other hand, thumb gliding along your lower lip.

"What can I say, I'm a big fan."

A very sticky situation for you if this got out: the producer should never mess around with the talent.

But what can you say, Seongjoon's appearance on your show led to the ratings hitting an all time-high. After one too many celebratory drinks with him and your team, lines quickly becoming blurred, you both discreetly bid everyone goodbye and ended up at his home.

"You're going to regret this." Seongjoon murmurs in your ears, shifting his weight, hands now working quickly to unbutton your pants.

The speed of your movement matches his as you almost tear his shirt open. "I already do."

[crustmass]

I'm fine and sorry about that I just felt stressed? Idk to reblog a bunch of stuff before 2024. I did not mean to take it all from you, and I will try to spread out what I reblog some more especially within a few minutes. Happy around New Year's

Hey @varyingwikipediatabsopen are you ok? I’ve gotten like-35 notifs from you in like, 3 minutes.

Just checking in-and happy probably around New Years or yeah.

[ramirezmindset]

ғᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ.

ʙʀᴀᴅʟᴇʏ ʙʀᴀᴅsʜᴀᴡ x ғᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ.

→ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: as the daughter of pete 'maverick' mitchell, there were certain expectations people had of you, all of which you were determined to defy. however, after a hellbent summer leave of love, loss and heartbreak, you discover you're more like your father than you would've ever imagined.

→ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst central, reader being a dick, rooster being a dick, mav being a dick, everyone being a dick, break-ups, seggsual innuendos, loss of relationships/persons, platonic male/female friendships, romantic male/female relationships, adult language ↳wc: 2974

FATED TO PRETEND: INTRO & MASTERLIST

Your phone rang on the desk opposite you for the third time. It was a cold day where you were stationed, freezing even, and you were fairly sure that even if you did want to answer that call, your phone would be stuck to the mahogany due to the sub-zero European temperature in your small office.

You already know what he'd say, you could already feel the words penetrating your ears. You didn't want to hear them, couldn't bring yourself to hear them. Maybe if you ignored the phone some more, he would give up and call the next best thing. The phone stopped ringing, and you were granted with a few moments silence. You leant back on the chair, folding your arms over your chest and releasing a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

The wind battered against the flexible glass of the window. You could just make out the faint outline of people on the airstrip, running around and laughing at each other. The pilots down there were fresh, spring-chickens who were so excited for what the future of this career holds. It was your job to keep their excitement palpable, not to tell them the truth, that in sixth months when dicking about is over, they would wish they never joined the Navy in the first place.

The phone rang again. Groaning, you braced your elbows on the desk and stared at the name on the screen.

Dad.

You bit the inside of your cheek, a nervous habit you got from your mother. You didn't even realise you had reached for the phone until it was against you ear and your father's voice filled the room.

"God, Y/N! I thought you were dead!" Pete Mitchell said that every time you answered his phone calls. It was routine, almost, you would ignore his first few calls before finally picking up, and he would panic and berate you and you would (insincerely) apologise before letting him say whatever it is he needs to say, and that would be it. He wouldn't call again for three months and then the cycle repeats itself, like a snake eating it's own tail.

"What is it?" You cut to the chase.

"Look, Y/N, you know what I'm gonna say. And I'd rather it be me say it than Admiral Simpson" You sigh down the phone, you could picture your fathers face in your head. Eyebrows furrowed, free hand on hip as he looks down at the ground and back up. Right now, he'd be glancing around the room, trying to make himself look busy to any suspecting on-lookers. "Don't make this hard for me"

"Do I have to?" You ask, biting the skin on your thumb. "Like, is there actually nobody else?"

"You know you have to. Don't pretend you're busy and hang up the phone so you can avoid the conversation, I've already called Ant and he said you were just sat in your office farting about with paperwork" You take a mental note to berate your best friend as soon as this call is over. "Y/N, this is your job. I know you'd rather hide away in some dark corner and teach some morons how to stop and start a plane, but you're better than that. You know it, I know it, Cyclone knows it, and the Navy knows it. That's why we need you here."

"Well, what's in it for me?"

"Bragging rights, I don't know. I don't even know why I'm here, dovey." You close your eyes and sigh at your fathers childhood nickname for you. Your relationship had always been strained, your mother doing everything in her power when you were a child to stop Pete from seeing you. She thought he was dangerous, irresponsible, which are both true, but that never stopped him from showing up at your front door demanding to see his daughter. You were always a daddy's girl, but his unreliability slowly ate away at whatever relationship the two of you shared, him preferring to give all the fatherly love he had in him to his late best friends son, Bradley, who, you had heard, couldn't really stand him either, especially in more recent years.

You felt bad for the guy, you really did, but he did it to himself.

"You don't have a choice here, babe, you either do whatever this is we have to do or you're permanently grounded. I'm on the same terms as you, you know how Cyclone feels about me. We're on the same team"

"I guess" You murmur just as a knock on the door comes. Ant pokes his head round, biting his lip nervously as you hold up a finger, a silent plea for him to give you a minute. "Fine, I'll do it. But if anyone asks, I did this of my own free will and my father did not have to call me begging. That's embarrassing for you"

Pete chuckled down the phone, bidding you a goodbye as you put the phone on your desk and rested your head in the palms of your hands.

"If it's any consolation, I've been called back too" Ant says, snapping you out of your trance. He's behind you now, massaging your shoulders. He's tense too, you can feel it in his movements. "Someone else has been called back as well, I bet Mav didn't mention that on the phone"

"He didn't need to" You reply, craning your neck to look up at him. Ant and you had met years ago when you were both stationed somewhere sunny, neither of you cared enough to remember where. You were both Top Gun graduates, and he was your new back seater after your last guy had a panic attack in the air and quit, much like a story your dad told you about someone he knew years ago.

The two of you regularly joked that you were twin flames, he was a brother from another mother, Sonic and Tails, Femme and Fatale. You could read each other like a book, and he was the first person to not have any expectations of you or your skills in the cockpit after realising who your father was.

Ant smiled lovingly down at you, leaning slightly down to wrap his forearms around you in a hug. You reached up to hold his wrist, leaning back slightly, welcoming the embrace.

"It'll be fine" He murmured, pressing a quick and friendly kiss to your temple before releasing his hold on you. "We're only there for three weeks, it'll be over before you know it, and we'll be back in this shithole teaching these men how to make fire"

You chuckled, nodding along slowly.

"I better pack a bag" You say, pushing yourself out of the chair. "When Top Gun calls, I better come a-running"

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The air is thick and the sun is hot, a sharp contrast to your last location. Ant walks slightly ahead of you, abandoning your duffel bags in the trunk of his car and pushing his sunglasses up his nose. The sound of the waves crashing nearby was somewhat calming in comparison to the pounding in your head. Despite the somewhat idyllic scenery, you would rather be anywhere but here.

Your jeans were sticking to your legs as you felt a bead of sweat roll down your back. You couldn't tell whether it was from nerves or from the blistering heat, either way, you'd rather be somewhere with air conditioning.

"Mav said he'd be in there" Ant says, pointing ahead of him at a beachside bar. The sign read 'The Hard Deck', with small LED planes flying around the slogan, lighting the sand around it blue. Of course your dad would be here, probably scoping out some poor fresh-meat naval aviators to scare the daylights out of.

"Stop talking to my dad" You roll your eyes and walk ahead towards the entrance of the bar as soon as you felt a cool breeze coming from the general vicinity.

"Hey! Maybe if you spoke to him more, I wouldn't have to be the middleman!" Ant hollers from behind you, picking up his pace to catch up with you.

Your dog tags smacked against your chest as you stepped up towards the bar, scouting the room out for any sign of your father. He was on the other side of the bar, tormenting the bartender most likely. Ant waved at him from behind you, gaining his attention as he nodded for the two of you to join him at the other side of the bar.

"Sonic" He nods at Ant. "Dovey" He opens his arms for a hug, a rare sight, and even though every neuron in your brain was screaming at you to leave him standing there with open arms like some sort of theme park attraction, you just couldn't resist a hug from your dad. In his arms, you felt like a little girl again, who's dad didn't hurt her, who's dad didn't run off, who's dad didn't introduce her to the first and only boy to ever break her heart.

"Hi, dad" You say, hugging him round the middle tightly as his hand rubbed your back.

"I got you two a drink" He replies, pulling away from the embrace and sliding two glasses towards you. Ant picks his up, chugging the concoction immediately and scuttling off down the bar, no doubt on purpose. He does this every time, makes some sort of excuse to leave you and your father alone together so he doesn't 1) witness the awkwardness of the interaction, and 2) be caught in the crossfire of the inevitable argument the two of you end up having.

"We don't have to do this, dad" You say, guzzling your own drink before slamming it back down on the bar. Malt whiskey, at least he remembered your drink of choice. "We don't have to attempt to mend whatever this relationship is just because we're working together, because in three weeks I'm gonna be back in Bosnia or wherever it was I was booted off to, and we won't talk for months and it'll just start all over again"

"I'm glad we're on track" He smiled at you, resting a hand on your shoulder, thumping it in a friendly manor. "I'll see you tomorrow, kid" And with that, your father was walking down the bar towards the bartender as you turned around to find Ant at the pool table, with some more aviators in their khaki's.

He nods his head for you to join, but you shake your head and turn back around, leaning your elbows on the bar, losing yourself in your thoughts.

The last time you were at Top Gun, this bar had been less than pretty. It was grotty, sticky floors and all. The jukebox would play the same fragmented verse of some random 80s ballad on repeat, and the place always had an almost fusty smell from years of beer and other spirits being spilt on the floor and bar. The bartender's were just as unrecognisable, and, looking over at your father, you wouldn't be surprised if he had some sort of history with the woman leaning over to ring the bell that sat happily above you.

You chuckled to yourself as a couple men in khaki's hauled your dad out and onto the sand, he probably deserved it. Just as you were about to join Ant, the bartender turned to you.

"Y/N, right?" She smiled at you. You blinked at her and nodded, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. "I'm Penny, Pete and I are old friends" She pushed another glass of malt whiskey towards you.

"It's on the house" She continued. "He never stops talking about you" Her eyebrows furrowed, as if waiting for your reaction, but all you did was lift the glass to your lips and raise an eyebrow back.

"Surprising" You reply, putting the glass down. "I never talk about him"

"He said you'd say something like that" You both chuckled. Penny had a comforting aura about her, something motherly and warm. You wondered what someone like her saw in someone like your father. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're dad is a good guy deep down. Took me a while to believe it too. Just- I know you're gonna be working together for the next few weeks, so try not to let the fact that he's sometimes a dick get in the way of whatever it is that you need to do. From what I've heard, you're a fantastic pilot, Mav has some competition"

You smile at her, grateful for her words of wisdom, but just as you open your mouth to reply, the door to the bar swings open and the sounds of cheers from the aviators behind you fill the room.

Suddenly, Ant is behind you, resting his hands either side of you on the bar so you're back is flush with his chest, creating a human shield of some sorts.

"OK, don't look" He says, staring dead ahead. "But Bradley just walked in" Your eyes went wide as Penny pursed her lips and walked off to the other patrons, leaving you pushed up against the bar nursing a drink. "He has a-" Ant cuts himself off, furrowing his eyebrows. "He has a pornstache?"

"What?" You reply, ducking under his arm to escape his embrace before he could stop you.

Immediately, your eyes were attached to the tallest man in the bar, you wouldn't have missed him even if you were blindfolded. He was more muscular than the last time you saw him, and his hair was slightly golden, like it always was when he spent too much time in the sun, telling you he had been here for a while. Those stupid aviator glasses were still plastered to his face, like they had been for the last decade, and he was still sporting Hawaiian shirts like they were going out of fashion. His clothes hugged him deliciously, and you're suddenly reminded of all the reasons you fell in love with him in the first place.

Ant was right, he had grown a pornstache, and you hated to admit it, but you don't think you had ever seen him look so good. It had been five years since you saw him last, five years since your relationship had ended. Your father had introduced you two at some Navy event just after you had graduated from Top Gun. You knew who he was, of course, you had seen photos of him hung around your dad's apartment, you were fairly sure Pete had more pictures of him than he did you.

He smiled at you, with that stupid fucking smile, and immediately you were a goner. He introduced himself, offering you a glass of champagne and a seat at the table next to him, and for four months after that you were inseparable. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, and he looked at you like he had the whole world in the palm of his hand. He was the first, and only man, you had loved fully, with every little bit of your heart and soul, so much so that he was the first face to appear in your head when you woke up, and the last face you pictured before you fell asleep.

You hadn't seen him since he broke your heart half a decade ago, leaving you a shell of yourself for no apparent reason other than the fact that he 'couldn't make it work.' To this day, you don't know what 'it' is, what 'it' he was referring to, you can only imagine he was talking about long distance, your jobs constantly forcing you to be apart, but the years of maturing and growth made you see the bigger picture. He just didn't want you anymore. He had had his fun, he had dicked about with Pete Mitchell's daughter, became a naval celebrity, and then fucked off when the novelty of you had worn off.

"Earth to Y/N!" Ant bellowed, waving his hand in your face. You were snapped out of your trance. "I said do you wanna leave?"

You shook your head, nervously fiddling with the dog tags around your neck. "No, it's ok. Just- we'll avoid him" Ant nodded, passing you the drink you had abandoned haphazardly on the bar. You drank the rest of its contents, watching Bradley like a hawk.

Ant scoffed next to you, he knew what you meant by 'avoiding' him, you would sit at the bar, keeping your distance but your eyes locked on him until he noticed you. And when he would notice you, you would crap yourself and leave and then cry yourself to sleep as Ant would nurse you when you dry heaved from sobbing. He had been here one too many times before, Bradley's name has to merely come up in conversation for you to spiral.

"Sonic, I'm serious" You say, turning your back to Bradley and leaning on the bar once again. "Me and you are gonna have fun, and then we're gonna go back to the apartment and order a pizza and then go to bed. I'm not letting some man get me down-"

You're cut off by the sound of the piano behind you, and you don't even need to turn around to know that it's Bradley's fingers expertly playing the keys, and you don't even need to turn around to know that your dad is probably pressed up against the window paying more attention to the guy at the piano than his daughter who's drinking her own sorrows at the bar.

Ant sighed. "If you say so."

[tears0fsatan]

Hey there. ^^ May I ask for some angst oneshots?

"Look at me, you're safe. And you're not alone, and I'll never let you be alone again, you understand?"- Beelzebub

"I made you cry, and I hate myself for that. I swore I wouldn't be one of the people who left you hurting." - Lucifer

"I can't take the very though of you getting hurt. " - Satan

"Please, tell me why you're upset. Tell me who did this?" - Asmodeus

Ty if you do. ^^

-🥀

✦ ⊹ ˚˖ warnings... gn!reader (no pronouns used), relationship between the charas aren't specified, angst / comfort, mention of violence (asmo), small mention of blood (asmo), slightly suggestive (asmo), possessive language (asmo), reader has a panic attack (beel)

in loving memory of 🥀 anon.

LUCIFER !

it was an accident, truly. his patient mask had slipped and cracked, along with it came a flurry of insults he hurled at the nearest living soul in the heat of the moment.

he was harshly pulled out of his aggravated stupor upon seeing who his unfortunate victim was. now, lucifer was emotionally constipated by all means, however he was not a fool nor was he heartless. he realised what he said was hurtful, the kind of harshness one couldn't take back.

you spared him a final glance before turning on your heels and sauntering out the room, leaving the demon to wallow in his regret.

the lucifer prior to your arrival in devildom would've laughed at the emotional vulnerability, thinking that showing such dramatics would get you nowhere. he believed that he was a being above emotional outbursts.

fortunately, he knew better now. he was aware that his mindset was skewed and he worked hard to change for the better.

for once, the demon felt... lost and scatterbrained. he wanted to chase after you and apologise, confound what the others would think about his desperation. he would happily bring down the moon and the stars if you simply asked him to, even if it meant putting aside his pride.

yet, he wasn't sure if you wanted him to do that. he knew it was right to give you time and space, but was that something you wanted?

lords, this was bringing back his anxiety from his younger days.

he knew that he needed to apologise, one way or another. the only problem was, he didn't know how. should he go grand? bring you a bouquet of your favourite flowers and order all your favourite desserts from déjà vu or was that too much? should he prepare what he would say or would that seem insincere?

"fuck, what an utter fool." lucifer growled out to himself, two fingers rubbing circles on his forehead. "thousands of years alive and yet this is what causes you grievance?"

he figured that his best option was to apologise now, the sooner he did, the quicker he could work on fixing what he screwed up. so, he did his best to think of what he could say that wouldn't come off as tone deaf on his way to your room.

however, when faced with your swollen, red rimmed eyes and the tear tracks that trailed down your cheeks, all the words he had prepared disappeared from his mind. his mouth remained tightly shut as he took in your dishevelled appearance, regret piling up in his mind.

"i made you cry, and i hate myself for that. i swore i wouldn't be one of the people who left you hurt, and i apologise for not up holding my word." the words flowed out of him before his mind registered what was happening.

in the midst of his apology, he had wound up squeezing his eyes shut, his embarrassment and remorse getting the better of him. he heard you take in a deep breath, probably processing the uncharacteristic apology that spilled past his lips.

the silence shared between the two of you was deafening, shit, maybe this was too abrupt? maybe he should've given you more time...

before he could spiral further into his thoughts, your quiet voice reached his ears, "thank you, um, maybe we could, uh, talk it out in the morning?"

SATAN !

things between you and satan had been rocky recently. the two of you had an argument over something small and in the end, both of your tempers had blown it out of proportion. what started out as a silly, offhand comment turned into a hiccup in your relationship.

it had been days since the two of you last spoke to each other, it went to the extent that neither of you glanced at the other when paths crossed at school and at home.

obviously, it wasn't hard for the other brothers to pick up the weird tension between the two of you, mammon even going as far as to pull satan aside to ask him what the deal was with the tense atmosphere surrounding the two of you.

though, after learning about what caused the rift in your relationship, the brothers decided to stay out of it, which admittedly did disappoint satan, just a tiny bit. they told him that this was his problem to deal with, and while he did agree, he was hoping mammon or leviathan could've talked to you.

days slowly turned into a week and there was still no sign of an apology from either one of you. little by little, old habits were making their way back into satan's life.

he found himself spending most of his time holed up in his room, novel in hand and surrounded by the comfort of his books. despite how nonchalant he looked, in reality, he hadn't been reading the novel at all, mind lost in ways he could make up things with you.

a loud crash echoed throughout the near empty house, causing the unfocused demon to look up in shock. he knew that all of his brothers weren't home and that you were the only other living soul in the house at the time.

that made him spring up to his feet immediately, discarding his book somewhere beside him and rushing out the door to find you.

he was quick to find you, on the floor of the kitchen surrounded by numerous pots and pans. thankfully, it didn't seem as though you sustained a serious injury.

regardless, he rushed towards you with a new found urgency. "are you okay?" satan hurriedly asked, quickly looking over your appearance to see if you had injured yourself.

an uneasy silence took over, neither of you wanting to relent and start the conversation.

"i can't take the very thought of you getting hurt." satan muttered quietly, deciding to take the initiative and break the stillness that had washed over the two of you.

you finally made eye contact with the demon and the hesitance in your action made his eyebrows twitch in sadness? guilt? regret? maybe it would've been more accurate to say it was a cocktail of all those emotions combined.

"well, i'm not hurt so... you don't have to look at me like that." your voice held no malice, instead it was filled with awkwardness, much like your voice back when you first came to devildom. it felt like a punch to the gut, honestly.

nevertheless, satan felt relieved, in a way. at least the hard part was over and now all that was needed was a good long chat.

ASMODEUS !

a wolf whistle echoed from behind you when you twirled around in front of asmodeus' mirror, checking yourself out in the outfit he picked out for you. from where asmodeus sat on his bed behind you, he was openly eyeing you like you were his prey.

he skipped his way towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a trail of kisses down your jaw and neck. "you look so pretty, hon! i could eat you up right here, right now!"

your giggle drew him out from where he had buried his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. "asmo, we're gonna be late." you sweetly reminded him, which resulted in a whine from the demon.

however, with a few grumbles under his breath, asmodeus relented. he wanted more than anything to have your sole attention on him and play with him all night long, but he couldn't lie to himself, an entire crowd of peoples attention on him was just a tad bit more tempting.

"you have to promise to play with me allllll night long tomorrow, okay?" the demon drawled out, holding both of your hands in his and looking at you with the biggest, wettest puppy eyes he could muster.

your loud laugh and bashful expression did make him hesitate, but luckily, you were already tugging him out the door.

hours later, asmodeus found himself in a buzz, surrounded by succubi and incubi alike, pressing themselves against him. he relished in the attention they were giving him, all of their lust and desire only fuelling on his drunken haze.

he had lost sight of you not long after arriving at the location of the party, got swept away by his adoring fans. he figured you were fine, you could handle a party, right?

that was until a commotion brought him back to his senses. he attempted to ignore it at first, it was probably another dumb brutish brawl between the succubi and incubi, nothing to be worried about. it was only when he heard something oddly similar to the sound of your crying did he take an interest in what transpired.

he rushed past the crowd of demons, no longer in a state of intoxication.

"asmo.. i'm sorry." the demon watched the tears fall down your face, his heart cracking at sight of you so distressed and drenched in demonous.

asmodeus shook his head with a new found urgency and closed the distance between the two of you. his vanity cried out at the feeling of the sticky alcohol against his clothes and skin, ruining his usual perfect image.

"honey please, tell me why you're upset. tell me, who did this?" yet, his sin, his bloodlust, flared at the gall of whichever lowly being did this to his precious human.

he tried his best at holding back his rage, his demon form ready to make its appearance. he would murder them, tear them apart limb from limb. he wanted to see them bleed, he wanted to see them beg for mercy. he would make sure they paid for what they had done to you, to what was his.

"the outfit- it's ruined... i'm sorry." your voice shook despite asmo's attempts to calm you down. it broke his heart to hear you so hung up over the fact that the outfit he handpicked for you was ruined, rather than the state you were in.

"darling, that's not what i'm worried about..." asmodeus looked at the demons surrounding him and you, making sure to look each of them in the eye. "let's get you all cleaned up, hm? there's a new face mask that i got and wanted to try with you!"

BEELZEBUB !

a human food bazaar was opening in devildom's plaza and no one was more determined to run the stalls dry of their stock than beelzebub. he had heard from a few reliable sources (definitely not barbatos and solomon) that there would be a variety of traditional foods from countries all across the human realm and who would be better at tasting all assortment of foods than the avatar of gluttony himself?

of course, he wouldn't go alone, he would need a companion to accompany him on this journey and there was only one candidate in mind, you. you weren't one to deny him either, not when his eyes were practically sparkling and drool had begun to pool in the corners of his mouth.

with that, the two of you had set off for your trip into the plaza. the crowd had been larger than beelzebub expected, so even though he wanted nothing more than to go on a rampage and absolutely annihilate the stall's stock, he came here to enjoy a day off with you.

he tightly gripped your hand, worried you would get lost within the sea of demons. he felt you squeeze his hand and when he turned back to look at you, you were already looking at him with a smile gracing your face.

"beel, honey, there's no rush. there'll be enough for you when we make our rounds." the demon felt himself calm down at the gentle reminder, the unnoticed tension in his shoulder slowly easing. he offered you a smile of his own before pulling you towards a stall that caught his eye.

this continued on for over an hour and you were at your limit. you had told beelzebub that you would find a place to sit and rest nearby, despite the puppy eyes he flashed you. he had waited to see where you sat down before running off the more stalls, this time with the thought to bring snacks the two of you could eat together.

when he returned with the snacks in hand, you were nowhere to be found. a panic immediately set in and a million thoughts raced through his head, where did you go? did you go willingly? were you okay? had someone hurt you?

he didn't know what to do, where to go from here. in his frenzied state, he put all his focus into his hearing, in hopes he could identify the sound of your voice amongst the sea of demons.

after a few minutes of adjusting to all the noise, he zeroed in on the sound of your sniffle not too far where he was located. he relied on the sound of your laboured breathing to track down where you had curled into yourself behind a wall, away from the main crowd.

the demon didn't waste time and rushed towards you. the way your breathing seemed frantic and your heartbeat was worryingly fast had him checking all over you, to make sure you weren't hurt physically.

"look at me, you're safe. you're not alone, and i'll never let you be alone again, okay?" beelzebub tried his best to say what he thought would help calm you down, his own anxiety beginning to build up. his first thought was to get his brothers, maybe lucifer or satan would know how to help, but the second you felt him pull away, your hands tightly clung onto his sleeve.

with your eyes screwed shut, you shook your head rapidly, "no, don't- don't leave, please."

no amount of hunger could prepare beelzebub for the pain of hearing you beg for him to stay. he could only watch and rub circles on your back as you tightly screwed your eyes shut in an attempt to control your breathing.

he held you in his arms until you calmed down, the only remains of your panic attack being your cheeks sticky with tears. you chuckled and wiped your eyes before glancing at the long forgotten snacks on the ground, "i'm sorry for ruining today, i got overwhelmed from the amount of people here."

beelzebub shook his head vigorously, "you didn't ruin anything. i had fun spending the day with you, even if we didn't eat everything."

© 2023 TEARS0FSATAN. please don’t translate, modify, repost or plagiarise my works anywhere.

[1986harrington]

If You Loved Me (Why'd You Leave Me?): Part 2 Steve Harrington x fem!reader Summary: Part two to this fic Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: Smut (18+)

The storm broke sometime around 2am as you lay beneath Steve, his body pressing you down into the plush of the mattress, your thighs hooked high around his waist. The rain had settled to a faint tap against the glass as his mouth and hands roamed your body in a desperate attempt to be everywhere at once. All you could feel was him - the warm weight of his body pressed to yours, the faint scratch of his 5 o’clock shadow against your jaw and neck, the rough denim of his jeans against the inside of your thighs and the strong, smooth expanse of his back as your nails raked up and down it.

“Fuck, I missed this. Missed you, baby. So much.” He panted against your collarbone, open mouthed kisses pressed to the curve of your tits as one hand slid up the back of your thigh to hitch it higher against him. The new angle made you keen, soft and high, with your head thrown against the pillow.

“Me too, baby, me too. Needed this- need you.” You confess breathily, hands tugging harder in his hair to bring his mouth back up to yours. You moan a little too obscenely when he complies, tongue licking into you as his hips buck against yours. 

“Jesus, okay, fuck. We need to slow down.” Steve groans, pulling his lips from yours and you chase them, rolling onto your side as he lands on his back beside you.

“Nonono, Steve, please, I-” You whine, so despearely that you would be embarrassed if your whole body didn’t feel like it was wound so tightly you could die without some kind of release. 

A release that nothing and no one else - including yourself, you’d come to learn - could give you. Only Steve.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere, it’s just-” His hand palm came to rest against your flushed cheek, thumb stroking against your cheekbone as he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the frown furrowed in your forehead. 

“It’s just... been a while, y’know? And I’ve literally dreamed about this exact moment. Jus’ don’t want it to end the same way the dreams do.”

Maybe if your head hadn’t been so cloudy from sheer lust and the desire to have him inside of you and on top of you and all around you, you’d have understood what he meant. Instead, the confusion in your brow just deepened.

“With me coming in my pants like a fucking teenager, sweetheart.” He clarified with a rough laugh, grinning as the worry left your features and was replaced with amusement.

“Jesus, you’re such a guy sometimes, Harrington. You know that?”

“Hey, what have I told you about that whole ‘Harrington’ thing? When you’re in my bed and I’m about to give you the night of your life, it’s baby.”

“Right, my bad. Sorry, baby.” You apologised insincerely with an affectionate roll of your eyes, feeling his bright smile burn through you. Then you were pushing at his chest until his back was flat against the mattress, your knees either side of his hips. 

“How about I make it up to you, hm?”

Your bottom lip was between your teeth now,  lashes fluttering in faux innocence as you rolled your hips down into his.

“Fuck. Yeah, please.” He was begging from beneath you, warm hands palming at you beneath the damp material of the dress that still clung to you. Your hands went to the hem of his t-shirt, pushing at it impatiently and Steve only took his hands off of you long enough to lift his arms and sit up slightly to let you get it all the way off him.

Your hands were pressing down against his bare chest now, your eyes hazy and your breathing quicker than it had been before.

“Your turn,” Steve spoke up, toying with the hem of your dress that he had rucked up around your hips. You tugged the fabric from his grasp, pulling it up and over your head before tossing it on the floor somewhere beside his shirt, until you were straddling him in nothing but a matching set of soft, lilac lace. 

Steve’s jaw went a little slack, his hands sliding up the length of your thighs, over the curve of your hips and waist until he could appreciatively palm at your tits over the lace. He cursed, taking one hand and pushing it into the hair at the back of your head and pulling you down for a kiss.

“Be honest,” He began, panting the words into your mouth in between kisses. “Did you know you were gonna call me tonight?”  

“No. I- I mean, maybe. Fuck, why?” 

“‘Cause I know you, and I know your underwear. It only matches when you plan it to.”

His fingertips were pressing harder into the softness at your hips now, holding them down as he pushed up against you through your now thoroughly soaked underwear and his jeans, the idea of you planning and hoping for this driving him crazy.

“You really are full of yourself sometimes, you know that?” You try to scold with your lips still mouthing messily against his.

“That doesn’t sound like a no to me." His mouth was hot against your ear now, a scattering of goosebumps dancing across your bare skin and a tingle along your spine. "Just tell me, baby. Just tell me you wore this for me and I promise I’ll rip it straight off you.”

“Fucking hell. Yes, okay? Yeah, yes.” You admitted, hands diving for his belt as you fumbled it open. “I wore it for you because all I could I think about was you looking at me like that. Please, Steve.”

You were still whimpering as you undid his jeans and pulled them down along with his boxers. Once Steve had kicked them off the end of the bed, he was flipping you onto your back, his mouth back against your ear.

“You drive me crazy, you know that? We shouldn’t be doing this but shit, I can’t even think straight when I want you this bad.”

“I want it too, baby. I need it, p- please, give it to me.”

“Jesus Christ, fuck, yeah, Whatever you want, anything.”

His mouth was hot against your flushed skin as he kissed across your cheek, whispering against your ear how badly he needed to be inside you when he came, how much he missed your voice and your laugh and your body, and then he was biting and sucking below your ear and your whole body felt like it was a live wire.

By the time his mouth reached the soft dip above the lace of your underwear, your body was buzzing with anticipation and you just needed him to hurry up.

“Oh my god, Steve, c’mon, I can’t take anymore teasing.” You begged, both of your hands pushing into your hair and knotting themselves there as you peered down at him. He smiled, pressing a kiss just below your naval before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and tugging them down your thighs. You arched your back for him, allowing him to snake his hands behind you and unclip your bra, tits spilling free as he tossed that off to the side too.

“You’re so beautiful,” He hummed, settling back between your legs before pressing his lips softly to the inside of your thighs. His own hips rutted down against the bed, desperate for friction as you mewled and panted beneath him, one hand tugging and directing him by his hair and the other playing with your tits.

When you felt his fingers finally slip in between the wet mess of your folds, your back arched high off the bed, thighs attempting to clamp together, but Steve’s other hand held them apart, pushing one higher and wider to give him a better angle.

He worked you on his fingers first before adding his tongue, and you came hard after what felt like no time at all, strangled, breathless chants of praise and his name that went straight to his painfully hard cock. He swore against you, tongue lapping and sucking at you until your eyes were wet and your pushed him away, trembling from the overstimulation.

“I, that was... you were... ohmygod, I-” You rambled breathlessly as your eyes fluttered open to look at him. His were blown and glassy, his mouth and chin shimmering with your wetness, even in the dark.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you come. Could watch and listen to you do it all night.”

You whimpered, pushing up until your lips met his and groaning as you licked into his mouth and tasted yourself there. You felt him grin against you at that, and when your hand slipped down between you both to squeeze gently at his aching cock, he cursed and brought his fingers that had just coaxed your orgasm from you up your lips, pushing gently until you opened, tongue sliding over them until you released them with a pop. 

“Fucking hell, sweetheart. Shit, that's hot.” He choked out, eyes dropping to watch where your hand wrapped around him, already slick from where he’d been grinding down against you. He squeezed his eyes shut as you worked him over just how he liked - long, slow strokes with just enough pressure that he felt hot all over, but not quite enough that he could come. Your thumb brushed over the tip, spreading the precum there and when you started twisting your wrist up and down just over the tip, he basically collapsed against you as he grabbed at your arm.

“Fuck, baby, that’s - fucking amazing. So- so good, but I wanna-”

“Inside me, yeah? Please, baby, ple- fuck!”

He slid into you with no resistance at all except the usual, perfect tightness of you around him and his head dropped to crook of your neck. He nipped at you there, murmured dirty words and praise against your hot neck and heaving chest, hands squeezing at your tits and pulling at your hips to meet his thrusts. You were a panting, babbling mess beneath him and when you finally clenched down around him, nails clawing at his back and shoulders as your thighs trembled around him, his name tumbling from your lips in a choked scream, he came hard inside you, bruising your body where he held you.

Everything went white and static buzzed in your ears, your chest feeling tight as you tried to catch your breath. It was only when Steve shifted, pulling out of you and rolling to side that you floated back down into your body. 

His head rested on the pillow next to yours, body still turned slightly towards yours with one hand pushed into his hair, the other arm slung across his chest as he steadied his breathing. When you turned onto your side, wincing slightly as you settled into space beside him, he tilted his head down and pressed a kiss to your slightly sweaty temple with a lazy smile.

“Hi,” You whispered, big eyes staring up at him.

“Hey,” He whispered back.

“What do we do now?” Your question was quiet and hesitant, as though you were worried it had the power to break whatever spell you had both fallen under and shatter the moment entirely.

“That depends.” Steve replied, just as hesitant.

“On what?”

“On what you want.”

“I want you.”

“Good, ‘cause I kinda want you too.”

“Just kinda, huh?”

“Yeah, just a lit’l bit.”

Your smile faltered as he pushed his lips to you again, this time to your temple as he brushed your hair back with his knuckles to see you better.

“I also want the truth, Steve.”

His heart sunk a little, but he persevered.

“The truth is, it’s always been you. No one else.”

“Steve-”

“And I’m not lying when I say I love you. That’s the truth, too.”

“But-”

“Do you trust me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one. It’s hard, sure. But it’s also simple, a straight yes or no. Do you trust me, baby?”

“More than anyone, you know I do. But trust is a two way street, Steve. You can’t expect it when you don’t give it back.”

His movements stilled, hand still against your warm, flushed face and nose just inches from yours. His eyes searched yours, conflict obvious in his, as if the words were sitting on the tip of his tongue but he wasn’t sure if he should speak them or not. He groaned, falling softly onto his back as he dragged both hands down his face. You pushed up onto one elbow, gazing down at him as you pushed your hand into his, fingers intertwining with his and squeezing.

“Whatever it is, for us to work, I need to know.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

With a heavy breath, Steve leaned up, lips ghosting against yours.

“If that's what it takes to keep you here with me, I’ll tell you everything.” He breathed, a soft press of mouth against yours before he began.

[ilikekidsshows]

I was talking with a friend, and they mentioned this argument and I just wanted to ask you about it.

"The thing about Hack-san is that Cat Noir conceded that Ladybug was right about everything, so even if she is making mistakes, she has no way of knowing and thinks that whatever she's doing isn't a problem and isn't bothering him. If he had communicated his feelings clearly, she might have listened, especially since she was actually asking him and apologizing this time." I mentioned your point about how Ladynoir has had communication issues before this but they said that she actually did try this time but he rebuffed her so it's really on him. What do you think?

---

Marinette making an effort a whole whopping of one time doesn't make up for several months’ worth of neglecting to take Cat Noir into account. How is Cat Noir supposed to know that in this one instance Marinette is willing to listen? Is she even willing to listen or is she making her usual empty promises and insincere apologies to get out of an uncomfortable situation? Because Marinette does that constantly with Cat Noir. Cat Noir justifiably doesn't trust Ladybug and it's not on him to magically know when Ladybug is ready to treat him fairly. If Ladybug can't be expected to know something is wrong with Cat Noir when he makes it obvious, Cat Noir can't be expected to know she means her bog standard apologies this one time when every other time it's just been for show before she keeps doing the thing she apologised for.

It's all about that inconsistency thing. Marinette can't even be consistent over how much she's willing to support Cat Noir so the emotionally abused Cat Noir will assume the option that will shield him the most: he will assume she will not want to support him at all so that he won't have to deal with the rejection. Once again Marinette benefits from her partner coming to her preabused, since it means his expectations are zero and she needs to put in zero effort.

Like, consider the Ladynoir situation from a real world perspective. You're having a chat with your shift manager, who you have seen storm off in a huff and ignore you every time you’ve criticized her. Now she tells you that you can tell her anything and she will give it her full consideration. Would you trust her words? I sure as hell wouldn't.

Here's my final words for your friend's "argument": Cat Noir doesn't trust Ladybug because Ladybug is untrustworthy towards him and it's Ladybug's responsiblity to carry the consequences of that because she caused the situation. She can't just say she'll do better because she has always gone back on those promises; she needs to prove it before Cat Noir can be expected to believe her. Cat Noir is the wronged party here, and it's not his job to fix their relationship that Ladybug alone broke.

[robsterskellington]

I wrote a bit more. Continued from this:

(Basically, what would happen if Wei Wuxian woke up in the Burial Mounds after being thrown down by Wen Chao, but all of his memories from before then were intact- meaning from long after he and Lan Wangji got married)

It was strange, reclaiming the Lotus Pier with Lan Wangji at his side, but Wei Wuxian couldn't deny that he felt calmer for it. He didn't know what he was going to do about their feelings- Lan Wangji never had the guts to talk to him personally, and while he took Wei Wuxian's first kiss, it was only because he saw an opportunity while he was blindfolded. But the problem now was that if Wei Wuxian confessed now, it might be seen as insincere.

Hell, so much he could change would look strange; he'd try and be kinder towards Jin Zixuan, especially knowing now that he truly was his Shijie's one true love, he'd be more respectful of Jiang Cheng's duties and not shun him... but some things had already changed, and it made him unbelievably happy. Wen Ning had been so happy to see Wei Wuxian, and he couldn't resist hugging him- Wei Wuxian didn't want his Ghost General by his side, he wanted this man to live as good a life as possible.

Last time, the problem had been that not all of the Wens who survived the Sunshot Campaign were willing to discard their family name. This time was different- Wei Wuxian never hid the fact that he was protecting the Wens in Yiling and they heard him out, before ultimately agreeing that it was more beneficial to them to leave Qishan behind them, for their lives and futures weren't worth discarding. Thus, Wen Ning was now Jiang Ning, just as many others had changed their family name to match their new Clans.

Lan Wangji informed Wei Wuxian about A-yuan, and how he was now Lan Yuan, until they could come up with a good curtesy name. It took everything in Wei Wuxian to keep his mouth shut, for once.

They stepped into the main hall, and Wei Wuxian felt so much agony in his heart. Jiang Cheng looked at him and went to reach for him, but Wei Wuxian whispered, "Madam Yu was always right about me, wasn't she? Our Clan fell, she and Uncle Jiang died... and it was all my fault. I know that 'sorry' won't make up for all the lives lost, but I don't know what else to do or say to apologise or make amends."

"Mom said a lot of things, Wei Wuxian. And I never did enough to fight for you, so you don't need to apologise." Wei Wuxian gave him a funny look- Jiang Cheng *always* argued against Madam Yu when she punished Wei Wuxian, stating that it wasn't fair that he got beaten or scolded so frequently. He obviously couldn't take any punishment for Wei Wuxian, because he never did anything that warranted a punishment. Jiang Cheng sighed, "Just... you mentioned not being able to go down a normal path. Why not?"

"Way to change the subject," He chuckled weakly before indicating for Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji to sit with him. That was when he finally told the truth, himself: "I can't cultivate anymore. I don't have a Golden Core."

Both of them looked stunned as Wei Wuxian proved it, unsheathing Suibian and revealing that he couldn't use it with spiritual energy, it just wasn't possible. In a panic, Lan Wangji grabbed Wei Wuxian and tried to give him his own spiritual energy, only to see that there truly was no Golden Core to put it in. He started to tremble, and Wei Wuxian gently took his hand and held it. When Lan Wangji didn't pull away, Wei Wuxian gently squeezed it.

Jiang Cheng looked like he would throw up, but then blurted, "Baoshan Sanren! Can't we go to her, and tell her the truth?!"

"No. That was the biggest lie I've ever told you. Here's the truth: *I have no idea where Baoshan Sanren resides*. Even if I did, just because my mother was Cangse Sanren, there was no guarantees that she would help me." He looked down and took a shuddering breath, "The reason I was willing to trust Wen Qing before, was because she was a famous doctor who had a brilliant theory-"

"It's *Jiang* Qing, actually." The men looked up to see the aforementioned doctor, exhausted but grinning when she saw Wei Wuxian alive, wearing the purple robes of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan. "Though *do* keep flattering me, and after, you need food and some fucking sleep. You look dreadful."

"Wow, thanks a lot. Bitch." They both laughed, but Wei Wuxian knew he had to be completely serious. He looked at Jiang Cheng's horrified face and sighed, "Jiang Qing had theorised that someone could have their Golden Core removed and transferred into another person. When you lost yours, I knew what I had to do to secure your future."

Lan Wangji gasped softly and Jiang Cheng's eyes filled with tears, as Wei Wuxian moved his robes aside to reveal the scar and stitching on his abdomen. To prove the point further, he held out Suibian to Jiang Cheng, who unsheathed it and watched it radiate with a red aura. This was what Wei Wuxian had done, for him. And he still asked how he could possibly make up for everything? He'd already sacrificed his future, his powers, and he knew that people would fear him for using the dark arts. "...why..? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't risk you refusing." That was the final truth of the matter. Jiang Cheng knew that if Wei Wuxian had suggested it before, he absolutely wouldn't have accepted. How could something be so selfish yet selfless at the same time? He looked at the incision, and silently asked Wei Wuxian, who shook his head, "I don't want to talk about it. All I'll say is that I can't gain a Golden Core by traditional methods anymore. However..." he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a shining Golden Core.

Lan Wangji's eyes widened, "Wen Zhuliu's Golden Core. You stole it. Then..." they looked at Jiang Qing who took it and examined it, "Is it possible?"

"I'll have to test it to see. Like transferring organs or blood, some Golden Cores may not be compatible with certain people. It's unfortunately very complicated. It was lucky to have worked the first time, there was a less than fifty percent chance of it working." Jiang Qing missed how Jiang Cheng nearly passed out from that knowledge, knowing that one of his siblings nearly died so he could have the means to use spiritual energy.

Wei Wuxian kept hope in his heart. If this worked, the Golden Core would repell the resentful energy inside him, and he could go back to how it was before. If it failed, then he'd simply have to be more careful. He'd do whatever he could to benefit the cultivation world, just as he'd done before with his Spirit Lure Flags and knowledge of monsters. He just hoped that he didn't screw up as badly. Thinking about all the mistakes he'd made, even though not all were his fault, made him depressed beyond words.

Jiang Qing put the Golden Core to his chest, but it refused to go in- when they put Wei Wuxian's Golden Core into Jiang Cheng, it had immediately sank into his chest and settled, like it belonged there. Wen Zhuliu's Golden Core was just as stubborn as the man himself had been, and Jiang Qing shook her head solemnly, "I'm sorry, Wei Wuxian."

"Can't he take his back?" Wei Wuxian was about to tell Jiang Cheng to shut up, but he continued, "I'll find another way. This isn't fair on him, he's done more than enough for me and my family!"

"No. Golden Core's are incredibly strong, but even they feel strain. It probably wouldn't survive the strain of being torn out of a body again, especially when you would have to stay conscious the entire time it's removed." She put the Golden Core in a pouch and sighed, "Wei Wuxian stayed awake for nearly three days when we removed his."

"So... Wei Ying is stuck on this path?" Jiang Qing nodded to Lan Wangji, who didn't even know what to do or say. He'd hoped that if Wei Wuxian had come to Guzu with him, Lan Wangji could expell the resentful energy and guide him back to a normal path, then it could go back to how things should be. But there was nothing anyone in the world could do, now.

Wei Wuxian sighed then shrugged, "Fine, then." Lan Wangji flinched but Wei Wuxian crossed his arms, "If I'm stuck on this dark and narrow path, I'll find a way to stabilise it. I already know a lot of things I can use this power for, ways in which I can help people. So I will. Obviously I'll need help from time to time, and if there's any chance of me losing control of my temperament, then I definitely need you guys."

"As if you could get rid of us so easily, Wei Wuxian." Jiang Cheng finally smiled, albeit weakly. "This is your home. Will you still be going to Guzu on occasion once this is over?"

"If Lan Zhan wants me to." He turned to look at Lan Wangji and spoke softly, "I know I annoyed you in the past, and I understand if... if you hate me, but... please don't give up on me, Lan Zhan."

"...never." His voice had been so soft, that Wei Wuxian tilted his head, and Lan Wangji looked into his eyes, "I've never hated you. I will never give up on you. You're still *you*, even with this. I don't like that this path was chosen for you, because that's exactly what happened, isn't it?"

At last, everyone understood why Wei Wuxian was the only one to master Demonic Cultivation. A Golden Core rejects resentment, while someone who once cultivated would have a much stronger mind, body and soul; Wei Wuxian had the perfect form, but no Golden Core to protect him, making him the only one truly capable of harnessing this power. But he didn't choose it- he only accepted it when it was his only option, because dying should never have been in consideration.

Wei Wuxian smiled weakly and nodded, "Yeah. I even said before, after our first class together, that just being curious wasn't enough for me to want to throw away everything I'd worked for. I goofed off a lot, but I really did take everything I was taught seriously. I loved being able to use spiritual energy, to protect people, to use weapons at their full potential." He looked down, "Don't get me wrong, I find this path interesting, and power is always going to be addictive, but I didn't choose it."

Lan Wangji hated seeing Wei Wuxian upset, and spoke softly, "You're not alone. And we'll figure something out."

"That's enough of all that." They turned to see Jiang Yanli walk in, with a tray holding five bowls of soup, "I'm sorry for eavesdropping... I didn't know if I even had a right to say anything."

"It saves me from explaining things to you later, Shijie." Wei Wuxian had to stop himself from running into her arms, hugging her and crying. Instead, he took the soup she provided, and tilted his head at Lan Wangji's portion, "Is it a different colour?"

"I heard the Lan Clan aren't very good with spice, so I made sure not to add any. I didn't for yours either, Doctor Qing." Wei Wuxian grinned, loving how thoughtful she was.

Lan Wangji looked at the soup and sipped it, his face lighting up a little and he couldn't stop himself from smiling a little, "This is wonderful, thank you, Lady Jiang."

They all ate, none of them talking any more, just enjoying some comfort food in silence. Wei Wuxian felt like his very soul had healed, surrounded by the people who meant a lot to him. He'd asked about Jiang Ning, and Jiang Yanli assured him that she'd already given him some food, and that they could all take the time to rest.

This also gave time for Wei Wuxian to think about his next move. He'd already managed to do one thing differently: when Jin Zixuan had scolded Jiang Yanli during what had been dubbed 'the soup incident', instead of beating up the peacock, Wei Wuxian had pulled him aside and stated very bluntly that just because he felt nothing for Jiang Yanli, that didn't meant she felt nothing for him.

He'd been blunt and harsh with his words: "You only think you hate her because your marriage was *arranged*. If Madam Jin and Madam Yu hadn't decided before the two of you were even born that you'd get married, I'd bet my very soul that the two of you would have gotten along and maybe fallen in love on your own!" Jin Zixuan didn't know what to say, and he couldn't dispute his words. Wei Wuxian had remained calm and spoke softly, "Now you understand why Clan Leader Jiang and I were angry at you when we were kids. She adored you. Look, obviously I have no right to keep you away from her, but for now, both of you need some space. Besides, we have more pressing matters now, don't we?"

Jin Zixuan had indeed given Jiang Yanli some space, but it became obvious that it wasn't his choice- she wouldn't even glance his way anymore, and he realised just how badly he'd messed up. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng were furious with him, but both of them focused on making her smile again, rather than focusing their anger on the asshole who made her cry.

Wei Wuxian snapped out of it when Lan Wangji looked at him with concern, but he just smiled. The smile quickly faded when he remembered what his next move was the last time- the creation of the Yin Tiger Tally. Knowing what it could lead to, he didn't want to create it, however it truly was the one weapon able to help them fight with a chance in the war. At least this time, he could ask someone else's opinion, "Lan Zhan. You remember that sword I found, back in the Xuanwu of Slaughter's cave?"

"Mn. It was a strange sword, you were holding onto it when we killed the monster. What of it?" He was curious, but a little worried about where this was going.

"It was full of resentful energy from those who died, eaten alive by the tortoise, but it also had the Sin of Murder within it. It's likely that if melted and reforged, it would make a very powerful spiritual weapon. It has more power than even I ever will, and that boost of strength could be just what we need for winning this war." The issue was how risky it would be. After all, literally anyone could use the Yin Tiger Tally, Jin Guangyao proved that before he died in the future- his brain hated using past tense to refer to a future event, but obviously that was what his life had come to.

It would absolutely give him the strength to win, but he also had to remember that no matter how skilled he was, it was impossible to control that amount of corpses alone. Even during the fall of Nightless City, Wei Wuxian had put everything into summoning zombies to just attack the Wens, but couldn't stop the zombies from also attacking their own men. It was counterproductive, and just senseless killing. Perhaps he could try and simply lay siege to Nightless City on his own, but if he was overwhelmed, he'd die again. That was if the people who wanted revenge wouldn't just come and attack anyway, getting in the way.

"*No*." He blinked and looked up at Lan Wangji, his expression stoney and stern, "Even with your powers, there's no guarantee that it wouldn't harm *you*. If there's no other way, then I'll help you. But please, consider this a last resort only." His expression softened a little when he saw a look of powerlessness in Wei Wuxian's eyes, "You're strong, Wei Ying. But you're not invincible, and I don't want you getting hurt again. Losing you once, it-"

He cut himself off, but he'd already been heard. His ears went red, and Wei Wuxian hid his smile. Obviously the in character thing to do right now would be to tease him for his slip up, but unfortunately, this mind of his had memories of tender moments and a heart filled with love for this person. So, Wei Wuxian instead took Lan Wangji's hands and looked into his beautiful golden eyes, "Okay. I trust your words, because you've already proven that you're just looking out for me. You won't lose me again, and I'll push that idea into the back of my mind. If there's no other choice, I'll create the weapon. If we can win without it, then that's that."

Lan Wangji found himself unable to pull away, or call Wei Wuxian shameless again. He just squeezed the hands in his, and looked into Wei Wuxian's cloudy grey eyes before stating sternly, "You need to sleep. You're exhausted. We have time to rest, you need to take it." He wasn't quite sure what came over him, but he grabbed Wei Wuxian, scooping him into his arms and looking at Jiang Cheng, "Bedroom?"

Jiang Cheng just stuttered the direction of Wei Wuxian's bedroom and watched Lan Wangji run off with his older brother in a bridal carry, "...what the fuck just happened?"

Jiang Qing smirked and Jiang Yanli tilted her head, "That explains why A-xian never spoke of any interest in any woman. Though I wonder why he never told us he was interested in Second Master Lan? Did he think we wouldn't accept him?"

They didn't actually do anything, which both relieved and disappointed Wei Wuxian- relieved because he didn't want to rush their relationship and risk ruining anything, but disappointed because he *never* got to be this close to his husband at this point in their lives. The Wen Clan had actually taken good care of the Lotus Pier, so his old bedroom was still intact and similar to how it had been before, thankfully. Lan Wangji laid him in bed, and just sat on the chair beside him, "Sleep. I'll watch over you, and wake you if anything happens."

Wei Wuxian *was* beyond exhausted. But he desired to be closer to Lan Wangji, it was just really difficult. They were still kids, in a way. He yawned, but couldn't settle. Lan Wangji could see that it wasn't on purpose, it was like Wei Wuxian's consciousness was stubbornly keeping him up, when Wei Wuxian himself just wanted a good night's sleep. He took Wangji from his back and slowly started to play the song he'd written, the song Wei Wuxian used to communicate that he was still alive in the Burial Mounds.

He played wangxian, humming slightly to his own melody, and watched as Wei Wuxian slowly stopped fidgeting, and finally relaxed, even letting out little snores. Lan Wangji stopped playing, and watched over him slightly, gently moving Wei Wuxian's hair out of his face, before whispering, "I honestly thought you would tell me that you aren't mine to lose. I'm glad you didn't, because that would have been wrong. I want to protect you, Wei Ying. Let me. *Please*."

There was no response, Wei Wuxian was too busy dreaming, and Lan Wangji just sighed with relief. Things would be okay, he'd make sure of it.

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 11 + 12

The journey comes to an end. Out of trouble and on good terms at last, Rain and Dewdrop can finally begin to build a friendship. But other lingering feelings might derail that…

Y'all the words don't stop writing themselves, double update this week because I wrote enough for two chapters, but don't want to drag out a camping trip for more than 3 updates!

Rating: M Content: short description of a panic attack, nightmares, mild gore, mild violence, mention of vomiting, possible dubcon if you squint (in a dream) Words: 9161

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3! some entertaining lines from the plan in the end notes this week

Chapter 11

The memory of the warmth in Dew’s wiry, but deceptively strong, embrace stuck with Rain until they went to bed that night. Dew had squeezed him so tightly Rain was afraid he would crush him. He made no move to escape however, and instead clung to him as a drowning man would cling to the last piece of floating flotsam in a shipwreck.

Rain was still coming to terms with how the conversation had just unfolded: never in his wildest imagination had he thought Dew would apologise. He had needed to; his antagonistic behaviour of late had become beyond unreasonable, but Rain had assumed any apology would be insincere and forced out of him by a packmate, possibly at knifepoint.

The shock of Dew both taking accountability and begging for forgiveness had left Rain frozen in place, too many thoughts fighting to break the surface for any to succeed. In the end, his outward appearance had been that of a frozen lake on a calm day: glassy smooth from above, but churning below the surface with invisible turmoil. Dew's scorching embrace had been what he needed to thaw the icy shell around his heart, and he let himself melt against the shorter ghoul who stumbled to keep his balance.

Dew got himself ready for bed in a daze. The relief at having finally cleared the air with both Mountain and Rain was only outweighed at the elation of realising that, after almost two weeks of near-constant worry, his pack really were going to be alright. Drowning in Rain's arms, he was finally able to feel his tangible presence. Rain was here. He was safe. Dew felt like his mind was a runaway train that had been tearing downhill in the pursuit of safety for so long, that he hadn't stopped until now to look and see Rain really stood there in front of him. He squeezed him so tightly, his unglamoured gills popped open.

Dew shivered, although not unpleasantly, at the lingering coolness of Rain's arms ghosting over his skin. The tall water ghoul was stronger than he looked, especially given his current weakened state. Dew decided to file that type of thought far, far away in his mind for now.

That night they finally drifted off to sleep without straining to stay separated. Rain’s long tail, set free at night for comfort, thumped contentedly on the ground between them. If it happened to brush against Dew’s leg with every twitch, neither ghoul mentioned it.

~~~~~~~

Men were chasing him, beating him and kicking at him as he ran. They screamed abuse, calling him ‘murderer’, ‘monster’, ‘demon’. Rain tore forward until his legs burned and his lungs screamed at him to just give up and collapse. His pulse roared in his ears, racing to the beat of a frenetic marching band. Other voices that sounded like those of his packmates howled that he was worthless, a disgrace to them and to his kind. Above the cacophony rose a shriek of cruel laughter; his ghoulette sweetheart.

Rain whipped his head around, trying to make sense of the blur of too-bright colours surrounding his vision as he continued hurtling onwards. The abstract shapes rearranged themselves into the dead faces of those at the farm: the two boys who worked the land, the girl with the painfully familiar ebony hair. Her empty, sunken eye sockets stared at Rain accusingly.

As Rain was distracted by her once again, the ground took it opportunity to race to meet him. His knees hit first, the crushing pain only registering briefly before his jaw hit next, and he felt his front teeth shatter on the hard stone. Blood streaming from his mouth and nose, Rain struggled to lift his head amidst the hail of pain raining down upon him from clubs and boots alike. The faces of those he had killed morphed in front of him, transforming into those of his pack; the decomposing faces of the ghouls he loved.

“No!” he rasped out, but his voice caught in his throat.

The partially defleshed skulls laughed at his pathetic attempt to talk and began to speak, mocking him.

“You doomed us to this!” one with crumbling, decaying antlers rasped. Mountain.

“Stupid, cowardly ghoul.” Snarled another, the only feature identifying it as Swiss was the single gold tooth still glimmering deep within the gaping maw of its mouth.

“This is all your fault.” Aether.

The worst came from the monster resembling Dewdrop. It stalked towards Rain, where the men of the village had left him battered and broken on the floor, begging for the sweet release of unconsciousness. Looming over him, Rain smelled the stench of death and decay on its breath. Its skeletal arms reached out to encircle him, squeezing him. Rain shuddered at the macabre hug, as the limbs tightened around him even more like a boa constrictor with their prey.

“You killed us,” it whispered in Rain’s ear, “we were all so happy until you came along. Now look at us.”

Rain clenched his eyes shut, but the image of the dead humans and his zombified packmates was seared into his retinas. The animated corpse of Dewdrop leaned in closer, until Rain’s nose was all but inside the cavity in its skull where its own nose should have been. The edges of Rain’s vision began to turn dark, flickering with static.

“Useless little water freak.” It whispered, before pressing what was left of its lips against Rain’s. Sucking out the last of his consciousness, the world went black.

~~~~~~~

Rain woke with a start, his whole body spasming from the shock as he gasped, open-mouthed, for air. His heart felt as though it was trying to leap out his chest, only held in by the crushing weight of whatever was stopping his lungs from fully filling with air. Panic gripped every inch of his body, and Rain clawed at his chest as he hyperventilated, hunched over, but still couldn’t get the oxygen he needed.

Beside him Dew, always a light sleeper, awoke with a jolt. The smell of Rain’s hysterical fear assaulted his nostrils, and he could hear his harsh breathing. Dew recognised the tell-tale signs of panic immediately.

“Rain,” Dew bolted upright, “what’s wrong?”

Rain wheezed at him wordlessly, his eyes frantic. In his state, he half expected Dew to snap at him again for waking him, despite yesterday’s apology.

Dew instinctually reached out to grab Rain’s hand that was as cold as ice. With his other, Dew rubbed soothing, rhythmic passes on Rain’s back to encourage him to breath slower.

“C’mon Rain, breath with me,” he begged, “you’re okay now. Deep, slow breaths.”

Rain’s terrified scent was the same as the same as the one Dew had tracked to his jail cell that first afternoon, and the memory of it made him almost retch. He shuffled in closer to the whimpering water ghoul, pulling his larger frame in against his warm chest. Seeing Rain like this, he shivered at the thought of everything he had failed to protect the younger ghoul from over the past weeks; all his suffering he hadn’t been able to prevent.

“It was just a dream, you’re safe here. We’re all safe.” Dew whispered, gently rocking him side to side as Rain’s lurching breaths slowly subsided.

“I’m sorry.” Rain gasped out between lungfuls. Hiccupping sobs threatened to send him back into full body shudders.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Hummed Dew.

The pair sat together in near silence until Rain’s breathing was mostly stable and his tears had dried.

“Let’s get you warm,” Dew helped him back under the covers, still never letting go of his hand, and tucked Rain protectively into his chest, “try and get some more sleep.”

Dew held him close, as much for his own comfort as for Rain’s. He tried to stay awake, instincts screaming at him to protect the ghoul from harm as he drifted back to sleep in his arms, but his own exhaustion won out eventually.

When the pair woke again a few hours later they were totally entangled, a intimately braided pile of limbs and tails. In the cold exposure of the morning light they couldn’t hide their positions. Awkwardly untangling themselves, they silently packed their stuff to move on. Both snuck concerned glances at the other when they thought they wouldn’t be noticed: Dew out of concern for Rain’s wellbeing after his attack during the night, Rain out of fear that he had collapsed the fragile truce they had just built. The day continued as it had started, with both ghouls seeking to avoid each other from embarrassment.

As the ghouls were preparing to leave their camp, Mountain pulled Dew aside.

“Is Rain alright?”

Dew cast a gaze his way. The water ghoul was reinstalled atop the horse. His breathing was still slightly laboured, his lungs exhausted after their intense trial during the night. He looked rough.

“He had a nightmare.”

Mountain nodded sagely. Neither one of them needed to specify what it was about: anything from the catalogue of Rain’s recent traumas would be similarly horrific to relive. After a sober moment, Mountain changed the subject,

“We need water soon,” he spoke slightly louder, so the rest of the pack could hear the plan, “you know where you found the river again Dew, do you want to lead the way?”

If there had been any doubt in Dew’s mind about the sincerity of Mountain’s apology the day before, it crumbled in the wake of his actions; the earth ghoul effectively announcing his trust in Dewdrop to the whole pack. He proudly took his place at the front of the group, and they began their slow march further north behind him.

Mountain used this opportunity to have the final difficult conversation he had been putting off; this one with Rain. He had no idea if Rain attributed any of the recent strife to him, either through his implicit pressure to go to the farm that morning or his less than stellar actions since. Selfishly though, Mountain wanted another taste of the freeing feeling he got from clearing the air between him and Dew.

He sidled up beside the horse, where Rain was sitting staring straight ahead, a faraway look in his eyes.

“How’re you doing, Rainy?”

The water ghoul startled slightly, jolted from his thoughts.

“Alright,” he shrugged, “I'm glad you and Dew made up.”

“Me too,” hummed Mountain, before taking advantage of the perfect opening to segue into why he needed to talk to Rain in the first place. “I want to tell you I'm sorry, too.”

Rain, who had only been half focussing on the earth ghoul plodding along beside him now fully pivoted in the saddle to look at him.

“What for?” he seemed genuinely confused.

“I pressured you into going that morning, into using your powers even though you weren’t ready.”

“Oh Mount,” Rain sighed, “none of that is your fault! You didn’t pressure me into going to the farm that day, I wanted to go.”

Mountain opened his mouth to object, but Rain kept talking over him.

“I’m a grown ghoul, I can make my own decisions. I thought I was capable, and I should’ve stopped when I realised I wasn’t.”

“I should’ve at least stopped Dew being so mean to you!”

Rain snorted wearily: as if it was that simple.

“You tried, you couldn’t do any more than that. Dew’s got his own issues we still need to work through, but I should’ve been the  one to stand up to him sooner.”

Mountain stared at him in confusion. Only yesterday the pair had been silently feuding, yet today they seemed almost amicable. He had even thought he spotted them cuddling when he awoke that morning, but had written it off as the imaginations of his own barely-conscious mind. He wondered what had sparked this sudden, positive change.

“Things are gonna be okay Mount, I promise.” Rain looked at the earth ghoul in mild concern. He had gone very still, his face scrunched up in confusion. Rain knew he had a habit of beating himself up over things beyond his control, and it saddened him that he hadn’t been able to stop it sooner. At a loss for what to do, and unable to simply give Mountain a hug from his horseback position, he reached out and patted him gently on his head.

Exhausted, Mountain wrote the odd interaction off as the result of his tired insanity. Rain didn’t seem angry with him, and he felt better now the words that had scared him were out in the open. He dropped back in pace until he was walking in step with Swiss – that felt easier. Aether resumed his post from previous days next to Rain, while Dew happily ploughed on ahead. Mountain and Swiss quietly chatted as they walked, Swiss carrying the conversation but frequently interrupting himself to ask Mountain to name the various flora they passed.

The environment around them was beginning to change: leafy trees gave way to evergreens, the sandy soil beneath their feet was becoming harder and chalkier, and the sounds of the fauna were foreign. The air temperature was dropping too; no longer a balmy summer heat but more temperate and breezy. For the hiking ghouls this was a relief – they were no longer sweating with every step the took under the beating sun. Rain however was becoming uncomfortably cold. None of them had brought more than a few extra layers with them, and the airy linen shirt of Swiss’s he wore held little warmth.

“You’re cold.” Stated Aether, sensing Rain’s discomfort. Rain wanted to deny it, but the shiver that overtook his body when he went to shake his head belied his insistence that he was fine.

Pausing for a moment, Aether dug around in his pack before producing his neatly rolled up blanket. He tossed an end of it up and over Rain's shoulders, allowing him to arrange it around himself without even needing to dismount.

“Let me know if you need more, okay?” He said, softly.

Rain nodded, already snuggling down into the slightly scratchy but warm fabric that smelled comfortingly of his packmate. All bundled up, the water ghoul quickly regained some warmth. A short while later, he and Aether were back to their companionable silence, lost in their respective thoughts.

Rain's mind kept returning to his dream. Not just to the vivid physical and verbal attacks of a hundred nameless villagers, or the dead and decaying faces of his victims. Not even just to the reanimated corpses that resembled Mountain, Swiss and Aether. These were all things his subconscious had conjured to torture him with previously in his own personal horror show. Rain was no stranger to nightmares, both before recent events and since. Most of his attempts at sleep in jail had been disturbed by some kind of night terror, reminding him of what he had done, how he had uprooted and destroyed the lives of many in their sleepy village. In the end, Rain had stopped trying to sleep at all. He had been doing well on this journey so far, still having unpleasant dreams but free of ones of this intensity, until now.

The mutilated face of his childhood beloved affected him less than he thought it would, especially given how her resemblance to the farmer's daughter had sparked his catastrophic loss of control almost two weeks prior. She had come to him in a nightmare that morning too; could witnessing the death of her lookalike have finally robbed her of the power to hurt him further? Her presence in Rain's personal nighttime horror shows had been a constant for as long as he had been away from his home clan, the one constant in his life until he met the pack.

Perhaps she had simply been replaced in his mental playbill by someone else. As hard as he tried, Rain could not get the creature with Dew's face out of his mind. How it stared at him, single-minded in its focus as it stalked towards him. Despite its horrifying nature, skin almost melting off its face, Rain found himself recalling the press of its lips on his, remembering how they felt as it drained his soul.

Hot. They were so hot, Rain felt as though they would burn him if he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t though, not with the iron grip the monster had on him. Rain hadn’t even tried. The world of his nightmare had faded to black as he let the creature with fraying blond hair and a rotting face consume him, before waking in a panic.

Rain shook his head to dislodge the memory, horrified at himself. Was he really that desperate? So lonely the thought of any lips on his own could invade his dreams and even his waking thoughts? The abomination from his dream was neither ghoul or human in appearance, and bore only a passing memory of a resemblance to his packmate, so why was he still thinking about it? Especially given how terrified he had been when he woke afterwards.

In trying not to think about the horrors of his nightmare, Rain’s thoughts drifted to Dew himself. His arms had been so warm when they were wrapped around him, both the night before and again when he was comforting him in the middle of the night. Dew had held him so tightly, grounding him and making him feel truly safe, but the dream had twisted that into danger and fear. Rain’s mind wandered to what the real Dew’s lips might feel like. He imagined they would be warm, still scorching against his own, but not hot enough to burn.

Huffing out a sigh, Rain threw his gaze outwards to his surroundings in search of a distraction from his thoughts. Dew wouldn’t appreciate him having them; despite their recent truce and his freely given comfort last night, Rain still didn’t think the fire ghoul liked him much. His eyes settled on the short figure in front of him, walking along with a spring in his step Rain had never seen before. Dew’s enthusiastic acceptance of his task at leading them today made him feel strangely fuzzy inside: it was an adorable sight really, seeing the normally grouchy ghoul so fervent in his task.

Rain resigned himself to his fate. Daydreaming about Dewdrop was still better than dwelling on his nightmare, or letting any other memories of the time between arriving at the farm and being swept from the gallows resurface. Besides, Dew was technically his husband after all, so surely no one could blame him for any impure thoughts he may be having.

While Rain continued stewing in his own mind, the pack made good progress. Before long, Dew was directing them to stop for a break. They were almost back at the river, he promised, just a few more hours and they would have a constant supply of fresh water for the rest of the journey and not need to carry it around with them anymore.

Aether helped Rain scramble down from the saddle. He was feeling much warmer now, and not just from the blanket.

“I’m going to walk for a bit.” He answered several inquisitive glances as he repacked the blanket with a slight struggle.

Dew had been feeling great all morning. The liberating effect of a clear conscience had finally lightened the load he felt pressing down on him, and Mountain unambiguously demonstrating his trust in him by asking him to lead the way had left Dew feeling like he was walking on air. Watching Rain walking around, chatting happily with a tired and half-listening Aether, Dew would never have suspected the water ghoul had been in such a state he previous night. He didn’t know exactly what his nightmare had been about, but his own imagination could surely fill in the gaps if he wanted it to. Judging by his behaviour now though, Dew was hopeful that it was not continuing to affect him in his waking hours.

The path re-joined the river in the late afternoon, to everyone’s relief. It was wider here than when they saw it before, stretching vast and deep between the two shores. Dew turned around to proudly point it out to the others, only to see a grey blur shoot past him and cannonball into the water with an almighty splash.

“Rain!” spluttered Dew, giving chase, “your clothes!”

The water ghoul resurfaced, fully clothed and soaking wet.

“You’ll dry them.” He replied cheekily, smirking before dipping back under the water. Dew stared wordlessly at the ripples left behind until he suddenly had to dodge the bundle of sodden shirt and trousers thrown at his head by Rain, who had resurfaced again closer to shore.

He was still stood there, holding the wet bundle of clothes, when the others caught up with him.

“Where’s Rain?” Asked Aether. Dew gestured widely at the river. “Of course.” The quintessence ghoul sighed, before sinking down to the floor where he stood, glad of a break.

Dew stared at the soggy fabric a while longer before shaking it out to begin drying it off. As a fire ghoul he was a naturally warm-blooded creature, but the feeling of hot blood flowing beneath his cheeks was strange to him. He didn’t know why he was blushing: they’d both bathed in their underwear together countless times since Rain arrived, several times just this trip even. Here he was though, flustered by Rain effectively undressing for him.

It wasn’t that he thought Rain was unattractive – far from it – but he had always managed to suppress those thoughts before. Now they were on more even terms, they seemed to be coming back with a vengeance. Dew knew he had seriously misjudged Rain before, and he desperately wanted to make amends, but these new and distracting thoughts were really complicating things in his head.

Like earlier, when Rain had been reaching up to bundle Aether’s blanket into a saddlebag. His flowing sleeves had fallen to his elbows, revealing pale arms crisscrossed with an intricate lattice of blue veins, flexors tensing beneath his skin as he struggled. Dew had been struck with the thought that those arms had been tight around him the night before. It tugged deep in his stomach, making him feel almost queasy, and he was equal parts disappointed and relieved when Rain’s sleeves fell back to his wrists.

Strange fascination with his arms aside, Dew told himself that his physical appreciation for Rain was actually perfectly understandable: he was an undeniably handsome ghoul. He had long suspected it was only his youth and naivety that had stopped their older packmates from trying something on with Rain by now. The pang of jealousy that lanced through him at the thought of one of the others claiming Rain as their mate was trumped only by his envy of Rain himself. He was effortlessly attractive but didn’t seem to realise or even care, meanwhile Dew could only compare himself unfavourably to the statuesque water ghoul, feeling more at odds with his own body each time.

Ugh, what was he thinking? Dew huffed in frustration at himself, and started folding Rain’s newly warm and dry clothes. Rain deserved better than him, the miserable fire ghoul who almost let him die at the hands of mere humans. He deserved a water ghoul as beautiful as he was, one who could give him everything he wanted and more. Dew wasn’t even worthy of thinking such thoughts about him, especially given how they were only arguing a day ago. He let out a dry laugh to himself; they were married, supposedly, and Dew couldn’t help but wonder if subjecting Rain to that was his greatest crime of all.

Yet as he watched Rain finally be relaxed enough to properly enjoy himself in the water, splashing around like a puppy and waving at Dew begging for his attention, he realised: the water ghoul was supremely, unavoidably cute.

Dew avoided addressing his thoughts further by staring at the fire all evening. Once Rain, plus a few fish, had been extracted from the river, the pack had settled down for a quick dinner and an early night. Everyone was exhausted, and it was starting to show in the unusual quiet that descended upon the tired ghouls. The greatest excitement had come when Swiss proudly added the assortment of herbs he had gathered under Mountain’s direction throughout the day to the cooking pot.

It was a companionable silence that enveloped the camp that night, thought Aether. The strenuous journey was affecting him more than the others, but the time for rest would come later once they had a roof above their heads. Dew had assured him they were nearing the Abbey now, and their journey would be at an end in a few more days. For now, he was content to watch the blooming relationships of his packmates. He’d had his eye on Swiss and Mountain for a while now, watching the pair dance around each other like planets, destined to collide. Dewdrop and Rain were a new development however, and one he hadn’t been expecting. When Rain had first showed up, Aether had hoped that the two young ghouls would find companionship in each other. However, the immediate animosity between them had swiftly dashed his hopes. Now, watching the pair both pretend they weren’t sneaking glances at the other across the fire all evening, he wondered if there was a chance for them yet.

That night was cold. Their northward journey had also taken them gradually uphill, and alongside the decrease in temperature, the wind had also picked up. At least it wasn't raining, thought Dew as he stoked the fire that night, all five ghouls huddled around it to absorb all the warmth they could. Rain was suffering the worst: the wind whipped through his hair, lifting it up only for cold rivulets to tickle the back of his neck, making him shiver.

As they crawled under blankets that night, Rain was still cold. Unlike earlier in their journey when he would have suffered in silence, praying Dew's warmth would eventually seep over to him, Rain was much more comfortably in voicing his discomfort. Selfishly, a part of him was glad of an excuse to try to snuggle into Dew's warm arms again.

“Dew it's cold,” he griped, aware of how whiny he sounded, but not caring, “warm me up please?”

“Oh, stop being such a princess!” Dew huffed a laugh at Rain's behaviour before reaching out and pulling him close, against his better judgement. Under the cover of darkness, his own actions felt less scary, the implications smaller. The water ghoul wriggled happily as he got what he wanted and settled down to sleep, warm at last.

Dew tried not to think too hard about how easy it felt, holding Rain like this, or about the low purr rumbling from his chest as he fell asleep. This didn't have to mean anything; it probably didn't mean anything to Rain. He was just helping his packmate, Dew argued. He chose to ignore the overwhelming feeling of comfort he found in their position, and before he could torture himself by ruminating on the implications of that further, he was also asleep and quietly purring himself.

Chapter 12

The next morning when the pair inevitably woke even more entwined than the previous day, they both acted as though it was a perfectly normal situation. Feeling emboldened by Dew initiating the hug, Rain made no move to release him. He had slept through the night, mercifully unbothered by night terrors, and didn't want to do anything which might scare Dew off or make him reluctant to repeat this the next night.

Dew was normally the earliest riser among the pack, but that morning he blinked into consciousness to find long, cool fingers gently combing absentmindedly through his hair. The only other ghoul he had let play with his hair was Cirrus, and he melted into the familiar, relaxing sensation. He hadn't felt this cared for in a while so he closed his eyes again, content to stay in this quiet space halfway between waking and sleep for a bit longer. They could afford to; they were so close to the Abbey now that Dew could feel his skin prickling with nerves about introducing the two groups of ghouls he called family to each other. He twitched slightly as he tried to free his arm from where it was going numb, but Rain’s own tightening around him in response, accompanied by a tiny growl, made him quickly abandon that quest.

It was a slow start to the morning, once they eventually crawled out of the blankets and each other's arms, and back into reality. Mountain and Aether seemed particularly affected by the collective exhaustion. Now that they were settling into a routine and any lingering adrenaline had long dissipated, the swiftness of their journey was beginning to take its toll. All of them felt they were simply going through the motions, eating their dwindling rations and packing up their camp on autopilot.

Swiss, although also tired, seemed to be faring slightly better. Dew could tell however that his struggles laid elsewhere: he spent the morning trying to get Mountain's attention like a lost puppy, getting shot down every time. The old Dew would have branded him pathetic, he thought to himself. Now though, Dew could see the fear lurking around the edges of Swiss’ every move, the multi ghoul clearly scared by Mountain's robotic behaviour.

Rain noticed Dew watching them in concern as they walked. Any semblance of leadership seemed to have vanished, the two oldest ghouls single-mindedly barrelling towards their destination with little heed for the other ghouls, and horse, behind them. He bumped shoulders with Dew to get his attention,

“You're worried about them.” he stated, following Dew's eyeline to where Swiss was almost jogging to keep up with Mountain's long strides, chattering in his ear with little to no response.

“They're going to exhaust themselves,” Dew shook his head, worry clouding his eyes, “I should stop them, we're almost there but we won't make it if we keep going at this pace!”

He made to catch up with them, but Rain paused him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not your fault though, remember?”

“Not my fault, not yours either.” Dew smiled up at Rain. If the water ghoul recognised Dew was about to spiral, then it was likely he was too.

“C'mon then, let's go slow them down!” Rain grabbed Dew's hand, pulling him forwards.

Swiss watched as Rain and Dew appeared from behind, hand in hand, skilfully manoeuvring themselves to the front of the pack and declaring it was their turn to navigate. He couldn't help but be impressed at how efficiently the pair put the brakes on the pack; as soon as they were adequately blocking the path, they slowed their pace forcing the others to follow suit. Finally, Swiss could catch his breath. With their progress slowed he fell into step with Mountain, lending him his silent support, rather than chasing him from a few paces behind.

Jealousy gnawed in his stomach at how quickly their two youngest packmates had gone from being constantly at each other's throats, to each other's closest ally. He had always been on good terms with Mountain, yet no matter how much he longed for more, their relationship was developing at a glacial pace. These last few weeks of endless stress and change had somehow sparked some of the greatest developments between them in months, and Swiss hoped that once they were settled and safe that would continue.

From their position at the front of the pack, Rain and Dew settled into their own rhythm. Dew had eventually let go of Rain's hand under the guise of reaching into his pack for his waterskin, both having held on for so long that letting go would have been awkward. They walked and talked, sticking to safe topics like their surroundings and Dew's journey a week earlier, before lapsing into comfortable quiet. After a while though, it became clear that there were still things unsaid that neither could avoid forever.

“What did you mean you were angry at me for things that weren't my fault?” asked Rain, finally. Dew paused. He had been expecting the question, at some point, but not Rain’s directness.

“You want the abridged version, or…?”

Rain gestured widely at their surroundings,

“Do you have somewhere else to be?”

Dew chuckled, and began talking.

He started at the beginning; describing his parents’ tumultuous relationship, how his mother’s youthful rebellion had backfired with his birth. A kit born of spite, into a house filled with hatred; he had been doomed from the start. Dew explained that his father had stuck around for long enough to be disappointed, before abandoning him and thus initiating his mothers descent into resentful neglect.

“So that’s why you smelled like water!” Rain exclaimed. Dew was confused: he had no connection to the water portion of his elemental makeup. As far as he was concerned he was simply a fire ghoul; that was just how elemental inheritance worked. Ghouls with connections to multiple elements existed, take Swiss for example, but they were so unique they were effectively their own species.

“Only faintly,” Rain elaborated, watching the cogs slowly grind in Dew’s head, “you still smell like fire, but more like a driftwood bonfire. When you’re angry you smell like burnt seaweed.”

Huh, that was news to Dew. He supposed he had never really known many water ghouls before to point it out to him, and Mist would have been too discrete to unless asked.

“It’s why I brought you fish, that day when I was first here,” continued Rain. Dew winced at the memory of his own reaction – he had been appallingly rude over what had been a polite gift, “It’s a gesture of respect between water ghouls, and I thought you might be a multi ghoul like Swiss or something. He doesn’t smell much like water at all though.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Dew felt awful – Rain had been trying to be friendly with him since the beginning, and he had been nothing but cruel in his response.

Rain shrugged, and Dew figured that was the most acceptance he could expect to get. The silence between them grew slightly strained, until Dew worked out that Rain expected him to keep talking.

“I was angry at you, because I was jealous,” Dew realised just how true that really was as he spoke it, “you arrived, and you were the perfect water ghoul. I thought maybe if I’d been born like you my father might have stuck around, and the my mother wouldn’t have become so resentful to everyone.” Dew stared at his feet as he spoke, not wanting to meet Rain’s eyes. “I saw you as everything I’m not, and I hated you for it.”

Reaching out a hand for Dew’s, Rain seemed at a loss for words. That was understandable, thought Dew. What could he expect him to say? The water ghoul ran his thumb over the back of Dew’s knuckles as he chose his next words carefully.

“You can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control Dew,” he said finally, “but I guess I understand why you don’t like me now.”

“Didn’t like.” Dew corrected him immediately.

“Didn’t like.” Rain confirmed, smiling.

“I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you though, you didn’t ask to be thrown into my issues.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” nodded Rain, “but you know that already.”

An awkward quiet fell again. Rain was acting with a maturity in stark contrast to his frequent kit-like playfulness, and it made Dew feel young and ignorant. He knew better than to expect any sort of immediate forgiveness though; and Rain’s understanding was he best he could hope for right now.

“I’m not perfect either, though.” Rain added eventually. “I can catch fish, but other than that I’m a pretty useless water ghoul.”

Dew stared at him in shock.

“You have got to be joking.”

Rain was the most perfect example of a water ghoul he could have pictured – from his strong tail and delicate gills, to the grace with which he carried himself, Rain was Lucifer’s finest specimen from head to toe. Dew stopped himself dwelling on his physical appearance – there was a time and a place, and now was neither. Thinking instead about Rain’s newly developing magic, it was clear judging from the destruction he had unleashed by accident that he would be tremendously powerful given time to hone his skills.

“If I was a good water ghoul, my first love wouldn’t have left me for the first fire ghoul she came across.” Rain shrugged.

Dew wasn’t sure which part of that shocking revelation to deal with first. Luckily, Rain saved him the trouble.

“We were childhood sweethearts. Everyone thought we’d settle down and raise a brood of kits ourselves.” He sighed wistfully. “Until on the day I wanted to ask her to be my mate, she brought home the most awful, loud fire ghoul you could imagine.”

Dew wrinkled his nose at the idea – he’d met his fair share of uncouth, brash fire ghouls in his time. Rain’s delicate, sensitive mannerisms were as different from them as night from day.

“I was obviously such a bad prospect for her that even someone outside our species was preferable.” Bitterness tainted Rain’s words, and Dew so badly wanted to hurt these ghouls that caused the sweet water ghoul such enduring pain.

“I was scared of you at first too, I thought you would be like him.” Rain admitted. “It’s why I didn’t stand up for myself when I should’ve done, why I tried too hard to make you like me. I thought all fire ghouls were as intimidating as he was and I was frightened you’d be the same.”

“Sorry,” Dew apologised again, “I was probably as nasty as you were expecting.”

“I could tell you didn’t mean it after a while, not always.” Rain looked at him with an evil glint in his eyes. “You’re really not as scary as you think, Dewdrop.”

Dew gasped in mock-offence.

“Besides, you didn’t make the whole pack laugh at me with you like he did.”

Now that Dew could relate to. There was another lull in the conversation, both digesting the wealth of new information they had learned about the other. One last tiny thing stuck in Dew’s mind: Rain’s assertion that his only skill was catching fish.

“Some humans make their whole careers out of fishing, you know. It’s a very respectable livelihood.”

Rain snorted a laugh at the comment, shattering any tension that still lingered.

“Thanks, Dew.”

The pair continued walking and talking as the morning turned into afternoon, and afternoon became evening. Rain was keep to learn as much about Dew’s past as he could, prompting him to continue taking.

Dew explained how he stumbled across the Abbey, and the ghoulettes there had cared for him as one of their own. Dew was careful to gloss over some parts of his initial time at the Abbey, as well as his real reason for leaving. He’d tell Rain eventually, he was sure, but he had made himself more vulnerable in the last few hours than in his whole time ever knowing Rain, so that was a story for another day.

Dew was able to dodge the topic entirely, as the clearing he planned for them to camp at came into dim view in the fading light. He swiftly finished his recollection of joining the pack, skipping over most of his difficulties with survival in the woods, and jumping to Mountain and Aether taking him in. Dew didn’t need to tell Rain all of the embarrassing parts at once, and he was sure either one of the others would delight in telling the tale from their point of view as his heroic saviours.

Their rations were running dangerously low. They had tossed all they had into a pot, too tired to make anything more extravagant. Rain could have caught more fish, but by this point the thought turned their stomachs. Dew had promised that they should make it by tomorrow night, and everyone was hoping his prediction would remain true. The miserable soup simmered gently, as the ghouls watched sleepily, transfixed by the flames.

Dew rifled through his pack, looking for anything edible. Nothing presented itself, but as he groped around the very bottom his fingers brushed against something two items, cold and smooth. One was his birth amulet, that could stay put for now, but the other was the pebble he'd saved from Rain's bedroom. He pulled it out, and it sat heavy in his palm, firelight dancing across the pale surface and illuminating the tiny fossils within. He turned to Rain, presenting it to him like the precious object he supposed it was.

“I forgot, I saved this from the house before we left. It seemed important to you.”

Rain's eyes widened as they landed on the stone, before filling with tears. Dew panicked; he hadn't meant to make Rain cry.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think it would make you upset, I thought you would want to keep it–”

Before Dew could finish apologising, he found himself with a lapful of water ghoul. Rain sobbed wetly into his shoulder, arms thrown haphazardly around him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he choked out between gasps for breath, overcome with emotion and delight at what Dew had thought was a tiny gesture. Dew held him while he recovered his composure, although he made no move to leave the fire ghoul's warm lap.

“I never thought I'd see it again,” sniffed Rain, eventually, “I know it's just a rock, but...” he trailed off, but Dew knew what he meant; he understood sentimentality.

“Where is it from?”

Rain hiccupped another sob before answering,

“I found it in a deep cave, not far from the cliffs my family lived by. I was preparing my mating gifts at the time.” Rain paused, “Wait, how much do you know about water ghoul traditions?”

“Nothing really.” Admitted Dew. He had only ever grown up surrounded by fire ghouls and their very minimalistic traditions.

“We prepare gifts for our prospective mate, before we ask them,” explained Rain, “we catch fish, weave kelp blankets for a nest, and we collect trinkets. Traditionally a water ghoul or ghoulette with multiple prospective mates would choose the one who presented them with the best gifts. There's no real competition like that anymore, but we still give an offering to show our dedication to them.”

Dew nodded his understanding. He'd noticed Rain tended to collect pretty objects he came across; it must be a water ghoul trait.

“I found that rock the very day I planned to ask my sweetheart to officially be my mate, and knew I had to give it to her.” Rain sighed sadly. “Of course, that was before she brought that fire brute right to the spot where I planned on asking her. I found the rock still in my pocket that night and couldn't bear to throw it away.”

“I don't know why I've kept it so long. My life back then wasn't great, and it reminds me of what was the worst day of my life until–” he winced; the new holder of the title ‘worst day of Rain's life’ was clear.

Dew felt he understood the attachment – he had kept hold of the engraved metal pendant he was gifted at his birth for all these years, even though he was long-departed from the unhappy life it represented. Sometimes a reminder of the worst parts of life put every small hardship or minute achievement into better perspective.

Clutching the stone to his chest, Rain admired how its polished surface reflected the contrasting colours of the light of the fire and the full moon. From his perch atop Dew's thighs, Rain thought that the pebble now had an additional meaning: Dew had noticed he kept it close and thought to save it, even before they were friends.

The three other ghouls snuck glances their way, pretending they weren't watching the small spectacle in a mixture of concern and intrigue.

Rain had eventually had to move once their supper was ready, but he stayed glued next to Dewdrop all evening. As Dew fell asleep that night, staring at Rain's face bathed in the pale moonlight, laid only centimetres from his own, he realised they had barely been apart all day. More surprising still; he felt good about it, relaxed, dare he even say happy? Despite the gloomy exhaustion of the others, he felt lighter than air. Had he really been blind to the sweet and funny water ghoul this whole time?

Again, Dew was uncharacteristically the last to wake. It was as though his body was finally allowing him to relax after years of constant tension. For the third night in a row he had gone to sleep cuddled close to Rain, and at this point he was too relaxed to care what his packmates might think. For once, his face looked his young age; free of worry and wrinkles. He knew they needed to get up and get moving if they wanted to reach the Abbey today, but it surely it wouldn't hurt if he rested his eyes for just a moment longer...

Rain was wide awake. He felt full of energy, stronger than he had in a long time, and he could even feel that new buzzing sensation beneath his skin again. It didn't feel dangerous like before when he was threatened, now it felt powerful but controllable. He carefully wriggled free of Dewdrop's iron grip, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders popped.  Looking down at Dew, he was struck by just how youthful his face looked, unburdened with the woes of his pack in his sleep. He snuffled slightly as Rain crawled out from under the blanket but otherwise stayed sleeping.

The others were in varying stakes of alertness; Mountain was already scouting around the edges of their camp for the blackberries that grew there, while Swiss was watching him from under his blanket. Rain padded down towards the river, feeling especially drawn to it this morning. He crouched down by its shores, splashing some onto his face and shivering at the icy temperature. The thrumming in his veins intensified, and almost instinctually he reached out a hand, hovering it over the river's surface. He felt the vibrations concentrate in his palm and then, so suddenly he could have imagined it, a jet of water leapt from the river to curl around his hand. Rain gasped, and the water fell back as though frightened.

Hardly believing it, he stretched his hand out again, focussing on his fingertips this time. A thinner stream jumped up, forming an unbreakable ribbon of water that moved when he did. Rain swirled his index finger in a circle and the sparkling droplets followed him, spinning themselves into a small tornado. He giggled in glee and the fine spray celebrated in a glittering shower of their own with him. Finally. His connection with his element had always been shaky but by some miracle, it at last seemed to have clicked.

He spun around to tell the others and found Aether watching him proudly.

“I knew you'd get there eventually Tadpole!” he grinned a lopsided smile at Rain.

Bounding back over to the rest of the pack, Rain found Dewdrop still sound asleep. That wouldn't do – he had exciting news! Rain poked his shoulder to try and wake him, receiving only a grunt in response. He poked him again; nothing. Next, Rain concentrated a tiny bit of the buzzing from his veins into his fingertip, touching it to the fleshy part of his shoulder once again and allowing a small spark to transfer. The screech Dew let out was neither elegant nor restrained.

“Ouch!” he was instantly awake, leaping from the blanket like a cat doused with water. “What was that for?”

Maybe it wasn't as small a spark as Rain had intended. He smiled angelically.

“Good morning, Dew!” he chirped. Dew looked at him, confusion clear in his still sleepy eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked at last, once it was clear that the slightly guilty, but still beaming, water ghoul was the culprit.

“Oh, you haven't seen Rain's new trick?” cackled Swiss, out of bed now and failing at holding in his laughter.

“New trick?” Dew asked weakly, as his heart rate returned to normal. Swiss and Rain's cat-like grins were ominous.

“Rainy can tell you all about it!” drawled Swiss.

“Let me wake up a bit first!” begged Dew, stumbling down to the water's edge with Rain dogging his heels the whole way.

Whatever he had been expecting, Rain's newfound electric eel abilities were far more interesting. He had stared in wonder as Rain showed him, watching blue sparks flash down his arms and instantly stun a fish with a single touch.

“And you just woke up able to do this?”

“In the cell. I woke up down there, feeling this weird buzzing and when I concentrated, I could do this!” Rain pointed his index fingers at each other, and a spark arced between them. “I can control water better too now, not just feed the plants – look!” He made a series of jets of water spring from the river, twirling around each other in a beautiful, magical dance.

Dew was astonished; he'd never heard of powers developing so quickly before. He wondered if there was some catalyst for water ghouls that he was unaware of. He didn't wonder for long though, as Rain jolted him from his thoughts with a well-aimed spurt of water to his forehead.

Before long, the pair had to return to the most pressing task at hand – the final day of their journey. Despite his rude awakening, Dew seemed in a better mood than ever. All the ghouls seemed perkier in fact; the end was in sight, and they were spurred on by Dew's promises of warm beds and hot food. Mountain and Aether were storming ahead, finding new strength as the miles ticked down. Rain had valiantly tried to keep up with them but, even with his burst of energy today, he was soon out of breath and forced to resume his position on horseback. He seemed to have burnt himself out with his earlier exertion, as he was almost falling asleep in the saddle. Dew worried they were heading for a tremendous crash once they reached the Abbey and their exhaustion caught up with them, but at least they would be in the safest possible place for that to happen.

Talking with Rain, already a tall ghoul, when he was on horseback was almost impossible without shouting so Dew brought up the rear of the group with Swiss. The multi ghoul had been having consistently foggy visions ever since they left the village behind; a blur of trees and leaves and rivers that swam in and out of his mind like passing birds. This morning alone however, he had already experienced three sudden premonitions, a loud and demanding jumble of unfamiliar faces and voices. Dew was getting nervous, and hoped the invasive thoughts would not sour him to the Abbey’s residents when they finally met.

To distract him, Dew used this opportunity to ask him about Mountain. He would have tried to be subtle about it, but even when he was trying he was about as subtle as a brick through a window, so he didn't bother.

“What's going on with you and Mount?”

The tips of Swiss’ ears went pink.

“Nothing, yet,” he squinted at Dew, “why, what has he said?”

Dew guffawed, were they both so oblivious to each other's attentions?

“Nothing, but the way you're both acting its clear there's something up. Did something happen while I was away that I don't know about?”

Swiss shook his head.

“Sure, whatever you say,” Dew smirked, “but pay attention next time – he's been sat at your feet every time he's had to keep watch, that's pretty smitten behaviour if you ask me.”

“As if you can talk, cuddlebug.” Swiss shot back. It was Dew's turn to blush now. Foolishly, he'd been hoping none of them had noticed him and Rain's current sleeping arrangement. He spluttered indignantly while Swiss snickered.

“Seriously though,” Dew paused his teasing for a moment, “we were worried about you yesterday when he was racing off ahead with Aether, like they're doing now. You looked scared.”

“S’okay.” Swiss shrugged.

“I've seen them like this before you joined the pack, they get in their old travelling mindset where survival comes first. Don't take it to heart alright?”

Swiss nodded slowly.

“But you think he likes me back?”

Dew nearly bent double with his laughter; they were like a pair of kits with a crush.

“Talk to him, Spark! He's as dense as rocks with this sort of thing. You remember what Aether said the other day; it took months before he even acknowledged they were friends.”

Golden eyes glimmering with poorly concealed hope, Swiss tugged Dew into his side in a one-armed hug as they walked. Dew stumbled to keep his balance, laughing all the while.

“I'm blaming you if this all goes tits-up, Spitfire.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less.”

The pack kept moving, feeling exhaustion licking at them but persevering, nonetheless. The air around them changed, beginning to crackle with magic. The sun was falling fast, the growing darkness and their lengthening shadows only adding to the eerie feeling.

“Just a few more miles.” Dew promised to himself as much as the others, as he panted to keep up with the longer-legged ghouls in their final charge forward. Rain was clearly flagging now, and it was concerning him more than he wanted to let on. 

As the last of the sun was grazing the horizon, the main path curved off to the east while the smaller way ahead lead into dense trees. Rising above them was the Abbey steeple, twisted iron beckoning them in. The ghouls exchanged a final glance of anticipation.

“Go on Dew, you lead the way.” Aether smiled encouragingly. Dew steeled himself and started down the path. The trees sapped the remaining light, and the birdsong went quiet. The only sound now was the reassuring footfalls of his pack close behind him.

Emerging from the trees, the deep brown oak doors stood in front of them as tall and intimidating as ever. The brass bell glinted in the fading light as Dew reached out a shaking hand for the bell pull.

[kivaember]

slaps down a teaser for a susano-o/tsukuyomi fic that's temporarily titled "tsukuyomi fucking dies (he gets better tho)" and would you believe it's a comedy with some angst

-

In 1919, Susano-o had issued Tsukuyomi a challenge.

Tsukuyomi couldn’t recall the exact words of it, but it had been issued on the heels of a rather unpleasant time in both of their lives, licking their respective wounds from a mismatched fight against a few Baltic gods. Bethel hadn’t intervened in what they saw as a ‘minor skirmish’ between differing branches, and it had been one of the very few and rare times that Tsukuyomi had actually died. Retrospectively, the challenge probably hadn’t been all that serious, just uttered from a place of frustration and worry.

Still, Tsukuyomi never ignored a thrown gauntlet from his brother, and as they slinked away from the Baltic gods with their figurative tails between their legs, Tsukuyomi strove to prove Susano-o wrong from that point on.

“And that’s another one to add to the pile…”

Tsukuyomi popped the cap back onto the pen, admiring the glistening red ‘X’ cutting the bold ‘31’ on the calendar. Flipping it shut, the glossy cover of a cat poking its head out of a teapot (Susano-o was the one who got it for him) peered back at him. Tsukuyomi tucked the pen away into his internal space and picked up the calendar, feeling rather smug as he plotted out the teleport coordinates to where Susano-o dwelt.

In his quarters… well, it was four in the morning, and Susano-o did enjoy sleeping in.

Now, while Tsukuyomi was not the strongest of his siblings, or even the most magically skilled or efficient, he was second-to-none when it came to spatial displacement. His accuracy in teleporting was pinpoint, and the speed of his calculations were rarely outraced. So, it was thoroughly intentional when he hopped across the space between his room and Susano-o’s…

…and landed full force on his slumbering brother’s gut.

“Arhgck!” Susano-o half-yelped, half-gurgled, not even his rock-hard abs prepared to handle all 120kg of Tsukuyomi slamming into it (Proto-Fiend bodies were, as a rule, crushingly heavy - the humans were working on it).

“Oh. My. I apologise. I must’ve miscalculated my jump,” Tsukuyomi said insincerely, delicately hopping off his brother and not even bothering to hide his smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Susano-o made some highly amusing hissing noise as he curled up on his side, disorientated and pained, but knowing his brother was making mischief at his expense. “Urk. Tsukuyomi, you…”

“Yes. Well, anyway.” Tsukuyomi held up the calendar. “I came to remind you of the date.”

There was nothing funnier than Susano-o’s expression of profound angry bafflement, his golden eyes squinting up at him in the gloom. His wild, dark blue hair was unbound, and though it was waist-length, some stubborn locks were trying to stick out in all sorts of directions, making Susano-o look remarkably like some sort of hermit-creature blinking out of its cave after being rudely disturbed.

“…the date? Brother, it’s-“ he paused to look at his bedside clock, his voice rising in indignation: “-four in the morning!?!?”

“It’s been eighty years since you issued that challenge back in 1919-”

Susano-o threw his pillow at him.

Tsukuyomi neatly sidestepped it. “And so, as is now tradition, I return this calendar to you-”

“It is not even dawn, Tsukuyomi! Even Amaterasu still sleeps!” Susano-o groaned, flopping back onto his bed - the poor frame wheezed its protest, if Tsukuyomi was heavy then Susano-o was dense (in both sense of the word).

“Which means there’s still twenty hours of the day left!” Susano-o abruptly declared, bolting upright. His sour expression instead turned smug, his eyes glittering with a challenge realised and a challenge met. “No, you are celebrating a victory you have not yet won, brother! Twenty hours is plenty for you to fail!”

“Hm. Yes. Twenty hours to achieve that which 701256 hours hasn’t,” Tsukuyomi drawled.

“…how did you calculate that so quickly- never mind!” Susano-o crossed his arms. “What you are doing now is called ‘tempting fate’, brother! So foolish, so unwise. You have finally crossed the line now!”

“Is that so,” Tsukuyomi said, never putting much stock in fate. He had seen humans overcome it so many times that the innate resignation all gods felt towards it was faded in him. “Well, I’ll give you leave to say ‘I told you so’ if I befall some sort of calamity before the new years.”

“Oh, you are really tempting it now.”

Tsukuyomi scoffed quietly, tossing the calendar onto the bed beside his brother’s leg. “I’m quivering in my shoes. Now, enjoy your rest, brother. I’ll be spending this time contemplating what your forfeit will be.”

Susano-o picked up the calendar and pointed it threateningly at him. “Mark my words, brother, before the day is out… you are going to have a demise so humiliating it will be remembered for decades to come.”

“Remember, it doesn’t count if you kill me,” Tsukuyomi said mildly.