#Man made environment: Furnace

[horizon-series-details]

A while ago, I stumbled upon an abandoned Utaru settlement placed between The Oldgrowth and Plainsong. It’s unnamed, and only has a fast travel point, so I went ahead and marked the location on the map.

I originally came here to talk about some of the ways Utaru display plants, and since this location isn’t actually coded in-game as a settlement, that means I actually have full camera control and can get lower to the ground where needed. I wanted to talk specifically about these pots, but that may be for a later date, as it occurred to me that I haven’t actually talked about this place yet.

As I begun looking for any sort of clues as to what this settlement could have been, I started picking up on some things. One of them is these- I had assumed at first glance that they were more elaborate plant holders, however, compared to the ones from Riverhymn (Right), they actually may be closer to ovens or furnaces

While I was exploring other settlements, I noticed something. The unnamed settlement (left) is one of the only two that has a room like this. The only other one I found was located in Plainsong (right), where it seems to be used as a means to display offerings, likely for the Land-Gods.

My original thought was that it was actually an earlier version of Plainsong due to the similarities with the offerings room and the location, but some quick research, as well as a few things I found in the area quickly shot that idea down. Despite that, I can’t shake the feeling that it has some sort of connections to Plainsong specifically, perhaps an expansion was planned? Or alternatively, due to the close proximity to it, maybe it was part of the Oldgrowth, just from before the events of Forbidden West.

[stansthemans]

it’s a new years miracle. i wrote canon stan. woke up with this idea and decided it was gonna be the only thing on my to do list

Ford would like to imagine that he is not a man prone to petty or grumbling complaints, but when his first conscious thought upon waking up that morning is that the sheets next to him are cold and then his immediate reaction to that thought is to let out a huffing whine that would not be misplaced coming from the mouth of a toddler, well, maybe he has to reevaluate a little.

Maybe a lot, because he then proceeds to spend a solid two minutes curled in on himself, stubbornly refusing to leave the warmth that he has maintained between the crumpled sheets and continuing to huff to himself that surely nothing could be so important as to draw anyone away from this cocoon of comfort and bliss. He ignores the pointed growling of his stomach and the pressure in his bladder that also demand attention from his now waking mind.

Freshly awake, Ford’s mind is—outside of his petty grumbling complaints—foggy and sluggish. It’s a luxury that he has only been able to afford in recent months and with much coaxing. So when he finally does pull himself up from the bed and is hit with the blast of cold air, he simply grabs up the comforter and wraps it around him before shuffling off to take care of the other immediate concerns.

The most immediate is finding his brother, but he does suppose he can take a quick leak first.

Stanley is not in the kitchen, although the smell of coffee does fill the air, so Ford knows he’s been here recently. Neither is he at the helm. Ford does not bother looking in his lab. Stanley typically avoids it unless he is harassing Ford in some manner—go to bed at a normal hour, eat real food, that’s too much coffee, please for the love of God don’t create a biohazard in this enclosed space in the middle of the ocean. Finally, Ford finds his brother up on the deck, leaning against a railing and staring out at the sun that, this far north and this late in the year, will not climb much higher in the sky today.

Ford does not think that he made much noise—certainly none that could be heard over the wind and waves—but as soon as he steps from the doorway, Stanley turns around. They’ve never been able to sneak up on each other, not once that Ford can recall, so it makes perfect sense that Stanley just knew he was there.

One look at him, and Stanley throws his head back and laughs. It’s a loud thing, from his belly, and the sound alone prevents the harsh arctic air from delivering any ill effects to Ford’s body. “Cripes, Poindexter,” Stan says, his voice full of affectionate teasing. “I know you’re a human furnace, but that ratty thing ain’t gonna cut it out here.”

He then walks right around Ford, who can only whine in complaint that his brother does not come close enough for Ford to latch onto, and disappears into cockpit. He’s back in just a moment, Ford’s bulky coat slung over his shoulder. Stanley grabs at the comforter and wrestles Ford into the proper gear for their current environment. Ford simply stands there and takes it, not at all displeased to listen to his brother’s biteless grumbling about frostbite.

Once he is properly in the coat, gloves, and knit cap, Stan replaces the comforter around Ford’s shoulders. “You actually cold or are you doing your best impersonation of a teenager who just woke up?” Stan punctuates his question with a slightly too sharp clap to Ford’s cheek.

“Ow,” Ford grumbles, although it does not hurt at all. He huffs at his brother, which only makes Stanley laugh again.

“You look like a chipmunk,” he says. “It wasn’t cute when you did that when we was kids, and it’s not cute now as a grown ass man.” But considering the way that Stanley’s eyes are sparkling, the way he looks at Ford’s puffed cheeks and wild curls not at all well contained by the knit hat, the way that his teasing smile is a bit softer at the corners of his lips, Ford must surmise that his lying charlatan brother is, in fact, at least slightly charmed by Ford’s sleepy, if a bit immature and childish, disposition.

That he has charmed Stanley stirs the always lit embers in the pit of his stomach, fanning the flames just a bit higher. However, the feeling of delighted contentment is not enough to stop him from pursuing an all too pressing manner.

“When we were kids,” Ford corrects, and Stanley groans and rolls his eyes as dramatically as possible. Ford does not bother to hide his grin, which might be crossing into dopey territory.

Stan shoves him a bit, and says, “You stop with that shit, or I’ll be forced to dump this right out into the ocean.” From seemingly nowhere, Stan holds up Ford’s thermos and waves it enticingly in Ford’s face.

“No,” Ford whines pitifully and makes grabbing hands at it.

Stan chuckles smugly. He throws an arm around Ford’s shoulders and leads him over to the railing. “Come on, Poindexter. Let’s get you caffeinated. This is pathetic.”

They settle onto the bench, and Ford takes the opportunity to press in close to his brother’s side, unfolding the comforter enough to also envelop Stan. Stan plucks his own thermos—his covered with stickers from one of Mabel’s care packages—from the nearby cup holder, and silently, comfortably, they turn their gazes back out to the horizon. Ford sips lightly at his coffee. It’s the perfect temperature, which means that Stanley must have prepared it along with his own drink when he first woke up. It has the perfect amount of sugar and cream to suit Ford’s sweet tooth. Made with love, as are all things that Stanley gives to him.

Ford drops his head onto Stan’s shoulder and asks, “Why did you get out of bed so early?”

Stan huffs a light laugh. Ford knows it would have been louder and livelier, but he’s likely reluctant to jostle Ford around. “You have less than no idea what time it is,” he says.

“Irrelevant,” Ford states.

Stan takes a long, slow sip from his thermos. “Wasn’t any reason,” he says. “Just thought it would be nice to check out the view.”

“It was nicer in the bed,” Ford grumbles, and Stanley doesn’t answer that. Ford waits a moment before shifting his head just enough that he can get a glance at his brother’s face. There isn’t any particular emotion standing out. He seems peaceful and content enough, but Ford doesn’t have the best angle to see his eyes. Stanley’s eyes have never been able to fool Ford.

The thing about the bed is that it isn’t the only one on the boat. The thing about the bed that Ford woke up in this morning—the bed that he almost always wakes up in—is that it isn’t Ford’s bed. Ford’s bed, theoretically, is the bunk above Stanley’s, the same as it was when they were kids. As soon as they were old enough for their own individual beds, they were given bunks. It was a space saver, as there was no chance they would ever be given their own bedrooms, and two growing, rowdy boys needed all the space they could get for play. Ford had always taken the top bunk. Stanley was scared of heights. Ford doesn’t even remember why—it had just always been like that—but even that little bit up the ladder had been too much for him. It was no hardship, and when they still wanted—or needed—to cuddle and be close, it was the easiest thing in the world to pull down his pillow and an extra blanket and settle into Stan’s bunk with him.

It’s what they still do now. Ford very rarely makes the climb up that ladder at the end of the night. Whether they go to bed at the same time or whether Ford has finally hit the wall after a long day of adventure and research and drags himself up from his lab, far more often than not, Ford slides under the covers of Stanley’s bunk and presses himself into his twin’s space. Stan accepts it each time without complaint. He accepts Ford simply lying there. He accepts Ford nestling himself into Stan’s side and using him as a pillow. He accepts Ford’s arms folding around him and pulling him back against Ford’s chest.

Ford thinks that it means all of the same things to Stan that it does to him, but they haven’t talked about it. For all the leaps and bounds they’ve made since setting sail four months ago, they still haven’t talked about this.

Ford knows how he feels about his brother. He has known for a very, very long time. It had, of course, been alarming back when he initially came to the conclusion that his feelings for his brother—his identical twin brother, at that—were not entirely platonic in nature, although certainly that brotherly feeling was always there as well. Of course it was alarming. He was not supposed to look at his brother and want to smash their faces together, to know the taste of his lips. He was not supposed to look at his brother and imagine trailing hands across his body, memorizing not only the sight but the feel of him. He was not supposed to look at his brother and be so overwhelmed with yearning and desire that the only thing he could possibly do to stay sane—debatable, considering how wild he always felt in the aftermath—was to take himself in hand and stroke until he exploded, Stanley’s name always on his tongue.

Alarming, but Ford is certainly capable of incredible rationalization. He was already considered a freak. What was this one new aspect? If he kept it all to himself—bottled up where it rightly belonged—it could do nothing to harm his brother. If Stanley didn’t know of Ford’s desires, he would always continue to look at Ford with his sweet, trusting, loving gaze. Ford has always been the axis around which Stan orbited. He’s always known that. He could always continue to be that if he just kept the simple secret. And even if he couldn’t, if it got out, if by some miracle Stanley felt the same way, well, they were both of the same sex. Which isn’t to say that the homosexual aspect of it all wouldn’t have given them problems, but as to its connections to the incestuous aspects, well, two men can’t procreate.

Not that Ford hasn’t had plenty of fantasies in which he does his damnedest to try, but that is neither here nor there.

As teenagers, it was never truly a pure thing. Ford had rationalized it, but he’d also been resentful. Those feelings had come into play around the same time he had begun to yearn for separation from his brother, to for once be his own person and stand on his own merits, all without a hovering shadow that shared his face. It was a complicated thing, to love Stan that much, to want to absorb him completely, all while slowly suffocating with that closeness.

And then the science fair project. And then their father kicking Stan out of the house. And then over ten years of separation. Over a decade in which Ford’s bitterness only grew in equal measure to his longing for what had once been, the opportunities squandered. And then Bill. And then the portal.

For thirty years, Ford’s life was a constant type of hell. He had lived in fight or flight mode, and he was forced to become a type of person he would have never guessed, all to survive, all to keep going until he could finally achieve his goal of ripping Bill apart molecule by molecule in revenge for everything he had done to destroy Ford’s life. But for all the very real horrors, Ford cannot find it in him to entirely hate or regret his time out in the multiverse. Around the dangers, it had been the perfect sandbox, an endless place upon which Ford could exercise his vast intellectual curiosity. Sure, he could have done without being a wanted man with alluringly high bounties on his head across multiple dimensions, but oh, the things he had learned.

And one of the more profound takeaways had been just how many dimensions did not give two flying shits about who had sex with who, no matter the circumstances.

Well, it had only further cemented into Ford’s mind that his love for his brother was perfectly acceptable the way it was. It didn’t matter the anger and bitterness that he refused to let go of. It didn’t matter that Ford had no expectations of ever laying eyes on his brother again. All that mattered was that despite it all, he did still love Stanley, was in love with him. It wouldn’t change. He was at peace with that much at least.

But now, Ford has let go of the anger and bitterness. After everything that happened, after what his wonderful brother did to save the world, to save their family, how could he ever continue to cling to those awful thoughts? Because Ford has been given the utter gift and miracle of laying eyes on his brother again. And not just that. They are together again, truly together. A dynamic duo once more. It’s taken a lifetime of struggles and sorrows, but they are together on their boat, finally living out their old dreams.

Ford knows how all of this makes him feel. And he thinks he knows something of Stanley’s thoughts as well. Because he can only rationalize it one way. Yes, Stan has always orbited Ford, always deferred to him and protected him and loved him. But thirty years. Stanley spent thirty years, his every thought, his every action all poured towards the singular goal of reopening the portal and getting Ford back. He had completely lacked the education or even the innate skill set to truly understand the advanced mechanics of it all. He had ignored every single warning of the risks and dangers. Stanley Pines had locked himself completely away, put all of himself on hold, all on the slimmest glimmer of a hope that he could bring back his brother, who, by all accounts, seemed to hate him. And in those initial weeks, Ford had given him no indication otherwise, and still Stanley had been prepared to leave, to fade into the distance, to give up everything once again if that was what Ford demanded.

Love is the only conclusion that Ford can come to that offers any sort of explanation.

Not to mention the looks, the touches, the sheer tension between them. But they haven’t talked about it. And Ford does not know how to start that conversation.

They continue to sip their coffee in a comfortable silence until Stanley nudges Ford gently. “Your stomach’s been making enough noise to set off one of your monster radars,” Stan says, exaggerating, but not entirely wrong. “Come on, let’s get breakfast.”

It’s a routine they have fallen into easily. Stan whisks himself about the kitchen with ease, cracking and seasoning eggs, frying bacon, buttering toast. Ford washes their thermoses and pours fresh mugs to their individual specifications. They each take only the smallest splash of cream, but Stan makes the time to huff a laugh at how many more spoonfuls of sugar make their way into Ford’s cup compared to his.

They set the table, and Stan slides into his usual spot on the bench. Typically, Ford takes the chair on the other side of the table, but he doesn’t today. Today, the comforter still in play, he climbs onto the bench right alongside Stan, pressing in close. The only word to describe it would be snuggly.

“You’ve been—uh—you’re in a cuddly mood this morning,” Stan says, and they have been inside long enough that the pink tinge to his cheeks cannot be caused by cold, arctic winds. Still, Ford is a man of science. He needs to test that hypothesis.

“Yes,” he says, “the reason I was rather discontented to wake up alone in a perfectly cozy bed.”

Yes, Stanley does blush harder at that, his cheeks going from pink to a lovely red. Ford wants to press their cheeks together, to feel that warmth bleeding over into his own skin. He wants to kiss that gorgeous blush, to see how much redder it could get, how far could it spread down Stan’s neck, his chest.

“Of course, I see no reason why we can’t return after we eat,” Ford goes on, eyes locked onto Stanley’s. “As you’ve stated, it is a holiday. Holidays are not for working.”

“It’s New Years Eve,” Stan says, and Ford does not miss the slight warble in his gruff voice. “Really only a holiday if you’re planning to party, and we’re how many hundreds of miles from the nearest shoreline?”

Ford chuckles. “Not that far,” he says. “But still. It is my first one in this dimension in thirty years. And you are always harping on me to take it easy.”

Stan snorts. “And you’re finally listening?”

“If the result is a lazy day in bed with you, yes,” Ford says, and Stan blushes so violently that it takes nearly every ounce of Ford’s willpower to not grab his face and kiss him until neither of them can breathe. He has to force himself to simply pick up his fork and eat the breakfast that his brother has so lovingly cooked for them. “Hm, very good. Are you not hungry, Stanley?”

The choked noises that gurgle up from Stan’s throat do not contain any plainly stated curses or swears, but Ford feels their intent. Stan grabs his own fork and stabs at the eggs as if they are the cause of his flustering.

When they have eaten, Ford gathers up the dishes and drops them perhaps a little too roughly into the sink. But sue him. He’s impatient, and, wrapping his hand around Stan’s wrist when he tries to attend to the mess, he says, “They’ll keep.”

Stan turns an almost unreadable glance to Ford, and Ford could keep teasing, but he knows this is no longer the time. “Please,” he says simply, because he knows that is all it will take.

He’s right. A little sigh, a shake of his head, and a fond smile, and Stan agrees, “All right, you lazy bastard. Let’s fucking cuddle.”

Although the generator and all the mechanics on the boat are in excellent order—personally built by Ford and McGucket—and outperform anything else commercially available by leaps and bounds, this far north, this late in the year, there is always some cold that seeps inside. But Ford can’t feel any of it around the heat in his stomach, flames spreading and crackling like a merry campfire. He can’t feel anything but warmth and comfort as he drags Stanley off to their bed—theirs, theirs, theirs—and envelops his brother in his arms, rubbing gentle knuckles across Stan’s scalp until they are both lulled into blissful sleep.

The nap is overly indulgent and lazy. One might consider it excessive. Every time Stan attempts to move, Ford latches on tighter. When he tries to get up—“Christ, Stanford, can a guy not take a quick piss?”—Ford pouts and complains. Stanley surrenders quickly enough, understands that this is his fate today. He will stay in this bed with his brother. He will stay warm and snuggly and tucked into Ford’s chest, his ear right over his heart, listening to the steady thump and at least somewhere in the depths of his mind knowing that it pumps solely for him.

They lounge for nearly the entire day. Sometimes one of them is sleeping, sometimes both. If they are both awake, they talk in low whispers, and it reminds Ford of childhood innocence, a time he once felt only like he does now. A time when he could not have imagined a world or a circumstance in which he wanted to be parted from his brother.

Finally, late into the evening, Stanley finally puts his foot down and bodily wrestles his way out of the blankets. “We’re getting up,” he says. “Even if it’s just to fucking cook dinner. You’re eating dinner, you maniac.”

Ford lets him out, but he does not allow Stan any space. “Freaking koala,” Stan grumbles, but he also surrenders to this treatment, attempting to maneuver about the kitchen with Ford all but clinging to his back and effectively using him as an oversized teddy bear.

“Ok, knock it off,” Stan says when he truly does need to be released to complete their meal. “And don’t give me none of that fake pouting,” he adds when Ford puffs his cheeks at him.

“I assure you, Stanley, this pouting is entirely sincere,” he says, and Stanley laughs a loud and beautiful sound.

“Shut up and make us something to drink,” Stan says, still laughing.

There isn’t any champagne, of course. It’s not a beverage either of them would drink with any sort of regularity, so Ford sets about heating a kettle and pulling out whiskey and honey. Stan already has a lemon sliced on the counter.

Again, they both slide onto the bench to eat. Ford allows a bit more space between them this time, even as he does tangle their legs together under the table. As he refills their hot toddies, Stanley’s phone lets out an obnoxious oink. It’s the text tone for Mabel.

“Oh shit,” he says with clear delight. “We got a signal.”

“You would always have a signal if you were using the communication device that I built for us,” Ford says, and Stan just waves him off. He snatches up his phone and pulls up the message. Laughing, he shows it to Ford.

The first part of the message is an image—Ford has heard them all refer to as a selfie—of the twins. In true Mabel fashion, she is wearing a sweater unique to the occasion. Little bursts of fireworks have been knitted in brilliant colors, and all of the bursts are decorated with either glitter paint or real, working lights. Her earrings are glowing as well, clearly miniature versions of the Time Square ball. Her headband is a mess of curled streamers. Beside her, Dipper is far more subdued, although he is wearing a silly set of glasses displaying the new year. Each of the kids is blowing on a noise maker, their arms slung around each other.

Behind them, on the wall, is a clock, displaying something very close to the current time—nearly 10:30 in California—but there are messy scribbles over it attempting to erase the actual time and instead show it to read midnight.

Under the image is a text message. “Totally and 100% made it! Not even a little tired!! Party all night long!!!!”

“Oh, they are going to be dead asleep in under five minutes,” Stan says, completely oozing affection for their niblings. “Completely unconscious. End of the world wouldn’t wake ‘em up.”

“Agreed,” Ford says, feeling all that same affection as he laughs at the purposefully sloppy editing.

Another burst of pictures comes through. The twins running around their neighborhood street with sparklers. Toasting each other with plastic flutes full of sparkling juice. Mabel dancing in front of the television with some celebrities that Ford has less than no clue the identify of during their part of the live performance in New York. A very blurry shot of Dipper trying to snatch a piece of paper from Mabel’s hands—likely an in-depth resolutions list that has more than its fair share of embarrassing points.

“God, I miss them,” Stan says.

Ford slides from the booth, pulling Stan after him. “Come on,” he says. “We should send them something back.” They move quickly to dress in their coats and hats and gloves, and Ford pours their drinks into their thermoses and darts to the bedroom to snatch up the comforter again. “We don’t have sparklers,” he says as they step out onto the deck, “however—“ And he points up at the Northern Lights dancing across the sky.

It is not the first time they’ve seen them, but Stan still stares up in awe. “Yeah,” he says lowly. “They’ll love that.”

They take two pictures. One of the sky alone, allowing the aurora and stars and moon to shine all on their own. A second of the two of them, cheeks pressed together, arms around each other, just as the kids had sent. They have no noise makers, but Stan holds up his thermos for Mabel to see the collection of stickers.

They don’t have as many pictures to send, so Stanley pulls off his gloves and sets to typing out a longer message. Ford takes the comforter and wraps it around them both, hooking his chin over his brother’s shoulder to read along. It’s a rambling message, full of spelling and grammatical errors, but it’s warm and affectionate, and no one who ever read it could ever for a second doubt just how much Stan loves those two perfect children. It’s overwhelming, and Ford loves him all the more for it.

Stan sends everything off, and the messages go through, but there is no response, which confirms to Ford’s mind Stanley’s prediction that the kids have indeed passed out from the long day’s excitement.

Stan puts the phone into his pocket, and when his hand emerges, he has a cigar. He waves it under Ford’s nose with a grin. “I wouldn’t say no,” Ford says, and with a quick, well practiced clip and flick of a lighter, Stan takes the first puff before passing it to Ford. It’s a nice Churchill, one that will take them a good deal of time to smoke, even together. Ford is perfectly amenable to that.

And so they stand there together for a long time, the only noise the light splashing of waves against the side of the boat. They pass the cigar, slowly sip at their warm drinks, and watch the sky dance. Stanley has stronger opinions on cigars than Ford, and although Ford would be just fine with taking the cigar down to the foot, he accepts Stanley’s assessment of, “Last pull,” before plopping it down into the railing’s cup holder to allow it to die its natural death.

Immediately, Ford regathers the comforter and tucks himself into Stanley’s back, wrapping his brother in a hug. He nuzzles at Stanley’s neck. Back to cuddling they go.

“You’re ridiculous,” Stanley says. “Seriously, what’s been with you today?”

Ford only holds him tighter, presses Stan’s back so close to his own chest that he can feel Stan’s heart beating right alongside his. His chin is already hooked over Stan’s shoulder, resting comfortably, but even that is not enough. He tilts his head, presses as much of their faces together as he can. “I’m happy,” he says simply.

“Oh,” Stan says, a small noise, so tiny, but so full. His hand—the right one—moves slowly, moves across Ford’s forearm, moves until he can slot their fingers together. Six around five, as they are meant to be.

For a long time, they stand on the deck, wrapped up in each other, staring up at the brilliant lights that color the sky above them. Their breath curls in puffs of fog, and yes, it is cold, but it’s also so perfectly warm surrounded by each other and the simple blanket.

Ford notices the second that Stanley comes to some sort of mental conclusion. He doesn’t exactly go tense, but there is a certain rigidity that was not there a moment ago. His fingers twitch minutely between Ford’s. Ford can feel the quickening of his pulse. But he doesn’t urge him on, doesn’t rush him. He can wait until Stanley is ready.

And when he is, he does not step away. He just turns in Ford’s arms and locks their gazes together. Identical, as are so many aspects of their physical appearance, but Ford has always considered Stanley’s eyes warmer. The same shade, there is no difference there, but perhaps it’s just that Stanley has always worn his emotions so openly on his sleeve. He’s always felt so much, and in his eyes, it’s always so plain. Ford can—and has—gotten lost in them. He would be glad to do so for years to come.

“I’m gonna be a real sap for a minute here, so can you just let me get through it,” Stan asks, and Ford can only nod and wait, nearly trembling, for Stan to properly gather his thoughts. It’s difficult, especially when part of the process is Stan grabbing tight to the front of his coat, clinging to Ford as a means to ground himself.

They have been wrapped up in each other all day, but Ford knows that it is different in this moment.

Even under the collar of his sweater, Ford can see the way Stan’s throat works, swallowing thickly against what is clearly overwhelming emotion. His eyes are wet behind his glasses, and he blinks rapidly to try to contain it. Ford knows that whatever it is that Stan has to say will only be good, but it still sends some pang through his chest to see his brother struggle in this way. Ford moves quickly, tugging off his gloves. He doesn’t care about the cold. He only cares that he can touch the wind-kissed pink of Stanley’s cheeks, skin to skin. He only cares that his hands can be there to catch and wipe away any of those tears that might escape Stan’s eyes. “It’s all right,” he says lowly. “Take your time.”

Stan smiles at him, and the only thing Ford can see is love. His. Stan’s. Theirs.

The reassurance, the physical contact, it does what it needs to for Stan. It calms him enough to let him speak. “This is corny as hell, I know, but fuck it, right? We’ve got the right be corny after everything. Forty years. That’s fucking insane. Forty years completely apart, when I spent the first seventeen feeling like I’d crawl out of my skin if we were separated for just fifteen minutes.”

The choice of the number fifteen is not lost on Ford at all. The number of minutes between their first breaths in this world. The number of minutes that is impossible for Ford to actually recall, but what he always assumed must have been the longest of his life, waiting for his other half to join him again. A small number, truly, but to them an insurmountable time to be forced apart, the absolute longest either of them could stand before they were ready to make it a problem for everyone else around them.

“I just—“ Stan licks at his chapped lips, and Ford doesn’t know if he’d rather lose himself staring at that or the shining reflection of the lights in Stan’s warm eyes. “I don’t care, you know. This is insane, but I don’t care. I don’t care that it was so hard. I don’t care how much it hurt. Because we’re here now right. Fucking new year, new us. I’d do it again, if I had to.”

“No,” Ford says. “No, you will never have to, Stanley. We are never going to be parted again. Never.” He steps closer, unwilling to take his hands from his brother’s face but still needing more of the minuscule distance between their bodies negated. If he could, he would open his rib cage and draw Stanley inside of himself, or he would crawl into Stan’s. Either option, so long as they are joined. “I simply will not allow it.”

Stan huffs a laugh, and one tear manages its escape. Ford is quick to wipe it away. “Yeah, you’re a stubborn old goat,” he says.

“Takes one to know one,” Ford retorts.

They both laugh and then just stand there, so, so close, just staring at each other, just together. And Ford’s watch lets out a tiny little beep. The same beep it lets out each hour. It’s midnight. It’s midnight crossing over into the new year.

Corny. Sappy. Sure, it is all those things. But it’s also tradition, and as Stanley stated himself, new year, new them.

Ford closes the remaining distance between them and slots his lips over Stanley’s. The reaction is immediate and electrifying. Stan’s mouth opens in a gasp, and Ford doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity presented to him. He pushes his tongue into Stan’s mouth, and Stanley reacts so perfectly, just as Ford has always dreamed. He clings tighter, pulls Ford flush against him, and kisses him back as if to do anything less would shatter him apart.

The kiss lights Ford on fire, sets him completely ablaze and then rebirths him immediately from the ashes. Stanley fits so perfectly against him, so perfect in his arms. They belong like this, made for each other like this. This was the true reason Ford was put on this earth, to kiss Stan, to hold him, to love him.

When they finally pull back from each other, gasping, it’s not very far. Stan’s body remains pressed against him, his fingers clinging to Ford’s shoulders like a vice. Ford’s hands are still cupping Stanley’s cheeks, protecting him from the cold night wind. Their noses and foreheads touch, and they breathe in each other’s air. In the darkness, the only light coming from the aurora borealis and the nearly full moon, Stan’s eyes should not look so bright, but they practically glow. Ford has so much to say, but he can’t bring himself to speak. Still, Stanley’s eyes bore into him, searching, finding all of it on open display, every part of Ford there for him, only for him, if he wants it.

And Ford can see, Stanley does want it. He wants Ford in all the ways that Ford has always wanted him. He loves Ford as Ford loves him.

Ford surges forward, one hand sliding around to cup the back of Stan’s neck and pull him the rest of the way to kiss him again. It’s not as deep this time, no tongues involved, just the slide of their lips together. Still, he tingles everywhere they touch. “I love you,” he says, finally finding his voice. He sounds devastated in the best possible way.

And now Stan’s cold hands are on his cheeks. “I love you, too,” Stan says. Another gentle kiss. “I love you.” Another. “This is insane,” he says, but this time he’s smiling, almost giggling. Ford grins at him, so wide that his face hurts. He feels manic, ready to burst at the seams. He never wants this feeling to stop. Stan starts to back away, but Ford tightens his arms around him. Stan laughs, his fingers sliding into Ford’s hair. “Stanford,” he says against his lips, and Ford shudders.

“Stay here,” Ford requests, begs. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” Stan answers.

The sky above them explodes in color, a more brilliant display than any fireworks show. Ford presses his lips to Stan’s, the next in an endless line, too many to count over the next year, decade, the rest of their lives.

[measuringbliss]

Spider-Man Read-Through 058: Somebody is Killing Them All! (SSM 44-45, SSM Ann 2)

MASTERPOST

With a cover like that, you can only do one thing: keep reading.

(Plus, there's gorgeous art in there!)

And here's our awesome first page as well:

Wow. Just... wow. The lighting, the shading, the view... Incredible. Maybe needs more cars but come on, that's a detail. *reads the text* Oh...

The pages are very dense. Basically, the mob has had... issues recently (I wonder if Silvermane's part of it, like last time) and a guy wants his men to find some items for his uncle.

It's the New Year for Chinatown! One of the men, Dolenz, tries to steal the jade there, but he gets gunned down.

MEANWHILE.

I'm pregnant! But also, great colors in the second panel. And the third one. And I'm pregnant!

Look at his cute little outfit!!!!!!!! I love that red sweater, holy fuck!

Holy fuck. The food is good. The food is delicious.

So one of Peter's pictures features the aforementioned murder. Time to investigate!

It's Alfred's turn to die mysteriously. Not yet though, Spidey's still investigating!

First off, that joke is funny. Secondly, that cake in the last panel???!?! Yes but?!?! Maybe a bit too much hahaha.

Turns out Alfred doesn't die, on the contrary, his attackers die! What a chad.

The art is all over the place in this issue, but the line art is so good I don't even mind. Love how it all looks. And I feel like there's a lot of ambition too!

See what I mean?

Anyway, Spidey finds out that Malachai Toomes owns the building he was led to... Toomes, as in, the Vulture. He's a relative, nice!

What the fuck did the artists smoke for this issue, because they made excellent art, I love this!

Spidey fights goons, finds Toomes, who informs him that Alfred is the culprit, then tries to kill him with deadly gas coming out of his carnation. It's not the green, but it's still very gay.

Spidey wakes up chained in a coffin on a conveyor belt. And next to him...

Fucking hell, how the fuck is this issue so gorgeous like that?! Bravo to the whole team because goddamnit.

On *that* website, the commenters really don't like the art, but it's a scan and not digital, which I think does sublimate how it looked. Damn, I loved it.

What the fuuuuuck.

So Malachai is the Vulture's nephew, nice.

Everyone thinks Spidey's dead, so they have a celebration. Good for them!

The Vulture isn't fooled by Alfred's plans though. It was actually his intention all along to let Alfred get rid of his rivals to weed out the weak. Smart!

The furnace explodes or whatever, and Spidey gets everyone out of the burning mansion (but not before showcasing his perfect butt).

Elsewhere...

Damn, I liked that creepy little bald guy, I'll miss him.

The Vulture gets angry and starts pummeling Alfred, but then Spidey arrives, they fight, the Vulture flees, Alfred asks the cops to take him in to get protected from the Vulture.

Spidey and Vulture crash in Grand Central Station, it makes for a nice environment! Loving this. Eventually, the Vulture crashes in a glass window.

Peter... doesn't feel so good.

What a great set of issues. What a solid ending. Loved the art.

And now it's time for the King-Size Annual! I'm hoping for more of Peter's life, but somehow, I doubt it.

Sure!

Our story starts as Spidey and Rapier fight together against some low-level goons, before Rapier takes off. Alright, I'm up for a... team up.

They're staying mostly consistent with his apartment, that's nice! And while I appreciate our pretty hero, these pajamas look a bit weird. Also, it feels weird to see May!

The next day, Peter and Ned go to the docks to do some investigating.

Oh Ned, that outfit... *sigh*

The goons steal Peter's press card, and our heroes leave the area. However, when Peter goes to the Bugle (I have no idea why he would go to the Bugle but not matter) and is about to become gay for pay.

Oh, his "bulge ain't a billfold?" Huh-huh.

Just as I predicted previously, Silvermane's back, right in Jonah's office! He's unhappy about Jonah's inquiries about the mob, and the same goes for Peter's photographies. Silvermane himself gives the card back to Peter, nicely threatening him and taking his camera. Peter quickly gets an advance from Jonah though.

Hahaha.

They have a fight, and Spidey tells off Silvermane.

Silvermane's not amused.

We get a scene at the Rapier's home, where he says he must kill Silvermane and his girlfriend pleads for him to stop his vigilante activites. Standard stuff.

More importantly, Peter Parker is a slut (good for him).

So Jonah's idea is to make people so angry they rile up and the authorities are forced to act. Alright, not bad!

Glory informs Peter that Jonah's behavior is due to Robbie being recently attacked and sent to the hospital. Makes sense.

At a church turned into a museum or something, Silvermane has an appointment with Rapier. This is a great excuse to show great art.

Oh they're sooooo exes. They fucked, they absolutely fucked!

I'm afraid, because now that we got this character's backstory (they were partners, Silvermane left him for dead, Rapier's future girlfriend saved him, there you go) and now he can very well die. Silvermane is going to be alright, he's a villain, they always come back, but Rapier is (kind of) a nice guy now, and that's why I'm scared for him.

Spider-Man arrives right on time to stop Rapier from killing Silvermane, and Rapier's so angry he challenges Spidey to a sword fight. Hell yeah!

TOO MUCH TEXT CALM DOWN STAN LEE

Spider-Man gets rid of Rapier's sword, but then--Clarissa, Rapier's girlfriend, throws it at Spidey to make him confused! Nononono she's gonna die is she? Oh, I know she's gonna die. Come oooooooon.

Rapier feels betrayed by Clarissa's intervention, and decides to start ALL OF THIS ALL OVER AGAAAAAIN because he has PRINCIPLES. JESUS. OKAY.

So what must happen... happens.

Ugh. Alright, that's not a bad ending.

Except he's not dead! He flees the scene. Hm.

Ok, not sure I'm a fan of this Rapier guy. Feels too much like Punisher, but a bit more quirky. Maybe if he gets some development... Who knows!

We'll have to talk about this one commenter at some point because they have... opinions. They are very opiniated. And we're reading issues almost synchronized? This is funny. Dramaaaaaa. Lengthy comments every issue! Fascinating.

Next time: A lot of ASM! Like, a lot! We'll see how that goes.

[bronzewool]

Scar by China Mieville is the second book in the New Crobuzon trilogy, set in the fictional steampunk world of Bas-Lag, and while Scar is a direct sequel to Perdido Street Station, we follow a brand new set of characters.

Bellis Coldwine is trying to get as far away from New Crobuzon as possible after the events of the first book and has been granted safe passage on a slave trader ship in exchange for being the crew’s interpreter. Before she can reach her destination, however, they are attacked by pirates and taken prisoner on the Floating City of Armada. Curiously, Bellis and the rest of the crew are made citizens of the moving city and assigned jobs allocated to their respective fields. Bellis is now the city librarian, given a fair wage, free reign to go whatever she wants, and has her own accommodation. Everyone is treated equally on Armada, including the newly freed slaves, with the only condition being that they can never leave.

Not wanting to spend the rest of her life in exile, Bellis teams up with Silas Fennec, another passenger on the ship who needs to get back to New Crobuzon to warn the city of an incoming invasion. Together they conspire a means of getting a message to a New Crobuzon military vessel while getting dragged into a conspiracy involving the final destination of Armada.

Bellis is the opposite of the previous book’s protagonist, Issac Dan der Grimnebulin. Whereas Isaac was loud and friendly, but had a tendency to make himself the centre of the room and talk over his companions, Bellis would gladly sit quietly in a room and let people run their mouths off in order to gather as much intelligence out of them as possible, all the while internally judging them with her dry sense of humour.

Tanner is the other main character of the book and a Remade, a person who has had his body altered against his will as a form of punishment. His body has been grafted with useless octopus-like tentacles and over the course of the book he grows to like his new form as it makes him a better worker at the docks and he willingly volunteers to go under the knife again to have his body properly adapted to the sea.

Perdido Street Station goes into great detail about the corrupt government of New Crozubon and its use of the Remade as a form of artistic irony towards criminals and the crimes they committed, but Scar puts a Remade front and centre as one of the main protagonists. Unlike Yagharek from the first book, we never learn what Tanner did that got him Remade or sold off to a slave ship, because it ultimately doesn’t matter. Whatever twisted form of ironic retribution was supposedly done to him cannot be defended by basic human decency. The process of Remade cannot be undone and we see many characters whose lives are forever ruined for the sake of this twisted art form. A girl with her eternal organs replaced with a primitive engine that will kill her if the furnace ever goes out. A man with bird wings surgically sewn onto his back that are left to rot, and who can only find work in a freakshow as he’s slowly dying from the decay. Tanner, despite his criminal status, is a brave and kind man whose experience on the Armada is greatly contrasted with Bellis as Tanner already had everything taken from him and was given a second chance at a normal life with the Armadians. They do not judge him or sneer at him for his appearance and instead accept him as an equal. If anything, Tanner’s unique appearance makes him an invaluable asset and his loyalty to Armada gives him a voice that Bellis lacks.

The narrative does a beautiful job of making you sympathize with Bellis’s position as a captive onboard the Armada, while also acknowledging it is hard to feel too bad for her when Tanner and his friends were going to be sold into slavery and she has still kept some of her autonomy even if it does mean she can never see her family and friends again. You are routing for her to escape as this is not an environment she will ever come to see as home, but you also don’t want Tanner to get sucked into her schemes when he now has something to protect. Their eventual conflict is beautifully tragic in how it didn’t need to go down the way it ultimately did.

There’s also an ongoing motif with scars in the book, physically, emotionally and psychologically. Armada is searching for a literal scar left on the world by magic and their relentless pursuit of it ends up scarring many people along the way. One of the ruling powers of Armada are The Lovers, two physically scarred individuals who inflict wounds on each other as a demonstration of their twisted love and devotion. And poor Bellis and Tanner have been used by so many political powers outside of their control that leave them scarred by their experiences on the Armada and come out of it with two very different mindsets.

As one character beautifully puts it, “Scars are not injuries…a scar is a healing. After an injury a scar is what makes you whole.” Scars are not wounds but evidence that a wound has been healed. Yes, they are ugly and painful reminders, but they are evidence you survived that pain, It’s in your past, and more importantly, they will help shape your future if you take the lesson with you.

[thxnews]

Farewell to Major Kevin McCool (34): A Tribute

  In a tragic turn of events, the Ministry of Defence announced the untimely death of Major Kevin McCool, who passed away while off-duty in Kenya on November 29, 2023.  

A Life of Dedication

Major Kevin McCool, born on November 16, 1991, and commissioned from Sandhurst on August 9, 2014, embodied dedication to the military cause.   A Global Service Record Kevin's military journey was marked by outstanding commitment. Thriving in challenging environments, he served in Europe, the Middle East, the Falklands, and Africa, leaving an indelible mark wherever duty called.  

A Resilient Warrior

Excelling in some of the military's toughest courses, Kevin's legendary fitness and endurance were unmatched. He once outpaced an entire Battalion in a two-miler, showcasing his exceptional physical prowess.   Infectious Enthusiasm Beyond his professional prowess, Kevin's infectious enthusiasm and mischievous twinkle made him a joy to be around. His sense of purpose was evident, earning him unwavering loyalty from recruits in his Catterick Platoon and his Rifle Company.  

A Family Man Remembered

A devoted family man from a large, loving family, Kevin is survived by his parents, Joseph and Joan, and his siblings, Fergal, Brendan, May, Alice, and Margaret. In every mission and training, Major Kevin McCool stood out as a dedicated soldier, a resilient warrior, and a beloved family man. His legacy lives on in the hearts of those he served with, leaving behind a void that can never be filled.  

Comments

Maj McCool’s Commanding Officer said: Kevin McCool was living his best life, doing a job he loved, with people he loved. A man of the utmost integrity, he was fearless and oozed moral courage. I will never forget my final memory of him, which was on operations; he had just come off the ground having slept a handful of hours in as many days. We discussed the possibility of having to deploy another team into the operational furnace from which he had just come. He stopped me mid-sentence, fixed me with his piercing blue eyes, and simply said, “send me”. A bright light has gone out amongst our ranks. He will be missed, but never forgotten.   Major McCool’s Officer Commanding said: Kevin McCool’s eyes shone with his spirit of adventure and with his focussed, determined nature. He was a pilgrim soul in the truest sense. Intelligent, pro-active and selfless, he was at his best and at his happiest whilst serving others and whilst facing challenges “in the arena”. As a soldier, his courage and talent were proven on operations. As a leader, he had a compelling character and easy charm that all who met him warmed to. And as a man, he had a deep humility which displayed a wisdom beyond his years. Spotting opportunities, restless to serve and to seek out challenges, pushing himself to the frontiers, helping others; that is how we will remember him. He was the best of us.   The Secretary of State for Defence, Grant Shapps, said: It’s clear from the tributes of those who knew him that Major McCool was an exceptional person and an exceptional soldier, loved and respected in equal measure, who served his country with distinction. My thoughts and sympathies are with his family, friends, and colleagues currently coming to terms with this most tragic loss.   Sources: THX News & Ministry of Defence & The Rt Hon Grant Shapps MP. Read the full article

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

Home

yandere!EraserMic x Reader

Mic skips a couple of steps and brings their darling home earlier than planned.

18+ only

tw: mention of blood, kidnapping, restraints

Hizashi felt panic bubble up his throat as he aggressively ran his fingers through his hair. This wasn't good, he wasn't good. He fumbled around trying to pull out his phone so he could message Shota.

-Sho, when are you getting home???

Probably in a few hours...-

why-

Shaking, the blonde continued:

-I brought her home

Hizashi was convinced he'd burn a whole in the rug with his pacing. Staring at his phone screen it looked like Shota was responding, then it stopped, started, stopped, and started. Finally after what felt like forever he got a simple reply:

I'll be home in 15 -

---

"Mic, what did you do?" Aizawa sighed. The grumpy man intended to scold his partner but he couldn't bring himself to do so when Mic was so close to a full on panic attack.

"She agreed to meet up with her ex, he was talking about getting back together and I panicked."

Aizawa sighed; he understood where his partner was coming from. Even though Hazashi had abandoned their plan to wait, he was no longer surprised by Mic's actions. There was an understanding between the pair as the atmosphere softened.

Mic lead him down the basement stairs, instead of using the overhead light there was already a dull glow from nightlight that allowed the Pro Heroes to see well enough. On the bed in front of them the comforter rose and fell along with the breath of their darling.

"She should be asleep for another hour or two," Mic whispered. "I only cuffed one wrist to the bed, I figured without her quirk she won't be too troublesome."

Aizawa lovingly rolled his eyes. His partner was such a softy. Nodding in agreement he moved the blanket aside to see the clunky metal quirk-cancelling cuff encircling her ankle. The two had plenty of equipment from their jobs that allowed them to make a "safe" space for their girl.

The couple had stumbled across you on accident; you worked at the new cat cafe that opened near their home. The two quickly became regulars and you snagged their hearts when you recognized them as cafe regulars. They went every Sunday, you had their orders memorized and even told them which cats seemed to miss them the most. Hizashi fell hard and fast. It wasn't until Aizawa found you crying in the ally after one of your shifts that your fate was sealed. You told him that one of the cats ran out of the cafe earlier that day got hit by a car. Learning about the death of a cat wasn't the only thing breaking his heart.

When he got home that evening he told Hizashi. They both agreed that you needed to be protected, shielded from the pain of reality, and never subjected to cat-death-by-car ever again. Essentially they baby proofed their home for you. Anything dangerous (from silverware to chemicals) was locked away. Eraserhead installed cameras throughout the house that streamed to both of their phones. The windows were locked and shatter resistant and they even installed a top of the line security system.

Then came the stalking, both kept tabs on you - in their minds they both casual about it. Aizawa even visited you (broke in) one night to bug your phone. This was how the learned about your ex. The breakup was amicable enough that you two occasionally checked in on each other. After all, you had been together from middle school all the way through your teens. The two of you just wanted and were ready for different things.

---

Sure enough, two hours later they could hear your faint scream travel up from the basement. Mic had taken care of the acoustics, of course. He made sure that not a peep could be heard from outside of the house; even before you were in the picture this was in place for his quirk. Between each floor of their house he also added sound minimizing flooring and installation. They needed to be able to hear you but also maintain their sanity.

"M-mr. Yamada? Mr Aizawa?"

Your wide eyes were filled to the brim with tears. As Mic sat on the edge of the bed you withdrew as far as you could from him.

Aizawa seemed more conscientious of your space; instead he knelt in front of the bed so he was at least on your level.

He was the first to speak, "There's no need to scream, y/n, you're safe here. It's just Zashi and I."

The tears finally spilled over. You tried asking them to let you go, that you wouldn't say anything. You told them you had work this evening (even if you didn't) and that they'd know something was wrong if you didn't show up. What made it worse was that the men just kept nodding, taking in every plea you made.

Finally Mic cut you off, "You don't have to worry about work anymore, me and Sho are gonna take care of you, it'll be great. We won't have to wait a whole week to spend time together."

"You can't," You hiccupped, "this is illegal. Once they find out you'll be in trouble."

It was as if they didn't hear you. Mic just kept rambling about what you three could do together and how perfect everything was and how you'd love living with them.

Aizawa on the other hand sighed and indicated to Mic that he should get off the bed. "It's a lot to take in right now, new environments can be scary. You should get some more rest, Zashi gave you a pretty strong sedative."

That explained the pounding in your head. You didn't bother to keep yelling as the ascended the stairs. Instead you focused on not crying. You kept telling yourself that now wasn't the time for tears. You needed to get away from your abductors. You had never been in handcuffs before, you tried pulling against the bed frame in hopes that something would give way. As you expected, nothing really happened. The cuff was secured tightly around your wrist and with every pull came a dull pain in your hand. There wasn't anything useful within your reach.

After crying on the bed for what felt like an eternity you were all out of tears. You thought back to a movie you saw last summer, this detective was cuffed to a furnace and he pulled his hand free. However, that guy definitely lost the flesh on his hand and probably broke something. Your stomach churned at the thought. Then your mind wandered to terrible things the men could do to you. What if they were cannibals? Or wanted to sell your organs on the black market? Weighing the pros and cons you began to pull violently away from the bedpost. The metal dug into your skin and you couldn't help but scream. Hopefully your captors wouldn't come until you were free. There was a small window at the very top of the adjacent wall maybe you could squeeze through.

The searing pain became too much and you stopped to collect yourself. There were already gashes along the base of your wrist and blood coated the handcuffs. You stifled a cry as you resumed your work. You let out a blood-curdling scream when you felt a pop. Instead of freedom, you felt even more trapped. Your thumb looks wrong and looked like it was caught half way in the handcuff and halfway out. Movies make everything seem so much easier.

Light poured in as the door to the basement opened. Panicking you concealed the evidence under the blanket. Both of your hands and parts of your clothes were painted with blood.

"Hey kitten," Aizawa cooed. "We brought you some water. Are you feeling any better."

It was Mic who noticed first. You flinched as his hands cupped your face, his thumb ran along your cheek and you felt something slick.

His voice was rushed and panicked, "Sweet girl, this is blood. Shota come here, y/n is bleeding."

The blonde man handles your face and neck trying to find the source of the bleeding.

You pulled the blanket tighter, "I'm okay, please let me go."

Then Aizawa noticed the specks of blood on the sheets. He tugged at the blankets until you couldn't hold on any more. You were really only holding on with one good hand. You couldn't recall seeing that much emotion on his face in the past.

"Mic go get the first aid kit, now," Eraser's voice was strained and quiet but it sent the other man scattering up the stairs. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the cuff. Instinctively your cradled the hand to your chest, crying for the umph-teenth time that day. The scruffy man pulled you on to his lap, cradling your head to his chest like you would a child.

"You're okay, Mic's gonna get the first aid kit and we're gonna get you all taken care of."

When it came to flight or fight involving direct confrontation, you chose the third option: freeze. You focus on your breathing as the man continued to soothe you. You could hear Mic nearly throw himself down the stairs as he made his was back to your side.

Mic was gentle with your wound, after cleaning the blood off the cuts were visibly deep but not as bad as it seemed. Aizawa told him that it looked like your thumb was dislocated and that he would fix it once the bleeding stopped.

As Hizashi continued to apply pressure you were able to hear him sniffling as he held back tears of his own. Aizawa reached over to comfort Mic as he continued his fawning over you, "You're safe, everything's okay now. We should've known that you would get scared, all by yourself down here. We won't leave you alone again, especially while you're adjusting to your new home."

[hokiis-writing-dump]

Little Fire Plume Pt.4

Platonic Reader x Diluc, reader is Diluc’s adoptive child, Reader bears a pyro vision! This is definitely be much shorter than all the other ones.

Ah yes, here we are again. You’re running off with Diona this time, as SOMEONE has to put out the fires you make just by walking on grass.

For some reason, be it your age making it harder for your vision to be controlled or just you being that unstable, you set most things on fire just by touching them.

Nobody can tell if you’re doing it purpose or now, but you claim that you can’t control it. However, Klee’s vision didn’t act up as much as yours is now when Klee got hers.

So now, Diona being tired of you setting her tail on fire just by bumping into you, is off to go drag Albedo from Dragonspine to find answers.

You got REALLY skittish about being in Dragonspine after nearly DYING there, but even you got tired of not being able to hug people or play because of the fire hazard you were.

Like Kaeya doesn’t mind because he can just put you out but still he has a few small burns from you.

Diona can fight with her bow well enough to hold off hilichurls, but the moment she sees Fatui she books it.

Now that worked for a while but...

A certain uh

Ginger

Came behind you guys and scooped you both up.

“Now now, what do we have here? Two children on Dragonspine all alone?” He spoke, sounding genuinely worried for you both. Diona flailed about to get him to drop you guys, even bit him a few times, but Childe didn’t react in the slightest.

You remember Traveler mentioning a ‘Tall ginger man with seemingly dead eyes.’ Something about the way he looked at you both made you feel safe, but his eyes, they looked so....off.

Childe let you both down, of course after you explained what the rush was.

He was a bit surprised about you setting things of fire just by touching them, vision intentionally activated or not, and didn’t believe it until he noticed how his glove was slightly burned.

Now he’s particularly interested in what else you are capable of.

He escorts you both to Albedo, and Albedo is immediately put off by Childe’s presence around you and Diona.

Quietly, he instructs Sucrose to prepare for a fight at any moment.

Childe waits outside the lab while you two try and get answers for why your vision is so unstable.

Albedo has an idea that pops into his mind for a split second, but when he has the idea, he prays it’s incorrect.

He says he has to do a quick physical for you, and you won’t be cold during it dw you are a literal furnace. like if you lay on wood under a stove you will not feel the heat and you could literally cook food on the same stove dude 

After the physical, Albedo’s fears are confirmed to be true, and he feels pity for you. He instructs Sucrose to leave quickly, and makes her take Diona with her.

“(Y/N), there’s a secret you need to keep, okay? You are...different from other kids you’re age. You are different in the same way I am. Something tells me your origin is similar to my own.” Albedo speaks, clasping his hands over your much smaller ones.

You’re beyond confused, as far as you know you’re just some reckless and dangerous kid.

“Unfortunately, you were not raised in an environment that allowed you to grow as intended. That is why your power is unstable, you were not taught how to use it.” Albedo stands up after speaking, sighing. He’s worried for you, but he cannot help. He doesn’t know how.

“...Harbinger. I know you heard all of that. All that I ask is that you keep this to yourself. For your own safety.”

What

You’ve never understood what Albedo said before, but you REALLY don’t now.

But he said keep it a secrect i guess

So here you are heading back down the mountain with you and Diona, and sending you off with Diluc.

Albedo made sure to make a sketch of the newly formed markings on your back.

HIIII I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THIS n e ways, I’m going to be posting somewhat again, but im still doing school so not too often anyways have good days and lives

[her-devils-advocate]

“Sweet dreams.”

♥. Genre: Fluff and romance

♥. pairings: Lucifer x F!Mc

♥. content warnings: None

♥. Word count: 885

It was a rare moment where Lucifer and Evelyne could relax and spend a few hours together without the usual chaos of the others ruining the peaceful atmosphere. A tender moment where they could simply exist near one another without any words needing to be exchanged, two souls focusing on their work in the same calming environment. The only sound which dared to cut through the silence was a small giggle from the woman, currently making herself comfortable in his extravagantly plush armchair. Her legs dangling over the arm while her head rests on the other, her hair creating an inky waterfall over the side. Her D.D.D raised above her head, held just a little too closely to her face, signalling to Lucifer that she had forgotten about her strikingly red contact lenses or her glasses.

“Just what are you getting up to over there…?” he asks, keeping his voice low, not wanting to become distracted from his work. Unaware that Evelyne had other ideas. With another small chuckle, she angles her head to look at him from her current position on the chair

“I’m just reading on my phone, that's all! Go back to work” she mutters, unable to keep the smirk out of her voice as she continues to scroll on the illuminated screen, the contents just far away enough for him to not be able to make sense of.

Silver eyes continue to dance along the screen which had captivated her so intensely. She wasn’t someone who usually read this sort of material, especially not in the presence of another, even if they were in a relationship. This sort of literature, if you could call it that, would better fit someone like Asmodeus and yet here she was, so deeply immersed in the world being created around her. The book wasn’t well written in the slightest which was exactly why she was so captivated with it, the phrasing and language used within made her feel like it was a parody rather than a serious publication. Maybe it was but either way the words dancing along the page had the raven haired woman in a trance, the gentle ticking of the large grandfather clock behind her lulling her into a meditative calm.

Chuckling once more at the story, she goes to open her mouth to share the recent paragraph with her lover, but yelps instead as her eyes meet his. His face mere inches away from her own, “why are you hovering over me and how long have you been lurking there?”

“You should be more careful around demons, my dear. You shouldn’t let your guard down so easily, who knows what could happen.” He whispers, gently lowering his lips onto hers before she could come up with a reply. “Just what are you reading…?”

Evelyne’s face darkens with embarrassment as he parts from her and looks more closely at the literature displayed on her screen. 

“Uhh, firstly, it's not what it looks like…it was mostly for entertainment purposes, look at how it's written!” Giggling once more, she stands to show Lucifer her screen more clearly as he narrows his eyes at the screen, squinting in confusion.

With quick movements, he goes to steal her seat. Grabbing her wrists, dragging her down on top of his lap.

Huffing at the man now below her, gazing at her through half-lidded eyes she throws one arm around him, leaning closer as she fidgets in place in order to get comfy, earning a subtle growl from the demon, warning her to stay still.

“If you wanted me here like this, all you had to do was ask me, you know…? Buuuuut since I’m feeling generous, I’ll just stay here and read it out to you instead…But first…” she trails off, eyeing up the demon in front of her before wiggling back on his lap. Giving herself more room as she gently removes the large and fluffy cloak from his shoulders, urging him to raise his hip so she could untangle it from their bodies before softly throwing it over the back of their now shared armchair. 

“You are like a furnace some days with that thing on you and the fur was tickling my nose.” She pouts, eyeing the fabric with a mock glare.

Letting his head gently fall into the crook of her neck, he lets out a soft chuckle. His breath makes her shiver as it glides over the exposed skin.

“Hmm, is that so?” He purrs, not wanting to shatter the peace by speaking any louder than a murmur. 

“Why don’t you forget the terrible drivel that you were reading and rest here for a bit, you should let your eyes rest after staring at the screen as close and as long as you did, darling.” Closing his eyes, the demon falls into a peaceful sleep, pulling the human perched on his lap closer to him.

“Ah yes, I’m the one who needs to rest.” She whispers, gently brushing aside some of his hair, gazing at his sleeping expression, amused with how quickly he succumbed to the exhaustion which followed him around daily.

With a gentle sigh, she snuggles as close as she can to him, not wanting to wake him as she lets her own eyes drift shut. “Sweet dreams, Lu.”

[yayteaberry]

*SFW* Just, Relax. (Enji Todoroki)

As far as casual fucking could go, he didn’t leave much room to desire anything he couldn’t give. He liked it in the same ways that you usually did, which was hard, fast, and full of energy. There was a lot of stress in his life and this was one of the ways he got the tension out.

But, you had stress too.

This week had really beaten you down, between several incidents at work you never wanted to think about again and less than favorable interactions with who you thought was your friend, you were exhausted.

Of course, he picked today to stop by.

You knew it from the moment you opened the door, it was impossible to not notice his presence.

Especially when he was right in front of you.

“Took you long enough.” His voice had always been something to excite you, but right now you really didn’t care.

“I’m not in the mood, you gotta go home.”, you say blandly, letting your purse slide onto the floor and shuffling past him, going to your room so you can lay face down on your bed.

The front door closes, and you think he’s left, letting out a long sigh as you continue to lay still, considering just passing out in your work clothes.

Why should you even bother, not like you’re dirty or anything.

“... Is everything okay?”

You push yourself up and turn your head, very surprised he’s still here. Though you sense it’s to get between your legs, not interested in the least. “I said you have to go home Enji, I don’t wanna mess around right now.”

“Never said I wanted to do that. You didn’t answer my question.” He folds his arms in that iconic stance he’s always doing in pictures, taking a few steps closer so he can better observe how miserable you are.

“Sure, you’re so openly concerned about me and my needs. It won’t change anything if you leave, if anything I’d appreciate it.” With that you drop back into position, waiting for him to go away. But he doesn’t, the bed dipping besides you as he sits down. You roll over onto your back and give him a pointedly ‘really?’ look.

It’s confusing that he isn’t getting the hint, he’s never been the type to force anything on you.  Well, anything you hadn’t asked for.

“If things have been rough for you… I.. Hope they improve. Sooner rather than later.” It’s stiff and entirely unnatural for the man to say something like that, but he forces it out, trying to be comforting.

You’re stunned by that, it’d be a shitty attempt at soothing if it came from anyone else, but from him that was absolutely precious. The words do revive you a bit, sitting up so you can lean against him, calmly enjoying the aura he’s made. There’d always been pressure to be someone else around him, he’d fuck you and that was all he was there to do, it made sense you’d exaggerate some aspects of your personality to suit the environment that created.

But this felt different.

Like something changed. And, it wasn’t a bad change either. This was nice, unusual, but nice.

“That’s sweet,”, you say after a moment passes, smiling when he runs a hand along your arm in a reassuring way. He could be so aggressive during sex that you’d forgotten he’s even capable of being gentle.

You get up on your knees so you can reach him, turning him so you can give him a kiss. “I do mean that, it’s very thoughtful of you.”

When he tries to follow that up with another, you back away, still smiling. “Mm-mm, I’m up for this but that’s about it, okay?”

“If that’s what you want,” he murmurs before cradling the back of your head, successfully kissing you. It’s light, but there’s a serious heat behind it. So you relinquish your hesitations and crawl over to sit in his lap, just barely able to stay level with the massive man.

“Honestly, what are you even here for now?”, you ask as you pull away, curiously sizing his intentions up. It really didn’t make much sense, even if he said what he did, this was very out of the normal for him.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m here because I want to be, because you’re here.”

That makes your heart thud a bit faster, he’s never been one to lie at any rate. You can’t think of a way to respond that’d be nearly as meaningful as you want it to be, so you just say what’s on your mind.

“I mean, not to discredit you, I just straight up told you we aren’t gonna fuck, so you get why I’d be confused as to why you wanna stick around. I’m very aware that you don’t do things out of sheer politeness if you don’t want to do them but…”, your thoughts get bunched up, unable to finish the sentence you’d started, pointedly looking through him as you figure out the best way to piece it together.

He doesn’t let you think long, tilting your chin so you meet his eyes. Doing so breaks you out of your hailstorm of thoughts. “You’re right, I don’t do things I don’t want to do. I don’t hide any of my opinions. So, knowing that, why are you still looking for an underlying motive?”, he says with his eyebrows narrowed down, almost suggesting he’s a little hurt by the question.

That has you feeling bad in a lot of ways, knowing your trust issues are yet again intervening in places it doesn’t have too. Being vulnerable is hard but if he’s doing it for you then you should for him.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I’ve been having a shit week and it’s just a reflex to take anything at its worst anymore…” You huff and let all your weight rest against him, face against his chest.

He hums in response and you can feel the vibration more than you hear it, fully melting when he runs his hand over your back, digits firmly smoothing over your sore muscles. A good few minutes pass by, the peace of his presence actually managing to undo a lot of your pent up angst.

You can hear his heartbeat rhythmically thudding away, almost hypnotized by it. There’s something about him today that has you noticing how nice and masculine he smells today, comfortable in partially smothering yourself for it.

You can’t be sure when you fell asleep, but you open your eyes and it’s pitch black, now lying down on your bed.

Disappointment has you grimacing, realizing you passed out on him and he most likely left right after. As you go to sit up so you can change into some proper sleep wear, you notice a few things.

First, he’s still here, one arm slung over your waist keeping you from actually moving. Secondly he undressed you down to your underwear, which you find sweet that he’d consider how uncomfortable sleeping in your work clothes would’ve been. Third, he’s out cold next to you, but radiating heat like a furnace, something you appreciate with your lack of clothing.

The usual set of events was that he’d leave an hour or so after finishing, likely before you’d even fully recovered, sending a nice arranged gift basket on your way the next day.

But here he was, snoozing away.

You don’t have a clue as to what inspired this behavior but that doesn’t mean you don’t embrace it fully, cuddling up close to him.

When he tightens his arm around you to pull you in close, you can’t help but smile.

[thehomothings]

for the headcanon thing: kite with ☪️✴️ plss

Ohohoho my fave fictional guy to hurt!!! Ty for that

So before i start, i had a little problem deciphering the emojies bc my phone and computer show me completely different things so I'll assume you meant moon and sun? If not I'm sorry, feel free to correct me and I'll do another post :3

☾ - sleep headcanon

The man is a chronic insomniac. It takes a long time for him to fall asleep and the slightest shift in the air to startle him. He grew up in an environment which conditioned him into being half aware in his sleep- he couldn't afford to be caught off guard. The smallest noise wakes him up, which is mainly why he prefers to camp out in nature than to actually get a place in the city. Sometimes he can't fall asleep several days at the time- which drives him to overwork himself to the point he hopefully passes out at night. At some point in late teenagehood/early adulthood he was prescribed sleeping meds, but stopped taking them due to how much more vivid they made his nightmares.

The nightmares where he's back in the streets, cold and starving, small and weak, and in the dreams he can't find his dogs; it's a neverending chase with shadowy tormentors and no respite to be found at the end of the line. He hides and hands find him, sneers and jeers ring out as he hits the ground again and again, and he wakes up with the iron tang of blood on his tongue. Sometimes he goes for a run when the sky's still dark, other times he just summons Crazy Slots, clutching the clown in his hands until the sun rises and the birds sing so he can tell himself i survived another day.

That being said, he can sleep much easier with someone to keep him company, being a pack of cats and dogs, or his team crashing into a cuddle pile (or Wing, bc the man is a human furnace).

☼ - appearance headcanon

Kite is easily 7 feet tall- which is one of the only physical features that he actively likes about himself. It helps him in combat, and admittedly towering over people dissuades them from messing with him.

It's not only the hair on his head that's white- his eyebrows and eyelashes are also white, almost to the point of being translucent. His legs and arms are quite hairy, but he barely grows any facial hair at all and despite that, keeps his face clean shaven. He doesn't remember ever having short hair at any point in his life, but one of his earliest memories is of a less than kind caretaker trying to cut his hair and after facing Kite's resistance, beating him. He doesn't quite trust anyone around him with scissors even years after and trims his own hair.

He has many scars, from his childhood living situation and the time he spent travelling with Ging; the ones that stand out most being one on his throat and the burnmarks covering his forearms. He hides them with clothes and doesn't undress in front of others less out of vanity and more so people don't ask questions. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from being snarky if they did so.

His nose was broken in childhood and has a badly healed bump, so do two fingers on his left hand. His front teeth are crooked- overlapping a bit, and one has a chipped corner. By his late twenties he has pronounced crow's feet when he smiles and asymmetrical smile lines.

I always headcanon that he got tattoos, maybe as a way to claim back ownership over his own body. I think maybe an ouroboros (SYMBOLISM!!!) and possibly flowers.

And honestly i could keep going but i will end my waffling here. Who knew i still had so much to infodump about this man.

Ty for the ask!

[rivergraceful]

A Personal Hell

I am living in hell

A hell I cannot escape, A hell I cannot explain.

A hell of habit and ritual

And a hell of hope.

Hope that is quickly snuffed out with hopelessness.

Hopelessness is the result of myself.

Hopelessness is the way I perceive the environment I was given.

I have many hells that I live in, most of which that I crafted with my own hands.

The wounds I get from the flames are marinated by my salted tears

And I lose a new piece of me every time I blindly turn up the furnace that I myself ly in.

Maybe I deserve this hell

I made it, slept in it, and continue to slumber in it without change

I feel the days slipping by like an elder on their deathbed

Like a poisoned man too lazy to reach for the cure

I scream my words at the angels looking down upon me

I stand in the pits of my own hell

Looking up to see them peering into me

My screams are a nuisance

My scream is an insufferable noise

A static tv that’s only fixing is to change the channel

Once you are in hell there is no redemption

I am the key master who has locked themselves in a chamber by swallowing their own key.

I have put myself in hell - River Phoebe

[alternateafterthought]

Golden Time - Part 17

> Pairing: Hybrid Jeon Jungkook x Reader

> Summary: Y/N has been rescuing and recovering hybrids her entire life. Now she has inherited her grandparent’s hybrid sanctuary. It was a normal rescue, get the hybrid, recover him and give him a choice, stay on the sanctuary or find a life for himself. Why was this one so different?

> Genre: Hybrid!au, romance, smut, angst, fluff

> Warnings: Nipple play, multiple orgasms, minor biting, dirty talk, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, handjob

> Word Count: 4084

> A/N: Hey guys... here it is,,, the final part of my Jungkook hybrid fic!! I would really like to thank everyone for reading it! I also want to thank you for supporting it and liking it!! I should give a special shout out to @ariana-winchester95 and @haven-raven012591 especially for being beta readers and for helping me come up with ideas and even helping me to write some parts of it!! Seriously you two are massive reasons I even finished this fic!! I really hope you enjoy this last part!! Thank you so much for your support!!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16]

Welcoming Jungkook’s parents’ home was one thing. Making out on the kitchen counter with Jungkook and having his parents walk in was another. Honestly, one doesn’t belong with the other and truthfully, Y/N would never have stopped Jungkook from taking her on the kitchen counter. Though out of respect for his parents, Y/N could control herself.

She didn’t know about Jungkook though.

A week after his parents had come to live with them, Jungkook had become so much more. Touchier, his hands constantly on Y/N, holding her to him, rubbing his chin and face over any inch of her he could touch. The quicker circles he made around Y/N had almost tripled since she had gotten home form the hospital, even his parents commented on it.

Well his mother had commented on it, given Y/N advice, even asked Y/N if it would be a good idea for herself and his father to give them some privacy.

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s mother spoke softly while they both stood in the kitchen cooking, Jungkook and his father in the living room out of ear shot.

“Yes ma’am?” Y/N stopped cutting vegetables as she looked at her.

“Please Y/N, you don’t have to call me ma’am.” She smiled like only a mother can before bumping her hip softly against Y/N. “Call me, Mum, Mama, or anything else please.”

Y/N still wasn’t exactly used to it. Jungkook’s mother and father had completely welcomed her into their little family, claiming her as their daughter who was mated to their son. They proudly called her their daughter to anyone they met, they were a real family, a family Y/N loves.

“I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

“Of course, you can.” Y/N nodded with a small smile.

“You and Jungkook, you have not fully mated yet. Why is that?” Jungkook’s mother asked as Y/N just stared at her. “I only asked because from what I’ve seen of you two, you are practically mated. You just have not started to have kit’s yet.”

“We…” Y/N looked over to where Jungkook sat, happily talking to his father about whatever they were watching on the tv. “By the time we both agreed to this… relationship, everything got bad. I was… we just never had the time to mate.”

“And now? Do you still want to mate with my son?”  

That was the question. And an easily answered question at that.

“I love your son.” Y/N looked back to the woman who smiled widely at her. “And I want to be with him, in any way he wants.”

“I know that sometimes when a human is with a hybrid they like to be married,” She pointed over towards the men who continued to talk. “Jungkook’s father wanted to be married, wanted to make it officially because he didn’t want anyone to treat me any less then what I was, his mate. Is that something you want? To marry Jungkook?”

That caught Y/N off guard. She had never really thought of marriage or the likes of it. Y/N knew that hybrids didn’t marry officially, once mated hybrids were as good as married. So, it never occurred to Y/N to actually be married to Jungkook.

“I… I never thought to…” Y/N stuttered a little over her words.

“It’s okay. Jungkook loves you. And he will happily give you anything you want.”

Before Y/N could say anything back, Jungkook came bounding into the kitchen quickly wrapping his arms around Y/N. The massive smile on his face was contagious, his parent’s happy that their son was safe and had found someone to love and love him back.

Though as dinner cooked, Jungkook’s arms stayed on Y/N, even as they all sat down to eat.

No more then a week later, Y/N had counted down the days, Jungkook took Y/N by the hand and lead her and his parents to a small cottage. It was down the path they took to the Astor’s, who joined as they walked, and a little smaller but just right. It was perfect and Jungkook was so proud to show his mate and his parents, that he could look after them, he could look after her.

Holding his hand outstretched towards his parents, Jungkook offered a small key with a wide bunny smile; “Welcome home.”

Y/N’s own eyes were wide, her heart swelled with pride seeing that her Jungkook, her mate, had given his own parents a true home. Y/N’s eyes never left Jungkook as he stood proudly and watched his parents move into the home, even if the tears threatened to spill. It was hard to believe that such a kind and caring man was once treated worse than an animal.

“You built them a home?” Y/N’s small voice asked Jungkook as the both of them stood by themselves at the door, watching Jungkook’s parents and grandparents.

“My Grandpa helped. It took a few months, but I had started it before everything happened.” Jungkook didn’t like to talk about it, didn’t like to think about Y/N not being where she was, beside him. “Yoongi and Hoseok helped whenever they could and Jimin and Taehyung would always be here helping when they would be here. I just… I wanted to do something for them. I wanted to show you that I can take care of you… if you’d let me…”

Y/N just smiled, before moving closer to him, standing up on her toes to softly press her lips to his. Although Jungkook had other plans to deepen the kiss, Y/N pulled back with a small laugh, reminding him they had company. He pouted, pulling her closer to him as he wrapped his arms around her waist and walked her around the house with his family.

Jin had visited 2 days ago and made a small passing comment. Something small. Something that could turn good or bad.

“So… Jungkook…” Jin smirked as he leaned against the counter. “His body seems to have completely relaxed into his environment. His heat will come soon. Have fun.”

Y/N had all but thrown him out of the house as he winked. He couldn’t help but laugh as Y/N cursed him out. It wasn’t that she was afraid of mating with Jungkook. She just didn’t like that he knew they would.

It also didn’t help when she went to visit Yoongi and Hoseok, both of them backing away before hugging her. Neither of them stood close to her and Y/N finally asked them why.

“We wouldn’t say you’ve been claimed… you haven’t mated yet.” Yoongi looked Y/N over.

“You just… you stink of that bunny and he is very territorial.” Hoseok laughed as Y/N sat at the counter. “Wouldn’t want to have him on our tail for trying to move in on you.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at that, because if Jungkook was one thing, it was territorial. And if Y/N was completely honest with herself, she kinda liked it.

But she was becoming concern for the hybrid now. He wasn’t sleeping much, wasn’t eating enough, his temperature always running a few degrees too warm. Y/N would have thought he was sick if it wasn’t for the fact that every chance he got, Jungkook would wrap Y/N into his arms. He was scenting anything, including Y/N, around him when he got the chance, he was even more territorial then he normal was, he could even pass for aggressive.

The final deciding factor that Jungkook was in fact experiencing his heat for the first time to the full extent, was how Jungkook would unconsciously gnaw on objects. Y/N knew the signs, and she had offered Jungkook the possibility of heat suppressants. They had done the adult thing and talked about his heat, no matter how embarrassed Jungkook had gotten, and he had made the decision that he didn’t want them.

Y/N would have never throw that back in his face, giving him the love and reassurance that she would be there to help him. It was that step in any relationship with a hybrid that would be where a human would have to come to terms with a soulmate. It was something that was all or nothing, and Y/N knew that Jungkook was her end game.

Y/N was woken up in bed, she was too hot, there was a thin layer of sweat on her skin, which confused her. Although it was summer, the AC was on and it was cool in her room, though the furnace wrapped around her was making her sweat.

Jungkook’s own skin was burning hot, it was uncomfortable for her to touch him, but he was adamant of holding her. Actually, with the whimpers and soft sighs leaving his lips and his hips grinding against her ass, his fingers digging into her skin, holding her in place as he continued to move.

“Jungkook…” Y/N tried to turn around to face him, trying to wake him up. “Jungkook, wake up…”

“Y/N… don’t… don’t st-“ Jungkook’s own mumbling was cut off by him groaning into her ear, his warm breath on her skin.

“Jungkook, wake up.” Y/N pushed him harder this time, successfully waking him up as he blinked to try and see in the dark. “Are you okay?”

“Hurts…” Jungkook breathed heavily, pushing his head into Y/N, the movement of his body never once stopping. “Help… please…”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Y/N  whispered over her shoulder, guiding Jungkook’s slightly trembling hands to help remove the almost soaked thin shirt she wore. “Let me help you Jungkook.”

Jungkook almost clawed Y/N’s shirt off, slightly ripping it as he finally got it off before throwing it somewhere in the dark room. Neither of them saw where, but that wasn’t either of their concern right now. What was Jungkook’s concern was tearing off what little both he and Y/N wore in the summer night, needing to feel every inch of her skin against his own.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

“Why are you apologising?” Y/N softly asked as her eyes caught his over her shoulder, her arm coming up to push his fallen hair out of his eyes.

“I wanted this to be… I didn’t want the first time I made love to you to be because I’m in the middle of a crazed heat episode.” Jungkook panted slightly, the heat, the pain becoming almost too much.

“Have we done anything in the right order?”

“I just wish…”

“Shh, Jungkook, it’s okay.” Y/N reassured him, leaning over her shoulder to kiss Jungkook, her hand wrapped around his neck and threading her fingers through his hair. “I love you.” Y/N whispered against his lips.

One of Jungkook’s large and sweaty rough hands moved up against Y/N’s soft skin before cupping her left breast. His fingertips softly pulling her erect nipple, causing Y/N to moan into his mouth, before his nudged her over.

Jungkook’s instincts took over, he was a buck in heat and a healthy doe was under him, wanting to please him. Jungkook moved Y/N up to her hands and knees, positioning himself behind her as his hand moved from her breast to steady himself. Taking a few, much needed deep breaths to calm himself down, Jungkook leaned down, softly leaving a trail of kisses up Y/N’s spine before kissing her shoulder a few times.

“I won’t last long.” Jungkook whispered into Y/N’s ear. “I’m sorry.”

“If you apologise one more time, I won’t go easy on you, Jeon Jungkook.” Y/N smirked over her shoulder.

“Easy on me?” Jungkook’s husky voice spoke as one of his hands moved down, his finger running along her slit. “Are you sure you should be threatening me right now?”

Y/N happily sighed, pushing her head into the pillow as Jungkook rubbed agonisingly slow circles on her clit.

“If you apologise one more time, I won’t go easy on you, Jeon Jungkook.” Y/N smirked over her shoulder.

“easy on me?’ Jungkook’s husky voice spoke as one of his hands moved down, lightly running over the soft skin of her stomach, before coming into contact with her slit. “Are you sure you should be threatening me right now?”

Y/N happily sighed, letting her head fall comfortably onto the pillow as Jungkook rubbed agonisingly slow circles on her clit, the other tracing circles on the flesh of her ass. She ran a hand up and down Jungkook’s arm, reassuring him. Breathy gasps fell from her lips with each circle, her need for him escalating, pushing her back to get more friction.

“Not so threatening now, are you?’ His lips grazing her ear as he spoke.

“Jungkook, please.” Her voice came out more desperate than she wanted, but she didn’t care.

“Please, what? What would you like me to do?” Jungkook asked in between leaving open mouthed kiss upon her shoulder.

“Mate me, make me yours.” She opened her eyes, not knowing she had closed them, her gaze caught Jungkook’s, his own eyes glazed over with lust and need. Letting out a deep growl, Jungkook leaned back.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook softly basked.

“Never been surer about anything, now make me yours.”

In one swift movement, Jungkook grabbed his cock, lined up with Y/N’s entrance and slowly started pushing in. A sharp gasp left Y/N’s mouth as she tightly clutched the sheets in her hands at the feeling of Jungkook’s cock stretching her deliciously. Jungkook’s closed his eyes tightly, forcing himself to hold back, just a while longer. The feeling of Y’N’s pussy, warm and welcoming, nearly becoming to much for him. He stilled for a moment once his cock was completely sheathed inside Y/N, allowing her to adjust to his size.

“Jungkook, move, please.” Y/N pleaded, her voice strained, and laced with desperation.

Jungkook slowly pulled out of her pussy, leaving just the head of his cock inside her, before pushing back in. His hands gripped her hips, breathless moans fell from lips with each slow thrust.

“I can tell you’re holding back, it’s okay. I’ll be okay,” Y/N reassured the bunny, “let go.”

Upon hearing those two words, Jungkook’s grip tightened as his pace became more forceful.  His floppy ears hitting his cheeks with each hard thrust of his hips. Louds moans roamed through the air as both of their highs became more apparent. The sound of skin slapping skin also filled the air around them.

“Jungkook, I’m close.” Y/N spoke, her voice hoarse, back arching.

Jungkook let a hand travel from her hip to her clit, rubbing harsh circles in time with his rapid thrusts. Her moans fell more frequently now, shifting her head from side to side on the pillow as she felt her orgasm building rapidly, threatening to burst.  Y/N started moving her hips back and forth helping to bring forth their orgasms.

“Cum for me.” Jungkook growled, his own high almost reaching breaking point, needing her to cum first to set him off. With a silent scream, the levy broke, and she came around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

“Come on, Jungkook. Cum in me, fill me up with your cum.” Those words went straight to his cock, he stilled as he came in her, coating her walls in white.

They stayed like that for a few moments, before he pulled out of Y/N. He helped her onto her back, before lying next to her, catching their breath, and coming back to earth. Jungkook moved to lean on his arm, looking at Y/N.

“I’m sorry that was quick, I wanted to take my time but,” Jungkook started, letting his gaze fall to her shoulder. She brought a hand up, cupping his cheek.

“It’s okay, stop apologising, we have all the time in the world now.” Y/N spoke leaning up to press a lingering kiss upon Jungkook’s lips.

“I want to make it up to you.” He said, lifting his gaze back up to Y/N’s.

Jungkook moved his body to hover over Y/N’s, One of Jungkook’s hands brushed Y/N’s hair out of her eyes before running over the smooth skin of her cheek. Slowly, he leaned down, nose touching hers as he paused for moment before Y/N placed a hand on the back of his neck and bringing him down into a searing kiss herself. Supporting himself on one arm, Jungkook trailed his hand over her skin, cupping her left breast and kneading gently, enticing a moan from the back of her throat. Taking advantage of his, Jungkook let his tongue slip past her swollen lips, exploring her mouth.

The fight for dominance easily won, Jungkook smirked into the kiss before breaking away and letting Y/N catch her breath. His lips left a lingering spark as they travelled along her jaw and to her neck. Y/N let out a small gasp as Jungkook started sucking on the sensitive spot just under her ear. Once satisfied with the purple mark, Jungkook travelled further down. Reaching her breasts, Jungkook looked up at Y/N through his lashes, before sucking a nipple into his mouth. Threading both hands through his  dark hair, Y/N held him closer to her. Y/N’s back arched off the mattress, relishing in the feeling of Jungkook’s mouth and hands on her.

“Jungkook.” Y/N chanted his name like a prayer.

Jungkook let her nipple go with a pop, before giving the same attention to the other. His tongue traced around Y/N’s nipple, maintaining eye contact with Y/N, before wrapping his lips around the small bud.  Y/N then let her head fall back onto the pillow, eyes screwed shut and mouth open in a perfect ‘o’. After a few moments, Jungkook continued his journey down south. Leaving burning kisses upon her stomach, teeth nipping at her hip bones, before grazing his lips over her thighs.

Leaning back, Jungkook placed his hands on her knees, pushing them apart, the cool air hitting Y/N’s pussy caused her to shiver. Jungkook took his time memorising her, his eyes taking in every detail, each scar and freckle, to the various pinks of her nipples and pussy. Y/N’s first instinct was to close her legs, but the strength behind his hands stopped her from doing so.

“Don’t. You’re beautiful.” Jungkook whispered, letting his gaze rake over her body one more time before he moved himself to laying on the mattress. Catching Y/N’s gaze once more, Jungkook inched closer towards her heat. Letting his tongue to pass between his lips, licking from Y/N’s entrance to her clit, catching the juices from their actions prior. “We taste amazing together.”

Jungkook hummed in approval, then ran the flat of his tongue up her slit. Y/N’s hands clutched at the sheets either side of her, pressing her head into the pillow as her back arched off the mattress. Jungkook’s hands travelled underneath her thighs, resting them on her stomach, with her thighs now placed on his shoulders. Humming, Jungkook grazed his teeth over her clit, feeling Y/N shiver around him, before wrapping his lips around the bundle if nerves and sucking harshly. Y/N screamed out at his action; her clit still sensitive after her first orgasm.

Jungkook’s mouth travelled downwards to her entrance, his tongue probing the hole. Y/N’s hands flew to Jungkook’s hair, wrapping her fingers around the strands, as his tongue entered her pussy. Y/N’s hands pulled on his hair as his fingers started rubbing circles on her clit, as he set a slow pace of thrusting his tongue inside her dripping pussy. The sound of his name falling from Y/N’s mouth caused Jungkook to hum against her in satisfaction, the action causing her hips to move against his mouth. Jungkook’s actions sped up upon feeling Y/N’s fingertips graze over his floppy ears, a deep growl rumbling through his chest and vibrating  on her pussy.

“Do that again.” Jungkook’s deep, husky voice graced Y/N’s hearing. “Touch my ears again. Please.”

He didn’t mean for his words to sound needy, but he needed Y/N to touch them. Lifting her hand up, Y/N lightly touched Jungkook’s left ear, running her fingertips over the soft fur. Low moans fell from Jungkook’s mouth, his leg starting to shake. Y/N could feel her second orgasm approaching, with each circle of his fingers, each thrust of his tongue and each sound Jungkook makes vibrating on her, the band in the pit of stomach snapped. Jungkook removed his tongue and replaced it with two of his long fingers, helping Y/N through her high.

Jungkook crawled up Y/N’s body, eyes filled with a primal lust. He pressed his forehead against Y/N’s as her hand travelled down, lightly ghosting over his skin, drawing goose bumps to rise until her fingers came in contact with his hard cock. Jungkook hissed at the contact and screwed his eyes shut, breathing rapidly. Y/N completely wrapped her hand around his cock and started to slowly pump him. Jungkook started to move his hips in time with Y/N’s hand, spasming with she ran her thumb over his tip. A hand caught her wrist, stopping her movements.

“Keep it up, and I’ll cum, but I want to cum in you.” Jungkook rasped as he pinned her hands to the mattress.

Using one hand to hold her wrists, Jungkook used his other to grasp his cock and ran along Y/N’s slit, teasing her before slowly pushing the tip inside her still tight hole.

“You’re still so tight for me.” Jungkook mused “Even after everything I’ve just done to you.”

“Kook, please.” Y/N pleaded, needing more.

“Patience. I want to savour this.”

Jungkook slowly pushed in further, until he was completely sheathed inside Y/N, pausing a movement to memorise the feeling. Jungkook leaned down and captured Y/N’s lips with his, pouring his heart and soul into kiss and started setting a nice, slow, and deep pace. Slowly pulling out so only his tip is inside Y/N, and then forcefully pushing back in, so she can feel him deep inside. The two moaned into each other’s mouths, tongues caressing one another and hands roaming over sweaty skin.

“Faster, Jungkook.” Y/N mulled into Jungkook’s mouth.

His hips moved faster upon her request; Jungkook broke away from kiss tor drop his head in the crock of Y/N’s neck., biting her shoulder to mask his moans. A large, rough hand filtered over her side to her clit, rubbing harsh circles. High pitched moans fell from Y/N mouth, a third high approaching.

“I’m close.” Y/N breathed, clenching her fists.

“Me too.” Jungkook whispered.

Y/N’s pussy clenching around his cock driving him mad, he thrusted his hips faster, chasing his high. Jungkook let go of her hands, threading his fingers through her hair and pulling her head to the side, sucking little love bites on the tender skin of her neck. Y/N’s hands flew straight to Jungkook’s back, racking her nails up and down along his spine. Her third orgasm hit her hard when Jungkook pinched her clit, walls clenching tightly around him as she came. Not long after, Jungkook’s thrusts became sloppy and sporadic. Y/N kept clenching her pussy, milking him, she let a hand move up to his ears and massaging the base of them.

Jungkook came with the deepest growl before collapsing atop of Y/N, both completely spent. After catching their breath, Jungkook pulled out of Y/N and rolled off the bed, stretching before walking into the bathroom. Returning with a wet cloth, he cleaned up Y/N of their mess. Tossing the cloth into washing basket, he moved to lay down next to his mate. His arms pulling her to his body, one leg thrown over hers, one of her hands threading through his hair.

“That was,” Y/N started breathlessly.

“Amazing.” Jungkook finished, just a breathless.

Soon, the room became quiet, their breathing finally back to normal as they seemed to be drifting off. Y/N took a quick glance at the clock next to her, telling her just how late it was, 4am and soon the sun was going to rise. As she was going to fall asleep, she could feel Jungkook moving again.

“Jungkook… how long do rabbit heats last again?” Y/N whispered as Jungkook was waking up fully again.

“A week…” Jungkook laughed a little, moving on top of Y/N again. “Give or take.”

It was a week before either of them resurfaced, it was never bought up or questioned. And after a week Y/N had a lot of work to get back to, rescuing hybrids and truly becoming a part of Jungkook’s family.

The reality of Y/N’s world was this was normal. Normal for her to be here, under these circumstances, happily. In love and happy.

Tag List

@ariana-winchester95 | @haven-raven012591 | @jennyjq | @Iwannag0h0me-c0m | @cstobitk | @goldenbangtann | @patpus | @lorielulu7 | @bubbletaetaesstuff | @narcissism-iskey | @yoongisabby | @demonslunacy | @sana-b | @chanyeolol | @nanskidoodle | @gracehiii | @legazix | @mintyrae | @the-immortal-dreamer | @kb-bangtanenthusiast | @aesthetewriter | @namjoons-dimple | @a-feeling-of-euphoria | @joyful-jimin​ |  

[annakie]

Are we out of the woods yet?

Hey all, haven't been on tumblr in a few days!

I have been living through what so many other Texans have been living through, so I thought I’d write a bunch of words about it, for posterity.  My story isn’t nearly as bad as so many others, but hey, it was still a fairly major historical event so... writing it for my own memories. :)

Post title because that particular Taylor Swift song was stuck in my head for most of the last few days, for obvious reasons.

So the last week has been an adventure! Last Friday I got my first Moderna Vaccine, and I posted about it a few times, but by Monday was feeling pretty good. Of course, it snowed overnight. I'd been so out of it all weekend I didn't realize quite how bad it was going to be, but when a friend who lives nearby told me his power was out I kinda went "uh oh", baked myself a box mix of orange cranberry bread, fortified some windows with blankets, and crossed my fingers. Also starting that morning I'd reduced the temperature in the house, and shut off and unplugged everything non-essential.

I was feeling pretty happy when the power stayed on all day. My friend's power came back that evening so I thought I was out of the woods.

And then at 10pm... plunged into darkness.

I threw some more blankets into areas where the cats hang out and my bed, let some friends know, and tried to go to bed, hoping for the best in the morning. Couldn't fall asleep for hours, worrying, as the temperature was plunging to the negatives for the first time in living memory in Texas. Finally fell into a restless sleep, and woke up a few hours later, no power.

The worst thing about no power is like, all the things you can't do. My phone started at 100% charge and I'd charged all my devices including my backup battery, but still tried to conserve power. The scary thing was hearing that this could last for days. And boy the news that day was bleak about the possibility of having power again anytime soon. The house, however, stayed at about 51 degrees the entire day. So, it was cold, but very bearable with a few layers and blankets. Whichever cats I was near were very cuddly though.

I was really glad to have the cranberry orange bread because it was tasty and easy to eat. Also had a sizeable amount of beef jerkey, and chips, and I'd bought about 48 bottles of water at the start of the pandemic that I never drank, so I had no worries about what to eat for the time, luckily. I figured, worst case, I'd figure out a way to do soup over a candle to have a hot meal eventually.

I’d been dripping the bathtub and checking the other faucets regularly.  I’ve never had a burst pipe in the normal cold we have, and was hoping for the best this time as well.  All seemed well the entire day.

I slept a lot when I wasn't scrolling twitter and nextdoor for information. And early afternoon there was a knock on the door. My mom literally called the cops to do a wellness check on me because I hadn't answered texts in a few hours, lol. I thanked him, and called my mom. Internet had been spotty and her calls weren't going through, nor notifications when I got texts. So that was... notable.

I tried doing some reading, and playing on my Switch but to be honest, I was so anxious about everything that I couldn’t relax and keep my mind on anything but the lack of power and when it’d come back.  I did take about four naps though. Considered bringing some of the cats into the car with me to warm up but realized I’d have to lift the garage door manually to run the car without, you know, dying, and instead just turned it on for less than a minute twice that day to keep the battery fresh...er... without carbon monoxide poisoning.  (My garage door is solid wood.  Even with good springs... it’s heavy.)

By the time it started to get dark, I started to worry about how much longer this would go on. I have a friend who has a 4-wheel drive... idk a land rover or something. He lives about 30 minutes away normally. It'd probably take well over an hour for him to get there now, especially since there was another storm coming that night. Since learning my power was out, he'd been asking if he could come get me, and they had steady rolling blackouts in their neighborhood, several other people I knew nearby were also saying their blackouts were rolling along.

I resisted, because I really didn't want to move the cats but I would never ever abandon my pets. But also it would be very difficult to move them. Patchy doesn't get along with any of them -- she stays in the master bedroom 100% of the time. There was a short period of time last year she would explore the house, but she got along with everyone else, especially Fry, so poorly that she decided she did not want to explore the house anymore. Fry sometimes wanders into the master bedroom and if they're both on the floor there's lots of hissing and yelling, and maybe swatting. She also has nothing but hissing for Pemily and Leela if she sees them. The master is her domain, the rest of the cats can have everything else.

Everyone else can be mean to Leela, though she gets along OK with Pemily most of the time. 

But Fry is just... hoo boy he is nothing but a problem child I don’t want to subject on others.  He’s a bully and an asshole and yells loudly when anything doesn’t go his way.  He would really, really not take a new environment well.  He hates the outside, and runs away when I even open a door.  And getting him to the vet involves kitty sleeping pills, though he also still fights through it enough to freak out the entire time he’s in a carrier badly, yeowling the entire time and literally rips all his nails off trying to get out, still trying to dig his way out with bloody paws.  It’s a nightmare.  So the thought of getting all four of them into carriers at the same time, then putting them all in a car for well over an hour (and the entire trip would be nothing but all four of them crying the entire time with Fry being the worst), then bringing them into someone else’s house, and needing two separate rooms because I can’t put Patchy in the same room as the other three... and trying to keep them all calm in a whole new situation when none of them were used to any other environment than my house (aside from yearly trips to the vet) man... moving them was a last resort.

But around 10pm when I had been sitting in the dark for 24 hours, I texted him and said in the morning, if the power wasn't on, we'd talk about him coming to get me and the cats in the morning.

I fortified Leela’s bed with a blanket fort.  (Pic above was from later, when I got power, and was way more open than I kept it when it was cold.) I couldn’t get her to move anywhere else... it actually worked pretty well. 

I fortified the master bedroom with blankets over the sliding glass door on Monday and then put Patchy’s cat bed on the bed and fortified IT with more blankets.  After she was settled in I managed to get her covered up.  Then I went into the living room, which is the smallest room in the house and a room most would use as a bedroom, and snuggled into the couch with Fry and Pemily, the door cracked for ventilation, and four candles burning. 

Fell asleep around 10:30.

Around midnight I was woken up by a terrifying sound... running water.  Honestly thought I was dreaming for a moment, had to work to pull myself out of my dream, and my heart froze in terror that I may have a burst pipe.  And then I heard a very, very good sound... the furnace turning on. 

POWER!  26 hours later.. POWER.  The running water sound was the cats’ water fountain.

Got out of bed, nuked myself a small frozen pizza, checked around the house for everything and everyone being OK, plugged in all my portable devices to recharge, and went back to sleep.  Woke up around 4 and still had power.  I thought... I really wanted a hot meal and should cook something that wouldn’t be bad as cold leftovers for lunch, as I’d finished the cranberry orange bread when I woke up at midnight.  I didn’t want to use too much power so uh... I made Fettuccine Alfredo, and ate half of it... at 4am.  What?  It was good.

Also... I hadn’t seen the stray cat I’d been taking care of since Sunday night.  He hadn’t even visited because there were no tracks in the snow.  Checked the backyard randomly and he was there!!!  So he got food and water.  I was very happy.

THERE’S THE BOY!  I call him Patchy’s Boyfriend.  Taken through the blinds as to not scare him.

Animal tracks in the snow!!  I was glad some birbs got some water, too!

Went back to bed in my own bed.  Woke up a little later than normal for work with the power still on.  Texted my folks to tell them the good news.  Got up and went into the kitchen, started contemplating coffee and pancakes for a hot meal.  Opened the fridge for the first time and checked the milk.  Sadly, it didn’t survive, and realized I was a dumbass for not just.. putting the groceries... in the garage... where it was cold...

And just as I sighed and started to decide if I wanted coffee without milk... the power went back off.  Aw, damn.

My spirits were lifted, though, at having power and a warm house overnight.  I checked in with work and let them know I’d be out again unless the power came back, told my friends and said NOT to come get me, decided NOT to tell my mom the power was off again, because all that would do is make them worry about me all day again, checked on the cats and tucked them in, and went back to bed.  Got some more sleep.

Relaxed more that day, with the house taking longer to cool down.  Actually played some Switch, read the first couple of books in the Mass Effect Comic Collection.  Had cold Alfredo and an apple with peanut butter for lunch.  Scrolled twitter a lot more, not afraid to have to go to my backup battery if needed.

Right around the time I’d usually be knocking off for work... the power came on again.

And it didn’t shut off.  Yay.

In total I was without power somewhere around 34 hours.  It sucked.. but also... I didn’t have my pipes burst... they didn’t even freeze.  The house never dipped below 50, thanks insulation!  My water was always running, though for a few hours it was very low pressure, and always clean.  My city government and congressman were both very involved and communicative, doing their best to help people and get the word out.  City had two warming centers should I have needed them, one of which was pet friendly.  I had plenty of food and water, enough for a week or more easily.  I had friends willing to put themselves at risk and through inconvenience to make sure I was taken care of.

A lot of people had it much, much worse.  So yeah.  I don’t ever wanna do that again, but for me, it wasn’t all that bad.

Shoutouts to:

My nearby friend Eric, who would have let me stay at his place if needed.

My far-away friend Marcus for offering to come and get me, and suffer the inconvenience of my cats.  Other friends would have if I’d asked, too.

My queen sized purple fleece blanket for being so warm and comforting.

My warm fuzzy bathrobe, messy bun beanie, and fuzzy slippers for making sure I was never all that cold.

My cats for weathering things well.  They also learned that maybe they DO like being under covers now.

My LED Headlamp for providing hands-free light for hours and hours.

My mom for a bag of candles she gave me YEARS ago I always would see and want to throw out, but didn’t let myself just in case I needed them someday.  I burned many of them and they kept me warm that second night.

Also my mom for... calling... the police... on me?  I know she loves me.  Also that cop for having a sense of humor about it and telling me to call my mom more often lol.  ACAB and all, but I shoulda checked my texts.

My Switch and Mass Effect Comic Collection for being huge piles of entertainment when I could finally relax and read them.

My coworker Monica for suggesting I make something I could snack on easily in case we lost power.  That cranberry orange bread was perfect.

Me for never throwing away a blanket.  I should probably donate some, though.  Between the cats and covering windows and me, though.. I used... a lot of blankets.

4am Fettuccine Alfredo.

My municipal utilities for already saying our bills wouldn’t be drastically higher from this month.  Although, I take it back for being real bad at the “rolling” part of the “rolling” blackouts.

Also, one more thing... FUCK YOU TED CRUZ, YOU DESERTING PIECE OF SHIT.  BETO O’ROURKE DOES YOUR JOB BETTER THAN YOU WITHOUT THE TITLE, POWER, OR PAYCHECK.

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 16)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: With Baldwin hunting an intruder around the environs of Sept Tours, Alisha spends time with her tenants, step-daughter and the various creatures at Sept Tours.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @simplytimeless @wonderlander594 @madamquacklemore @thereadersmuse @livia-valerie-rown1793 @kynthiamoon @she-who-is-named-katie @ordinarymom1 @fuzzyflowervoid @raspberrypierocketeer @maybelightning @lady-lazarus-declermont

The Story So Far

———

———

Alisha changed quickly, the long dress no longer seeming appropriate for the situation.

Instead, she pulled on some jeans, a vest top and a warm sweater, hoping to quell the chill settling into her bones. She also exchanged her heels for some ballet flats.

The roaring fires and many guests downstairs did nothing to banish that same chill.

“Three ways in,” Marcus was giving orders to his Knights as a very attractive man approached her.

“Madame de Clermont,” he gave a slight bow, “not the best time for introduction but I suppose it is out of my hands. Fernando Gonçalves.”

“It is nice to meet you, even under the circumstances,” she looked around, “I have to apologise, I’m still getting caught up on my in-laws, I’m sure Baldwin mentioned you-“

“You’re sweet to say but he most likely didn’t. I’m not a de Clermont, not by blood anyway.”

“Oh,” she pondered before realising, “so, you’re mated to one, like me?”

“Yes, my darling Hugh, rest his soul.”

Alisha nodded solemnly.

“From what Baldwin’s told me, he was very special, and loved by a lot of people. I wish I’d had the chance to meet him.”

“As do I.”

“Fernando,” Marcus called, “first watch south door.”

“Yes Seigneur.” Fernando called to Marcus and gave Alisha a respectful bow before attending to his duties.

“You changed clothes.” Ysabeau commented with a hint of disapproval.

“Restrictive dress, high heels, not good in a crisis.”

“You will be nowhere near any sort of action, I guarantee it!”

“Maybe not but I want to help the people here and it’s much easier to do so like this.”

“What is your directive, Madame?”

Ysabeau asked the question but it was far from a request for orders and more a test.

“Alright,” Alisha nodded, thinking, “We have a wedding feast already prepared, lets skip the fancy table settings, get everyone together around the table and fed, at least then they’ll be in the same place and accounted for.”

“It’s what I would do, which is why I have already arranged it,” Ysabeau gave her an approving glance.

“And the boy who lost his father, his mother, where are they?”

“In the sitting room.”

“They probably won’t feel much like eating but they should still have something, just in case.”

“I agree,” Ysabeau gave a curt nod, “which is why you will bring them some food, talk to them.”

“Me?”

“You are Madame de Clermont-“

“Not to them, they know you and they trust you. Those people have lost someone they love, it’s not the time to subject them to me and my training wheels. I don’t have your way with people.”

“You don’t, that is true. But, they already have one of me, they do not need a copy. Besides, you too have known loss recently, be you, be honest and connect with them.”

Alisha nodded, reluctant, but resigned.

“I’ll need a translator.”

“Your tenants are extremely well educated,” Ysabeau answered with a hint of offence, “they will understand you.”

“Alright, I’ll go see what the kitchen-“ Alisha stopped when Marthe approached with two plates and holding a bottle of wine under her arm.

“No need.” Ysabeau stated.

———

As their tracker, Baldwin, backed up by Verin, took to hunting the killer from the site of his crime. Gallowglass and Stasia secured the perimeter to ensure there were no potential problems.

Freyja was charged with control of the immediate environs of Sept-Tours.

Baldwin was easily the strongest in the family but never the fastest, which is why Verin was taken aback when he sped from her, towards something he sensed that she did not.

By the time she made it to his side, the offending vampire was on his knees, snarling and struggling with Baldwin’s arm around his neck.

“He’s infected by the rage,” Verin stated plainly, the black appearance of his eyes betraying his affliction.

Baldwin sank his teeth into the creature’s throat, searching through it’s memories.

He saw the murder of his tenant, some deer and a sheep but nothing beyond.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Verin admonished when Baldwin dropped the vampire on the ground.

“What is it?” Gallowglass asked as he joined them in the clearing.

“We know nothing about the disease or how it spreads and you fed on someone that you know had it?” Verin was yelling but Baldwin didn’t say a word, instead, he walked to the small stream to wash the blood from his hands and face.

“I can sense your wife,” Stasia stated plainly.

“Aye, but there’s no way granny’s letting her leave, nor would she even make it out this far.” Gallowglass answered with a frown.

“And it’s not just from you,” Verin told Baldwin as she stood over the dead creature’s body and noted a strip of material tied around the arm, “it’s coming from th-“

Baldwin’s hand was on her wrist before she could touch the fabric.

Instinctively, she growled but the deeper, more commanding one she received made her bow her head slightly, breaking the eye contact, retracting the challenge.

Baldwin released her and she stepped back, away from him.

“What is that?” Gallowglass asked when the tense moment subsided.

“It’s Alisha’s but she brought no clothes from New York, I purchased a new wardrobe for her. Whoever sent me this message was in her home.”

“You fed on him, did it not tell you anything?” Verin pushed.

“Just the shepherd, some animals, everything before that is blank.”

“Could that be a temporary side effect of the rage?”

“Or magic,” Stasia suggested.

“Possibly,” Baldwin shook his head, none of what he was sensing made sense, “and since I do not know this dead creature, I assume he is not the person sending me this message.”

“He was mad with the sickness, most likely turned and set loose.” Verin added.

“If we were to create a list of potential grudges we would be here a while!” Stasia retorted.

“None of those are particularly new,” Verin reminded, “we need to ask ourselves why now?”

“I assume you have a theory on that, sister?” Baldwin’s words dripped with warning.

“Not one I’m inclined to share.”

“Wise decision,” he turned back to the dead creature, “we can ponder the possibilities once we secure the borders and make sure he was alone.”

“Whoever dropped him here, they could be on a different continent by now.” Gallowglass pointed out.

“Trust me, there isn’t a piece of land on this earth that’s safe for them.” Baldwin assured.

“Well this one is neutralised. At least you can return to your wedding evening.”

Baldwin shook his head.

“We’re not nearly done. Every inch of this place must be secure.”

“How?”

“Four quadrants,” he decided.

“That was a game,” Verin rolled her eyes, “one of father’s misguided attempts at fostering family unity.”

“I’ll take the first quadrant,” Baldwin ignored her protests, “Gallowglass two, Stasia three and Verin Four.”

“I suppose I asked for that.” Verin complained at the seasonal muddiness of that section.

“Not at all,” he determined, “we do this four times, by the end, we will each have searched every quadrant so that if one misses something the others won’t.”

“Thorough.” Gallowglass agreed.

“Excessively,” Stasia added, prompting a glare from Baldwin.

“We have tenants, guests and family here,” he corrected, “even this measure does not completely reassure me.”

“We must first dispose of this poor creature.” Gallowglass suggested, trying to break the tension.

“The furnace.” Baldwin responded without a thought.

“That’s for animal remains.” Gallowglass answered quickly.

“He killed a tenant for no reason, what is that other than an animal?”

“A pawn, a victim, you can’t-“ Gallowglass grabbed Baldwin’s arm when the older vampire turned to leave but quickly found himself face down on the forest floor with Baldwin’s knee on his back and the other trapping his arm.

“This is not a democratic process and I do not know what fanciful notions any of you may be entertaining, but my marriage has no bearing on how I intend to lead this family. Any comments?”

Verin had many, it was obvious from her expression. Still, he did not begrudge her thinking them so long as she was not careless enough to voice them.

“Good,” Baldwin stood and offered an arm to help Gallowglass to his feet, which he accepted, “Verin and Stasia will get started on their areas, we will dispose of the body.”

Gallowglass voiced no objection a second time.

———

Alisha?” Marcus placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her from the silent reverie she shared with the fatherless farm boy.

His mother was still asleep as she sat holding his hand in comfort.

“Marcus,” she excused herself for a moment, letting him lead her from the boy to the window, “is everything okay?”

“They’re doing the final sweep now.”

“Did they catch the killer?”

“It was never about catching him, you realise that?” He reasoned and she nodded in solemn understanding.

“Did they stop him?”

“They did,” he answered carefully, regarding her with concern, “are you alright?”

“I’ll be better when they come back, and really,” she glanced at the bereaved family, “nobody has suffered more than they have.”

“I’ll stay with them.”

Marcus greeted the boy with familiarity, they clearly knew one another and she left them to talk.

By the time she rejoined the gathered guests, all talking amongst themselves, quietly at first, then louder until recriminations and accusations were passing between them.

“Miyako,” Alisha was grateful at seeing the familiar face, “they’re scared and confused, where’s Ysabeau?”

“On the ramparts with the witches, she told me to fetch you this.”

Miyako handed Alisha the violin case, the one left in Baldwin’s tower. As his daughter, she obviously had access to it.

“What is this?” Alisha looked at the sheet music Miyako handed her with the violin.

“I have no idea,” the vampire shrugged, “it was on top of the instrument, I assumed you placed it there as a choice.”

Alisha shook her head with a smile, either Marthe or one of the de Clermont’s other servants could have subtly left it whilst cleaning, a request.

“Do you require accompaniment?” Miyako asked.

“You would...play with me?”

Miyako looked momentarily offended.

“Grandfather was very strict about our learning music, he believed it instilled discipline and patience. I may not have your instinct but I can play several instruments more than moderately well.”

Alisha smiled widely, tamping down the urge to hug the other woman, partly to make it easier to hide the tears of heightened emotion pricking the corner of her eyes.

“I don’t doubt that, and I meant no offence, I’d be honoured to play music with you.”

Miyako nodded and took her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“I know Grandfather had a cello here somewhere but I’ve been unable to find it. I suppose I will have to play second with the viola.”

Alisha followed after until a thought occurred to her.

“Wait,” she stopped, “what instruments does Baldwin play?”

Miyako shook her head and kept walking.

“That is his secret to tell!”

———

“Quadrant clear!” Stasia reported with palpable irritation after meeting up with her other siblings, all finished and waiting.

“It would have been much easier without the heels!” Gallowglass teased.

“Then the search is complete,” Baldwin confirmed before Stadia could respond to her Nephew, “but now the hunt begins.”

“Do you intend to hunt down those responsible tonight?”

“No,” he glanced in the direction of home, “but be assured that you will each be notified when I decide on the action that is to be taken and you will share nothing more than the fact that we stopped the culprit. I won’t worry Alisha unnecessarily, not until I know more.”

“A bit early in the marriage to be keeping secrets.” Verin poked.

“I could say the same to you in reverse, does Ernst know all of your secrets?”

Verin fumed in silence.

“I thought not,” he turned back to Gallowglass, “go back to Sept Tours and bring my wife to the Chateau, we will be spending the next two days there.”

“And what of us, are we to remain at Sept Tours, awaiting your command?” Verin asked spikily.

“No, you can leave whenever it pleases you sister.”

———

Backlit by candles, Alisa Montclair performed for her husband, the same music she played when she first felt his presence.

This time, however, instead of sensing his gaze in a crowded concert hall, he was propped up against the pillows in their bed wearing just his dark pyjama bottoms. She stood illuminated at the foot of the bed through the thin gauze of the four post bed it was a much more intimate setting than a crowded concert hall.

Wearing just an ivory coloured and very thin silk slip, she was very much aware that he could see so much more than a human could, the candles highlighting her every curve in the silhouette of the candles.

Never had playing been such an erotic experience for her.

When the song ended, she performed a curtesy in response to his soft clapping.

“That was beautiful my darling, thank you,” his voice was thick with emotion and desire.

“You are very welcome, my Lord,” she put the instrument away and approached the side of the bed, “if it pleases you, it pleases me.”

She crept towards him and straddled his lap.

“You please me,” he sighed in contentment, “and not just because you’re beautiful and talented. You demonstrated tonight that you are ready to assume the responsibility that comes with being Madame De Clermont, as well as Mrs Montclair. I understand you played for our guests as well, accompanied by Miyako.”

“Who told you?”

He lifted his phone from the bedside.

“Don’t worry, I only wanted to show you this. You can be rest assured I will be switching it off for the duration of our time here together.”

She settled into a seated position between his strong thighs, his chest reminded a cool marble statue, immovable.

He lightly rested his chin against her shoulder and pulled up the video on his device.

It was of her and her step-daughter, playing together as the crowd was silent.

“Who took this?”

“Marcus, he sent it to me, I’m sorry I missed it, you play so well together” he mused, lightly kissing her shoulder and continued up her neck.

“She’s very talented,” Alisha grinned in memory of Miyako’s revelation, “so what instruments do you play?”

He sighed in resignation, switching the phone off and placing it back as promised.

“Piano, Harpsichord, Organ-“

He was cut off by her burst of giggles.

“Organ?”

“Yes, why is that so funny?” He smiled, happy to hear her laugh.

“No reason,” she shook her head.

He growled a little, but she could easily read it as a playful, exasperated expression.

“Alisha,” the stern tone that drove her wild was back as he lightly nipped at her neck with his teeth before soothing the area with gentle suction.

“It’s just,” she gasped at the sensations he was firing within her, “you already enter a room like there should be organ music playing in the background, I didn’t realise you could compose your own theme song.”

His chuckle was low and she felt the deep rumble of it in his chest.

“Are you calling me dramatic?” He murmured quietly against her ear.

“Big yes,” she nodded, involuntary shifting in her position due to his uncanny ability to make her laugh and turn her on at the same time.

A slight groan erupted from his lips as she realised that her fidgeting was having a direct effect on his own arousal, judging by the sudden bulge growing against her tailbone.

“What else?” She asked, armed with this new knowledge she targeted her innocent squirming to very slight and easily denied stimulation.

“What else what?” He asked in confusion, his breath a little more stilted than before.

“What else do you play?”

He didn’t immediately answer but the reason for that was clearly the diverted blood denied to his brain to feed a hungrier organ.

Just as sudden, his hands on her hips instantly stilled her movements. She took in a sharp breath, realising just how much self-control her husband had.

“I can play one more instrument,” he started, clarity returning to his words, as one of his hands drifted up from her side to ghost up her chest and clasp her breast through the thin material, radiating his granite coolness on the sensitive area.

“W-what’s that?” She asked, her ability to move and tease him hampered by his arm braced across her torso.

“Guess,” he teased, his finger tracing circles around her puckered nipple as he continued to nip and lick at the skin on her throat.

She realised too late the Venus trap she had fallen into and now she was under his complete control, her body practically bared to his whim.

The slight inhale from Baldwin told her he had sensed the wave of arousal that washed over her upon realising her predicament.

“Um, flute?” She whimpered.

“No,” he answered gently as his free hand settled on the inside of her thigh.

“Is it a wind instrument of any type?”

“Cold.”

“Percussion?

“Colder.”

“Reed?”

“Arctic,” he grinned, his hand gently and slowly inching its way up to its target and building anticipation as it went.

“There aren’t any more.” She argued, with a shudder of excitement as he neared his target.

“You’re forgetting the most obvious one.” He directed her vision to the violin case with his hand, loosely around her neck.

“Strings?” She gasped.

“That is the one you forgot but this instrument is so rare it belongs in no classification. The music she makes when you touch her just right...”

The slight mewling gasp she let out upon his fingers tiptoeing lightly over her panties made him smile.

She understood his meaning instantly, he could play her as well, if not better, than she could play her own violin, and he did, his fingers diving, dipping and playing her body like an expert musician stopping only to relieve her of the slip.

“I want you see you, all of you, take them off,” he ordered, “and lie down.”

His tone had the edge of command and it made her desire stronger.

She shimmied her way out of the underwear and lay on her side beside him, trying - and failing - to look sultry.

“I have seen you naked already sweetheart, why so shy now?” He teased, making her blush more pronounced.

“Because you were also naked,” she retorted, “and you were too occupied to study me.”

“Do you think I haven’t already committed your every peak and valley to mind,” he ran his hand down her waist and over her hip, “I have, I wager I could draw from memory your every freckle, especially this one.” His hand rested on her buttock and he pulled her to lie on her stomach.

She felt the slight playful nip of his teeth on the flesh under where his hand had rested.

“Baldwin!” She squealed in between giggles.

“Apologies,” he kissed the spot and continued placing light kisses up her spine, “so plump and inviting I couldn’t resist.”

“Hmm, charmer,” she accused, folding her hands beneath her head and glancing back at him.

In the candlelight, the rich copper tones of his hair were more obvious and the style was less strictly managed and more wild than usual. Between that and the darkness of his eyes, he was a vision of feral beauty, equal parts terrifying and magnificent.

“I‘m not as fragile as you think, you do know that?” She asked, hoping he understood her meaning.

“Vampires play rough sweetheart.” He warned, placing a tender kiss between her shoulders.

“I trust you,” she turned and captured his lips with hers.

He hastily joined her in complete undress and immediately she was enclosed in soothing coolness. It was a welcome contrast to her passion inflamed skin yet did nothing to quell her desire.

She yielded easily to his claiming of her, this time, however, the fit was more challenging on account of their position and she gasped at his fullness within her.

“Do you need me to stop?” He asked and she shook her head emphatically.

“Don’t you dare!” She moaned.

Accepting her answer, he slid his hand down between the mattress and her body, slowly building her arousal as he gradually increased his tempo.

Alisha was lost in a myriad of ecstatic sensations, between the spot within her that he somehow manage to reach every thrust to his ministrations upon her clit.

When he enclosed her throat in his hand to better access her scent, he felt her breath catch as his senses picked up a wave of pheromones from her that urged him forward. A subtle change in her scent intrigued him, something beyond her sweet apricot aroma. It was both unknown yet familiar at the same time.

“Baldwin,” she moaned, the very sound seeming to him more holy than any sermon or choir he had ever heard.

She was almost at her end, he judged from the way she tightened around him. He too would not be long after.

“You are bound to my will, remember?” He murmured low against her ear.

“Always!” She turned to look at him and he kissed her deeply, feeling her melt into him.

“My will,” he answered, “is to feel you come apart in my arms, can you do that for me?”

She nodded mutely as he kissed her neck, nibbled playful at her earlobe.

“Oh God,” she gasped, signalling how close she was to the edge.

“That’s it,” he coaxed gently, “just give in, I have you.”

Her movement was extremely restricted and yet, she felt unbridled, free and for the first time in a long time, safe.

Baldwin held her tight to him throughout her climax.

“You changed my life.” He kissed her temple with tenderness of which no-one could imagine him capable, and took his own pleasure.

After several seconds of quiet contemplation, he withdrew from her and rolled over onto his back. She was the first to let loose a satisfied sigh.

“So, I changed your life?” She grinned, moving to rest her head on Baldwin’s shoulder as her hand closed over his heart, still beating faster than his usual vampire rate.

He chuckled lightly.

“You never fail to surprise and impress me little nightingale.”

“To be fair, you did most of the work, next time I get to ride you like the stallion you are.”

“Noted,” he peered down at her, tucking her hair behind her ear, “and I meant your studies.”

“Huh?”

“Mi hai cambiato la vita,” he grinned, closing his eyes, “you don’t have to be modest, your grasp of Italian is commendable, and yes, you have changed my life.”

The drop in her stomach was made more pronounced by the way his relaxed posture grew more rigid. She realised that he hadn’t spoken the words in English and she had been too out of it to differentiate.

“Alisha,” he sat up, bringing her with him, “vampire’s are programmed to sense panic, it’s how we identify prey. What did I say that upset you?”

She averted her gaze, no words came to mind.

He framed her face in his hands, giving her no choice but to look at him.

“Alisha, tell me what’s wrong!” His tone was calm, gentle even, yet she knew he was not leaving this without an answer and with his senses, a lie was not an option.

She had to concede that the choice was made for her.

“Baldwin, there’s...” she took a deep breath, “there’s something you should probably know.”

——

PART 17

[fizzingwizard]

The In Between Times

AO3 link, because why not

So, current events in the Digimon reboot, the kids have 72 hours to fix the power outage in Tokyo before it's a total blackout. Until episode 16, there was a time lag as well, meaning time in the digital world ran faster than in the human world.

But the show is a fast-paced shonen anime so it’s all about action!! and not so much the little moments of downtime and camp-out camaraderie that let us really feel as if time is passing. I miss that.

SO! Since I can't get a job on the writing staff... here’s a fic about What The Kids Did At Night. Didn't think I'd write a fic for this series this early on but the muse does what she will!

Last note: I have no idea how large the time lag is, so I’m just putting in a “night” wherever I feel like one is needed. Three days RL = maybe six in the digital world. Mainly because that’s how many nights I feel like writing about.

- o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - The First Night

Taichi wasn't paying attention to the time until Sora stopped, a hand shading her eyes as she peered at the treetops.

"The sun's getting low," she said.

"I can't see very well," Mimi added, rubbing her arms. It wasn't particularly cold, but Taichi didn't say anything about it.

Instead he looked down at his feet, where his shadow had grown long, getting lost in the tangle of undergrowth on the forest floor. All the ferns and bushes were tinted a reddish-gold. High above, stars studded the purpling sky.

"Should we... find somewhere to sleep?" Sora asked after a beat, something leading in her tone of voice.

He very slowly realized they were waiting for him to say something.

"Uh... sure," he said. "I mean, it's not that dark yet, we could maybe walk another hour or so."

Mimi looked crestfallen. Oh - she had been hoping he'd agree. "My feet hurt!" she whined.

"We could keep going," Sora said. "But don't you think if we wait to stop till it gets darker, it might be hard to see what we're doing? We need to eat, make a fire..."

"I can take care of the fire," Agumon piped in.

"Yeah, fire's no problem for us." Taichi patted the top of his partner's head. Agumon's chest swelled. "So we'll have light, don't worry about that."

Sora still looked uncertain. "I just... would feel better if we didn't push it," she said at last, brow knit. Next to her, Mimi's hands were clasped together, as if in prayer.

This was getting ridiculous.

Taichi shrugged. "Okay, fine with me. Let's stop for now."

Immediately the two girls perked up. "Alright!" Mimi threw her arms in the air.

"We'll be sleeping on the ground outside though," Taichi warned her, expecting her to complain a little. At home Mimi probably slept on two mattresses covered in fluffy blankets, ensconced in plentiful pillows, with a host of stuffed animal attendants. And all of it would be pink.

But she waved away his concern. "Oh, I slept on the ground in the palace Palmon and the Tanemon built for me anyway," she said. Ah... he'd forgotten she'd been here longer than him. (Also, that place counted as a "palace"?) "If you can stack enough of those big leaves and fronds it's pretty comfortable."

"W-Well... cool." He glanced at Sora, but she had already knelt to the ground and was going through her bag of supplies. So apparently they were going to camp right here, then. "Uh, then I'll leave it to you to find the best leaves to sleep on. And Sora, you guys can get started on food?"

Sora nodded without looking up. She'd pulled out a couple bottles of water and some plastic utensils. Piyomon appeared to be trying to carry an entire picnic blanket herself. Taichi thought about mentioning to Sora that she was chewing her lip, like she often did when she was thinking. It was a habit he knew she was trying to kick. Something stopped him though.

Then Agumon plucked his sleeve. "What about me?"

"Warm up your muscles," Taichi grinned down at him. "We're gonna do some heavy labor."

He'd only seen it in pictures in his Scout's Companion Guide to the Wilderness, but a makeshift lean-to didn't seem particularly difficult to figure out. At least, not with a Digimon companion to do most of the work. Taichi helped where he could, dragging logs Agumon found or felled back to their campsite, patting down the foliage until it somewhat resembled a floor. They had some trouble tying the branches off until Mimi and Palmon came back and Palmon's vines made short work of wrapping the rope around the trees. Then it was just a matter of lining the logs up diagonal to the frame they'd made and packing them with leaves. The end result, well, it wasn't very pretty. But it didn't have to be. It just had to work.

"Wow, that looks great, Taichi-san!" Mimi exclaimed, jumping up and down.

Sora hummed in agreement. "It'll be good to have if it rains."

Taichi laughed and decided not to point out it would be totally useless if it rained. They'd be lucky not to get covered in mud if a strong gust of wind knocked it over on them. But the girls were already moving the leaf beds and picnic blanket under the lean-to. Whatever. At least they were happy.

It was dark without question by now, and Taichi felt exhaustion wash over him. Building that contraption had taken more time than he'd thought. Belatedly he realized the others were gathering for the dinner Sora had prepared, probably a while ago. He dragged his tired legs toward the fire Agumon had made and dropped down in front of it like a rock.

Dinner was slices of fruit from the Tanemon village Mimi had in her bag, along with sides of biscuits and wakame rice from Sora's emergency supplies. The biscuits were hard and chalky and the rice watery, but they were all so hungry no one much cared. And the fruit was delicious. The taste was similar to honeydew melon but with a texture like cream cheese. It'd be perfect in a cake, Mimi declared.

After eating they cleaned up, and since everyone was having trouble keeping their eyes open, they wound up going straight to bed. Taichi crawled under the lean-to and kicked off his shoes and socks. Next to him, Sora and Mimi were doing the same.

"I hate sleeping in my clothes," Mimi sighed, picking at her feet. "I wish you had spare pajamas, Sora-san."

"Spare pajamas weren't on the list of emergency supplies," Sora murmured. "But I do want a bath."

A groan. "My feet look like a man's!"

"Aw. Those blisters look painful. You need better hiking shoes."

"Well, it's not like I knew I'd be hiking all over! I wish you could find a plant that makes good skin lotion, Palmon. Like aloe vera."

"What's skin lotion?"

"Hold on, Mimi-chan, I'll get you a bandage."

Taichi listened to the girls' chit-chat lying on his side, facing away. Tired though he was, his mind wouldn't stop whirring. He didn't even know what to think of first. Getting across the ocean. Stopping the blackout. Getting home...

He felt something poke the small of his back. Then Agumon's nostrils sent a puff of warm air over his skin as his partner snuggled up to him.

"Taichi..." Agumon gave a huge yawn. "I'm sleepy."

"Your breath stinks." Reaching around, Taichi pulled Agumon in, and it was better than having an electric blanket. Funny, Agumon looked like some type of cold-blooded lizard, but he gave off heat like a furnace. Agumon's eyes closed. Taichi let his fingers trace feather-light along Agumon's snout, up and over the bridge of his nose. Agumon didn't seem to mind. He was already deep in sleep.

Taichi wasn't even sure how soon he wanted to go home.

---

"Taichi."

Someone was shaking him awake. "Whuh?"

"Your digivice. I think Koushirou-kun's calling you." Taichi blinked bleary eyes until he could make out Sora leaning over him. Her tousled hair was full of sticks and leaves. Some things were inevitable when sleeping in the woods.

It was dark except for the glow of his digivice, which was beeping incessantly. Taichi looked over Sora's shoulder at Mimi, but she seemed still asleep. For that matter, so did Agumon. "Okay, I'm gonna talk to him outside," he said, standing up. (Though their shelter didn't quite qualify as "inside.")

He didn't bother with his socks, stepping right into his shoes and tramping towards the remains of their fire pit. "Koushirou?" He squatted down with his digivice held close to his ear.

"Taichi-san?"

"Hey, it's me. Everything cool?"

"Yes. It's 'cool.' Were you sleeping?"

"Yeah, but no biggie."

"Oh, is it nighttime?"

"Huh, your fancy computer can't tell time?"

Koushirou gave an indignant huff. "First of all, time is a construct. Second, yes it can tell time, but given that the environment here never changes, it's hard for me to keep track."

Taichi frowned. "What d'you mean, the environment never changes?" He picked up a stick, scratching circles in the ashes.

"I mean it's just a never-ending white void."

"Oh, that's what things looked like when I came here the first time. But now we're in some sort of jungle."

"Kabuterimon told me the true digital world is full of trees and plants and even oceans, but I haven't seen any of it yet." Koushirou sounded a bit forlorn, Taichi thought.

"Catch up with us quick. Then you'll see lots. More than you want."

"Will do." He paused. "Well, I guess I should let you go back to sleep. I'm kind of tired too, even if it doesn't feel like night."

"Wait a minute." Taichi's stick hovered in the air. "You still haven't told me the reason you called."

"Huh? O-Oh, I... there was no reason. I just hadn't heard from you in a while so I thought I'd check in."

"Hmm." A grin tugged at his mouth. "Were you bored? Lonely?"

"N-No! A-Anyway, I've got Kabuterimon with me."

"H'llo," boomed a strange voice, which Taichi assumed must belong to Koushirou's partner.

"Hi, Kabu... terimon." Taichi's tongue tripped over the unfamiliar name. "Hey, could you tell Koushirou to take a nap? Even if there aren't any stars where you guys are, human beings still need sleep."

"Taichi-san! I don't need mothering! Wait, you can see stars where you are?"

"Yeah, I told you, it's night and we're in a jungle or something."

"Wow! Do you see any constellations you recognize?"

"Uh..." Although knowing he wouldn't be able to tell one star from another even in his home world, Taichi still craned his neck back to gaze at the stars above. "Not really?"

"Interesting... It sounds as though the digital plane where you are is a facsimile of our world, so I wonder if the stars themselves look the same. That would be singularly impressive, given that the stars are always moving. I wonder which hemisphere they replicate."

"Dunno. Get your butt over here and see for yourself."

"That's the plan," Kabuterimon chuckled. "Koushirou can sleep on my back and leave the flying to me."

Taichi started to agree, but yawned at that exact moment.

"Okay, I get the hint." Koushirou sounded amused. In his mind's eye, Taichi could see the shy smile unfurling on his face. "Talk to you later, Taichi-san."

"Yeah, see you."

He stuffed his digivice back in his pocket and headed back to the shelter, stifling another yawn. He almost tripped over Sora, who was sitting up, arms wrapped around her knees.

"You didn't have to wait up for me," he said as he flopped down on the leaf bed, which was not half as comfortable as Mimi made it sound. Probably needed more fronds.

Sora gave a subdued shake of her head. "What did Koushirou-kun say?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Nothing much. Just wanted to talk, I think."

"Oh." He thought she looked a bit relieved. He couldn't blame her, a call from Koushirou most often meant another update on the increasingly volatile situation back home.

Sora pulled her knees in closer. "Hey Taichi... sorry if I sounded annoyed earlier."

"Huh?" He picked a few twigs out of her hair. "When?"

"When we were deciding if we should stop for the night or not. I just -"

"You were annoyed?" His fingers rubbed together, snapping the twigs into tiny pieces and leaving them in the dirt.

"No, well - not at you, I mean, the situation. But - I thought you might think that I meant you."

"... Huh?"

She gave a soft laugh. Her lip popped out from her teeth, and he hadn't noticed she'd been chewing it again. "You know what, never mind."

"Never mind what?"

"Go to sleep, Taichi." She turned away from him, and that meant she was done talking. He understood body language.

He rolled his eyes though, shifting so that he could tuck Agumon back under his chin. Sora might be basically his best friend, but she was still a girl. Girls were so weird.

He really was tired though, and drifted off without giving it too much more thought.

- o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

So that’s how the first night went down! Now you know. I’m sure you were wondering. At least my muse is appeased, if nothing else.

[alexius-fr]

Chapter 5 - The fires of betrayal

Click the link for the AO3 version, or enjoy below the cut :)

His skin was on fire.

His blood coursed palpably through him, searing hot when Rowan's wings spread themselves out wide. There wasn't enough room in the lair for the full wingspan of the large imperial, but that didn't seem to bother him. His blind eyes darted wildly, the blood magic churning in his veins. Sanguine couldn't move, the power of Rowan's magic binding him in place. It was a haunting experience, yet primal in it's nature, making every inch of Sanguine's body tingle. The sensations and the smell of blood were overwhelming, to the point that Sanguine nearly passed out, bordering on the brink of consciousness.

Vision going dark, he felt his whole body starting to lean more heavily on his legs, head spinning. He tried to signal to Rowan, but he was too caught up in the ritual and did not hear Sanguine's weak whisper, Sanguine's heart slowing dramatically, eyes fluttering shut and his body slumping to the squishy floor. The last thing he heard was a gasp, then darkness took hold.

When he woke, he was covered in something stringy, soft and warm. He jerked his head up, blowing the substance out of his face. It appeared to be Rowan's mane, the hair covering both of them as Rowan had gone for a nap right next to him. Had the imperial passed out during the ritual as well? No, he was positioned too deliberately for that. Sanguine felt strained, his body hurt, a tad cold as well. It was that cold part that made him stay where he was. Rowan was a living furnace, warming him up with his body, that was coiled carefully around him. There was no harm in staying put a few more minutes, recover from the whole ordeal.

Sanguine wasn't exactly sure what had happened, what Rowan had seen or done during the ritual, but he didn't feel different, apart from his weariness. Part of him wondered what had made him trust the ancient Imperial with this in the first place. Why had Rowan wanted to perform this ritual? What purpose did it serve? He supposed he would find out in due time, now that he hadn't actually been killed by it. He hadn't even really considered that he could die during this. And he was a bit shocked to find out he didn't actually care. He could've died, sure. But then what? His clan was rebelling against him, so what harm was there to just disappearing? Then they would finally find out how hard it was to lead a clan and lead it well. They thought Silas could do better? Let them find out the hard way how wrong they were.

But he was alive, and he was pulled from his thoughts of self loathing by Rowan's stirring body, a dismayed moan rumbling through him. Sanguine took a look at the imperial's scarred face, wondering what had inflicted such terrible damage to his eyes in the first place.

“Someone pressed my face into the Wyrmwound.” Rowan mumbled. Had he read Sanguine's mind? “Yes.” “Stop.” Sanguine said, frowning disturbedly.

“I can't.” Rowan yawned, lifting his head. “We're connected now. That's what the ritual did.” “What? Why?” Sanguine asked, worming himself out from under Rowan's coil. “I don't know.” Rowan said with a shrug.

“What do you mean you don't know?!” Sanguine snapped. “I didn't ask for this!” “Nor did you try to stop me. Or ask me what I was doing beforehand.” Rowan frowned with a hint of playful sass. He had him there, though.

“Tch.” Sanguine tisked and turned his head away from Rowan's peering white eyes. He had no answer for him.

“Were you hoping for an easy end by trusting a seedy seer to perform an obscure and possibly lethal ritual on you? Sorry for dissapointing.” Rowan said, his expression intrigued. “But it'd have been a waste of such a handsome dragon.”

“Who dunked your face into the Wyrmwound?” Sanguine asked, ignoring the attempt at a compliment. Rowan rose to his feet, yawning again. He shook his body, his dirty mane dropping several bits of old dirt and whatever else was stuck in there. Sanguine felt a bit antsy, knowing that mane had just been draped over his body. He'd have to bathe when he got back.

“I don't remember.” Rowan replied truthfully. “They're probably dead. At least I hope they are.”

“Or what, you'll kill them?” Sanguine frowned. “And how did you survive being dipped in acid?” “I survived through Her will only. I saw Her great eye blinking back at me under the surface of that horrible pool. It was the last thing I ever saw with my own eyes.” Rowan said, Sanguine intrigued.

“She's been speaking to me ever since.” Rowan leaned in closer. “She tries to speak to you as well, but you deny Her. Deny your legacy. It will catch up with you, wether you like it or not. You can't run forever.”

“But what if I no longer see the point in running?” Sanguine spoke, done caring about how weak he'd probably look if he admitted to his depression. “Or the point of even continuing?”

“So you're just giving up? Why? Sure your brother is rebellious, and your clan doubts you. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise. Rid yourself of the doubters, continue with only those who are true to the cause.” Rowan said, as if it was that simple. But Sanguine found himself liking the idea, none the less. There wasn't a time he remembered that he was ever without Silas. And going back to face him almost felt stifling, like it was choking him. Would it not be nice to be free of him?  

Rowan looked amused. “You are considering it.” Sanguine did not respond, still in his head about it. Rowan cocked his head and observed, wings out slightly so his rune eyes could see. Sanguine looked back at them and found that he was no longer weirded out by their stare, instead finding something strangely comforting about Rowan's presence.

He'd gotten used to the carved runes, the blind stare, the slightly off focus angle of Rowan's head. And beneath that messy mane, and the scars, was a  smart, powerful dragon. Wether it had been the ritual or the fact that he'd not experienced physical contact for so long, he felt something drawing him to the imperial.

“Would you like to stay? Just a while longer.” Rowan asked, a warm tone to his voice. “We could talk a bit more. I'd like to know you better.” “Don't you already know everything?” Sanguine frowned. “Your blood, sure. But I'd like to listen to your tale from your mouth. You have a nice voice.” Rowan was hardly subtle, the years of loneliness had likely left him a bit socially awkward, but Sanguine did not mind. Instead, he smiled. “Thank you. I think I would like to stay a little bit longer.”

“I'll get us something to eat. I'm famished after that bloody ritual.” Rowan grinned at his own pun and Sanguine rolled his eyes as he made himself comfortable, but couldn't stop a little smile.

-

When he left Rowan's lair the following day he felt strangely rejuvenated, energetic. Rowan followed him outside, his wings spread as widely as possible to take in the environment. “It's been ages since I went outside.” Rowan stretched. “It seems the land has moved on, Her influence spreads slowly but surely.”

“It does feel good to be back.” Sanguine admitted.

“Does that mean you'll come back one day?” Rowan asked, a suggestive nature to his question.

“Maybe. If you promise to wash your mane.” Sanguine teased with a wide grin, Rowan pushing against him. “Fine. You may have a point there.” he admitted, blowing strands of hair out of his face self-consciously. Sanguine chuckled, pushing back with affection.

“I will come back.” he promised. “Soon.”

“Good. I'll miss you.” Rowan said, surprisingly honest. “I always thought I would hate having company in my lair, but..  well, I don't hate yours.”

“Just a mild dislike, then?” Sanguine suggested, Rowan chuckling.

“No. I liked it. Be careful out there, and come back in one piece.” he said, with a hint of worry.

“I've faced hotter fires than Silas, don't worry.” Sanguine comforted him. “I should leave if I'm to make it back in time before sunset though.” “Of course.” Rowan said, a little dissapointed. The two shared an affectionate headbutt before Sanguine stretched his wings and prepared for take off. Rowan watched him, echoing a soft roar of goodbye. He watched until Sanguine had become a dot on the horizon, sighing as he walked back into his lair.

It was awfully empty here now, without Sanguine's presence to fill it. But it wouldn't stay empty for long, Rowan smiling as he curled up, magic filling his mind and body with a gentle glow.

-

The lair was in uproar when Sanguine returned, Silas out front speaking to his clanmates. Khadiyah was next to him, the golden rings that decorated her horns gleaming in the sunlight. Sanguine was intrigued, landing a little bit further away to be able to listen in.

“We were not meant for this. We don't belong here. And to stay here because Sanguine's got cold feet about returning home? I say we don't have to take his leadership at face value anymore. He's been leading us for a long time, not always to the best of results. You know that as well as I do.” Silas preached. “We shouldn't be denied our home because of an old man's fears.”

“Aren't you just as old?” Lethe asked, with a frown.

“We are two months apart!” Silas snapped. “It makes a world of difference. I am clearly more fit to lead. He's old, traumatized, scared. He's outlived his usefulness. We can be better without his melancholy dragging us down.” he spoke passionately, obviously committed. “We do this the way we know how. Like Plague dragons. Because that's what we are. Weakness can not be tolerated. Even if it comes from our leader. Especially if it comes from our leader.”

The other dragons seemed unsure, though some were openly nodding. The fire in the pit crackled hard and cast high shadows upon the rock behind them, coating everything in a hard orange glow.

“Why are you so reluctant to stand up to him? Do you think he will harm you if you try? We are all faster, stronger, better fighters than him.” Khadiyah said, spirited. “He won't stand a chance if we all leap upon him. If we use the strenght of the pack.” She was supported by many, nods and murmurs travelling through the group. “His time is done. Join us, and together we will make a strong clan. A true Plague clan, under new leadership. A fresh start, with a Queen and King who honour our traditions!” she spread her wings and roared, others mimicking her.

Ever a flair for the dramatic, Sanguine decided now was a great time to emerge from hiding.

“Oh, am I interrupting?” he asked, glibly. Khadiyah pulled up her lip as a warning, but Sanguine was focused on Silas.

“Sanguine.” Silas said, surprised. “You're back. I thought you'd left.” “But I've returned, as I always do, to my clan. What is this?” Sanguine looked around. “Gathered to hear the heresy my little brother is spouting? Are you all really so eager to leave?”

“Honestly?” Almediha stepped forward, her gentle voice determined. “Yes. We were promised a new home. A new clan, a stronger clan. The wait has made us all anxious. Why do you even want to stay here?” “There is something here I must set right before I can move on.” Sanguine said. Nobody knew he was talking about Zephyr, and his mother Ziray, of course, but he didn't want to drag them into this now. So he kept it vague. “But we don't want to wait for that.” Azrael said, his gleaming green skin flickering in the light of the fire. Traitors blood.

“They want to go home, Sange.” Silas said. “Just like me.”

For a long, tense moment, the two brothers stared at eachother. Sanguine had taken comfort in Silas' presence from the moment they met, knowing he had someone he could always trust at his back. After all, who better than his own brother to support him? He always enjoyed their snarky banter, even if it grated on him sometimes. Had they truly changed so much that this was the only direction they could go from here? Silas seemed convinced it was, eyes gleaming with purpose, his mate directly behind him, and behind her, their child. He supposed Silas had different priorities now. He couldn't even really hate him for it. But it stung none the less. For five years, they had faced their problems together. But it seemed that time was at an end.

“Go, then.” Sanguine said, the words grave out of his mouth. “I don't want to fight you over this.” “Because you know you would lose.” Khadiyah hissed.

“No. Because I don't want to hurt the one dragon that has been at my side through all of it, despite his reluctance to do so. Despite his rebellion. You are still my brother, and I will not turn to fratricide. If you must leave, if that is what you really want.. then go.”

“Wait, you're not going to fight me on it?” Silas asked, taken aback. “You're right. I'm old. Tired. If you think you can do better, please do.” Sanguine said, shaking his head. “But I'd like to walk away with my life. Survive, adapt, overcome. I need this as much as you do. Perhaps to grow we need to go our own separate ways.”

“..Yeah. Perhaps that's true.” Silas agreed. “Well.. I guess, goodbye then?” he still seemed baffled, unsure how to hold himself.

“Goodbye, Silas. Lead them well.” Sanguine nodded solemnly, turning around. He retreated into the lair under the baffled stares of his clanmates, the silence respectful and stunned. This was not how anyone had expected this to go down. They were expecting a fight, or even just an argument. But Sanguine was done giving others what they wanted. He felt relief at the realisation that after tonight, nobody would be depending on him anymore. He could do what he wanted, truly, for the first time in many years. It gave him a sense of freedom, listening to his former clanmates leaving,  The sound of their wings slowly disappearing into the night.