#It’s literally killing you? sapping you of your life force???

[heavens17th]

[utilitycaster]

*kate bush voice* be guarding up that veil with some problems

After the remaining companion quests and conversation, ranging from epic (Harding embracing her anger in the heart of a titan) to sweet and funny (assisting Davrin in feeding halla for his adoptive uncle while Assan adorably helps and learning about baby Davrin - btw this scene hits WILDLY for me as Rook is a human dating Bellara and is trying so hard to be respectful of Dalish customs and Davrin is like they're mid but also I'm the most intense man in Thedas and take all obligation deathly seriously so get those fucking berries) to "kill a fucking dragon, and then also serve as the buffer for your friend coming out to their mom awkward dinner simulator, and frankly the dragon is more pleasant." Anyway things got wild out in Arlathan because I did a brief sidequest and then was like hmmm I should help the Veil Jumpers out, after all, and I must say the plot there FUCKS. Like, you find the hook (I took Bellara and Neve for obvious Arlathan Dalish + Venatori reasons) and IMMEDIATELY it's like "the Venatori will sacrifice the Dalish" but also four companion quests open up but I was like I HAVE TO HELP THE DALISH AND ARLATHAN THAT'S BELLARA'S PEOPLE so I went STRAIGHT into Blood of Arlathan.

Blood of Arlathan is REALLY good for the following reasons:

You have to take Neve, which you should have anyway, and I took Bellara again, and while I'm a fighter not a mage I have some VICIOUS ranged and AOE shit and my stuff is in the spirit realm so it was really like BY OUR POWERS (ice/fade/death) COMBINED. Again, I remain on story mode for combat because I only am just now kinda getting the hang of it beyond keysmashing, but I have some DEVASTATING necrotic attacks and also if I successfully block with my shield i send back more death energy. It's deeply sexy of me, frankly.

More importantly plotwise the infiltration is fun as shit, I love seeing Neve intimidate people and then Bellara breaking Elger'nan's control, and it manages to feel urgent and scary without having the overwhelming dread and Zombie Rush of The Cauldron.

Some of the puzzles annoy me. The maze is actually fine because Solas kicks in JUST when you're about to get upset in real life which is some good QA if I do say so but it is always annoying when you're like THE DALISH ARE TRAPPED! LET ME FIND A FUCKING HIDDEN POWER CRYSTAL. It wasn't even HARD it's just the principle of the thing. The Venatori crystals, also fine, though it's always hard to force myself to focus on protection crystals/blight boils mid-combat even though it's ultimately the point and my companions can't die in standard fights.

Obviously, the Solas of it all rules; it's kind of overwhelming having him and Elger'nan fighting in your mind as you fight for the final door...which it should be, that's what Rook's doing! Good synchronicity.

Lucanis being unable to unlock the gate is hilarious. I wonder what happens if you take him instead of Bellara as your second team member. This is either why Neve hasn't spoken to him since the gooseberry pie (*Neve voice* he's a sap who can't open a door.) or, alternatively, this is BECAUSE Neve hasn't spoken to him since the gooseberry pie (*Lucanis voice* was it too sweet? too tart? Is she not interested? Mierda. meanwhile Taash, Davrin, Emmrich, and Harding like FOCUS UP BITCH.) Literally though I've popped into the lighthouse for my usual eavesdropping and there's been some great ones (Emmrich and Bellara discussing how one might cite Solas's Regrets, Taash and Lucanis being like talking about your feelings is stupid, Neve moving from Bellara could you fucking stop being a silly child about serials to Bellara, you are a lovely person, but also stop being a silly child about serials, some wild stories about Manfred running around in a bedsheet, the reveal that Taash does dishes and chops fruit in the kitchen) but they haven't been seen together. Neve on the MAKER I'm taking you to the Dellamorte mansion because...

UNHINGED pack of sidequests I'll be doing this afternoon after work. It ranges from Bellara talking to her brother, a thing that has been eating her up inside since their first encounter; and Lucanis going to the Dellamorte estate to save his grandmother and deal with Illario (I told him to save Caterina, we're going the forgiveness route); and Neve being like oh it's just a little personal errand in Dock Town :) even though LAST TIME she was like oh we'll grab dinner and then she was like well Hal is off tonight so guess we'll die skip rocks and have a break in the case so I ASSUME it's her slowly opening up more (I sound irritated. I am not. I'm thrilled.) and Davrin is like hey girl wanna Assan and chill (I assume it is indeed just that.). I also have a shitload of location quests and I have been informed by an informant that if I talk to Solas it opens up like 20 more quests SO time to leave Mr. I Don't Know I'm Bald on read again even though he did save me in Arlathan.

This might be a post to make separately but I must admit it took a bit to like, settle into RP-ing (you're telling me I have to RP in an RPG) especially one where the vibe of the choices is stated for me, which I admit does make me more interested in a second runthrough at some point in the future. There's definitely some early game stuff I'd like to run through again as less of an idiot with games and also while not actively nauseated. (Thanks again people who told me to use the middle of the screen accessibility dot and increase the FOV; I think some of it was gaining sea legs generally but those were immediately a huge help in doing so) but now it really is like oh yeah I have really intense feelings about what they're doing in Arlathan specifically, let's play that out.

haven't been to the wetlands in a while and that might be why I'm in such a great mood.

[solarfeylix]

Unpop opinion but ghost type Pokemon being given the slander they do about "killing their trainers" makes me really fucking mad and I wish people would stop.

We have so many episodes showcasing how ghost Pokemon actually work in-world. We were told in legends Arceus or at least, found out, that some creepier dex entries happened because of the stigma and fear of Pokemon at the time (notice how generations went on and some dex entries changed to be a bit more softer, even before legends Arceus, so I think that should be worth something).

I'm so tired of people assuming that life force means death. If a Pokemon saps your life force: you will not likely die, okay? I feel like "life force" in this context means someone's energy and nothing more. All they do, is deplete your energy and cause you to faint. Overtime, yes this could cause several health issues, but in the pokemon world you have 10 year olds going out in the wild and fucking around and finding out, so, with that said, it just makes sense that life force simply implies your energy, not your actual life itself.

If it were true that people who have Pokemon like Graveard and others die after x amount of time around them, there would be literally no trainers to do anything with. Logically, there wouldn't be many trainers and parents would be infinitely more strict about their kids leaving home into dangerous monster territory, methinks. Furthermore, this would mean Pokemon wouldn't even be the focus of the game at that point. The focus would be you literally trying not to die with none of your usual help, like a partner Pokemon, treat, rock, or even a pokéball. The game would be infinitely more violent and wouldn't be a E-E10 audience if that were to occur.

Anyways

This was my mini rant

It's 4am now, so none of this may make sense, so I'll just say this:

I DO NOT TOLERATE GHOST POKEMON SLANDER IN MY HOUSEHOLD

[bl00dh0rs3]

You’re so spot on about the ai chat bots. Once they came in the picture I noticed lots of fandoms slowing down

LITERALLY its so fucking blatantly KILLING art its not even that GOOOOOOD!!!! Maybe im just a fucking freak but when i tried one of those things once i could FEEL that shit in my brain like it was PHYSICALLY affecting me in an AWFUL way, i dont know what the fuck actually caused it but i know that shit is NOT fucking good for people. It's publicly endorsed and enabled maladaptive day dreaming i am so not joking. Stop using AI chatbots just, across the board. No more of it. That shit needs to be regulated or eliminated it is a pezz dispenser of serotonin that will sap your fucking life force and turn you boring. Just make art!!!! Just make bad art!!!! A pile of mud and chalk on a piece of construction paper is more valuable to the legacy of humanity than a single one of those stupid plagiarized chats. Its bad for your fucking soul lol

[doorrobloxstuff]

Out of curiosity. What happens if a human is bearing a entity's child? Would it take a massive toll on the human or would it be like a normal pregnancy. And also the reverse where a entity is bearing a human child, which would probably never happen.

Tw//pregnancy + gore ment (what is up with this blog)

I never say never tbh. Let’s have fun! The narrative can be serious and concurrent while still being crazy.

SPECULATION BECAUSE AS OF CURRENT THERE ARENT ANY HYBRIDS BORN VIA NATURAL MEANS!!

Three things come to mind:

Nothing, because an entity has to want a child in order to conceive one. No accidents here.

A strange trip to planned parenthood (if they’re informed of the danger)

(If they choose to keep it, what will likely happen) a death sentence as the months go on.

If they have sufficient knowledge of ancient history + the occult, they could keep their unholy spawn alive.

Not pretty, an entity x human pregnancy, while possible doesn’t mean it’s a very good idea. I think I mentioned it before, but Jeff’s relatives married/started families w/humans millions of years ago

He sees them as kin so he absolutely abhors and condemns the idea of killing them.

But those humans were built different (and they HAD help btw- like help from the entitie’s communities with access to like..even though it’s herbs and a village midwife + rituals every other week make sure the baby doesn’t eat ur body/your life force.

Baby entities in utero are like parasites to the one who carries them. Sapping energy over time from its parent (and they have..LITTERS). Since entities are (mostly) MADE from energy, magic, whatever you call it this can literally kill them.

little guys will prioritize their own existence over their parent. Luckily death is avoidable as long as the entity eats and maintains a healthy amount of energy.

Humans aren’t made out of energy. We’re made out of flesh, and blood. We have little of what the entities have and it mostly makes up our souls. So they’d probably fuck up the average modern joe schmoe. Hollow eyes sockets, weak fingernails, tired voice, bruising, maybe a bit of rotten flesh, a walking zombie. It’s its own little bag of body horror. Probably kill the parent (and by proxy, the still developing child) in as little as a month or two.

Idk who’d wanna put themselves through that-

And who’s to say that the fucked up offspring would survive that? Since entities will just straight up die young for absolutely no reason. The dental, physiological, corneal, bone, issues must be absolutely insane. Maybe human parts would slowly, surely slough off revealing the entity beneath.

Hybrids ARE possible though. They’d just be faces only a mother could love. Mandela catalog stretched face lookin headass. The literal antichrist to humans but same shit different day to entities. Stretched out eyes (or lack thereof) elongated mouths, fucked up lookin teeth if the human genes are dominant.

Actually it occurs to me a AMAB person getting with an entity would probably be a healthier pairing- because the entity could definitely take it. They’re absolutely tanks after all.

This isn’t the only way to make a “hybrid” though. Figure is Rueben’s bio kid- though Rue had to do some fucked up shit to himself to get Figure to exist.

Some occult knowledge kinda shit that he’s not too keen on talking about and maybe some man made horrors beyond our comprehension- OH HEY BABY ENTITY YIPEE!!

..

Figure was worth it in his eyes.

[citrusella-flugpucker]

Ooh! Ooh! Me! I have thoughts! (These thoughts are based on how I write so they're a little more than just interpretations of the game, though I wouldn't say they're super canon-divergent, either. The kind of thoughts that expand on canon, IMO.)

So, I've been writing some fanfic for Tears of the Kingdom and I usually write Link as having his (original, arm-destroying) gloom exposure act like a sort of fantasy chronic illness. He needs to regularly treat it, or it will flare up/come back to bite him.

(The three things we know in-game can happen from exposure are energy sapping (explained by literally every NPC ever, but special recognition to Nappin who in theory has been in bed for literal months by the end of a casual playthrough), potential nausea/vomiting? (Gloom-Borne Illness side quest; the grandma has only been able to keep porridge down), and potential death if exposure is severe and/or left untreated (Rauru directly says in the post-prologue cutscene that Link was basically going to die without treatment, and Mineru says the gloom was going to kill her before she put her spirit in the Purah Pad).)

Currently, I tend to write his "treatment" as sundelion (sunny) meals as quick-acting fixes for hypothetical flare-ups (or also... like... the standard in-game gloom contact caused by actually playing Link) and then dark clump (warding) meals as a sort of maintenance medication.

Warding meals... do not work like that in-game... but my rationale for this sort of logic is that sunny meals are sort of a fast-acting fix for quickly digging out of a gloom heart hole, but maybe the gloom protection effects of a certain strength of warding meal would temporarily "slow down" chronic effects of having gloom hanging out inside him all the time, even if it wouldn't really help a more acute/surface-level exposure like a few other people in the game have. Then he can sort of take a warding meal regularly to "ward off" the effects and save the faster-acting sunny meals if he's in a situation where he needs something stronger.

Other things we see helping gloom in-game I tend to write as helpful but not effective alone for Link in particular. For instance, shrines and goddess upgrades give a bit of a boost (hence why gloom wafts out of Link) but aren't useful as maintenance, and hanging around in the sun helps but isn't enough on its own. (These are the ones that are maybe more canon-divergent ideas, since, for instance, the sun in-game will completely un-gloom your available hearts, or, say, goddess upgrades are permanent.)

I'm still hashing out if there could be potential long-term effects from chronic gloom like Link's even after the gloom is gone. (For instance: What does it actually do inside your body, and how could that permanently affect you even if removed? Would it do these things on some level regardless, or would it only cause permanent damage after removal if you weren't on an effective dose of medicine, like if you didn't have enough sundelions or dark clumps so the meal wasn't as strong as it needed to be (i.e. like rationing medication in real life)?)

I don't tend to imagine Zelda being able to do anything about it, though, but that's probably mostly because I've been writing in such a way that by the time she'd be around to do anything the gloom would already be gone anyway. (And she probably wouldn't be able to treat/mitigate lingering effects, if they exist, because the actual body changes aren't due to active gloom at that point.)

If I had to, on the spot, come up with a way her powers would work for purging something like gloom (assuming she still has strong light powers alone, given she said in BOTW that it seemed as if her power dwindled), perhaps it would either be difficult to weed it all out (because bodies are intricate and delicate and her powers don't seem to work on a micro level) or it could be possible to brute force it all out but it'd... IDK... be extremely painful or have side effects or something (because bodies are intricate and delicate and her powers don't seem to work on a micro level). Less "she could or couldn't do it" and more "well, she could probably do it, but it being inside a living person makes it more complicated".

...That last paragraph was just making stuff up on the spot, but the rest of it I've been knee-deep in for the past week because I'm currently working on a multi-chapter fic where Link's treatment of the chronic gloom is an undercurrent of everything else going on, so I've been deep-diving into how I think it'd work.

more TotK theories eheh

more Link theories!

so. y'all know about gloom sickness, right? Zelda mentions it in the opening cutscene, saying that people were falling ill because of gloom contact, and its likely it takes their hearts just as it takes Link's. BUT.

how does this repetitive exposure to gloom affect Link?

gloom sickness is said to make you just feel weaker, almost like a debilitating fever. if link is repeatedly exposed to it, is he just repeatedly sick?

not to mention: at the beginning, Link's arm is corrupted by Ganon's gloom, and Rauru says it was "beyond saving", so he had to replace it. but, this could also mean that Link has gloom in his body -- each time you receive a Light of Blessing, you see gloom escape. so Link is not only exposed to it a lot by traveling through the Depths, but he also has it IN HIS BODY. my dude is constantly experiencing gloom sickness. the best "medicine" for it is the anti-gloom meals that also help chase the gloom away.

another thing: can Zelda, with her power of light, cure gloom sickness? can she destroy gloom as she could malice?

what are y'all's thoughts on this?

[giacomettislament]

could you do idia, cater and trey as incubus scenarios? i don’t think i have much to specify other than it to be spicy and hot (ꈍᴗꈍ)

bust of diego

“what are you scared of? come a bit closer.”

trey. cater. idia.

content warning(s): explicit content, incubus tattoos, slight degradation, demonic content

—People have always said that little remnants of demons reside inside humans, but when you first lay your eyes upon Trey, you can’t help but think about how the opposite is true. He’s clearly far from being the average being, absolutely nothing like any of your peers or even the sweet neighbor across the street, but there’s something so painfully, beautifully human to him. Maybe it’s your own mind wanting to delude yourself into thinking that you have more in common with this demonic figure than the lust ravaging you like a wildfire, but at this point, even delusion is better than nothing to protect yourself.

“Were you waiting for me?” He asks, his voice like poisoned honey. You whimper under your breath when his fingers wiggle inside of you, your drooling sex clamping down on his knuckles. It’s ridiculous how just being fingered by him is enough to unwind you into this mewling, drenched mess, but you’ve never craved something more.

You nod, breathless. His fingertips brush just shy of that sweet spot inside of you, and god—you throw your head back and cry out. Bucking your hips incessantly against the palm of his hand, you beg for him. “Please- Please, please, please- Don’t tease me like this, you know I can’t take it! I wanna cum- Let me cum, let me cum, please let me cum…!”

“Have you no pride? I suppose not,” he laughs to himself. His eyes glow like the embers of hell itself, and your core twitches dangerously. His other hand presses down right above your crotch, and you blink back the tears. “I’m killing you slowly, sapping that pretty life force of yours… Yet you’re still asking for more.”

You don’t want to think about it. The small yet omnipresent pink mark right under your belly button, in the mocking shape of hearts and a clover. It burned like nothing else when he first magically branded you with it, yet your heart flutters whenever it glows a dim pink and he showers you with the affection that’s ruining you like a parasite.

He is a parasite, for lack of better word.

“I love you… I’ll let you take as much as you want.” You hate yourself for admitting it.

Trey chuckles to himself, thrusting his fingers into you roughly. You scream as an orgasm rips through you without any warning, electric bursts shredding your insides and tearing through your wet groin. Your toes curl against your sheets, and your vision fades at the edges. It feels so good, so goddamn good, you’d give anything to feel this over and over again.

He laughs once more, definitely pitying you. “I know.”

—Cater’s body feels heavy and overbearing on top of you, but the grip he has on your thighs and the whines escaping his mouth has you trapped underneath him. Your entire body burns, slick with sweat and cum, and you’re quite literally drowning in all of his possessive, wanton love.

“That’s it- Fuck, fuck, fuck! You feel so good! You’re the best, you’re the best, your body’s the best…!” He whimpers out. You hiss when his nails dig into your skin, and the tattoo between your hips glows dimly as if to mock you. He’s wasted no time in stuffing you with his sticky cum the moment he got his hands on you, but you’d think for an incubus, he wouldn’t be this needy. After all, how many other people must have fallen victim to his pretty voice and silver tongue?

Cater’s hand shifts from your leg, and he gently grabs your face. Pouting, he forces your gaze back on him, and your stomach lurches without warning when he thrusts sharply into you. A gasp tears through the back of your throat, and the incubus licks playfully at the corner of your mouth. It’s like he wants to literally eat up every moan that you let out for him—Cater’s always been insanely jealous about making sure that your affections belong to no one else.

“Look at me,” he begs, looking like a kicked puppy. His dick twitches precariously inside of you, and his heart twists in cruel loops inside his undead chest. “It’s no fun if you don’t look at me… I hate it when you don’t give me your attention! I’m making you feel good, aren’t I? I wanna know that you’re all mine, all mine for me to fuck and love, even if it’s just while we’re having sex! It’s not as good otherwise…”

He draws his hips back painfully slowly, so you can feel every inch of his engorged cock slide tantalizingly out of you. You feel empty with just his leaking tip inside of you, and you can barely suck in a breath before he rams his entire cock inside. A shriek lodges inside of your mouth, and your insides clamp down on him and squeeze like your life depends on it. The contrast is almost too much—being empty and then being stuffed with his dick—but Cater laps up that shocked expression painted all over your face with a crazed glee.

“You’re supposed to focus on no one but me when we’re fucking, okay?” He sings sweetly. His fingertips threaten to dig into the soft skin of your face, and you’re frozen in pleasure and fear and pain under the incubus. He keeps bucking his hips wildly against yours, grinding down until he’s back to being drunk off of your attention and lust. “Don’t think of anyone but me! There’s no one here that can compare to me- no one that can save you like I can…!”

—He looks so much like an angel but not in the way that most people would say. No, he’s an angel in the most fearsome and breathtaking way possible: eyes as golden as molten lava, hair that burns like the sun, and tattered black wings that protrude from his back as proof of the beautiful, fallen being he is.

Even his name—Idia—sounds like an incantation that should have never left your mouth. Not that it matters now, when you’re bouncing up and down in his lap, your gummy walls struggling to take every inch of his thick, veiny cock. You’ve never seen anything like it, and when he first showed himself to you, you stared at his dick until his blue hair turned pink.

“Fuck- You’re so big…!” You grunt through gritted teeth. Your thighs make lewd slapping sounds against his lap as you work your way up and down, up and down, up and down his slick member. “God- I can barely take it!”

His hands slide around your waist, guiding you as if to help. Do shy incubi exist? You had always thought they were demanding, wanton, utterly shameless, yet Idia here is both that and more. He’s soft-spoken and pent-up, and that feral side you associate with demons only comes out when you coax him bit-by-bit out of his shell. Like a cat, you almost want to say, except if said cat came from the very depths of hell.

“So tight…,” he mutters into your shoulder. His sharp teeth graze your skin every time you jerk your hips up, and you cry out his name when you sink down on his girthy length. You swear you can feel every inch and every vein rubbing greedily against your pulsing sex; every movement of his hips into yours sends electric currents spiraling into your core, and your stomach throbs with arousal.

You want to be filled with him. You want to be filled with his cock. You want to be filled with his cum.

“Do you love me?” The incubus asks, his pleading eyes meeting yours. He’s all you can see and feel in the depths and darkness of your room, and you almost laugh when your sex slides down and takes him in fully. He moans when he feels himself sheathed fully inside you, and you pause, feeling him pressed up against you and stretching your walls out in the way you like it best.

You know the answer he wants, and it rests against the tip of your tongue. You’ve given him so much already: body, soul, and mind. But can you give him your heart? You can’t help but pause, breaking the carnal rhythm that’s bewitched you entirely.

“I don’t know.”

x

[duskroots]

Provided the personal story is canon to your commander’s backstory, do they keep in touch with the people from back then?

For Bria, she’s been pen pals with Tiachren on and off for almost a decade at this point, and he is quite literally the only thread still somewhat connecting her to the grove at all.

I daresay he of all people understood quite well what it was like being forced to kill the one person you love the most, so post-Maguuma exchanging letters with him was a big source of comfort for Bria when she felt like she couldn’t talk to anyone else they were close to at the time - talking to someone who hadn’t been there, who didn’t pity her but who just understood, who knew what it felt like to have a hole ripped into your very soul without having to try and explain when she lacked the words to describe just how miserable it was, who understood the anger and desperation. It was therapeutic.

Even after Bria had managed to somewhat work through all of that, they still kept in touch, albeit irregularly, exchanging news and the occassional gifts (mostly Bria sending home souvenirs I guess).

Also in my canon I like to imagine Tiachren went on to become a Warden and worked to keep Caledon safe from the influence of the court, to prevent others from sharing a similar fate to Ysvelta and himself. I also like to think that eventually he found love again because I am a sap lmao. So yeah! I love Tiachren tbh, I have very fond memories of playing the personal story with Bria for the very first time and in a way he was one of the first characters that introduced me to Tyria, so I just like the idea of them still being friends to this day, even if life took them to wildly different places.

[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.” 

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it. 

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic. 

[internetskiff]

YESSSS!!!! YES YES YES!!!!!! The exact reason I love Black Mesa's interloper is that it feels like the entire time you're actively throwing a spanner in the Nihilanth's works. You go around wrecking the Grunt production line to the point where it's more than likely utterly incapable of producing viable new infantry. Your presence is such a threat you make the tower go on fuckin RED ALERT several times, Controllers rushing in to respond in impromptu ambushes because you're making your way up so quickly they don't even have the time to stage a proper one. They get so desperate to stop you THEY THEMSELVES start tearing up parts of the tower to try and crush you. During the whole section there's this feeling that the Xenian forces are scrambling in a panic to stop you because the Nihilanth never expected you to even get past the Gonarch's Lair. The xenians get so desperate once Freeman reaches the elevator to the Nihilanth's Portal that I'm convinced they just started sending in every single Controller they had just to try and stop him, culminating in one final feeble attempt at killing him by dragging the elevator platform back down and trying to annihilate him with what little energy they have left.

I especially love the Nihilanth fight, where it starts out with him literally cackling and gloating, believing himself to be invincible as long as his shield generators are running. When they are destroyed, his demeanor shifts, becoming confused and seemingly even a little afraid when he realizes the shields have failed, before attempting to slip back into the facade of a powerful gloating godlike being. And then you destroy the crystals from which he saps the energy to heal himself - and he immediately BREAKS. He dials everything up to 105%, kicking up a literal STORM within his own chamber and throwing every single attack he has at you with little to no regard for self-preservation. You literally OVERLOAD him until he goes NUCLEAR and it's fuckin AWESOME. The way it all culminates with Gordon witnessing the tower from a distance, the Nihilanth's agonized shrieks echoing so loud they reach the furthest expanses of Xen, before the tower is engulfed in a fireball so massive it threatens to scorch him and forces G-Man to step in immediately.. God, man, it's such a satisfying end to a character as vital to the Half Life series as the Nihilanth. Makes me wish that Breen's "boss fight" involved a little more direct tampering with his teleport instead of it just being a quick jog up to the top where you toss a bunch of orbs at it's singular weak point. Killing the Nihilanth feels extremely earned after your long trek through the Tower, the Island atop which it rests, and it's outskirts. And I especially love the sense that despite it being over, despite you murdering the head of the Xenian invasion force and destroying any chance they have at retaliation - you've done something very, very wrong.

Black Mesa - Interloper

Black Mesa Interloper is actually good, the 'I got bored and decided to make this' rant.

So like... you jump through the Lambda Core teleporter and are greeted by this absolutely stunning skybox in Xen, and towering in the distance is the Nihilanth's lair, the 'Interloper Tower' as I like to call it. And you spend a good couple of hours moving your way slowly across Xen towards it.

Until you're finally standing at the base of this absolutely massive megastructure. Journey less than half over because you've still got to climb it.

And the god damn chapter makes you feel that climb. That's always something I've felt HL2s Citadel lacked, its like 8 kms tall in lore but it does not feel like anything other than a skyscraper, which after towering over you for much of the game is so anticlimactic. Like yeah the Super Gravity Gun is nice but the tower don't feel like the behemoth its supposed to.

Interloper does, and it is glorious. It's a slog as you slowly push your way up, as the Nihilanth throws all these forces at you trying to stop you from ascending, and you're burning through your ammo until, when you're close to running out, you come across the Gluon Gun recharging crystals and it goes wild. The tower itself is an absolutely amazing bit of worldbuilding too, it's like a massive living organism with technology sewn into it, enslaved by the Nihilanth to produce Alien Grunts like everything else in the factory.

And you climb, and climb. Reach the elevator and ascend, you can feel Nihilanth's desperation as you get closer. You're hurting, and tired and running on fumes but its a battle of wills between the two of you as to who will crack first.

Until you, at long last triumph, and are standing at the top of all that, overlooking everything you've come through over the last third of the game, conquering the tower. The catharsis of this moment would simply not have worked if the tower was half that height. Without the struggle the payoff is nothing.

This chapter is good, and I only wish the Citadel was like it. Imagine getting stocked up by Barney right before entering the Citadel, only to slowly burn ammo ascending through the Combine's manufacturing plants, going up past Striders and weapons and up to ships. And then hitting the confiscation field just as your ammo is hurting. And then bam, Super Gravity Gun. And then the catharsis of finally reaching the top and knocking Breen of the pedestal you've fought tooth and nail all the way up.

[phoenixkaptain]

Finished Guardian (second read) last night. I just gotta say: Shen Wei is super feral in the novel. He is this close to snapping at any moment. His self control is like a violin string pulled too tight, if it is pulled anymore it will snap. And Zhao Yunlan is like a pair of scissors, cutting the string easily because good lord Zhao Yunlan tests Shen Wei’s self control a lot.

At one point, Shen Wei is like “You know what I am, the place I come from, and you still test me.” And Zhao Yunlan is like “Yeah, I’m not stopping.” Zhao Yunlan even sees Shen Wei’s creepy locked stalker room full of paintings of him, and all he does is change his plans and then tease Shen Wei more (but never mention it. The creepy stalker room is never mentioned agaim after this point).

Shen Wei force-feeds Zhao Yunlan “medicine” that is actually blood from his heart; as in, Shen Wei stands in the kitchen and stabs himself in the chest to bleed his heart so his can shove his own blood down Zhao Yunlan’s throat. Then, a bit later, Shen Wei’s like “I considered just tearing my heart out and giving it to you, but I thought it might freak you out.”

There’s a Ghost City they end up in (don’t ask, it’s later in the book and I don’t want to explain it) and Zhao Yunlan gets attacked by ghosts. Shen Wei kills a ghost, which he wasn’t supposed to do, one of the people who know rules in Hell is like “You can’t-“ and Shen Wei is like “I can’t kill? I have yet to meet a creature that my blade doesn’t cut through.” and it’s the funniest thing he says, that man is unhinged from the get go.

Zhao Yunlan knows that Shen Wei is the Ghost Slayer (basically, if you’ve never read the novel and only saw the show, think of the Ghost Slayer as the equivalent of Hei Pao Shi, only where Hei Pao Shi is generally scary to the Dixingren, he tries not to actively hurt or kill them, Ghost Slayer is everyone’s worst nightmare to the point that just saying his name is enough to get people to do your bidding and, instead of protecting the ghosts, Ghost Sayer sees them as disgusting ants to be squeezed out of existence and the only thing holding him back from double murdering every ghost in existence is that Kunlun would be disappointed in him). The show draws out the period between Zhao Yunlan meeting Shen Wei and Shen Wei being revealed to him as the Ghost Slayer, but in the book it isn’t as long. The case in the mountains is the second one. Zhao Yunlan gets a book from Hell, the Book of Life ad Death, because blah blah Hell wants him to know who Shen Wei is for nefarious purposes or whatever. Zhao Yunlan realizes he’s the Ghost Slayer. Then, just to be sure, he uses some of Shen Wei’s hair (that’s how the book works) and asks who he is. The book says “A soulless creature.” “Where’s he come from?” “An unspeakable place of evil.”

Zhao Yunlan confronts Shen Wei and Shen Wei expects him to be really upset, but Zhao Yunlan spends one month not talking to him, then decides “Nobody ever said outloud to my face directly that I shouldn’t marry the Ghost Slayer.” and he starts flirting with Shen Wei again almost immediately.

My favourite thing is right after he confronts Shen Wei about it the second time, and they’ve decided that rules are dumb, let’s make out. Zhu Hong asks something reasonable like “Why did you bring a professor to this dangerous crime scene?” and Zhao Yunlan is like “Shen Wei? He’s part of the team.” Shen Wei has this moment of “oh no, is he going to reveal my identity as Ghost Slayer” only for Zhao Yunlan to be like “He’s my wife.” And so begins Zhao Yunlan calling the infamous, feared by all, feral Ghost Slayer he wife. I love it

I really like at the end, where, SPOILERS, Shen Wei is basically like “I’m ready to die, I fucked Kunlun twice, what more do I have to live for?” He doesn’t say it outloud, but we all know he was thinking it (he porbably wasn’t but I think I’m funny) Kunlun really for reals shows up at the end and is like “My fucking wife really tried to erase my memories, I’ll pretend to not be smitten for two days as punishment.” He doesn’t even make it two days after Shen Wei wakes up from his coma. Zhao Yunlan and Kunlun are saps, which doesn’t make sense, they should be rocks-

Anyway, I also love when Zhao Yunlan sees memories of his past life as Kunlun, and it’s little Ghost King Wei giving him a necklace made out of teeth. Kunlun (most unromantic person ever) doesn’t like this gift. Shen Wei (baby version) is truly perfect.

Anyway, to end this off, I’m going to recommend people read this. The plot is hard to follow, it took me two read-throughs to really understand even basically what was going on, but the romance is peak perfection. Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei were literally and metaphorically made for each other.

[maranull]

Melina is the Gloam-Eyed Queen theory.

I disagree. So far I've only discussed this in replies and such, but I wanted to make a more detailed post about my thoughts (and the bases for my thoughts), so here it goes.

(yes I'm making two lists, I know most of us know all these, I want them in the post as reminders)

What we know about Melina:

She's born at the "...foot of the Erdtree"

She's Marika's daughter (whether through physical means or magical bullshitery can be debated)

She's was, at least some point, involved with the previous integration of the Black Knives. The weapon she uses is the non-imbued version of the Black Knife the assassins use.

She is curious about life and the creatures in the Lands Between: "Your seamster, Boc... I see him crying, from time to time. I think he misses his mother. He wants someone to tell him he's beautiful. Does being born of a mother... Mean one behaves in such a manner?"

Melina's original purpose: "...pass the thorns. My purpose serves to aid in that very act...There I can set the Erdtree aflame. And guide you. Down the path to becoming Elden Lord." Basically to bring an Elden Lord to rule the Lands Between.

Her reason for her sacrifice when she burns the Erdtree: "However ruined this world has become, however mired in torment and despair, life endures. Births continue. There is beauty in that, is there not?"

She sacrifices herself placing her faith in you, in order for life to continue. She seeks a future and the return of the life and death circle: "I have long observed the Lands Between. This world is in dire need of repair... and Death...indiscriminate..." (Note the indiscriminate)

What we know about the Gloam-Eyed Queen and the Godskins (her followers):

Per the Godskin Prayerbook, they seek to kill the gods: "Incantations of the god-slaying black flame..." (x)

"...of the Dusk-Eyed Queen who controlled the Godskin Apostles before her defeat at the hands of Maliketh...." (x)

"The Gloam-Eyed Queen led the apostles. It is said that she was an Empyrean chosen by the Fingers." (x)

"Black flame is weighty. After dealing damage it continues to sap foes' HP for a very short time." (x)

Black flames in general are sapping the life off of their targets (as mentioned above), and even if the caster is the target: "...sacred flasks and other such forms of HP restoration are impaired." (x)

Her followers wear literal skin for clothes.

And they're gloating about their acts: "...this incantation became a trophy of the Nobles' god hunt." (x)

The Gloam-Eyed Queen cradles newborn apostles swaddled in this cloth. Soon they will grow to become the death of the gods. (x) The death the Gloam-Eyed Queen seeks is specifically for the gods. There's no mention of common folk or natural death in any of her descriptions or implied goals.

Her goal seems to be the eradication, or general hunting of the gods (and I'm assuming demi-gods as well) in the Lands Between.

Okay, my thoughts.

This is what I have in support of the theory:

The Gloam-Eyed Queen held Destined Death. Melina promises you Destined Death if you go the FF ending and her closed eye opens revealing a misty, twilight like hue. And there's a connection with the Black Knives that steal the Rune of Death from Maliketh. That's really it..

And here's my argument against it:

(Don't know where to put this but also if Melina was the Queen she wouldn't need you to carry her all the way to the Tree. She could had ordered one of the many apostates she still has roaming around.)

Everything we know about the Gloam-Eyed Queen shows us a ruthless character, obsessed with killing the gods. Her followers are dressed in the most unnerving attire in the game and the death they bring (forced, violent, reveling in their act) is very different of the death Melina wants to give back (death as an natural end to life, for everyone not just gods). Hell, they revel in their work. The Gloam-Eyed Queen raised them to kill gods since they were infants.

What we know of Melina is that she's curious, interested in life and the world and deeply invested in protecting it. Even the death she wants to return, she does so in order for life to flourish, as she sees what the lack of death has brought in the Lands Between.

Melina cares. Deeply and about so many things. About Torrent, about you, about Boc, about the cut-content Mimic that was supposed to join you, about the world and its creatures as a whole.

And y'all are telling me that Melina, this character that cares so, so much that even when you force her to leave you she still refers to you as "...my companion."— Like, at that point the Tarnished is literally on the path to destroy everything she loves and stands for, and she still cares enough about them that refers to them as her companion. And only hunts them down when they truly become the Lord of Frenzied Flame, cause she's not ruthless enough to deal with them at the (valid) assumption that they're batshit insane. She waits and trusts that they'll return to their senses.

You are honestly telling me that this Melina is the ruthless, violent and death obsessed Gloam-Eyed Queen?

No. Just, no.

[bored-storyteller]

Re-Published

Anon: Hello! Um... I don't know if you write for Tokyo ghoul, but if you do, I might have a one-shot human reader x uta, where he kills someone to defend them so they find out he's a ghoul? Maybe even if they're scared they understand that they can trust, and they hug him or at least touch him though he's all covered in blood or something... I don't mind if you do it a little macabre.

If this is not possible or does it seem too ooc to you, please ignore this. Thank you

~

I finally finished one of the one-shots! I'm taking a long time with them, sorry.

And thanks Anon for asking about Tokyo Ghoul and especially Uta!

WARNING: VIOLENCE AND BLOOD

32 - Tokyo Ghoul - Uta x human! Reader

"Keep death away"

You could have known it long before, of course you could. Yet you were too stupid to understand, weren't you? Or just, you pretended not to understand. You didn't want to understand, it was easier.

It was a thousand times better to keep hunting in the meanders of your mind the doubt that occasionally arose when he never took off those damned sunglasses in your presence.

"Maybe he has some kind of disease, it would be inappropriate to ask, right?"

You always repeated it in your head as you watched him talk leaning against the counter in his study. In short, not that he didn't have his oddities, one more or one less what suspicions could arise?

Yes, indeed. Why were you so surprised that Uta was a ghoul? It was just one of many oddities about him.

You always knew it, but now you have been forced to face it.

You had to face that the security he gave you from that occasional first meeting was just a lie created by your mind. After all, who could ever find such a person reassuring?

God, the smell of blood was so nauseating, so terrifying, you had never felt it so strong before, nor had you ever seen so much blood. Could a human body really contain it?

Your hand went to your neck, where a slight red trickle burned in a thin scarlet crack that opened above your collarbone. The knife that gave it to you was lying helpless a few steps away from you, you could still distinguish it from the slight sparkle that emanated under the crimson cover that dipped the asphalt.

Now it seemed such a trivial weapon, so ridiculous.

You almost wondered how you got hurt by something so insignificant, to still have a sore wrist from the grip of a miserable human being. In front of the spectacle before you, the previous danger seemed only a bad joke.

But that joke was now literally being devoured. Eaten like you would have eaten a donut for breakfast.

The man who attacked you was literally being eaten. Not just killed, not just torn apart, eaten.

His flesh was ripped off, chewed under voracious teeth, and ran down a still too dry throat. His blood was licked, drunk, his bones shattered, pulled out like his organs, as if he were a fish to be cleaned.

Was it the liver he was now biting?

Did you have a chance to escape? To survive?

You remembered feeling a wave of relief when you saw a familiar figure in sight in your tears, however ...

You wanted to scream, but it would have been worse. You wanted to escape, but who could have escaped from such a creature?

He seemed to have forgotten you, bent over his meal as he was. Bloody predator, hungry, too absorbed in his hunger, in his desire for hideous food.

Yeah, he was hungry. Sure. Hunger, he was hungry. That's why Uta had dismissed you so quickly that evening.

And you were almost worried as you heard him close the doors of his shop behind your back as you left. You thought you did something bad, thank god.

Wait, what? Thank god?

No, no. You couldn't feel relieved. In short, you'd be dead soon, you should find your panic again, the one that blocked you until a moment ago.

He, that boy, would have killed you. He was hungry, he would eat you… right?

Your gaze was now fixed on the demon's pupils. The red irises surrounded by the black sea had slowly turned to you, as if he had heard your question.

Even his back, which until then had been bent in an animalistic position, was slowly straightening up again.

He had nothing left in his jaws, neither flesh nor bones. He was just… red. Splashes of living sap tinged his ageless face up above his nose, his tattoos almost disappeared under the blood of others.

And the silence spoke, it screamed deafeningly among you.

You asking him how much harm he would do you, and him asking you when you would condemn him, destroying the life he had built.

You did not have the courage to move a muscle, you remained there, curled up on the ground, with your hands clasped around your neck almost in the hope that he would not perceive your wound, your being alive. Your clothes also wet with blood and yellowish liquids whose origin you did not want to know.

For a moment, you thought you were going to stay there forever. He staring at you without expression from above, and you, ready to become food for beasts.

Your gaze dropped slightly, focusing on the background behind his legs. It was red there too, dark red. Red that stretched along the road in horrible wakes and crimson splashes.

There was no longer any sign of the human being who had attacked you, or rather, the signs were very little human.

You wondered if you felt sorry for him. Frankly, you didn't know what to think. It was awful, but at the same time how could you have saved yourself from what he was about to do to you?

"Have you been watching the whole time?"

Uta's voice suddenly roused you. God, you forgot that there was that voice of him; so quiet, so peaceful with you.

He knew it too, seeing him eat like that, it had to be traumatic. He didn't want you to see him, he hoped you'd never even have to imagine it. And yet you were there, and this was him. He couldn't change it anymore.

You watched him as a child watches his teacher as he searches for the right answer to a question he couldn't answer. What was the answer? Which would have made you survive if there was a chance?

"I ... I won't tell anyone ..."

What idiocy. Why would he have believed you? But what other choice did you have but that? You would have buried everything, just to survive. You would have buried everything because, it would have been easier. It would have been as it had been until then, you ... you could have done it.

"I won't tell anyone, Uta."

His gaze seemed to relax, but you couldn't be sure. Even though you could see him full face he seemed so good at keeping control over himself.

Was he believing you? Did he trust you enough? Why didn't he speak? You needed to know.

"If you talk, you know ..."

He didn't say anything else. His voice in the midst of delirium was almost reassuring, while he held back the scariest words and simply brought his palm to rest lazily on his abdomen, now full after who knows how long.

A warning that meant a thousand things, a thousand threats but he had the delicacy not to let you hear.

"Did you get into trouble at the right time ... your wound?"

Your lips parted, but all you did was gasp for a moment, not knowing what to say. Your head was spinning, you were dizzy and everything about you was shaking. You couldn't have stood on your legs.

"…Wound…?"

You repeated his words, as if you were unable to think for yourself. You realized it. Well, it meant that at least you were still aware of yourself.

He seemed to accept your status peacefully, and simply gestured with a light gesture of his tattooed hand to his neck, which was also so uniquely branded in black and now dyed red.

"You are hurt."

It wasn't a question, Uta just knew it.

Your hands slowly slipped from your neck until they fell into your lap. Of course, of course he knew. He felt it, that's why he was there.

You were in trouble at the right time, of course, because he was hungry. He wouldn't eat you, if he wanted he wouldn't send you away. If he had wanted he would have done it in his shop, safe. Now you knew it, and the sudden relief hit you like an electric shock, unexpectedly bringing tears to the edge of your eyes. Not the panic, but the relief almost made you throw up, and the awareness of the situation poured on you like a frozen waterfall.

Your mind, drowsy with questions, woke up suddenly, taking note of everything that had happened, of what was around you.

Death and gratuitous violence. Not Uta's, but the one you might have suffered without him.

Nobody guaranteed you that, without the tragic intervention, you would get out alive, and certainly not unharmed.

You had really come close to death, and where the knife had cut you it was now burning wickedly, taking you back to the instant before the devil's executioner arrived.

You did not even remember if there was a reason why you found yourself so tightened by filthy unknown arms, you did not remember if you were able to speak, but to pray yes.

God, you saw death. There was death, you touched it, it was all around you. You saw it, it was colored red, a dark red illuminated only by cold emergency lights that hung almost lifeless and wobbly from the walls of uninhabited alleys. Death flowed under your knees, like revolting rivulets accumulating at the bottom of the dead end.

Wherever you looked there was only death, or soulless things.

Where was the life?

Your forefinger and middle finger pressed desperately on your neck, looking for the place where your heart could testify that you were still alive, that no one had killed you. You were alive, you would have seen tomorrow.

And the figure of the ghoul looming over you senselessly returned to being reassuring.

You watched his infernal eyes peer at you patiently, luminous in the darkness. Oh, he was alive too, there with you.

"Uta ..."

You called him, like a newborn bird.

He took a step toward you for the first time, without threat, only in response to your plea.

"Uta ... Uta ... let me hear your heart ... please ... please ..."

You needed to feel him alive. You needed to feel the life in him, as you felt it in you, to know that in the midst of death you were not alone.

This time his expression betrayed him. His dark sclera widened just below the lids which opened slightly more. His black hair fell soft and long over his shoulder as his head bent slightly, scrutinizing you questioningly.

It was normal that he didn't understand. You were just a human, what a bizarre request was that?

Yet, still, it was you. The human he did not want to eat, the human he ran to as soon as he smelled their blood. The human who occasionally slipped into his shop, spying on his new masks and always asking him a thousand curious questions. The human with whom he went out for a coffee, to forget for a moment how much the world hated those like him.

Yeah, made by you, it wasn't such a crazy request. You've always been weird, so weird that Uta felt the need to save you, despite that ridiculous world that always ran too fast around his stillness.

His arms branded with tribal tattoos relaxed along his sides, opening slightly with his palms facing you. Not an invitation, but a permission to do what you wanted.

"If you are sure ..."

The only words spoken, perhaps slightly more insecure, and his calm voice, slightly broken with uncertainty, and at the same time so sweet in that deadly silence.

An adrenaline rush ran through your legs, and despite your exhaustion you got up, driven by the desire to reach that living creature.

It was not a hug, it was just you with your palms and ear delicately placed on his chest, searching for that desired sound. Like a lullaby it lulled you, his heart beating lightly fast against your cheek.

Under his ribcage you could also hear the organic sounds of the digestive process raging on what had been your tormentor. It wasn't as scary as you imagined, that body that was now keeping death away from you, was destroying it right under your touch.

And while you listened to the consoling heartbeat in the monster's chest, you didn't care about the blood that now ignoble dirty even your face. You were simply there, enjoying the warmth of a living body, while a thank you slipped under your breath that the ghoul's ears didn't expect to hear.

It wasn't a hug, but his hands leaned lightly like ghosts on your hips, holding you there, while the red irises more beautiful than blood rose to the black sky cut by the gray skyscrapers.

And as you listened gradually easing your fear, he felt your weight on his chest, more present with each breath. You miserable human being seeking refuge in the carnivorous beast, how grateful he was that even in the worst revelation he could make to you, you were still there, scared but understanding, and yet you were able to make that world around him seem less cruel.

[morwensteelsheen]

so @tinacharles and I have sort of been having this conversation about the varying levels of culpability of all the men in Éowyn’s life re: her abject fucking misery, which got me to thinking about how that discussion would play out in-universe.

I know it’s pretty popular (and not incorrectly so, imo!) to have Éomer being fairly distrustful of Faramir, but I think it's underplayed just how much ammunition Faramir has to be out-and-out fucked off with Éomer on Éowyn's behalf.

Part of that understatement is a desire, I reckon, to see all the named Rohirrim as basically innocents, manipulated beyond aid by Wormtongue, and functionally helpless until Gandalf and the Three Hunters show up, but that's a take that is, imo, too reliant upon what we get in the movie canon and not reliant enough on what's actually written in the text! The point of Théoden's downfall is that it is his pride and his hubris (and not any magic!) that is his undoing, and it is Gandalf's reminders that his responsibilities are greater than the weight of the injuries to his pride that "brings him back" so to speak. The ability to stop fucking around exists at all moments within Théoden, there is no magic, no great battles, not valiant rescues involved, it's just about him putting his big girl panties on and dealing with his own life. But because there's a tendency to see too much of the movie canon in these characters, their relative culpability in Éowyn's immiseration is largely erased, which is incredibly unfair both in terms of treating these characters with the nuance they deserve, but also in terms of treating Éowyn's misery with the seriousness it deserves!

And a key element of this is Éomer's complacency/culpability in all of this. I often quote the conversation between Gandalf, Aragorn, and Éomer after the Pelennor about Éowyn's ~fundamental unknowability~, but I think it is, uhhh, pretty fucked up that Aragorn, Faramir, and Gandalf are all able to spot out Éowyn's deeply destroyed mental health within minutes of coming into contact with her (and yes, it is true enough that they're all powered-up slightly by magic-ish things) while Éomer, who has spent literally his entire life around her, doesn't really have an inkling of what's actually going on in her interior life. That's really upsetting to me, and is no doubt deeply upsetting and isolating for Éowyn, who has basically no other people in her life until Faramir shows up (you know, after she literally tries to kill herself!).

More than that, when Gandalf and the Three Hunters show up and immediately break Théoden free of his pity party, we don't get a sense that undermining Wormtongue has any actual political repercussions—Hama (👑) immediately names Éowyn as the favoured heir to the throne, which says that she's got a substantial amount of organic support where and when it matters. Yes, it's true they immediately have to go fight Saruman's forces in Helm's Deep, but Helm's Deep is a pretty unique battle in the books for how "small" it is in terms of coalitions: the Rohirrim fight that sucker almost entirely unaided! So if a consequence of unseating Wormtongue had been facing down Saruman's lot on the battlefield (assuming that he would have been prepared to do so at any point before the canonical Battle of the Hornburg), we know that the Rohirrim could have handled it, and what's more, they might have been in an even better position to have handled it, because Théodred would have likely still been alive, alongside however many men they lost at the Battle of the Fords of Isen. A lot of words to say: there's really no indication that there was a danger, per se, to beating Wormtongue's ass down; but we do know that there was some obstacle. Tolkien goes pretty far out of his way to hint that it's a lack of will that's doing most of the work there. As readers, I think we're all mostly content to ignore this element of Éomer's complacency because we do largely see Éomer at his best and most noble, but I think we do a real disservice to both his and Éowyn's characters for not dealing with that more intimately.

Anyways, my original point is that I think Faramir has really good reason to be quite grumpy with Éomer and I think he'd actually probably be supported in that frustration by Éowyn, who would almost certainly be pretty chuffed to finally have someone fighting her corner after so many years. I don't know exactly how Faramir's frustration would manifest—almost certainly not with the level of vitriol and overtness that his frustration with his father manifested itself, but I do think he would be very good at making sure that Éomer is keenly aware that Faramir is Unhappy about his actions/lack thereof. That, I think, adds a really interesting dynamic not just to Éowyn and Faramir's personal life, particularly as they're off starting their lives together, but also their political life, given that Éomer is the new King of the Riddermark, shown to be exceptionally close with both Aragorn and Imrahil, and, of course, is later married to Faramir's cousin—some of Faramir's last living family.

Edit: just picked up the books to double check some stuff so adding cites beneath the cut

On Théoden's 'malady':

"the influence over him that Gríma gained when the King's health began to fail. This occurred early in the year 3014, when Théoden was sixty-six; his malady may thus have been due to natural causes, though the Rohirrim commonly lived till near or beyond their eightieth year. But it may well have been induced or increased by subtle poisons, administered by Gríma. In any case Théoden's sense of weakness and dependence on Gríma was largely due to the cunning and skills of this evil counsellor's suggestions."

From Unfinished Tales, V. The Battles of the Fords of Isen.

On Éomer Missing The Fucking Point:

"But Aragorn came to Éowyn, and he said: ‘Here there is a grievous hurt and a heavy blow. The arm that was broken has been tended with due skill, and it will mend in time, if she has the strength to live: It is the shield-arm that is maimed; but the chief evil comes through the sword-arm. In that there now seems no life, although it is unbroken.

‘Alas! For she was pitted against a foe beyond the strength of her mind or body. And those who will take a weapon to such an enemy must be sterner than steel, if the very shock shall not destroy them. It was an evil doom that set her in his path. For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens. And yet I know not how I should speak of her. When I first looked on her and perceived her unhappiness, it seemed to me that I saw a white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily, and yet knew that it was hard, as if wrought by elf-wrights out of steel. Or was it, maybe, a frost that had turned its sap to ice, and so it stood, bitter-sweet, still fair to see, but stricken, soon to fall and die? Her malady begins far back before this day, does it not, Éomer?’

‘I marvel that you should ask me, lord,’ he answered. ‘For I hold you blameless in this matter, as in all else; yet I knew not that Éowyn, my sister, was touched by any frost, until she first looked on you. Care and dread she had, and shared with me, in the days of Wormtongue and the king’s bewitchment; and she tended the king in growing fear. But that did not bring her to this pass!’

‘My friend,’ said Gandalf, ‘you had horses, and deeds of arms, and the free fields; but she, born in the body of a maid, had a spirit and courage at least the match of yours. Yet she was doomed to wait upon an old man, whom she loved as a father, and watch him falling into a mean dishonoured dotage; and her part seemed to her more ignoble than that of the staff he leaned on.

‘Think you that Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden’s ears? Dotard! What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs? Have you not heard those words before? Saruman spoke them, the teacher of Wormtongue. Though I do not doubt that Wormtongue at home wrapped their meaning in terms more cunning. My lord, if your sister’s love for you, and her will still bent to her duty, had not restrained her lips; you might have heard even such things as these escape them. But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?’

Then Éomer was silent, and looked on his sister, as if pondering anew all the days of their past life together."

From Return of the King, VIII The House of Healing

[in-2004-fandoms-and-counting]

AU where Nico dies (don't hate me pls I'm sorry I love Nico and ship the hell out of Solangelo, this is just to allow for some dark AUs) transporting the Athena Parthenos in BoO.

(Sorry it's such a long post) Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, revered praetor and peace-loving daughter of Bellona, loses the ability to share strength. Now, when she uses her power, she saps your energy, draws on your bravery, and poisons your mind with horrific images. Nico's death has allowed suppressed traits to resurface and overwhelm all her progress since San Juan all those years ago. She picks fights. She becomes a dictator in all but name, abolishing the Senate and making War Games a lot more "realistic": weekly funerals become commonplace, words are spoken under breaths, and terror resides in the heart of every New Roman. And so, Reyna Ramírez-Arellano turns her brilliant mind and poisonous power to Gaea's aid. Gleeson Hedge doesn't seem more than a broken satyr at first glance, his smiles never sincere, his voice never loud, his bat never raised. But when he slips off into the wilderness, he does not sit quietly among the trees and reflect. He whispers into the trees' leaves, his twisted words echoing the bitterness that now consumes his being. He has been tricked too many times: Pan, forcing thousands of satyrs to lose their lives in their quest to find him when he was alive all along; Clarisse, who never tried to connect with nature or understand his own ties to the natural world, who teaches his child the game of death while Mellie watches, fading away, unable to fight back; the gods, who, in their promise of protection, conveniently ignored the nature spirits. He is bitterest about Nico's death: about all he could have done, about what the kid should have done. The glint in his eyes scares even the worst monster that Tartarus could send. But it is Gaea he turns his allegiance to. It is Gaea who promises that he will always be good enough for her. And so, Gleeson Hedge turns nature back to its true mother: Gaea. Hazel Levesque is not someone you want as an enemy. Her golden eyes, gold like the masks of the judges of the dead, seem to see everything. Her powers grow stronger, but now she is able to control them. One glance, and she can cause an entire legion to scream and writhe in agony as she manipulates the iron in their blood, twists their shining armour, forces weapons to turn on their handlers. She stops wearing normal, mortal clothes, and now she wears flowing dresses of molten gold and bronze that no spear could pierce nor hand touch. She calls on the remnants of metal in the cave in Resurrection Bay to rise, and rise they do, twisting and weaving together at her command to form a cathedral-like vault with a solid Stygian iron throne. At the front of her temple lies a chasm from which her first creation arises, complete and healed, at last. Alcyoneus clambers out of the pit, back with his mother's life and Hazel's burning desire for destruction. And so, after seventy years, Hazel Levesque joins forces with Gaea of her own free will. Frank Zhang's arrows are no longer aimed at Tartarus's monsters, but at the people he once considered friends. The ruins of the Zhang family mansion become a shrine to Gaea, the ancient walls falling in blissful happiness into the Earth Mother's embrace. Frank returns often with fresh skulls, unfailingly whole - his arrow pierces cleanly through the eye every time. His piece of firewood safe in Gaea's belly, protected where no flame could reach, he is unstoppable. His shapeshifting causes unforseen problems with the allies' plans, it's very hard to plan how to fight a lion when he could turn into a swarm of bees at any moment. He is the ultimate spy, a literal fly on the wall, and for once, he feels needed. He feels worth something. He feels as though he is good enough, something the gods could never give. All the gods ever did for Frank, he realises bitterly, is take. His mother. His grandmother. His self-confidence. His chance for a stable, loving family. Nico. And so, Frank Zhang finds a different kind of family, one that will not let him down, in Gaea. Piper McLean never wanted to be a tragic love story; that was purely for her mother's entertainment. She

cuts her hair short. She kills Gaea's enemies on sight. Her charmspeak forces even her old family, Camp Half-Blood, to turn against each other, brother against brother, sister against sister, until bodies litter the strawberry fields and the Big House crumbles to smouldering ashes. The gods have her no love. Their boundaries mean nothing to her any more. Her love extends to her favourite mother, her boyfriend, the rest of the Seven, Grover, Reyna and Hedge. Beyond that, it is poison. Gaea takes her hands, looks into her eyes, and tells Piper that she is more than the spawn of an unfaithful, air-headed immortal, more than the damsel in distress. She tells Piper that she is who she decides to be. And Piper agrees. Gaea gives her the opportunity to be out of others' shadows. Piper McLean takes the chance and joins with Gaea, her charmspeak almost her most dangerous feature, second only to her unbridled wrath when Nico's death is mentioned.

Jason Grace owes fealty to only one eternal goddess now. He scours the Underworld with Hazel and Frank, relentless like the wolves he was brought up with. He knows no bounds, his destruction barely controllable by even Piper and her charmspeak. He has obliterated entire cities, counties, even an entire nation. He feels no regret, no remorse, no nagging guilt. He seeks out and electrocutes homophobes as his powers grow in complexity, along with his ability to control them. No matter how much they scream, the same two words shoot from Jason's scarred lips like the lightning bolts he commands: for Nico. As the darkness inside him grows, the son of Jupiter advances on Olympus, eyes and hands blazing, to destroy his father, as one of Gaea's allies, as one of Gaea's found children. Jason Grace vows by Nico's soul and Gaea's love to destroy the gods who shamelessly abandoned them.

Percy Jackson has been close to the darkness before. As just one examole, he's controlled poison to choke the goddess of misery at the edge of Chaos. But now, Annabeth's words at the time - some things aren't meant to be controlled - strike differently. Percy doesn't follow rules any more. That brooding, troublemaking face now alludes to his new form: gone is the class clown, here is something more akin to a devil. Like Hazel, he has made hundreds of people and monsters shriek in pain as he controls their blood, contorting their bodies into unnatural forms and snapping necks with a mere snap of his fingers. If Nico's death is mentioned around the pair of them - Hazel and Percy - both turn on the individual, eyes smouldering with the deceitfully cool ashes of the fire of grief, and slowly unleash their wrath. Percy cannot be controlled. He wants revenge. Part of him wishes he had never given his mother the head of Medusa to kill Smelly Gabe; it tore him to pieces when he made the fluid in her head seep out of her eyes. But she wouldn't stop begging him to leave Gaea. She had to go. She was no longer loving him as he knew he deserved. Now, Percy Jackson takes his support from the mother he should have accepted long ago: Gaea.

Annabeth Chase did not accept powers from her new mother, her better mother. She chose to use her mind as her weapon and Gaea respected that. Gaea gave her the resources she needed to wreak havoc on mortals and immortals alike. Now, instead of studying for a stupid internship in a misogynistic, capitalist society, Annabeth unleashes her fury, her grief, her mind on the world. The gods deserve to pay for what happened to Nico. The demigods need to feel her grief. The mortals started this stupid cycle of overwork and inadequate pay. Annabeth is ready to work with the mother that respects her, that loves her, that nurtures her as she deserves. And work she does. Plan after plan is developed, improved, redrafted, mocked up, redeveloped, and finally executed with clinical precision. Her mind becomes what her enemies most fear, even above her reputation: first child of Athena in millennia to reach Arachne, retriever of the Athena Parthenos, survivor of Tartarus. And she laughs, laughs in a maniacal way that makes you want to take a step back as she strides towards you, grey eyes alight with an unnatural glint as you realise that she knows everything about you and she knows how this will end. She will not let herself or her friends die. She refuses to let another situation like Nico's death happen again. So, Annabeth Chase takes Gaea's resources and turns them into a mass genocide, executed with her new mother's blessing.

Grover Underwood leads the nature spirits now. He commands dryads to extend their unstoppable tendrils through the paths that Gaea forms for them, deep in the earth, then sending them exploding through the surface and reclaiming all that was torn from them under the pretence of friendship. His empathy link with Percy allows him some degree of control, both over the son of Poseidon and over naiads. Grover is betrayed and bitterly disappointed in Pan, in the gods, in demigods, in mortals, in Nico. And so, he turns nature back home with Gleeson Hedge. The hauntingly beautiful whistling of his pipes lures demigods, mortals, even gods to their doom. Apollo is the first to fall, trapped by the music of the satyr whose horns now make him seem diabolical as he dances in the flames. Grover Underwood finds his roots in Gaea and his revenge in destruction.

Leo Valdez wants to burn the world to ashes. There's not a moment he's not on fire, his hair smouldering, his skin aglow. At his feet lies Hera, trussed up like a rodeo calf, bound by the power of the guardian Leo knows he deserved as a child. There is no Piper with her charmspeak to free the ex-queen; at least, Piper is by Leo's side as he blasts her with his searing flames. There's a smile on Leo's face that rivals even Annabeth's as he torches cities, razes acres and lights up the sky with plumes of smoke and columns of fire. His reasoning feels etched into his heart: the gods let Nico die. The gods let us down one time too many. And so he lets the flames go. Gaea stands behind him, her hand on his shoulder, proud and respectful. She knows that he secretly enjoyed starting the war with New Rome. He has fire powers; it's only natural, and that Octavian is enough to drive anyone mad. So, Leo Valdez finally makes his peace with Gaea.

Will Solace goes out like a light as the news of his beloved's death is announced. He lies, broken and silent, in Gaea's arms, tears streaming down his face. He stirs only for Nico's name, and his eyes turn slowly to whoever dared say it. He reaches out an arm, eyes turning black, leaching all the colour from the surroundings as his whisper echoes: there is no hope. Behind him stands Gaea, a tear of her own on her earthen cheek. She feels his pain, raw and fresh. But she takes some of it onto herself. Will Solace shares his grief with Gaea now.

And so they stand, eyes alight and expressions dark and triumphant, by the side of the goddess who did not want to let Nico die.

Gaea smiles.

[morgana-ren]

Just Business

Summary: You’re a loan shark looking to expand your enterprise to the League of Villains. Lucky for you, Dabi might just be willing to hear you out. As long as you can prove your loyalty to him, that is. 

Rating: E for not everyone. Explicit. Do I release anything else?

Baby’s first Dabi fic. Just testing the waters, folks. I know nothing about this man. Literally nothing.

Money lending is such a nasty business. 

Some poor sap shuffles in nervously shifting his fingers and recites some rehearsed script about why he needs the cash and how he’s good for it, and then you throw him a wad and pretend to make up some important deadline. He thanks you profusely and thumbs through the cash as he leaves, and you’ve still got your heels kicked up on your desk as you tell a goon to keep an eye on him. 

Sometimes their reaction to your ‘charity’ varies, but one thing always stays the same. They can never pay it back. 

Some run. Some try to hide. Some bolt the second the cash hits their fists, boarding the first train out of town. Some genuinely try to do the right thing. The result is the same. 

You track them down. Your boot, their neck. They cry, you extort. 

It’s not about the money. It never is. Wealth is fine and good but no amount of monetary fortune can amount to having another thread in the network web you’re building. You’ll let them off the hook and they’ll spy for you, lie for you, even put their neck on the line because they have no other choice. Info is worth infinitely more than a petty loan, and what you invest in their short sighted schemes is repaid tenfold. 

You knew something was up with the shifty little prick the second he walked in the door. He asked for an exorbitant amount and could never meet your eyes when he told you just what he planned to do with it. It sounded too rehearsed, even for your usual clientele. Almost like someone told him what to say and just how to say it. 

In this business, you learn to call a spade a spade, but even as he sat on his knees with his gaze shifted away from you and practically screaming tells, you felt there was something deeper. A truth buried deep within his lies. Something interesting. Something you wanted to know. 

You give the poor bastard the money. 

Sending a runner to watch his schedule confirms your beliefs. He walks into a dilapidated abandoned building not long after leaving the meeting with your thick wad of cash in hand and leaves with only a few bills, though he looks relieved for his trouble. You have his face, his name, a dossier on his entire life. He’s far too unguarded for someone into something so nefarious. Someone sent this little gnat into your domain and didn’t expect you to follow the thread. They were mistaken. Whoever this man works for, he’s the only lead into something deeper. 

Your little flies swarm the building only to find it empty. No trace of who you had been dealing with, no clues to lead you to the heart of your curiosity. Only dust splayed across concrete and a fire with the ashes still warm. 

All your contacts and all your pull only give you one lead: the League of Villains. 

A down-on-their-luck outfit of outcasts and outlaws. Their leader had been making some big moves with a large financier some months ago, but things turned disastrous and no one had heard a peep since. It doesn’t surprise you to hear they’re rebuilding, but what intrigues you is that they’re making such risky pulls to do it. Borrowing money they clearly cannot pay back from a loan shark with a reputation of ruthlessness. 

It should make you mad, being ripped off and deceived like that. 

It doesn’t. 

If anything, it tickles you. You didn’t even have to put out any feelers and they had loitered into your web. You’d had your eyes on them for some time, curious about their leader and their members. They could prove a worthy investment, if given the chance. You never had an in with them since they never needed your services, but it seems that they hand delivered one in desperation.

It becomes a matter of baiting and trapping. 

You wait and you listen. The debt date approaches and it’s only a matter of time. It doesn’t surprise you when the same man wanders back into your office and hands you a thick stack of bills, more than twice what you had offered him. You most definitely are surprised to find him returning but you accept his offering with a smile, running your finger along the bills to keep up appearances. 

“It seems you find yourself quite wealthy! You simply must tell me how you’ve made such a grand turn around!”

He swallows hard at your compliment, raising a hand to the back of his head and scratching nervously. “Luck, Ma’am. Nothing more. I find myself in fortune and simply wish to repay your great kindness.” 

“Of course.” You smile at him, allowing him to take his leave. Now the real game begins. 

Your little spies follow him as he weaves through the streets into the industrial part of town. He ducks into another decrepit building, closing the door firmly behind him. He emerges a few moments later only to tuck a receipt of payment and a few more bills into his shirt. The pace he has is slower now, more relaxed. He believes he’s free, shaken clean of your webbing and can breathe without fear now. 

How wrong he is. 

The look of terror on his face as you block his exit from the alley almost makes you feel sorry for him. He immediately becomes defensive, backing up several feet despite the absence of your body guards. He’s not afraid of you. He’s afraid of who is watching. 

“What are you doing here? I paid you!” 

“You have.” You acknowledge, bowing your head. “I’m not here for money. I simply ask for information. That’s not so terrible, is it? This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“I don’t know anything!” 

“But of course you do!” You draw closer and he trips over his own feet, falling flat to the alley floor. “That money wasn’t for you, was it? You have no prospects, no family or land or investments of your own. Only a crippling gambling debt, yes? Paying debt doesn’t accumulate currency, so clearly you must have had some grand scheme. I’m very interested in your process.” 

You bend down, venom gathering behind your fangs as you stroke his petrified face with a cool finger. “From one brilliant mind to another. I’ll keep it a secret. I promise.”

“I- Well-” He looks around anxiously, stumbling over words but so close to breaking. It won’t take much on your part to get him to crack. 

Or it wouldn’t have, anyway. 

A bolt of vibrant blue flame speeds toward you from around a corner almost quicker than you can process and it’s only barely that you manage to dodge it by shoving yourself clumsily backward. The unbelievable heat from the blast doesn’t escape you, and you cover your face as the alleyway erupts in fire, engulfing your only lead in flames and incinerating him before you could make a move to save him and whatever it is he had to say. The smell of charred flesh is overwhelming and despite the obvious threat, you can’t help but smile. 

A tall figure walks fearlessly through the inferno, hands in his pockets and seeming almost bored as he kicks over the ashen figure that was human only seconds ago. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted this idiot.” 

You stay silent, face shielded from the encompassing heat by your palm as he approaches. Inky black hair and a pale body covered in muldering skin, maroon scars stapled together with metal and sheer force of will. His threadbare coat billows around his feet as he trudges down the alleyway toward you. His eyes are a striking shade of blue, focused on you with an empty expression. 

The ends of your hair have singed and your face itches, but it’s nothing compared to the accomplishment you feel. You had a feeling that toying with some strings might bring the cat out to play. 

“So you’re one of the League.” 

You stand up, brushing the dirt off your knees and stabilizing yourself on the wall despite the overwhelming heat. 

“Sure. You’re that babe that lent us the money, right? That was nice of you.” He stops just short of you, arms withdrawing from his pockets and igniting with indigo flame. “Now why don’t you scram? You got your money, what happens from here isn’t your business.”

“Oh, it’s not all business.” You coyly tell him, running him once over with your eyes. “Sometimes it’s just pleasure. Are there other fine, strapping young lads like you in the League or am I just one lucky girl?”

“That depends.” He scoffs, puffing air out of his stapled cheeks. “Do you get any better at prying for information or is this the best you can do?” 

“Oh!” A dramatic gesture and you cross your hands over your heart, already coating your hands in sticky, silken thread. “You wound me!” 

“I’ll wound you a hell of a lot worse if you don’t get out of here.” His fist clenches, and a burst of ever increasing heat emanates from the fire engulfing his hand. “Last I checked, fire still kills spiders.” 

“You’d burn down your own home to kill a single little spider? I’m flattered.” 

Before he can retort, you kick one of your feet out behind you, jumping toward him and latching your legs around his midsection. Your hands are quick to wrap around his own as he tumbles to the ground, burning through the layers of webbing drooling from your fingers. The viscous cobweb coats his palms and successfully extinguishes his flames, if only for a moment. It won’t be long, but hopefully it will give you the time you need. You slather the mixture onto the ground next to his head, immobilizing his arms and trapping him beneath you. 

He looks panicked for a moment, trying desperately to activate his quirk, but it can’t get the air his fire needs to breathe through your gossamer web. You keep steady on his bucking hips, as chuckling he tries to pry his hands free of your thick, durable weave. Once he realizes it’s not going to happen and you haven’t killed him yet, he seems to relax, if only slightly. 

“So, it’s not just a nickname.” He muses, teal eyes focused on your fangs through your grinning lips. “You know, I kill spiders when they’re in my house.” 

You throw him a faux pout, grabbing his jaw with your middle finger and thumb and holding him steady as you inspect the staples that line his jaw. “You’re so cruel. I’m just trying to protect my web. You can’t truly blame me, can you? You’d do the same.” 

His hips thrash again and this time you don’t hold back the little moan it coaxes from you, His pupils dilate and for a brief second he seems frozen. At least before a smarmy smirk tugs at his upper lip. “You got your money, doll. I’m starting to think this isn’t business after all.”

“Maybe it’s not.” You lean down, running your tongue across the textured expanse of his neck and stifling a giggle when he stiffens. “Maybe I see potential in your little group and I want in.” 

“That’s nice of you.” He juts his face toward you only for you to pull back. “But it’s really not up to me.” 

You withdraw your hand from his jaw and run it down his chest instead, fingertips slowly stimulating the rough, scarred skin beneath his neck. “Then who is it up to?” 

“That would be the boss.” He grins, one hand breaking free of your web and immediately finding purchase in your hair. You go to grab his wrist but he tuts you, threatening you with a familiar warmth on your scalp. Long, skinny fingers coil around your roots and yank your head back, and eventually his other hand breaks free, coming up to grip at your waist. “And he’s going to want nothing to do with you.” 

He pulls you down closer to him, the moist heat from his breath collecting on the side of your neck as he keeps you steady on top of him. You can feel him hardening between your legs and you can’t help but wiggle your hips to bolster the sensation. 

“What do I need to do, then?” 

“I’d be willing to put in a good word for you,” The hand on your waist slides down to grip your ass, clenching the fatty skin and slowly moving you back and forth atop his hips. “If you’re okay with working for it.” 

“You’d be so generous, yeah?” You gyrate your lower body against him, feeling the head of his cock poking your clit through his rough jeans. 

“You’d be surprised what I’ll do if you make it worth it.”

“I guess I have no choice then.” Your tongue runs over the point of your fangs, swallowing back all the venom you’d had so ready. Sometimes it’s easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar, and you had the sweetest honey of all right between your thighs. 

“Say the word and I’ll let you walk away, babe.” His fingers loosen their hold on your body but don’t relinquish entirely. “But if you don’t, I’m going to need you to prove your loyalty.”

You push his body down with your chest until the back of his head meets the gravel, allowing him to keep his hold on you. “I’m very loyal.” 

Your tits squish against his pecs and he sneaks a less than inconspicuous peak at them, cock throbbing against your apex. “Prove it.”

You don’t need any further prompting. He almost protests as you shake his hand free and scoot back farther down his legs, at least until he realizes what you’re doing. Your deft fingers work at the buttons of his jeans, yanking them down to his thighs before resituating yourself and working on your own buttons, pulling at them painfully slowly. Once you’ve both exposed yourself to the open air, you can’t help but look at his cock, thick and bobbing against his stomach. It’s one of the only parts of him that isn’t scarred and latched with metal, but the weeping tip looks so inviting. Every bone in your body wants to take him in your mouth and make him see God through sheer force of tongue, but you’ve got a job to do and there’s no time for play. Not this time anyway. 

You sit up on your knees until he’s aligned with your hole, sinking down just enough to tease him with your tightness. He groans, trying to pull you down further, but you’re not having it. You arch your back, keeping your knees steady and allowing only the very tip of his cock to enter you. 

“Fuck- hurry it up, would you?” 

You grab his hands and push them down by his head again, sinking down on him as slow as you possibly can. His eyes roll back in his head, and he hisses all manner of curses as you situate him nice and snug between your suffocating walls. The head of his cock prods at your cervix as you sit on top of him but the fullness stuffed between your thighs forces a breathy moan from you. 

He gives you no time to adjust to his girth, pumping his hips up into you as you’re still catching your breath. “Shit! You’re pretty fuckin tight, babe!” A shiver rolls down his back as his hands move to your hips and try to force you harder up and down against him

“So impatient.” You croon, licking up his neck again before sinking your fangs deep into the rough tissue. 

“Fuck!” 

He’s almost ready to shove you off of him before you start rolling your hips, letting his cock burrow deep into your silken cunt again and again, running your tongue along the column of his throat and nipping softly to gain his trust. You’re not trying to poison him, not now. Your job right now is to gift him pleasure, and so you will. 

“Risky-” He huffs in your ear, one hand smacking down hard enough on your ass that you yelp. “Toying with me like that. I can guess what those fangs can do.” 

“If only you knew everything.” You sigh, letting his hands go in favor of pulling back, your palms finding his knees behind you as your back arches and puts your tits on display for him. 

He can’t resist. The only thing separating him from your chest is a flimsy shirt which he quickly disposes of, heating his fingers enough that the fabric begins to shred before he swiftly pulls it apart. He quickly takes advantage of the fact that your milky tits are within reaching distance, latching on to a nipple and sucking almost painfully. 

A high pitched keen escapes your throat as he puffs and hollows his cheeks, slobbering on your chest with one hand on the crook of your shoulder to keep you anchored close. His cock pummels your insides, pelvis stimulating your clit as you ride him. You’re clinging to control but you can feel it slipping with every sloppy lick of his tongue and every brutal thrust of his hips. His heaving becomes more and more erratic, moist breath practically burning your chest on the odd second he pulls away to watch your face. Your eyes close and you lose yourself in the euphoria of his cock, letting him hit you deep and hard just where you need it. Eventually, he releases your nipple from his mouth and you figure you’re both about to cum. 

That comes to a screeching halt when he slows his pistoning, grabbing your waist with both hands and keeping you from riding him either. 

“What the hell!” You whine, trying and failing to chase your rapidly disappearing orgasm. 

“Dabi.” He hisses, bringing a hand up and kneading your breast with fingers that are too hot to handle, squeezing your nipple and sending another jolt of hot pleasure between your legs. 

“What?” 

Your teeth are clenching, active frustration boiling in your gut. You were so close. Somehow he knows, but he knocks you off of him, watching with mirthful eyes as you land on your butt beside him. Instead of mocking you, he sits up and quickly pulls off his coat, throwing to the ground behind him and spreading it around haphazardly. Before you have time to question, he lurches forward, grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the fabric beneath him. 

“I wanna hear you say it.” He says, maneuvering your legs open and placing his thick cock back at your drooling cunt. “When you cum on my dick, I wanna hear you say my name.” 

He refuses to move until you acknowledge him, so you do. 

“P-please? Dabi?” 

“Good girl” He purrs, plunging inside you again so fast you hardly have time to recover. The hand around your neck heats and you scream, at least until a pair of charred lips forces themselves against your open ones. He pounds into you with renewed energy, slamming with a force that jerks your head back with every thrust. The hand that isn’t firmly clasped around your throat finds its way between your legs and rubs in tight, calculated circles. His slick tongue worms into your throat, licking the front of your teeth.

“You’re cute-” he huffs into your open mouth. “I might keep you around. You’re more useful to me as a whore than a loan shark. Is that what you want, doll? To take my loads in your warm little holes? I’ll take real good care of you.”

You want to tell him no. You have a business, a mission. But as he drills deeper inside you, you’re so close to saying whatever he wants so long as he doesn’t stop. The electric warmth between your thighs is rapidly building, coiling up and ready to burst and you’ll say whatever he wants as long as he keeps fucking you. 

Some part of him must sense this, because he pulls away from your throat, weaving his fingers up through the crown of your head again and pulling you up to face him. His eyes are glazed, sweat dripping down his temple and he huffs breath through his nostrils that’s practically steam at this point. 

“Beg me to cum.” 

“Please-” 

His fingers work against your clit but just enough to keep the pleasure from fading. You need it faster. You need it harder.

“More!” 

He hums and licks up your lips, slipping his tongue between your teeth again for a brief second. “What’s the magic word?” 

The fingers on your pussy heat slightly as he applies more pressure, watching you through heavily lidded eyes as you writhe and squirm. 

“D-Dabi!” 

“Such a good girl. Say ‘Dabi please let me cum!”

It’s degrading and filthy but fuck you want it. Plus, remember, this is just business. Right?

“Dabi! P-Please let me cum on your cock! Please! I-I need-!” 

He bites down on your bottom lip before the words can leave your swollen tongue. Your body wiggles restlessly as you wait for him to give you what he promised. 

“Good girls get rewards.” 

His hips pull back and shove almost impossibly deep inside, forcing a loud cry from you before he slams mouth down onto yours. His fingers work overtime on your engorged clit, utilizing the wetness seeping from your hole as his cock thrusts in and out. His tongue worms past your lips again and explores every inch he can reach, chuckling as you moan shamelessly into his mouth. 

Though he starts off with a precise rhythm, it quickly becomes erratic as he chases his own pleasure while delivering yours. The hand at your apex is working overtime and the one in your hair is warm enough that you’d likely be a bit worried if you had the mental capacity. He uses both of them to maneuver you to his precise liking, fucking into you like you’re a pliable little doll built solely for his pleasure. 

He’s mumbling incoherently, breathing hot and heavy against your cheek. Your needy moans and whimpers only drive him to move faster and harder as your own hips work double time to meet his powerful pulsating. If you weren’t the one making the noises, you never would have believed it was you. 

“Fuck- shit! Gunna cum nice and deep in your pretty little cunt! Gunna make sure you’re dripping for days-“ He cuts off partway through to let out a heafy groan as you clench your muscles tighter to milk him. “God, so fucking tight-“

Your orgasm is approaching quickly, pain from his bony hips digging into the fleshy fat of your thighs barely a whisper compared to the white hot pressure building at the base of your spine. You can feel his cock twitch against your cervix with every punch against it and you know he’s close too. 

You dig your nails in, fingers clamped against his shoulders and using his movements to build your own momentum. The cacophony of moans between you two becomes louder and more unhinged, him whispering depraved fantasies in your ear that only drive you further to completion. Your head falls back down to the ground as you lose the ability to keep it up any longer, cord finally snapping and unraveling as he throws you over the edge. 

You practically scream as he continues fucking you through your orgasm, legs constricting ever tighter around his narrow hips as you push yourself up harder to chase every ounce of sensation he has to offer you. Stars dance behind your shut eyes and your entire body buzzes with prickling bliss that radiates from your core. You can’t feel the pain in your knees from the asphalt before he flipped you or the localized ache from him ripping at your hair; only the overwhelming, pulsing euphoria as he continues to hit that sweet, spongy spot deep inside you as you ride out your peak. 

His animalistic grunts turn even more primal as your walls flutter around his thick cock, clenching and pulsing around him until he can’t hold back the tide of cresting pleasure anymore. Hot cum floods your insides, so warm you swear it nearly burns you. He continues pumping as it begins to leak from inside you, obscene squelching echoing from the point of entry. He turns his head, finding the crook of your neck and biting down hard enough you cry out, marking you one last time as he continues to stroke himself with your cunt until every last drop has been drained. 

His cock throbs for a moment before slowly softening inside you as he tries to see straight. You’ve yet to open your eyes, only twitching in overstimulation as he withdraws his hand from between your slippery thighs. He allows you to catch your breath for a moment before lightly pushing himself up off of you, careful not to hurt you. 

You slowly regain the ability to move your body and rollout from underneath him, wobbling legs dropping you back onto the cement instead of allowing you to stand when you try. It’s a struggle to pull up your pants since your legs have decided they no longer want to work, but somehow you manage to get them pulled up and buttoned, Dabi’s cum seeping from between your thighs and staining onto the fabric. Dabi himself hoists himself to his feet, using the wall as support. He’s trying desperately to seem unaffected but you don’t miss the falter of his legs like a newborn fawn when he first rises to his feet. 

“Thanks doll, that was fun.” He somehow manages to bend over and grab his coat from the floor, snaking his arms through the armholes and readjusting it over his chest. “I think I’ll be in touch.”

You raise your head, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You think?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, beginning his walk back down the alleyway where he came from. He turns to look at you one last time, sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I might need some more convincing.”