#Several times and even has a walk on part as a priest here (though he's undoubtedly a better writer than actor and he sure isn't a great

[dr-futbol-blog]

The Hive, Pt. 9

Back on the hive, Kanayo, who had been sharing a cell with Ronon and Teyla, has died from the severity of his withdrawal from the enzyme, alerting us to the fact that McKay's condition is no joke. He is actually in danger, more so even than Ronon and Teyla who likewise seem to be going through a tough time. As we return to Atlantis, the worst seems to be over for McKay, however, and we join Weir as she walks in on Beckett sitting by McKay's bed, keeping vigil over his unconscious body.

Weir: How is he? Beckett: Asleep, finally. Mercifully.

Again, while Beckett has a tendency to use banter and snark in male-bonding, he is not saying that he is glad that McKay is finally out because listening to him was so very, very taxing on him. He is saying that it must be a relief to McKay that he is finally able to rest, and what is a relief to himself is being able to finally see his friend at peace. The fact that Beckett is sitting by him as he sleeps tells us both that Beckett cares about McKay a lot and that his condition was very serious. Also, there is an armed guard in the infirmary likely for Beckett's protection, but Beckett has placed himself between McKay and the guard as though still intending to make sure, even though McKay is secluded now, that the wrong people will not be able to overhear even if McKay did say something that he would not say in his right mind.

Weir: Has he mentioned anything about Sheppard and the others? Beckett: No, not yet. Our conversation was of a different sort. I feel not unlike the priest in “The Exorcist”.

Again we find Weir asking about Sheppard "and the others," indicating just how worried she is about him. About all of them, but about him in particular. She is so very, very worried. Not "literally cannot go on if he dies so might just as well risk their life to save him" worried, but still worried. They are such good friends. Also, McKay had been trying to tell them about Sheppard ever since he stepped back through the gate but not one of them seemed to understand what he was attempting to say.

What Beckett says here is, once more, a really interesting and layered reference. The mainstream audience is going to remember Regan, the girl who was possessed by a demon and vomited pea soup all over the priest trying to exorcise the demon from her in the film version of The Exorcist. It is an iconic scene, something that has become a part of the canon of Western cinema. And for sure, McKay was talking all kinds of crazy, clearly trying to get under Beckett's skin. It was as though he had been possessed by a demon. But Beckett says that he feels like the priest, and he does not specify whether he is referring to the film or the novel either. Most people are going to jump directly to the film because they are infinitely more familiar with it even if they have never seen the movie, but some of the subtext in the film is maintexted in the novel. One of the two priests was a closeted gay man and the other his dear friend, that is. And which priest do we think that Beckett was feeling like here?

I have broached the topic of queer subtext in horror films previously, and there has been a lot written on the topic in general, from horror resolving societal tensions to gay youth identifying with the final girls in slasher flicks. Many horror film directors are gay, the most famous likely Clive Barker who introduced Georges Bataille's limit experience to a wider audience in his Hellraiser franchise. Finding queer subtext in horror movies is not at all strange. What is interesting here is that Beckett does not say that he was reminded of the girl in The Exorcist as he was talking with McKay, it is that he identified himself with the priest, and with "the priest" he likely refers to Father Merrin played by Max von Sydow, the older and more experienced of the two, or Father Dyer, the friend of the younger priest administering the exorcism.

However, the demon seemed to know that it was the younger Father Karras who had a secret that a demon could use to worm its way in. The demon uses the F-slur in taunting the older priest (and also calls him a "worthless cocksucker") but to him, it means nothing. To Father Karras, on the other hand, the infinitely more vulnerable of the two priests, that kind of language is both shocking and hurtful. While spoken to the senior priest, it was meant for the younger priest to hear. And more curious is the fact that Father Karras had some obvious mommy issues that the demon also tried to use against him, making him a rather apt parallel for McKay.

The novel was published in 1971, and while the mention is brief and off-handed, it was rather bold for its time. Significant here is the fact that one line changes everything. One single line alters the way we read the character, it explains his motivations and the background, it sheds light on their history and characterization.

For Sheppard we get this one line in Vegas (S05E19): "You were… involved." In the other reality, the field medic that Sheppard had received his black mark for having attempted to save had been a woman, in our world the same person had been a man, and all the difference had sprung from this simple fact. Because it had been a woman, his father had not fought as hard to bury the case. In our world, it was the fact that it had been a man that had allowed Sheppard to stay enlisted and not become a sorry shell of a man. One line at the end of the narrative changes how we are to read the character throughout the story. We are given confirmation that everything we thought we saw was real.

Beckett: Well, he's through the worst of it. The nausea has passed, his pulse has returned to normal, blood pressure in a more reasonable range, considering his borderline hypertension before taking the enzyme. Weir: Good.

Just as Sheppard had looked while unconscious in his cell earlier, McKay also looks both young and peaceful in his sleep here. In telling us how McKay is now, Beckett is also letting us know how he was before. But it is also interesting that we get another indication of McKay's health problems, given how he mentioned in Instinct (S02E07) that he had diagnosed himself with six conditions before dropping out of undergrad biology, all of which may indicate that he had some undetected medical conditions as the result of negligence by his parents who hated each other and blamed him. And so Beckett informs us that McKay has a high blood pressure, and given how manic we have seen him upon occasion, how full of nervous, jittery energy he seems to be at the best of times, it makes sense. While many people are going to think that it is amusing that McKay should have high blood pressure given his general disposition, there is a link between childhood abuse and hypertension which serves as just another confirmation of what we are hinted at again and again. What McKay has told us using his own words. He did not have the best of childhoods and the number his parents did on him is in many way irreparable.

Beckett: I hate to say it, but his stubbornness is probably what's sustained him throughout the ordeal. Weir: We won't tell him that, though. Beckett: Aye, mustn't feed the beast! Weir: No! You should get some rest. You look exhausted. Beckett: I'll stay with him just a wee bit longer, just to make sure he's out of the woods.

Now, again Beckett is doing that using banter for male-bonding thing. He says something that is disparaging about McKay--that he is stubborn (and that he certainly is)--but he says it with the intention of communicating his affection for the man. This is how a straight man expresses his love for a friend, how he communicates his appreciation of the friendship. It is an underhanded way of showing that he cares about McKay, and Weir seems to get this. The fact that Beckett has been sitting by him, the way he tells Weir that he is going to be doing that for a bit longer just to make sure that McKay is alright tells us everything we need to know about how Beckett feels about his friend.

But.

That does not mean that this is what actually sustained McKay through this ordeal. This is not Beckett's medical diagnosis, this is him communicating his affection. If he was asked to give his medical opinion on what helped McKay survive the ordeal where Kanayo, who was probably physically superior to McKay in every possible way did not, he might tell us something completely different. And even so, in spite of feeling like a priest, Beckett is not inside McKay's head. He does not actually know what sustained McKay through this ordeal. But we do. We know. It was the same reason as to why he took the enzyme in the first place. McKay is stubborn, yes, but nowhere more than when it comes to saving the love of his life. McKay is in love and would do anything for the man that he loves. That is what sustained him. It was literally the power of love that pulled him through (and again, how you interpret the nature of this love is up to you). Beckett makes reference to "the beast" here, implying that the beast they do not wish to feed is McKay's ego, his obstinate nature. But in truth, McKay is but one half of the beast. The one with two backs, only whole when the two halves are united.

Continued in Pt. 10

[bird-slayer-brainrot]

Angels Don't Dance - Ineffable Husbands short fluff fic

Angels don't dance blah blah blah blah blah. He'd heard it a million times before. There was that one ball in Venice that Crowley technically wasn't supposed to be at but was at anyway.

(This was because one of the wives of a prominent business man had taken quite the shining to Crowley. As such, he'd made a new effort to steer clear of high society when and where he could. This particular evening and soirée being an exception. He'd heard the new Doge of Venice was making a rare appearance, and it wouldn't really hurt to make introductions.)

It wasn't long before Crowley spotted the angel by the corner, looking thoroughly uncomfortable in the dancing crowd of the ballroom. Crowley abandoned what he was doing (a rather dull conversation with a young women wearing a dark mauve gown that likely cost five years salary of one of the servers she'd chastised for spilling a tray of savory hor d'oeuvres in front of her.) and made his way across the room.

As Crowley approached, Aziraphale glanced up at him from his plate of appetizers. To his credit, he made no verbal comment about Crowley's attire. In typical Venetian fashion (if you could call it that), Crowley had adorned himself in a red gown that hugged his corporation tightly. His vibrant red hair was put up in an elaborate updo. He supposed his getup was rather simple compared to some of the ladies in attendance, but he wasn't there to make a scene.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, took in the demons appearance with a grin. He was dressed in a simple but elegant in a navy set with a gold patterned vest.

(Crowley tried really hard not to notice how it made his eyes look.)

"Crowley. how lovely it is to see you." The angel greeted him politely. "Are you here on business?"

Crowley, who really shouldn't be divulging such information to enemy agents (not that he was a stickler to the rules really), shook his head. "Pleasure, I'm afraid." A look crossed the angels face and Crowley grinned. "Though it is rather dull. Wanna get out of here?"

Aziraphale sighed. It was a game they played. They ran the words like a script. Aziraphale said "can't, I'm afraid, I have some business to attend to."

"Oh?" Crowley exclaimed sarcastically, raising his eyebrows for dramatic effect. "And does that business, by chance, involve sulking in the corner?"

Aziraphale fixed him a stare. Another part of the routine. "I'll have you know I'm waiting for the right opportunity." he emphasized the word with a pop of his lips. "To, well, engage my target."

Crowley hummed. It was no use getting more than that out of Aziraphale if he was choosing not to talk about it. After several hundred years, he knew this.

"Well, my dear gentlemen, would you care to join me in the next dance? I've heard it's a rather lively one."

Aziraphale's eyes darted up to meet Crowley's. He didn't look aghast as he normally did at Crowley's attempts at temptations, but something strange crossed his features. After several moments, a hesitant grin spread across his face, and he shook his head.

"I'm afraid, my dear, I shall not. My associate has arrived, it seems." Aziraphale tried not to make it sound too obvious that he was lying. "Though I'm sure there's many other men here who would have the pleasure." and before Crowley could respond, Aziraphale smiled at him shyly, and walked steadily away.

Crowley grimaced. His potential source of entertainment and only source of decent conversation in the whole Mediterranean had abandoned him in a ballroom full of boring, fussy humans. With nothing better to do, he went to fetch another drink.

That was not the last time Crowley would proposition the angel for a dance. That, too, became a part of the routine. So when Crowley arrived in Paris in the 16th Century (minor temptation of a Priest, shouldn't take more than a month but he was prepared to drag his feet, couldn't be too capable or he risked getting extra assignments from Head Office and he did not want that) at the palace where a grand reception was being held for a visiting monarch, it was with some delight that he spotted Aziraphale from across the room.

The Angel, surrounded by other noblewomen, was draped in an elegant white and silver gown that swept the floor around him with its sheer volume. It complimented nicely, Crowley noted, Aziraphale's pale complexion and his long, white hair worn long and tossed, almost like an afterthought over one shoulder, curling just at his bosom. His lips were accented with a soft pink rouge and Crowley couldn't help but think that the angel looked looked beautiful.

Unfortunately, their reacquaint would have to wait. Crowley followed the gaggle of noblemen (like Venice, they were all dressed ridiculously and were just as dull) of which he was supposed to be accompanying for discussions before the main affair, the Ball. And a small part of Crowley, though he would never admit to it, was looking forward to seeing how to evening played out.

These musings were interrupted, however, by the sudden arrival of Aziraphale by his side. Crowley blinked at the angel, who had seized his arm in the manner one might do a friend or a confidant. He nudged his head, and turned. Crowley followed.

Aziraphale miracle the doors shut. The angel had dragged him to an empty room in the Palace, a sitting room probably reserved for the women in the following days. It was quite an event.

Aziraphale watched him. He seemed nervous, his brow creased and complexion drawn. Crowley waited for him to explain.

"I need your help."

"I assumed." Crowley gestured to the space around them. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"Please take this seriously, dear. I'm in quite the pickle and I'm afraid you're the only one who can help me." Before Crowley could voice his objections, Aziraphale stepped forward, and grabbed Crowley's hands.

"I need you to teach me how to dance."

Aziraphale, who was usually quite particular during assignments from Head Office, was panicking. When he had taken the disguise of a French nobleman in order to infiltrate the Church and voice his recommendations for a promising young upstart as the position had recently become available (apoplexy, the old one, all that cheese). He had, however, failed to commit fully to the disguise. As a nobleman, he was expected to attend all societal gatherings. In the past, he'd managed to get away with making polite conversation with other partygoers, and, on rare occasion, abandoning the ballroom all together to seek out the empty library.

This was not an option tonight. No, tonight Aziraphale would be expected, required, even, to be as involved in the soirée as he could. Dancer, he was not. But that would not do.

"I am dreadfully sorry about this."

It had been nearly an hour, and they'd made little in the way of progress towards Aziraphale dancing at the skill a noble Frenchwoman of his (admittedly false) station would be expected.

Crowley had performed the steps to the four dances ("Just the basics" He had said. Aziraphale visibly paled.) at first by himself. Aziraphale had stopped him midway through the waltz and asked him to repeat the steps. Then again, then again, until Crowley had sighed and given up demonstrating, offering to teach Aziraphale the steps with him, as opposed to Aziraphale watching and learning.

This was slightly less difficult (emphasis on slightly). Aziraphale noticed with some both that Crowley, of course, was a natural. All lithe and graceful. He turned Aziraphale with all the grace of someone who'd had a millennia of practice. He really could dance with the best of them when he felt like it.

He was also enjoying Aziraphale's distress a bit too much. Crowley had one arm looped around Aziraphale's waist and the other held Aziraphale's hand. It probably didn't help that Aziraphale's skirts, layered in white and silver that seemed to move like the wind and exactly in the way of Aziraphale's steps

"Angel, how is it that you spun in the opposite direction from where I turned you?" There was no menace to his words. Aziraphale sighed heavily. The problem wasn't that Aziraphale was bad. Well, he was, but that was mostly a result of his hesitation. His inability to let go. Aziraphale was highly intelligent and a very quick learner, and he had a good sense of rhythm. Crowley did not doubt that Aziraphale would be able to follow the music. Maybe that could be the solution.

Aziraphale looked up as Crowley begun to hum. It was a slow song, something familiar, a simple orchestral waltz. Aziraphale continued to stare before Crowley stopped.

"Angel," he said softly, seriously. "I need you to relax, otherwise this is pointless." before Aziraphale could respond, he began to hum softly again. Then, moving, he led Aziraphale into the steps again.

Crowley would swear that Aziraphale was a natural.

At the end of their nearly two hour session, Aziraphale could dance. If Crowley hadn't been personally there to witness it, he would swear that it never happened. And yet, Aziraphale, flushed from the exertion, took one look at Crowley and grinned so brightly that Crowley was forced to admit that the angel had done a good job. This earn him an eye-roll, but he didn't regret it. They released each other, and, as Aziraphale stepped, back, hesitation seemed to sweep him once again. But before Crowley could say anything, the angel stepped forward again and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. Aziraphale drew back again, and smiled at Crowley.

"Thank you, my dear." he said softly.

Crowley, like the idiot he is, only nodded.

As Aziraphale swept out of the room, (tea with the ladies, Crowley assumed, or something like that) Crowley called out "Angel, save me a dance" and Aziraphale, grinning, nodded.

The angel would make good on Crowley's request later that evening. He was exhausted, having danced his way through the the men (and, on some occasions, the women) but he would dance with Crowley anyway.

[icarus-does-fall]

Part two of the gay people chapter >:)

Which is

Chapter five

Hearts aflame

It's been a few days since Kain ahad last seen Michael, and he'd been practising on his writing as well- Outside the prying eyes of everyone else on the ship of course. And well everyone else was busy with their morning routines so Kain had decided to meander his way down to the cathedral to bother Michael.

Michael was sitting outside in the morning light, a decent ways away from everyone else around who all seemed to be in some sort of prayer. Michael on the other hand was more so studying the people and taking notes, not paying much attention to his surroundings or wanting to be a part of the prayer circle.

Kain, being kain, decides to approach as silently as possible and sit beside him waiting to see how long it takes Michael to notice him.

It took several minutes before Michael finally noticed that Kain was sitting next to him, and when he finally did notice Kain he yelped quietly and almost dropped his notebook “You're... You're back…?”

"Ayup hot stuff," he nods at him before looking out at the street, "you eaten breakfast yet?"

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts, Michael still wasn't quite used to how casual Kain could be but after a moment he shook his head. “There's not really a... breakfast here... There's daily fasts and such, we have snacks and dinner though... eventually.”

Kain nodded slowly, he knew what it was like to go without food for long periods of time. "Do you want breakfast?"

Michael looked towards the people a part of the prayer group for a moment before his attention focused back onto Kain and he smiled softly. “Yes, actually breakfast sounds delicious.”

"Sweet! cause I know this fucken wicked good place yeah? You'll like it, trust me." Kain grins and grabs Michaels wrist.

Michael jumps slightly at the sudden contact that wasn't in a violent way yet nodded his head after a second and slid his notebook away into his pocket before standing to follow Kain. “Very well, I will follow wherever you shall lead.”

Kain almost immediately dragged him away from the cathedral and then into shaddier parts of the city. Without even meaning to he stuck out like a sore thumb, even with Kain by his side who seemed to be well known in these areas. At one point on their journey to places unknown to Michael Kain stopped to check in on the kids who were living on the streets. His heart was melting at seeing this softer side of Kain despite the confusion it brought.

A few moments later after checking in on the kids the two arrived at a run down, hole in the wall looking tavern and Kain being Kain ever so gently kicked the door open. "Helloooo~" he called out in a sing-song voice.

Michael, watching all these interactions with a barely hidden awe, the very same person who was just trying to basically kill him a few days before now was helping orphans and those on the street. And taking him to breakfast. No he wasn't starting to like Kain, no. Absolutely not, he is a priest after all. Yet still followed into the... highly suspicious in his mind tavern while giving Kain a side eye for walking in like that. “Do you do everything so... extravagantly?”

"Yep" he smiled as he popped the p, "I do indeed," he turned towards the woman at the bar counter. "Elvira!!! The only woman ever! How are you?"

The attractive tiefling woman was cleaning out the glasses and looked up at Kain and gave him a smile, “Hello there dear, I’m doing well thank you for asking. It’s been a good day so far because nobody has died… yet. Now what kinds of mischief have you been up to lately dearest?” She rests her elbow on the counter.”

Kain saunters up to the centre and copies her pose. "Stars above Elvira you wouldn't believe the shit I've been up to, for starters I found out im directly related to royalty, helped them fix some 100 or something year old curse, figured out a new firework pattern and Wilbur lost one of his baby teeth.....Oh and I met this guy," he nodded towards Michael.

Michael waved politely towards Elvira and gave her a short bow afterwards. It's obvious he was raised in a polite place and one of too many manners yet there was something hiding beneath that as well. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my name is Michael... This is uh... an interesting establishment you have.”

Her eyes widened a little in surprise, but also amazement. “By the Abyss, that’s some interesting news! Very impressive…” She looked over at Michael, “Pleasure to meet you as well darling~” She gave him a wink and a sly smirk. “You’re new here, hm?” She looks at him up and down and notices he is wearing religious Twilightvania clothing. “I’ll warn you though, people like you tend to meet their demise down here. But Kain will watch your back.”

Michael smiled softly in Elviras direction, it was a side of him that he didn't show every often that he was showing now. “Indeed yet I can hold my own, I'm not simply as I appear, but thank you for the warning and heads up, it's much appreciated.”

"Anyways, I brought him here for the best food in all of twilightvania, that being yours of course!"

She felt flattered “Awww really? You’re such a sweetheart! What would you like then?”

"Well for me I'll get what I normally get," which consisted of a mix plate of bacon, sausage, peameal bacon and eggs.

Michael however struggled for an answer. “Well um... I don't necessarily know what breakfast food consists of, so... I leave my fate up in your hands for meal choices... I don't particularly eat that often.”

Elvira writes down the order on a notepad “Good choice, and hun don't you worry we’ll get you something you'll like. Anything else or is that all?”

"Hmmmm, two strawberry milkshakes?”

“Mhm!” She writes that down too, “I’ll be back in a moment with your food and drinks” She goes into the kitchen.

"Thanks Vi!!"

“...Strawberry milkshakes...? For breakfast?” Michael however even with the chaos around him had gotten slightly stuck in his childhood memories and was vaguely awestruck that he was being allowed to have things again, even if it was just for this short moment in time.

"No better breakfast exists"

Elvira came back with the food and drinks, placing it down in front of them. "There you go, let me know if you need anything else!"

"Thank you Vi you're the best!"

"Oh, I know!" She said confidently as she went back behind the bar counter to serve the other people.

Michael stared at the food placed in front of him and then at Kain, compared to the small plates filled with barely recognizable food at the cathedral (he was in trouble a lot so he got the bare minimum) this seemed like a feast. “This is... So far I like it here.”

Kain flashed him a big smile, "I know right??? Vi's cooking is the best hands down."

“I've had better, but not for a very long time... This.. It's good... Thank you…” Michael laughed quietly and grinned as he shook his head. “My sister would all but kill me if she knew I wasn't at the cathedral right now.”

Kain quirked an eyebrow, "why?"

“She's a... Well she likes the rules... She adapted to this life better than I probably ever will... And I tend to get into trouble a lot whenever I'm out on my own, if you haven't noticed.”

"Yeah but like you'r your own person?"

“You indeed have a point, and I have a few moments here and there where I get to... be me so to speak but even still she's all I have left and I don't care to lose her as well, so I make an effort with the whole church life and rules thing.”

"Ah I get that," Kain nodded solemnly, "the sacrifices we make for our loved ones innit?" He pulled out a flask and took a swig from it.

Michael grinned and nodded his head in agreement. “Indeed, the sacrifices we make... But this has been a nice step away from the rules for even a moment.”

"Don't get ahead of yourself yet, breakfast is just starting," Kain smiled widely.

“This is true but, even still it's been nice to get away from the Cathedral, I appreciate being dragged out for breakfast, it's been an experience.”

"Every moment with me is an experience," he winked cheekily and grinned.

Michael laughed softly and nodded. “So I've noticed.”

"Oh! Wanna see something cool???"

Michael, even after knowing Kain for just a few weeks he still knew that whenever he said something was cool it could have several different actual meanings so he was a bit suspicious but also interested, “Go for it.”

Kain rests his hand palm up in the middle of the table between himself and Michael so he can clearly see it. it starts out small with teeny tiny sparks sparking from kains hand slowly they grow never getting bigger than his palm can contain though. As they continue they become more firework shaped and coloured till kain just straight up has a mini fireworks display in the palm of his hand.

From seeing Kains display Michael was in awe. “Woah... That's... That's impressive... I can do a... slightly similar thing, it's not as pretty however.”

Kain looks at him, "I bet it's still pretty cool" as he looks away from his hand Michael can see the sparks start to lightly burn his palm though he doesn't seem to notice at all.

Upon seeing that Kains hand was still sparking and starting to burn carefully he placed his own hand on top of the sparks until they died out. His hand was overly rough and calloused, it seemed scarred, he didn't have much of a reaction besides seeming pleased that he stopped another burn from appearing. “I can do a couple things with shadows too, it's really not much.”

Kain turns BRIGHT fucken red but doesnt pull away yet his eyes are now fixed onto where Michael has laid his hand on top of his.

Michael however is completely unaware of how much Kain is blushing and is simply content with himself and the small touches the two are sharing. “Do you often catch fire, and then stay on fire?”

"I.....W-what?"

Michael chuckled softly and he gestured towards where he had placed his hand on top of Kain and there was a curious look in his eyes. “You kept sparking...? Fire continued to burn on your hand after the fireworks... Yet you didn't seem bothered, does that happen often?”

"OH uh kinda? I'm not immune to my own abilities hence all the scars," he gestured to the one full body one on his right side and the other patches of ones on the rest of his body, and his other palms. "I don't really got much feeling in the scars so I tend not to feel when it starts to burn me till there real bad burns."

Softly Michael ran his hand along the scars on Kains palm, only for a moment before eventually retracting his hand, nodding as Kain explained everything. “I can understand to an extent... Yet do others not put the fires out on you? Even if you may not feel them, stopping it before there's a chance to cause more harm to you seems beneficial.”

"I'm not exactly a social butterfly.....or likeable… and I mean....a lot of people know me buuuuut they don't like me.”

Michael was doing the confused puppy head tilt thing. “Why don't they like you? You seem nice enough... Granted you did bite me however I did bite you first so I feel like that was well given and deserved.”

" Well I'm aggressive, confrontational, brash, hard headed, the ghost of my dead best friend is bound to my soul, I smoke and drink, I have done awful things and I have no volume control to name a few reasons"

“I understand having ghosts, however none of those seem like terrible reasons to not like a person, it's just a few personality quirks.”

"No I mean literally when I say ghost… ya know what n-never mind."

“You... you have a ghost attached to you?- Im... I'm concerned and my sister would require me to ask further questions, however personally I feel that's a fairly unique reason to choose to like you... or at least not a reason not to dislike you.”

"Oh.....you're.....youre not how I thought you would be."

Kain nodded to himself before looking over Michael’s shoulder and seemingly rolling his eyes at someone or something behind Michael.

Michael tilted his head off to the side, much similar to how a confused puppy would. “I had expectations?”

He shrugged, " I dono just I guess you're not like....as uhhhh what's the woooord ...Ah as intimidating as I thought you would be ya know? I've met some....really shitty people even dated a few" he jokes " I kinda thought you were like them at first. And your not so .... yeah, do with that information as you will"

Michael crossed his arms in a mock offended manner, but there was a slight smile within his eyes, he was enjoying himself. “I can be intimidating! I can be quite scary- I'm just also very polite and know how to be respectful.”

Kain laughed, it's a loud barking full chest sort of laugh "You were still polite even when we were fighting."

“Yes, well... I was raised to be polite even to the people I disliked at the moment, my mother made sure of that, elsewise we'd get chased around with a rolling pin... But that doesn't mean I can't be scary!!”

"I'm certain you could be," he grunted.

"You mentioned your mom, do you still talk to her?"

Michael looks down at the table a bit awkwardly before straightening his sleeves as some sort of nervous tic. “Ah... Well... I would, however, my mother, and by similar manner my father, they met an untimely demise when Mary and I were still quite young. It's how we ended up in the possession of the church, we were found and taken in.”

"Oh fuck I'm sorry I didn't realize! It's kinda stupid but I was only asking cause both my birth parents are also dead.. so if it's any consolation I get it.”

“It's quite alright, I was only 9 and it's been nearly 16 years since it has happened, I've had some time to grow and get over being found in a storm.”

Kain nodded, "yeah me and my little brother were speterted during the.....incident, he got sent to the pits to be trained for the ring but this really lovely woman picked him up, she's an adventure, part of a whole group and everything and they've also taken me in now to I guess."

“The... folks I've run into you with on an occasion or two, they all seem like an eclectic bunch.. My sister has always been better with the people side of things, apparently I'm too "brash" to people fairly often.”

"Hay! Same!" he held out his hand for a high five.

Michael laughed and with a playful shake of his head returned the high five.

"I think they'd like you, my uh people I mean"

Salvador then walked into the tavern casually like it was shady in the slightest. He looked around for a moment before he then spotted Kain, it seemed like a usual occurrence to find Kain there if he wasn't on the boat. Yet this time there was something different, Salvador noticed Kain sitting with a borzoi and he smiled as he walked over, overhearing a little bit of their conversation. "Weeell guess what my boy, people is here!"

"Dad? Whaaaat are you doing here?"

"Sadly to interrupt your little date. We need you for something if you wouldn't mind, it's kind of important."

Kain blushed brightly, trying to ignore the fact that his adoptive father just said he was on a date with a guy that he totally wasn't developing feelings for- Particularly since those feelings he doubted would ever be returned. "Uh what's happening?"

"Important things, I'll explain on the way."

Kain looked at Michael, he looked like he was having some sort of inner struggle before he sighed, pulling some money out of his pocket, putting it on the table and then grabbed Michaels hand, blushing as he did and pulled him up with him, "ok we're ready." He looked back at Michael before looking flustered, "I mean if you want to tag along that is, no pressure though!"

Michael was also blushing slightly and with the hand Kain wasn't holding he scratched the back of his neck. “You are currently in possession of my hand, and while I would love to travel with you, unfortunately I must get back to the cathedral. I can't escape my fate forever.”

Salvador smiled warmly at the two of them. "Go ahead Kain, Kris is waiting outside the tavern. Me and this fellow will be with you in a moment."

"Uh....ok?" He looked back at Michael and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before wipering to him, "if he says anything mean let me know and I'll switch the sugar for his coffee with salt… and also cocaine."

After Kain went outside to Kris Salvador turned to Michael, tipping his hat and extending his hand. "I'm Salvador Dick, don't call me Mr. Dick. And you are my son's new acquaintance? What's your name?"

Michael nodded slightly in response to what Kain said as he watched him leave before shaking Salvador's hand and then half bowed respectfully. “Right, um hello, my name is Michael Sanctius, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance... Your son is really nice-”

"Nah, you don't gotta bow, as great as I am. It's nice to meet you Michael." Salvador then continued to hold onto Michaels hand and looked over him, his gaze analytical and cold just for a moment before he nodded and took a step back as he released Michaels hand. “Hmmmmmm… I like you, you have passed my vibe check... but still you must face the rest of the council but don't worry kid they'll love you."

Salvador laughed and clapped Michael on the back as the two walked out of the tavern and he continued to speak.

"You seem like a good match, keep in mind the rest of the family will have to vibe check you too. Just be prepared, and I don't think you need the whole 'You better not hurt ‘em or else' talk. You already know that part. Just be nice and understanding to Kain." He looked back towards the direction of Kain. "He's had it rough for a long time and he's finally got the love he deserves, but I think you already knew that." He turned his head back to Michael. He smiled and tipped his hat again. "Now c'mon, I think I interrupted your hand holding." He chuckled warmly and Desdemona chimed softly as well.

Michael was blushing brightly at this point and wasn't expecting any of that, meeting the family this soon wasn't on his list. Gods above he wasn't even technically supposed to be having relationships and with that he wasn't quite sure where this is going for him. “Um... Wha- okay?”

As Salvador and Michael walked outside Kain rushed the two, taking hold of Michaels hand again. “He wasnt mean to you was he? Dad or not I'll beat his ass if he was-”

Michael laughed softly and shook his head, lacing his fingers with Kains. “Not at all, it was a very polite interaction.”

With a soft sigh and a smile Michael then bowed slightly and kissed Kains hand, “I must take my leave now back to the cathedral. Stay safe on your journeys and never hesitate to send a letter or stop by for a chat.”

Kain blushed redder than he'd ever been and could only nod as he watched Michael begin to walk away. Salvador could be heard laughing loudly in the background, it drew some stares but Kain was too flustered to even care, or notice.

[just-a-new-gi-writer]

A scenario in which Genshin has this message board similar to Animal Crossing where we can type anything we want. The Creator is mute and can only offer encouragements/praises by leaving cute lil love notes to the Acolytes on this particular message board. Thus, it is considered a sacred relic and all offerings are left here. The Creator, as a player, finds these offerings as a daily treasure box with random goodies lol. Acolytes chosen as vessels on that day always look forward to the...(1)

(2) …messages, especially since the Creator has a habit of changing up team comps and mains so nobody feels left out. It deepens both the rivalry and camaraderie amongst the vessels, especially when the Creator ends up getting a new character that deviates the supposed schedule (since they have to focus leveling up and testing that particular character on the field).

A/N: Enjoy!

Word count: 2000, exactly. I know, I'm surprised too.

CW: None

Masterpost

taglist: @iyohime

There was a welcome chill in the air as the two guards walked down the well-trodden path. A few leaves had begun to change their colors; it would not be long before the rest would follow suit. It was a quiet path, even though it was a well-known and well-traveled path. Dozens took this path out and around Inazuma City every single day, bringing their thanks, well-wishes, and gifts.

One of the guards was dealing with the last, carrying in his arms an elegantly carved cherry-wood lockbox, inlaid with amethyst and iolite. Every day, her Immortality gathered offerings, some from the noble houses, into boxes like these to be blessed by a priest and then sent down the path. It was rare for him to get a glimpse of the contents, but he’d seen them this morning. He did wonder why these things were being sent on- mushrooms, thieves’ insignias, rusted machine parts and smoldering cubes. He’d heard that yesterday’s offering had a beetle try to slip out from under the lid.

It wasn’t his job to worry about Their Light’s offerings, however. Ahead of him, the path made its final turn.

At the end of this famous path lay the humble shrine of the Creator, a pearl of Inazuma City. The nobles constantly fought against the Shogun, wishing to expand this shrine that sat so dear and close to Their heart, but time and again She rebuffed their efforts, keeping this place as such.

The low, red and white walls ringed the plot, a tall and wide gate sitting astride the few stairs up to the main area. Sitting as though built into the great sakura tree that dominated the place was the heart of the shrine- a bulletin board, crooked and cracked with age and wear but still standing, sturdy and strong. Paper grew from it, forming sheets and knots; ink occasionally seeped from the cracks, swirled around by an invisible force. Offerings were given at this shrine in the Creator’s honor, and if They were pleased, messages or orders would come loose from the board. This was the daily dealings that Inazuma and her Shogun did with their God.

Sitting all around the shrine were the gifts laid and structures built, either left by the Creator in distaste or taken in gratitude and sublimated into the great tree that dominated the shrine. Prayer slips illegible and jutting from the bark everywhere, fine jewelry being absorbed by errant branches, food being digested inside baskets woven from living roots.

The guards frowned as they approached the center of the shrine. There, like in any of the other days, sat the irregular sheet of paper the Creator had made for them that day, the one that they were tasked to retrieve for Her Eternity. But instead of a pristine paper marked with neat lines of characters, a stream of thick ink poured down its length, dripping into the pan that collected what fell from Their board. Before either of them could react, something on the board broke, sending several half-formed sheets, several malformed and knotted wads of paper, and the ruined orders tumbling down into the pan alongside a new burst of ink.

The two guards shared a glance. This had been happening with concerning frequency these days- what should have been a simple offer-and-receive turned into… this. The guard with the box went off to set the offerings down and retrieve yesterday’s container, freeing it from the day’s growth of branches while the other guard inspected the board more closely.

Advice for a marriage, encouragement to give things another try, admonishment for lying to a friend… the handwriting was all identifiable and identical, but nothing on the board looked like it was what he was supposed to look for. No official seal, no addressing of the Shogun or any of her major subordinates, nothing. It took a minute more of searching before he found something promising, folded inside of one of the sizable knots that broke earlier. Pulling the paper out and inspecting it, he realized it was what they were looking for.

Once he read it fully, he realized that it was but another harbinger of unrest.

There was an uncomfortable chill in the air. Kamisato Ayato and Guji Yae Miko outwardly sat calmly on opposite sides of the table, but everyone else in the room shifted their gazes between the two with visible unease. Not only were these two bright minds of Inazuma frequent foes, skirmishing over any minute detail that got in between them, the world had given them something new over which to lash out at each other- as well as those unfortunate to be in the same room. In fact, two of their frequent targets were in the room at that very moment.

With visible wariness and caution, Thoma set a steaming cup of tea in front of Ayato. Ayato glanced down, delicately grabbed it, and took a sip. “Thoma.”

He flinched. “Y-Yes, Waka?”

“Do you remember my order for tea?”

“Of course I–”

“What was it?”

“Black tea with a touch of milk–”

“And?”

Thoma sighed. “Waka, we both know that there weren’t any of those tapioca beads here. It’s an odd enough good that we had difficulty procuring them for the estate, how do you think they would stock those here?”

“Then perhaps my servants should have thought ahead, hm? Quite unwise to think of a beloved of the Creator like this.”

There was an unsettling chuckle, sending a chill down the spines of most of those in the room. “My my, little Ayato,” Yae Miko smiled behind a hand fan, “perhaps one should know how that Great One expects Their chosen to behave before admonishing others.”

“Oh,” Ayato laughed back, “a thousand pardons. I was just caught off guard, being chastised about ‘proper behavior’ by someone who must have the rite of penance memorized by rote.”

“How cute. Perhaps one might need a reminder about who was elected Their chosen first.”

“Perhaps one needs a reminder of who was chosen after putting their old, disused toys away.”

There was a sudden tinge of ozone in the air. “Do you think Their Grace has abandoned Their beloved? Come now, do you really wish to test that assumption?”

Another voice joined the conversation, one that had remained calm through the developing argument. “Now now,” Shikanoin Heizou looked up from his pile of snacks, “both of you back off; no sense in wasting your breath on each other. The Truth and Light can have more than one favorite, can’t They?”

Yae spared a glare his way. “Such a thing is easy to say for a simple mind that demands all of Their attention. Do you think no one found it odd that a certain someone necessitated a new set of artifacts? I just wonder what might possess a mind like that to claim that they ‘could not resonate’ with a set of artifacts that worked exceptionally well for everyone before them. Quite curious indeed.”

“For your information–”

The grand doors at the end of the hall slid open, revealing a simply-dressed attendant. The room quickly hushed, sitting attentively to the announcements she would proclaim on Their behalf. She took a seat at the end of the table, not hiding her discomfort in being near Yae and Ayato.

She cleared her throat as she straightened out the papers in her hand. “Their grace has again accepted our offerings and has given our nation new orders for training and improvement of Their favored. Those from Inazuma include the prestanding…” she hesitated, “Shikanoin Heizou and Thoma.”

The mood in the room darkened. “…And?” Ayato asked.

Yae leaned in. “Who else?”

The attendant seemed scared of what she was about to say. “Alongside the two newcomers…”

“Newcomers.” The word slid off her tongue dripping with disgust.

“Well,” Ayato asked, “who are they?”

At that moment, the other, less impressive, set of doors slammed open. Everyone turned to look at the intruders to the reading of their Creator’s guidance. Silhouetted in the doorway was a broad, muscled wall of a person whose overcoat was flung open. Red lines traced his body ending at two crimson horns, stark against his white hair.

A great voice boomed through the room. “Guess which Oni finally had their dream about that golden comet! That’s right, Arataki ‘The One and Oni’, ‘Numero Uno’ Itto! Here to take his rightful place alongside all the other Vision holders atop Inazuma City and serve That Big One Above The Sky!”

A tired voice behind him spoke up. “Boss…”

Itto quickly pulled a person from behind him up to his side, rambling through his next sentences quickly. “–Alongside the Deputy Assistant of the Arataki Gang, Kuki Shinobu! Who had her dream of the violet comet just last night. And who would also very much like to work for Them.”

As the guards escorting the two interlopers pushed them into the room and gently guided them to their seats, the rest of the room turned their eyes to the attendant in disbelief. She struggled to meet any of their gazes, choosing instead to bury her head in the paper she held. “The two newcomers are… Arataki Itto and Kuki Shinobu.”

The reactions were… less than ideal.

Most of the people in the room were venting their frustrations at each other or at the attendant, in complete disbelief that the Guarantor of Eternity would choose, much less give an iota of attention, towards the braggart oaf of Inazuma. But two people in the crowd aimed their frustrations at a specific target.

“Curious,” Yae Miko glowered at the newest members of the team, “I thought Their Grace only bothered to call upon their servants who had more than a handful of sense in their skulls.”

“Yes,” Ayato continued. “I thought our Undying Light chose only the best and brightest, but They must certainly be taking pity on the… less-deserving.”

“Ah, you know,” Itto shrugged, “felt like a coin toss whether you get picked or not. I guess I won this time! And hey,” his tone began to sharpen, “perhaps They just wanted someone that didn’t complain about others all the time and who can actually, you know, care about other people? They’re more than just the god of being high-and-mighty.”

“Boss,” Shinobu grabbed his attention. “They’re jealous and trying to get a rise out of you. Deep Peal’s had Their hands full and the flunkies are upset that They’re not paying attention to them. Let them huff and be upset all they want, you and I are the ones getting attention.”

“Oh, I see…” He turned back to the two insufferable Vision-wielders. “So is it true? You two just have your underwear in a twist over nothing?”

“Boss!”

“My,” Yae cut in, “what an observant little weasel. I wonder which of us Electro users might actually be of use to Their Grace. A priest hundreds of years in training, or a little runaway who can’t bear to show her face and true colors.”

“Hey,” Itto stood up quickly, partially shoving the table back, “back off! You clearly don’t prove that age makes you better, you hag! Memory serves, I was the one who won our little competition while you called it quits! So clearly, the Head Honcho prefers someone with a little staying power.”

Ayato raised an eyebrow. “This coming from the Oni who was laid out for weeks? Yes, excellent display of constitution, there.”

“You too? Alright, bring it! Both of you, right now, I’ll prove I can–!”

A great, snarling peal of thunder broke through all the noise, drowning out every voice in the room, rattling the walls and windows, reverberating inside the chests of all gathered. Everyone froze, the thunder continuing to roll as the seconds dragged on. When it finally subsided, the room hung deathly silent as few seemed willing to make another sound.

The attendant cleared her throat. “…Shall we move to the next bullet on the agenda?”

[mistresspotterhead]

The American Ymbryne- Chap. 1

Alma Peregrine x fem!reader

Warnings: Yelling, slamming hands on a table, being outed (kind of)

Words: 1,900 on the dot

A/N: Wow, this took a lil bit. Alma doesn’t appear until the very end of this chapter, but she’ll be in the next one a lot. Everyone has been so kind, and that has helped a lot <3. Also: Miss Saker indicates the type of bird you are, not your given name. I hope you guys like this. 😊😊😊

Tags: @itsonlydana @evil-feather @merci-bitch @multimilfs @escapetodreamworld @gay-and-sad-tm @multifandomfix @romanottsmaximoff @n0thing-is-real-exe​ @theaudreymere 

(ask if you want to be added/removed)

In a strange way, Cairnholm reminded you of the Chicago loop you and your wards had just fled from. They were both very dreary, cold, and, from what you could tell from those on the ferry, the people would rather be anywhere else. 

“M-miss Saker? I’m cold.” The bundle of talking coats shivered next to you. 

“I know, Astrid. We’re almost there, though.” You sighed and looked out toward the slowly approaching coastline. Your surviving children, Elina, Alexander, Leonard, and, of course, Astrid, all huddled closer to you. You stared at Cairnholm for a while longer, until the ferryman’s voice suddenly called out.

“Alright everyone, ‘ere we are! The… lovely… Cairnholm!” He steered the small ferry over to the somehow smaller docks, and you led your children out.

“Is everyone here? Astrid, Leo, Elina, Alex?” David, Beth-Anne, Lisa, Frankie, June, Stefanie, Josef, Alice, Rosie, Reggie. You suppressed the urge to call out their names as well. 

“Yes, Miss Saker,” they called in long-suffering voices- you were very adamant about attendance. It was good to see something was normal.

“All right then. Leo, can you see where the loop is? And Alex, are there any other peculiars near?” Ah yes, your diviners. It was very lucky for all of you that they were two of those that survived the wight’s invasion of your loop. 

Your Chicago loop near the Art Institute was one of the last surviving loops in America maintained by an Ymbryne, along with your South Side, McKinley Park, and St. Louis loops, though the latter was run mainly by its older wards and reset once a week.

As of a fortnight ago, though, the Art Institute loop was the only one you had. McKinley Park was attacked by Wights and Hollows in December, with South Side following close in early January. Samuel, the sole survivor of McKinley Park, was what Syndrygasti call a Librarian. He could see hollows and alerted you to them when you were traveling to St. Louis for reset. The problem with this, though, was that Sammy was only five years old, and so frequently got distracted.

It wasn’t hard to understand- Illinois in 1975 was very colorful. Sammy was gone now, though, as were all most all of your children. Speaking of… 

“There aren’t any other peculiars on the island, Miss Saker- at least not in this time,” Alex said, startling you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you, dear. How are you faring, Leo? Have you located the loop? I don’t like being out in the open for this long.” For emphasis, Elina gave a giant, chattering shiver that was surely exaggerated.

“Indeed, but it is on the other side of the island, and the night is fast approaching.” 

You looked over and scowled at the sun; if you couldn’t get rest, then why was it allowed to?

“Well then. It looks like we’ll have to go into town.” Immediately, protests arose.

“Aw, no!”

“Come on, Miss Saker! We can make camp out here!”

“Because that sounds comfortable,” Leo deadpanned to Astrid.

“Well, it’s better than town! There probably isn’t even a hotel!”

“Actually, Astrid, that’s where you’re wrong.” Astrid looked shocked at the suggestion that she could ever be incorrect at something. “There is a hotel. It’s called the….” You took out the crumpled guidebook the ferryman had given to each tourist. “Preist Hole. What kind of hotel is called the Priest Hole?” You muttered that last part to yourself. “Anyway, off we go. Come along, single file now.”

Your ducklings dutifully arranged themselves from youngest to oldest, seven-year-old Elina closest to you and sixteen-year-old Leo at the back.

You hoped that the food was at least good.

Nope. Everything on the Preist Hole’s menu was covered with vinegar. You wondered if that was a Welsh thing or a Cairnholm thing. Maybe the owner just liked vinegar. Next to you, Elina was grimacing with every bite. On a whim, you decided to flag the bartender down.

“Hey, Kev, was it?” He grinned widely at you. You gave him a small smile in return.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me. What can I do for you ‘n yer bunch today?” 

“I was just wondering if you had some fries- sorry, chips- with less vinegar. My youngest is still picky.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ll talk to Arnie ‘n see what he can whip up fer ye. He’s the cook, ye see.”

“Thank you so much, sir.” You attempted a bigger smile, but it still felt forced.

“Naw, it ain’t a problem, really. ‘N please, call me Kev. Sir sounds like I’m fifty- ‘n I’ve still got twenty years ‘fore that,” he chuckled.

“Well then, you must call me y/n.”

“Of course, ma’am- y/n, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, Kev.” This time, your smile was a small bit genuine- his hesitancy was endearing.

“Yeh. Well, um, I’d better talk teh Arnie now. I’ve kinda been lingering here for a while.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you from work, anyway.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t object if yeh did,” Kev concluded, winking before walking away.

Once he was out of earshot, Astrid started chittering.

“Ooh, was that flirting I saw, Miss Saker?” You rolled your eyes, and Alex guffawed into his water.

“Miss Saker? Flirt with a guy? I think Elina would drink an entire bottle of vinegar before that happened.” You turned your head sharply in his direction, but not before Astrid snapped back at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You jerk your head toward her now.

“Well, Miss Saker isn’t really the type to, ah, dabble in the male gene pool.” It was like you were watching tennis, really, with all this head-turning.

“That doesn’t make any-”

“ENOUGH!” You stood up, placing your hands on the bar. “This is not a discussion we are having, especially not here and now. Alex, I told you that information in confidence, and I am severely disappointed that you have betrayed that. Astrid, whether or not I am flirting with someone, and really my love life in general, is none of your concern. Do you both understand?”

They nodded, Alex looking especially ashamed of himself.

“Sorry, Miss Saker. It just slipped out.”

You sighed and ignored all the stares you and your wards were getting because of your outburst. 

“Alright, Alex. Just… you can’t share things that people tell you privately.”

“Yes, Miss Saker.” He was quiet after that, poking at his food.

It bothered you that he had shared that information, though it didn’t seem as if the other wards had understood. Of course, Leo was the only one you would expect to, as he was sixteen, but he had been sheltered in your loop his entire life. All of your wards had, really.

Just as you were beginning to sink into your past again, Kev came out with Elina’s new plate of fr- chips.

“Here ye are, little lady. I hope you like these better.” He smiled at Elina, tugging a small one out in return. You both watched expectantly as she took a tentative bite. And another. And another. Until the plate was almost gone, and she was rubbing her stomach in contentment.

“Well, that was fast.”

“It was good, Miss Saker. I wasn’t going to let it cool.” You laughed at the disapproving look on her face.

“Alright, alright. I suppose you have a good point.” You turned to Kev. “Thank you again, sir, for-”

“Kev.”

“...right. Thank you for doing this. How much will it cost?” You were ruffled at his interruption, but he didn’t notice. He pretended to think for a moment.

“Hmm… how much will makin’ a little girl ‘n her mam happy cost? I dunno.” He smiled at you. “It’s on the house. I can see that ye haven’t had such a good day, so….”

“Really? Are you sure? I mean, I have the money….”

“I’m completely sure. It’s good te make someone happy once in a while.”

“Well, I truly do thank you. It also seems that we’ll need a room, if that’s alright?”

“Sure. Room four was just recently vacated. It’s right up here.” He led you up the stairs, the kids trailing behind.

The room was small for five people, but it seemed like a mansion to the children, who only had their old, overcrowded loop to compare it to. There were four rickety beds, though they did seem to be clean, and a barren nightstand next to each of them. 

“Ah… I forgot that this only had four beds. I can get ye another room, or-”

“No, no, this is fine. Thank you for your help, Kev.” You subtly ushered him toward the door.

“Oh- well, if ye need anythi-”

“Yes, of course. Ta, then! Have a nice day!” You shut the door, leaving him very confused.

Alex was wheezing on the floor behind you.

“That… that was absolutely amazing Miss Saker! You are an absolute icon!” 

What in Abaton does that mean? You never could understand the new slang terms that the 1970s held. 

Elina yawned, setting off all the other children and alerting you to their needs.

“Alright then, time for bed.” Immediately, they were completely awake.

“I’m not tired at all, Miss Saker, therefore I shan’t be able to fall asleep.” 

“The fact that your accent is coming out very strongly tells me that you are indeed tired, Leo.” You crossed your arms. “Bed. now.” Your wards slouched, and grudgingly picked out a bed each.

“Miss Saker, where will you sleep tonight?” Astrid asked as you were tucking her covers in.

“On the floor, of course. Now, did you remember to take off your gloves?”

“But it won’t be comfortable! The floor is so hard and cold and dirty and-”

“Your gloves, Astrid.” She was very talkative, even late at night, though you had come to enjoy it. Sometimes.

She took off the gloves that helped control her peculiarity and was about to start chattering again when Elina suddenly spoke up from her bed in the corner.

“I could make you a nest with a spare blanket, Miss Saker?” You gave her one of your very rare genuine smiles.

“That would be lovely, Elina.”

“Wait- how did she know you were going to sleep in bird form?” Alex asked, finally catching on. You smiled again at Elina and kissed her on the forehead.

“She’s made me a little nest before when I fall asleep in my study while in bird form.”

“And that happens often?”

“Surprisingly so. Now, snuggle in and no more talking.” As the children said their goodnights, you finally transformed into your bird form; a stunning saker falcon. You jumped lightly onto Elina’s bed, careful not to hurt her with your razor-sharp talons or accidentally hit her with your wing (which had happened on more than one occasion). 

Though you nestled into the warm bunch of blankets right away, you didn’t fall asleep until much later, and even then, you were restless all night. 

---

Little did you know, in the old manor that you would trek to the next day, a group of peculiars and one very curious ymbryne had observed all of this. Alma LeFay Peregrine set her watch and gave the children a reassuring smile while she pondered what this meant and why her stomach had fluttered when you gave that dazzling smile.

[ckjbun]

What kind of ability would Higuchi have and its potential name?

Hi to whoever is reading this! This is my first self-written post so I’m still figuring out how all this works and I’m sorry, if it gets a bit chaotic. Anyways, recently, I came across a question regarding Higuchi from Bungou Stray Dogs. It was about what Higuchi’s ability would be called and what type it would be. So I won’t go into details whether she has an ability or not. I believe she has since she is named after an author (and Asagiri himself kinda confirmed it via Twitter). Thus, I just want to write my thoughts on the potential names and kind of ability. 

Since abilities in the BSD world are always named after rather well-known works of the authors, I compared some of the famous works of Higuchi Ichiyo. Now mind you, I haven’t read her works myself. I mostly relied on comparing summaries and analyses of them. Since there are not a lot of summaries, I read two lesser-known stories myself. I will add the links of the summaries/analyses of the works down below. However, while comparing I found two works that would fit Higuchi. Now, first what do I mean by “fit”? Well, it might be best to start explaining what I think about the type of Higuchi’s ability.  

I believe Higuchi has not an offensive type of ability. Nothing like Atsushi’s, Akutagawa’s, Kyouka’s etc. If she had, I’m sure she would have used it already, since she’s fighting a lot with her guns, why wouldn’t she use her ability as an addition, why would she hide it? There are two possibilities why we haven’t seen her ability yet. First possibility would be that her ability is not visible like Odasaku’s or Ango’s, maybe it’s even an ability that she hasn’t even discovered, just like Fukuzawa hasn’t realized he has one before the ADA. Second would be that she can use her ability only under stringent conditions. And I believe it’s the latter, hear me out. 

Remember this scene from Chapter 14? Higuchi reaches out to hold Akutagawa’s hand but then pulls back because she remembered him saying that he doesn’t need her help. Now, you could argue that holding the hands of injured loved ones is a gesture of closeness, a way to show them your support, a way to tell them that you’re staying by their side. And Aku doesn’t want this support, so that’s why she retracted her hand. But something bothers me here. In this scene it looks like Aku slapped Higuchi’s hand away, doesn’t it? And then he says, he doesn’t need her help, instead of support. I know, you could say support and help are almost the same. But to me, help is something that you do more “actively”, while support can be something passive. What if Higuchi’s hand represents this “active” help? And what would actively help Akutagawa in this very moment? A healing ability for example. Coincidentally, in the panel before, Hirotsu asks Higuchi what power she posses to make them [the black lizard] obey. Is this a hint that there is a hint about Higuchi’s ability in the next panel? Maybe. But let’s look at the next panel. It’s the title page of this chapter. 

As you can see, Higuchi has a bandage wrapped around her leg and they seem connected to Akutagawa. In this chapter, it is revealed that Higuchi contemplated about leaving the Port Mafia but her reason for staying is implied to be Akutagawa. This is perfectly symbolized by the bandages in this title page. The bandages coming from Akutagawa are holding her leg back, stopping her from walking away from the PM. But maybe there is a second interpretation? If you’re looking at Akutagawa’s left hand, the bandages are starting to come off. What if this means Akutagawa is healing and doesn’t need the bandages anymore? Instead it wraps around Higuchi’s leg, restricting her movement. What if Higuchi’s ability allows her to help someone else (doesn’t have to be necessarily a healing ability) but in exchange she needs to sacrifice something? Anyways, I think she has an ability which allows her to help other people in a non-combat way. With this in mind, I was looking through several works of Higuchi Ichiyo, searching for something that “fits”. Meaning that I was looking for parallels and themes in irl Higuchi’s stories that could be “converted” into an ability. Just like the coat that the protagonist of Rashomon stole in order to now die of hunger was used as Akutagawa’s ability which seems to be able to eat everything, or like the wish that one’s brother does not die in war in Thou Shalt Not Die became Yosano’s ability and serving as a basis of her background story. Anyways, I’d like to present the works that could be used for Higuchi’s ability and draw some parallels. 

1. The Thirteen’s Night

The story revolves around a poor woman, called Oseki. Thanks to her marriage to a rich man, her family was able to live a better life and her brother found a job. But on the thirteenth night of the ninth month of the lunar calendar (one of two special nights for moon viewing), Oseki visited her parents with the intention on asking her parents for approval for divorcing her husband. Before entering, she overhears her parents talking about how lucky they are that they have such good children who don’t cause trouble and that they are very thankful for this marriage. Hesitating at first, she finally goes in and admits that she wants to divorce her husband because he abuses her mentally. He insults her constantly and tells her that she's worthless, stupid, and uneducated. Her mother is outraged. But her father, even though he acknowledges her suffering, reminds her what her husband has done for this family and that she would lose her son since women couldn’t get custody of their children after a divorce at that time. Agreeing with her father, Oseki decides to go back to her husband: 

“It was selfish of me to think of a divorce. You're right. If I couldn't see Tarō, there'd be no point in living. I might flee my present sorrows, but what kind of future would I have? If I could think of myself as already dead, that would solve everything… Then Tarō would have both his parents with him. It was a foolish idea I had, and I've troubled you with the whole unpleasant business. From tonight I will consider myself dead — a spirit who watches over Tarō. That way I can bear Isamu's cruelty for a hundred years to come.” 

– In The Shade of Spring Leaves, translated by Robert Lyons Danly

Just like BSD Higuchi contemplates leaving the PM, the protagonist here wants to leave her husband. The PM is like the husband. It allows her to support herself and probably her family (at least we saw that she has a sister). But there is constant abuse. Akutagawa is clearly the biggest source of abuse that we can see. But it’s not only him. In Chapter 14, Mori asks her if she is really suited for this job. Telling her indirectly that she is useless or that she is too weak for the PM. Later, you can see the Black Lizard doubting her capabilities, even threatening her. But just like Oseki she stays because of a loved one. What really concerns me is Oseki saying that she will consider herself as a dead spirit watching over Tarō. What if Higuchi, in order to use her ability, has to sacrifice part of her lifespan? Or maybe she loses a feeling? Like e.g. she loses the ability to feel happiness, making her a bit more dead inside? If you draw this parallel, you could also say that when ‘consider myself dead’ is the condition of the ability, then ‘watching over Tarō’ is a hint to Higuchi’s ability. An ability that allows her to watch over and protect her loved ones? This theme fits Higuchi perfectly, since a big topic in Higuchi’s story line is how she wants to help and protect Akutagawa. So it makes sense that her ability might be something that would help him (**intensely squinting at the recent events in the manga, especially chapter 88**). Moving on to the second possibility before the pain starts to set in. 

2. Takekurabe (literally: "Comparing heights", "Child's Play" in the Robert Lyons Danly translation, "Growing Up" in the Edward Seidensticker translation)

Now this is considered as Higuchi Ichiyo’s masterpiece. So the chances are high that the ability is based on this story. The story accompanies a group of children who live next to the Yoshiwara quarter. There are two rival gangs: the main street gang (’omote-machi’), lead by Shōtarō, a cultivated young boy who is the grandson of the owner of a pawnshop, and the back street gang (’yoko-chō’), lead by Chōkichi, the impulsive firefighter’s son. (Maybe a parallel to the ADA with (cultivated) Fukuzawa and the PM with Mori who’s a doctor which belongs into the same category of occupation as firefighters?). Among the main street gang, there was Midori, popular and pretty, who lives in the brothel where her sister works. Shōtarō probably has a crush on her. But Midori probably has feelings for the other main character, Nobu, the son of a Buddhist priest. Even though he returns her feelings, he distances himself from her out of his self-consciousness. Later he joins the rival gang after repeated request by Chōkichi. Anyways, they spend their days very care-free, attending school, playing with each other after school. One day, some conflict arises between the gangs and Midori, while protecting someone else, gets slapped by Chōkichi with a sandal. He then proceeds to tell her that their gang is backed by no other than Nobu. Midori feels humiliated and stops going to school. Soon she also stops playing with the other children. After some time passed, Midori is seen with her hair all done up. She has become a distant, lady-like young woman. This probably means that she got her first period and is old enough to become a prostitute or that she just had her first client as a courtesan. Little by little, the children grow up. Nobu is sent off to be trained as a priest and Shōtarō has come to accept the responsibilities of his family’s shop. 

There are several themes in this story that I’d like to point out, namely unrequited love, Midori’s transformation and underlying unchangeable fates. The first one is obviously a big theme in Higuchi’s story. Midori and Nobu are unable to express their love for each other because of their positions in life. Just like Higuchi is unable to express her feelings for Akutagawa. If you want some hope, AkuHigu shippers, maybe Aku has also feelings for Higuchi but is still very confused and self-conscious about it just like Nobu. Anyways, because of their positions in the PM, it would make everything very complicated if Higuchi confessed. Additionally, Midori feels like she was humiliated by her love when she got slapped by that sandal. I’m sure that Higuchi gets humiliated by Akutagawa a lot. The next theme is Midori’s transformation from a tomboyish to a lady-like, distant woman. We all know Higuchi looks really badass in her suits. But again, look at the title page of chapter 14. Higuchi is dressed up all prettily and lady-like in a dress, and her hair is done all up. Just like Midori after her transformation. Midori’s transformation stands for Midori accepting her occupation as a prostitute even though she doesn’t want to. In this chapter, we see that Higuchi has accepted her job in the PM, even though she doesn’t want to do this job. At the end Shōtarō sings the following: 

"Growing up,

she plays among the butterflies

and flowers.

But she turns sixteen,

and all she knows

is work and sorrow."

– In The Shade of Spring Leaves, translated by Robert Lyons Danly

I don’t know about you guys, but to me that necklace that Higuchi is wearing in that title page looks like a butterfly to me. This is really farfetched but maybe this could be a hint about when Higuchi joined the Port Mafia? However, the biggest theme in Takekurabe is the underlying unchangeable fate of the children. Shōtarō was destined to become the next owner of the pawnshop, Nabu was destined to become a Buddhist monk and Midori would become a prostitute. Maybe this gives us some insight into why Higuchi joined the PM? Maybe one of her parents was a PM member? I also like to think that since Aku is in the PM, since she wants to be with him, she can’t but stay in the PM, and this is her fate. Nevertheless, fate is a central theme in Takekurabe. This is the reason why I think, if the ability is based on this story, Higuchi’s ability would be something like changing fates. Changing fate of someone else but in return she must sacrifice something. 

Okay, so this post has become quite long. But I still wanted to mention two other stories Yamizakura (Flowers at Dusk) and The Sound of the Koto where I saw a lot of parallels. I just want to briefly tell you the story of The Sound of the Koto. In this story a woman abandons her son in order to leave her husband who has a bad reputation. The husband then turns into an alcoholic and dies later at a party because of alcohol intoxication. The boy becomes hardened to the world, despises his mother for leaving them, and even contemplates suicide. The story shifts then to a woman playing the koto.  I want to give you an excerpt for the end of this story: 

“On this night the sound of the woman’s playing helped another to be reborn. Through fourteen springs and fourteen autumns, the boy had been buffeted by the rains. His heart had gradually toughened until it had become as hard as stone. No arrow could penetrate it. He seemed destined to follow the example of his father, to die among the fields or in the mountains, where his remains would be bleached by the elements. Some were convinced the boy’s life would end in prison chains, while his bad name spread to every roadside. 

But now, at once, the tenderness buried in his heart was freed by the midnight strains of the koto. For the first time in many years, he felt tears come to his eyes. Or were they jewelled drops of dew? He would not exchange them for anything. 

He, who had known neither love nor compassion, and who had no idea what the player of these refrains could even look like, felt a moment of happiness as the music drifted over the garden wall. […]

[…] How could a stormy wind blow now? The clouds in his heart had disappeared. Once more the woman began to play. The sound of the koto would be his friend for a hundred years, the seed for a hundred years of yearning. He had entered a world where a hundred different flowers wer in bloom. 

– In The Shade of Spring Leaves, translated by Robert Lyons Danly

This boy somehow just reminds me so much of Akutagawa. Just like this boy, without any parents and home, wandering around in this world, Akutagawa has become hardened to the world. I’d like to think that Higuchi’s ability could free Akutagawa from his pain, just like the sound of koto does for this boy. 

So, now I said everything I wanted to say, I guess. If there is really anyone reading this and reading this until here, thank you so much! I appreciate it very much that you kept reading even though my thoughts are probably quite chaotic. I’m sorry if there are any grammar mistakes or weird sentence structures or anything like this. English is not my first language. I’m very happy, if you could point out any mistakes or have any suggestion for improvement. Lastly, I just want to remind you that these are my thoughts, I love discussing so feel free to comment your thoughts but I’d like you to keep in mind that there is not necessarily a wrong or right, theories are theories, interpretations are interpretations. Everyone has another interpretation. They can only be proven wrong by Asagiri sensei himself. Until then just keep the discussions friendly and tolerant towards other people’s thoughts and opinions. 

Sources:

All manga panels used in this post are from easygoingscans

Higuchi Ichiyo (樋口 一葉)

Higuchi Ichiyo: "In the Shade of Spring Leaves"

In The Shade Of Spring Leaves: The Life Of Higuchi Ichiyo, With Nine Of Her Best Stories, translated by Robert Lyons Danly

In the Shade of Spring Leaves – Ichiyō Higuchi, Part 1

“Flowers at Dusk” and Other Notes – Ichiyō Higuchi, Part 2

“Encounters on a Dark Night” and Other Notes – Ichiyō Higuchi, Part 3

“Child’s Play” and Other Notes – Ichiyō Higuchi, Part 4

HIGUCHI ICHIYŌ: BADASS WOMEN IN JAPANESE HISTORY

The Thirteenth Night (Wikipedia)

Female Subject, Interrupted in Higuchi Ichiyō's "The Thirteenth Night"

GAME OF TRADITIONS: TRADITION IN THE THIRTEENTH NIGHT AND DIARY OF A MAD MAN

HIGUCHI ICHIYŌ IN MODERN JAPANESE AND EUROPEAN DRESS: Modern Japanese versions (gendaigoyaku) of Higuchi Ichiyō’s Takekurabe and their Relationship with English, Castilian Spanish and Catalan Translations

Separate Ways Summary

Literary Analysis of “Separate Ways”

Flowers at Dusk

Nigorie (Wikipedia)

From the Margins of Meiji Society: Space and Gender in Higuchi Ichiyō's "Troubled Waters"

[sleidog]

we like playlists, right? Slei might be my main, but the guy with all the lore and cohesive timeline is definitely Tai, i'm almost always adding to this but! time for some random Tai lore with songs; My church;

Tai is very much a character who's very being and how he presents himself is that of a corrupt priest, he has a holier than thou attitude and very much thinks his way is the only way and anything else- especially with necromancy- is an afront to society. [unless he does it, it's fine]

Some say we're doomed in the heart of our beliefs Death stilled their lips and maintained the peace we keep Now I've seen in a dream that I'm destined for a throne Once I've conquered the cage of this flesh and bone Accept what's kept in reaches of your soul Cut off your will and leave the guilt you hold Give it all to the rebirther Let's take it one step further

Tai's Dream came a bit late, a vision from dragon, rather than the pale tree, he saw himself as something bigger than what he was, an authorative figure, and acts with ruthlessness if that preceived vision/goal is challenged. Introduction;

It's not your fault that I'm so messed up Fragments drift away but my memory's stuck Somewhere between the history of fate and love No I don't wanna think about it, but that's what gets me

Short but telling, Tai's memories of his past life in Maguuma came back to him after the incident with Mordremoth, he died another death in the depths of that forest and came back renewed. For a time, he was better, stuck with his past actions haunting him which, for the most part, kept him from acting out any more. He was downright agreeable, especially with Rui attempting to help him shoulder this as the only other person he's spoken to about this past.

Layin in the darkness, I dreamed I slipped under an ocean, so deep I thought I'd seen the worst parts, of me But that was nothin', it was just an introduction

Tai later flies into a rage, almost to the severity of the one that resulted in the loss of his late wife; finding that his favorite person, the one he entrusted with everything he could think to share, was practicing [albeit accidentally] the precise kind of necromancy that he loathed [bringing back loved ones in the form in which they died] Tai Does Not like to share. Remains; When the world was turned to gray The hatred wouldn't go away Resentment in chains In the coldest of all hearts A voice descends, the light departs Madness remains Tai's closest friend, after his outburst and threats, disappears without so much as a trace. Tai lives with the fact that he no longer has a trace on the one person who could reveal all of his secrets, and the last person he's cared about since his late wife. Tai values loyalty about all else and this was the final straw that broke something in mind. This causes him to devote all of his time even to his own detriment to both finding Rui and getting revenge on the person that, in his mind, caused all of this [Rui's supposed suitor, that Rui found dead and revived] Play the game Paint your scene Taking this to the extreme Masterpiece, Dark design Your last moments, only mine It's a need, Here in dust Kill the world that stole from us Take your place, Let it be In my crimson symphony into the black; Walking the crossroads of hell on earth A devil's deal for a new rebirth I've given my all and day by day My soul still breaks I can remember crossing the line When ushered into a darker time Though we were in agony You left me in your wake

Tai's more fragile mental state leads him down some particularly dark paths. In his solitude, he goes out of his way to visit [and rob] the grave of his late wife, giving her life again so that he has company. This results in his mental state getting worse rather than better- no surpise there- Tai at this point completely ignores the new help that he has in his lab and locks himself away in the basement with the reanimated corpse of his wife. [no not in that way, he isn't a complete monster]

When I curse your name Can you see my face? And do you taste my pain In this bloodstained place? Forever on the attack I'm fighting into the black Without you

Deadman; Tai catches up with Rui and his suitor [Sinigh] eventually, in Cantha of all places. The only reason he breaks out of his stupor to go to Cantha originally was on the word that Dragon's Watch had ended up there, and Tai knew that 1; Sinigh was being held by Dragon's Watch, and 2; Tyria's juristiction didn't cover Cantha, he could keep his title and murder that stupid stump, at least if he was discrete about it, then he could take Rui back home, easy, right? Tai ends up enthralled by the local necromancers and their magically inbued acid bullets- deciding that's just the perfect way to off someone.

There's a bullet with your name on For a heart that is hollow I'm gonna hunt you down to the edge of the world now I'm a storm on the horizon Shattering the silence And you can run, but you can't hide

There's a saying in my homeland Ain't no mercy for the heartless I'm gonna smoke you out from the hole where you hide now I'm a force you'll never outrun I'm a demon with a handgun And the bounty's on your life

Demons; Got these feelings that I don't wanna forget But every memory is bloodstained, soaked in regret I don't wanna need it But I just can't leave it

Tai is detained after the attempt on Sinighs life, as it goes spectacularly wrong and ends up endangering an entire town with his outrage. Slei, acting commander at the time after Tai's eventual defeat uses his political leverage to make sure that Tai is just stripped of his power and deported, not executed like originally planned, as their fight proved that Tai's lifeforce was tangled up with Rui's and Sinighs, and that harming him [or killing him] would result in even more loss of life.

They're holding back my arms But they're telling me this fight is fair I'm a sucker for their charms But these demons are no longer welcome here Tai eventually, many years down the line, enchants a pendant with Rui's lifeforce that he held onto, gifting it back to Rui at his and Sinigh's wedding. if you made it to the end, congrats! you're an absolute star ✨

[there-must-be-a-lock]

For Us Sinners

Soulless Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~4130

Warnings: This is 100% pure smutty religion-themed filth. Sam is dressed as a priest. There’s sex in a confessional, severe perversion of the Hail Mary prayer, and a lot of blasphemy happening. Like. A lot. Orgasm denial. Squirting. Non-explicit mentions of Winchester threesomes, gun play, and knife play. 

A/N: For @stusbunker​‘s “Jam Basket” fic exchange! This is for the lovely @rockhoochie​. I managed to squeeze a decent amount of her jams in here. Sarah, my dear, I hope this makes you even a little bit as happy as your friendship makes me. 

Thanks to @cracksinthewalls​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ and @fookinghelljensensthighs​ for lore, encouragement, and inspiration! 

You’re frowning at the trunk arsenal, wondering if it’s possible to sharpen a machete too much, when movement catches your eye. Sam rounds the corner of the old warehouse, and you grab a knife and a whetstone just to have something to focus on that’s not him and his stupid smirky face or the way his shoulders look in that suit. 

The whole priest thing is a really good look on him. 

“Dean’s not back yet?” he asks, without preamble, sitting on the edge of the trunk next to you. You focus very intently on your knife. 

“Nice to see you too, Sam,” you snark, to cover the way you’re blushing. “Why yes, I did have a super fun afternoon of doing fucking nothing! Waiting around for you two is exactly how I wanted to spend the last three hours, thanks for asking.” 

He laughs. “Weren’t you just telling me that I should stop pretending to be normal polite Sam?” 

“Whatever,” you mutter. 

“Lemme see that,” he says abruptly, and plucks the knife from your grip before you can protest. He takes one look at it and laughs at you, twirling the blade in his fingers. “Working out some frustration, huh?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“What’s really going on? You’re only like this when you’re hungry or horny.” 

“Bullshit,” you snap, but he’s totally fucking right. He’s way too perceptive these days. 

You’ve been refusing to play poker with him ever since this whole soulless deal came to light. He’s like a walking polygraph test… a very attractive, muscled polygraph who’s really good in the sack. 

He’s analyzing your expression with his head cocked. “The knife thing?” 

“I don’t know what you’re — that’s not—”

He holds the tip of the blade to your throat, and you stop stammering immediately. You close your eyes and swallow hard. 

“That’s not new, though,” he says thoughtfully. 

When you open your eyes, ready to protest, he’s tucking the knife back in its sheath and twisting to set it in the trunk. 

“How’d you know about that?” you ask reluctantly. 

He just smirks, that godawful not-Sam not-smile, with his dimples popping and his eyes glittering. 

“One of these days you’re going to realize that I’ll never judge you,” he says, low and sly. “C’mon. Tell me.” He puts on a prim, sanctimonious face, pointing at the collar, and says, “Confess your sins and all will be forgiven.” 

He ruins the pious effect by licking his lips and aggressively eye-fucking you. 

You try to laugh, but it comes out all squeaky. You’ve never been good at poker, and if Sam’s smirk is anything to go by, he can see exactly what’s written all over your face. 

“Shut up,” you say preemptively. “Asshole.” 

“This is totally doing it for you, isn’t it?” Sam asks. 

“Shut up.” 

His smile is gleeful. “Oh my god, it is!” 

“That’s not — I’m not—” 

You grit your teeth and stand up abruptly, and it’s not like you can go anywhere but you need to move; it’s impossible to think straight when he’s right there and he smells so good. 

He gets up so quickly you barely have time to blink before he’s in your space. He backs you against the warm metal of the door, caging you in with one big hand planted on either side of your head, and you have to tilt your chin up to meet his wickedly sparkling eyes. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, soft and heated, lips curling up in a familiar dangerous smile. “Lying is a sin.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you huff, but you can’t stop staring at his mouth. 

“Besides, I can always tell. Admit it.” 

“You are so fucking—”

Without warning, he’s tugging at your zipper, yanking the button open, and shoving a hand roughly down the front of your jeans as he murmurs, “You are so fucking into this.” 

Before you can protest (not that you’d really want to) he’s got two fingers sliding into you, curling sweet and easy where you’re ridiculously, undeniably, outrageously into this. 

“Maybe a little bit,” you sigh. 

He’s just smiling, watching you squirm, playing with you like a cat might play with a mouse, and as much as you’d like to be angry about it, he knows exactly how to use those clever fingers. Then — 

“Dean’s back,” he says calmly, and before you can even process that, he’s sucking his fingers clean and walking around the car to greet his brother. 

You have about three seconds to button your pants, thank your lucky stars that you were on this side of the car, and generally get your shit together before it’s back to business. 

“It’s a goddamn garden statue,” Dean is saying. “Some crazy old bat donated it to the church and then just up and left town. First person disappeared the next day.” 

“So we wait til dark, take it down, break the curse.” Sam shrugs. “Easy enough.” 

“Like a chant ‘n’ smash,” you offer. Both the boys give you blank looks, and you try to pretend like your brain isn’t totally scrambled. “You know. Like a salt and burn. A good old-fashioned chant and smash… no? Okay, whatever.” 

Sam is barely containing his laughter. Asshole. 

“I could use a nap before we do that, I’m wiped,” Dean grumbles, taking off his clerical collar as he slides into the driver’s seat. Sam keeps his on. 

As you’re all getting buckled, he says, “Why don’t you just let us handle this one, Dean? You should take the night off.” 

“If you guys want some privacy to bone, you can just say so,” Dean grouches. “But get another motel room, don’t bring Baby into it.” 

“Yeah, we know. We will,” Sam reassures him. 

Dean does not seem reassured. He looks at Sam suspiciously. “So, what, you’re just being nice?”  

“Oh, absolutely not,” Sam says bluntly. “You look like shit and I don’t want you hunting with me when you’re this sleep-deprived.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, that I buy. Man, this whole soul-free honesty shit is gonna take some getting used to.” 

“You and me both,” you sigh, and Sam gives you a wink in the rearview mirror. 

 * * *

“That is the creepiest-looking angel I’ve ever seen,” Sam comments, striking a match. “And l’m including Zachariah in that. Okay, here we go.” 

He lights up the little bowl of herbs he’s concocted and says a few things in Latin, and then the smoke coming up from the bowl turns eerie green and seems to sink into the worn concrete. 

“Is that it?” you ask dubiously. “How do we smash it?” 

“That’s the fun part,” Sam says. He attaches a silencer and loads his gun, quick and practiced, and when you’re both out of shrapnel range he aims almost lazily while you try not to stare at his fingers. Bad enough that he’s still wearing the priest getup. Watching him shatter an angel with a few perfect shots shouldn’t be a turn-on, but…  

“Shouldn’t” is one of those words that lost most of its meaning when you and Sam started fucking. In the last two weeks, he’s managed to discover kinks you’ve never even admitted to yourself. 

Speaking of — 

“C’mon,” he says, and when the gun is deposited safely back in the arsenal, he grabs your hand without waiting for an answer, leading you around to a side door. The door isn’t even locked. Sam’s smile is gleeful in the moonlight. 

“What are we doing?” you ask, as he leads you inside. 

It’s almost completely dark, just a faint glow from the emergency exit signs to light the sanctum, until Sam takes out his matches and lights a few of the tall pillar candles that are arranged in nooks around the altar. The golden glow flickers and dances on the walls. 

Sam grabs you by the wrist, and you halfheartedly attempt to tug your hand away. He’s got that glint in his eye that can only mean trouble. 

“We really shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, as he pulls you over to the confessional. 

“What are they gonna do, condemn my soul to hell?” he says flatly, and you stifle a giggle. “We established a while ago that my immortal soul is fucked.” 

“Mine isn’t,” you mutter. 

He looks at you with another of those smirks and says, “That’s why you’re the one who needs to confess.” 

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” you sigh, but instead of answering, he crowds in close, pressing you up against the smooth dark wood of the confessional, and kisses you, all teeth and tongue and liquefying heat, until your lips feel bruised and your entire body is tingling. 

“Confess,” he whispers, and with one last grin, he points you toward one curtain and slips behind the other. 

If you’ve learned anything about Sam over the years, soul or no, it’s that there’s no point arguing when he’s made up his mind about something. 

Sam seems to have made up his mind. 

You pull the curtain closed behind you and sit on the little bench, and you have to breathe through some long-buried memories before the words come to your lips. 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you whisper.  “It has been… a long time since my last confession.” 

The flickering candlelight cuts through small gaps around the curtain, casting dancing shadows through the cramped space. Your cheeks are burning. 

“Sam?” you ask tentatively. “This feels stupid.” 

He lets out a low, cocky chuckle, and his voice is all sorts of promising when he replies, “Trust me, I’ll make it worth your while. Play along for me.” 

Fine. 

“Where do I start?” you mumble. “I drink, frequently. I have been dishonest. I gamble, and I do not dress modestly, and — I don’t know. What else?” 

“Do you have impure thoughts?” You can hear the smile in Sam’s voice. 

“Yes.”

“About what?” 

You swallow hard, closing your eyes, thinking about the way he looks right now. No preacher has ever looked so good in that black suit. “About… about you.” 

“Go on.” 

“About the way you feel inside me. About the way you fuck me.” 

“What did you think about last time you touched yourself?” 

Your breath hitches. “I thought… I imagined that you —” 

“Lying is a sin.” 

Fuck. 

That’s the thing about Sam; he won’t let you get away with politeness, or with half-truths, or with telling him what most guys would want to hear. 

Fuck him and his creepy polygraph spidey senses. 

“I imagined that it was Dean,” you whisper, cheeks burning. 

“And how did that go, in your fantasy?” There’s no trace of surprise or hesitation in his voice. 

“I was — he bent me over the hood of the car.” 

“That’s not the first time you’ve thought about him, is it?” 

“Sam, I don’t — this is weird,” you say, squirming slightly. 

“Why?” he says, and you keep waiting for the jealousy or the disgust to color his words, but all you can hear is curiosity. “Do you think about him while I’m fucking you?” 

You let out a long, measured exhale. “Yes.” 

“Have you thought about him walking in? Listening to us?”

“Yes. Sam, I don’t—” 

“Were you thinking about him a couple days ago, in the middle of the night? When you couldn’t seem to keep quiet?”

You shudder, pressing your thighs together. “Yes.” 

“Tell me.” When you hesitate, he continues, “I wondered… felt the way you were squeezing around my cock every time it got too loud. You wanted him to hear.” 

“I wanted him to — to imagine. I hoped he was awake, and that he was turned on, and—” 

“You wanted him to join in,” Sam supplies, when you falter. His voice sounds husky, now. “You were imagining both of us, huh? What else?” 

“Sitting in your lap, in the backseat, while he watches in the rearview,” you mumble, and now that you’ve started talking, it’s hard to stop: “I think about getting on my knees for both of you. Letting him have my mouth while you fuck me, or… one of you holding me down.” 

“Have you imagined us handcuffing you? Taking turns with you?” he asks calmly. 

“Well now I’m imagining it,” you huff, and your nervous giggle breaks the tension for a moment. 

“I know you’re holding out on me,” Sam purrs, when the silence starts to stretch. “Leave my brother out of it, if you’re getting all hung up on that. What else?” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble. 

“Trust me. God isn’t judging you and neither am I. Tell me what you want me to do to you.” 

You can’t bring yourself to spit it out, even like this. “That’s it.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is silk and steel now. “Why don’t I take a guess?” 

“Fine.”  

“Knives,” he says bluntly, and your inhale is too sharp to be innocent. “You like the way a knife looks in my hands, the way it’d be dangerous if I didn’t know what I was doing.” 

“Yes.” 

“You want to know what it’d be like: cold metal on your skin. A knife at your throat, or... a gun to your temple.” 

You’re shaking. 

“How’d you know?” you whisper. 

“I pay attention,” he says simply, voice ragged, and then there’s a long pause before he asks, “Is that the end of your confession?” 

You’d almost forgotten where you are. You’re grateful the screen is still between you and Sam. 

“Yes,” you say, and because old habits die hard, you add, “I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past lives.” 

“As for penance…” You can hear the teasing note in it, and some of your self-consciousness dissipates. “You can begin by taking off your clothes.” 

“Here?” you laugh. “Sam…” 

“Here. Now.” 

You let out a tiny, nervous whine of protest, but you’re too turned on to care, not when you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight. 

Then you strip, taking off your clothes with shaking hands and setting them in a neat-ish pile in one corner of the tiny booth. It’s chilly, and you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling goosebumps run down your bare skin. 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“Now... you can say ten Hail Marys,” Sam says, with that smirk in his voice again. 

“I — really?” you ask. 

Just as you’re thinking that’s all?, Sam is ducking through the curtain of the confessional, crowding you in and pushing on your shoulder until you sit back down on the narrow bench. Even in the barely-there flickers of light you can see the wicked smile on his face as he drops to his knees in front of you.  

“And you may not come until you’re finished,” he orders coolly. 

Then he’s hooking his arms under your knees, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you forward so that he can get that filthy smirking mouth on you. He licks a hot slick stripe up your center, swirling his tongue over your throbbing clit, and —

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, letting your head fall back against the wood with an echoing thunk, because whatever Sam’s doing with his lips is sending sweet fluttering waves of heat through your belly. “Oh my God, Sam, that’s—” 

“If you keep taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he growls, nipping at your inner thigh, “I’ll double it.” 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” you start, and it’s been a while; Sam’s not the only reason you have to pause. “Fuck. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the — the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now—” Your voice breaks as you whimper, and you finish in one long rushed breath: “— and at the hour of our death, amen.”

“There you go,” Sam says, practically moaning the words against slick skin. You’re already having trouble thinking straight. 

You start all over again, trying to rush through it as quickly as possible, but you stutter as Sam fucks you shallowly with his tongue.  

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sam says, curling two long fingers into you.

Except it’s bad. In the short time you’ve been doing this, Sam has learned your sweet spots like nobody’s ever learned them before, and he’s not touching them now. This is barely a tease, compared to what you know he can do to you. It’s bad, and it’s going to get so much worse. 

You start to stammer through the third prayer. You’re so wet — from the thrill of the setting, as much as what he’s doing with his tongue — you can hear the slick thrust of his fingers inside you, dirty and distracting. 

When you pause for breath between “Mary” and “mother of God,” Sam hums low against your cunt, and you know he enjoys this, you know he gets off on it, but he lets out these noises that never fail to make you feel feverish, and now is no exception. It doesn’t feel chilly any more. By “amen,” you’re burning up. 

“Three down,” Sam murmurs. 

On the fourth “grace,” he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, and you make a high, squeaky, mortifyingly desperate sound. Your voice keeps breaking as you stumble through the next lines, until you end on a long, relieved groan. 

“Good girl,” he croons. “Six more.” 

“I can’t,” you hiss. 

“You can. And you will.” 

On “full,” Sam twists his knuckles, and you gasp, arching your back, squirming. He fucks you in the same rhythm as your words, dragging friction across your g-spot with every syllable, and when you try to speed up, rushing through it, you can���t even get to “sinners” without breaking off in a moan. He stops completely as you pant for breath, and as you mumble through the last lines, painfully slow, you’re rolling your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, desperate for more. 

“That’s five,” Sam says. “I’ll give you a second to catch your breath.” 

With his free hand, he grabs one of your wrists, guiding your hand to the back of his head. His eyes flick up to you, watching hungrily, until you slide your fingers through the silky strands and tug lightly. 

You sigh. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

“Hope not,” he says, smirking against the crease of your thigh. “I’m into some weird shit, but I like ‘em warm and breathing.” 

“Ha fucking ha, Sam, that’s — fuck,” you choke, as he fits his mouth to your clit again, and this time he sucks lightly in time with the slow thrusts of his fingers.  You forget what you’re saying, somewhere around “God,” and stumble to the end in bits and incoherent pieces. 

“Six.” You realize you’ve got a death grip on his hair, all your muscles tensed-up and rigid with electricity that’s got nowhere else to go, but when you ease up, he pumps his fingers in deep and growls, “Harder.” 

He adds a third finger, and it’s so fucking good, so fucking much, filling you with fizzing pressure, and it takes most of your willpower to stop yourself from going under. 

You grit out, “HailMaryfullofgrace.” Lightning lances up your belly, and you squirm— “TheLordiswiththee.” — twist your fingers in Sam’s hair— “Blessedartthouamongwomen.” — muscles quaking, cunt clenching around perfectly curled fingers— “Blessedisthe. Fuck. Fruitofthywomb. Fuck — Jesus!” — tension surging and swelling  — “Holy Mary, mother of God, prayforussinnersnow, fuck, Sam!” — you’re almost there, almost, and he stops, refusing to give you what you want as you gasp out, “And —at the— the hour of our death, amen.” 

“Seven,” he says harshly, and you can feel him breathing hard, damp hot air teasing your slick swollen skin, and his mouth is so close to where you want it. He gives you a second and then: “Keep going.” 

You babble out a few words at a time, and your voice is ragged and broken, but it must sound close enough to what he wants; he’s winding you up again, fingers crooking expertly against that sweet spot. The heel of his other hand digs into your lower belly, right over that point of white heat, and it’s so intense, suddenly, that everything goes sparkly and distant.  

“Pray for us,” you groan, and he sucks, fast and hard. “Pray for us — us sinners —” 

There’s this pressure, right there, right where his fingers are stoking a fire, and it’s blazing, and —

“Sam, I can’t. I can’t, I’m gonna—” 

He’s not holding back, and you can’t either. You buck helplessly against the incredible suction of his mouth, holding him with both hands fisted in his hair as you bow up and cry out. All that pressure peaks, crashing down in wave after wave of relief, pulling you under like a rip tide as you come dripping-wet and messy. 

It blinds you, for a moment. You’re out of your body for who knows how long, lit-up and paralyzed by the high-voltage shock of it. 

When you come back to yourself, Sam is scooping you up and swapping places with you in one smooth movement, manhandling you so that you’re straddling him; he’s got his pants open just enough, can’t seem to wait any longer, and the breathless urgency is so unusual for him that your head spins. 

You’re still clenching through the lingering quakes of your orgasm, trembling, boneless like a rag doll, and it’s not you sinking down on his cock so much as him pulling you, filling you up inch by inch as you squeeze and quiver around the thick length of him. 

When he’s as deep as he can be, his arms wrapped around you and practically crushing you to his chest, you both pause and take a ragged gulp of air. 

“What even was that?” you slur, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall and trying to adjust. He lets out a rough groan through gritted teeth. 

“That is what I’ll be seeing every time I look at a confessional now,” he pants, starting to rock up into you. “Never gonna be able to walk into a church without getting hard.” 

He wraps an arm around your ribs, and the heat of his splayed hand on your shoulder feels like it spans half your back. Your naked skin seems even more obscene as it brushes the stiff cloth of his suit, and you can feel your own wetness soaking the fabric in places. You shiver, roll your hips, and you can feel the way he reacts, shuddering under you. 

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes this a little too much,” you say, breathless. 

“Who said anything about too much? No such thing.” He barks out a laugh, bucking up in a way that makes you moan. “I’ve been to heaven, and trust me when I say, this right here—” He twists his hips viciously to emphasize the word. “— this is so much better.”

“God, this is so —” you whimper. He fists a hand in your hair and bites your neck, and you jerk helplessly against him. 

“God doesn’t care,” he growls. “God wasn’t listening to you just now.” 

“That’s not —” You’re pretty sure he’s missing the point, but with the way your cunt is throbbing at every perfect thrust, you can’t remember what that point is; you can’t remember anything. 

“God’s not going to answer those prayers,” he says hoarsely. “I’m the one who’s going to handcuff you and bend you over the hood of the car and fuck you until your legs give out.” 

“Holy shit, Sam.” Your brain is shorting out. 

“I’m going to make sure Dean sees you when you’re all strung-out and begging for it,” he promises. He jerks up with a vicious twist of his hips, and you grind down to meet him, every inch of your skin singing. “I’m going to hold a gun to your head while you ride me. I’m going to give you anything you want.” 

“Please.” Your moan sounds more like a sob, and you can’t see straight anymore; it’s all going distant, until the only thing that feels real is the aching, pulsing heat of him inside you. 

Sam claws at your back, dragging his open mouth up the side of your neck until he can snarl against your ear: “God doesn’t answer prayers, but I do.” 

He surges up to meet you one last time. Your vision flashes bright white as you come, one exquisite pulse after another rolling through you, and it feels like a purer sort of ecstasy than any religious experience you’ve had in a church.

This is worth a little hellfire. 

.

.

.

There is now a follow-up drabble here!

[jar-of-ectoplasm]

Reverse Demon Slayer AU

a/n: a demon slayer au my friend and i were talking abt a bunch last week and i wanted to share it with you guys :))

like literally the au is just the demon slayers are the demons and the demons are the demon slayers it's prob been done before but still here it is besties (the hashiras turn into the 12 kizuki, the trainers are like the ex-kizuki members [like kyogai])

Genre/Warnings: Demon shit, body horror, just kinda creepy stuff cause the demons in Demon Slayer look busted most of the time, mentions of blood, gore, mentions of violence/death, religious stuff (gyomei)

~Giyuu Tomioka~

-Stays in the forest near a lake

-His voice echoes, kinda like how a siren's would. Since his voice is very calming and can go pretty far out, it lures a lot of people into his lake

-Blood Demon Art: Can create "reflections" of the demon slayers he's fighting out of the water in his lake. Every hit they land on Giyuu's version of them just goes straight through it since it's made of water but it's able to actually hurt the slayer (basically giyuu just makes little water minion to do his bidding)

-Would be very attached to the demon who turned him (which is Urokodaki) and would be absolutely livid if anyone managed to kill him

-After your encounter with an ex-kizuki member, you started hearing a strange voice echoing through the forest in front of you. Mistaking the man's calls as cries for help, you venture further into the forest not knowing you were walking into your death.

~Shinobu Kocho~

-Her eyes look just like a fly's, but instead of red they're purple

-Has pincers on the sides of her face

-Blood Demon Art: Can spit acid up to 5 feet (like an assassin bug) and if she manages to bite you, she can inject venom into your bloodstream with her freak ass bug tongue (like an ant)

~Sanemi Shinazugawa~

-The top half of his outfit would be tied around his waist (like how Susamaru had hers)

-The scars on his body would become mouths, and each mouth also has a voice so whenever Sanemi speaks it's like there are several voices speaking at the same time

-Blood Demon Art: Can literally take the their from a person's lungs and suffocate them. A demon slayer can't use their breathing technique if they can't breathe, right?

-Doesn't wash the blood off his clothes and he keeps the swords of the slayers he kills as trophies

~Tengen Uzui~

-Each dot on his face tattoo would become more eyes

-His three wives would change every so often because they're kidnapped female demon slayers

-Blood Demon Art: If he gets even the tiniest cut anywhere on his body, he'll be able to emit an incredibly high pitched sound to disorient his opponent

~Muichiro Tokito~

-Blood Demon Art: Creates a mist that, when inhaled, fogs the person's memory; making them forget what they were doing completely so he can easily attack them

-Honestly, he thinks killing the Hashiras Muzan sends after him is a chore, so he usually stays in the Infinite Fortress

-When he does go out though, he doesn't stay in one place for too long so he can avoid the demon slayers as much as possible. He doesn't want to waste energy on killing low level children

~Obanai Iguro~

-Pretty much a naga, the bottom half of his body is a serpent's tail

-Can unhinge his jaw to take some big ass fucking bites out of people

-His eyes can look in two different directions at the same time, making it hard for slayers to land a good hit on him

~Mitsuri Kanroji~

-Main territory is the red light district, she lures men into her little place and eats them

-Blood Demon Art: Similar to how Tamayo can force someone to tell the truth using her demon art, Mitsuri is able to attract people to her. No one wants to hurt the person they're attracted to, so it would make it easy for her to kill them.

-The prettiest demon Hashira by far, pretty much everyone else looks like some horrible grotesque creature

-She always tries to keep the clothes of the men she kills clean so she can give them to the girls in her house. Even if they are human, she still cares for them greatly

-Is the cleanest demon Hashira as well. She doesn't like making a mess of her room just to clean it up right after

-Mitsuri also likes to try different recipes with the men she eats. Having them raw just isn't as fun as cooking them herself

~Kyojuro Rengoku~

-Blood Demon Art: Similar to Esidisi from JJBA, he can make his blood boil. When the slayer manages to get a hit on him, his blood would splash on them and burn through anything it touched. The temperature of his blood is on par with lava

-Looks the most human out of pretty much all the demons, but something just seems very off about him

-When you're fighting him, he's stone faced until he gets bored of you. His smile just looks way too big for his face, and the amount of teeth in his mouth are far beyond what it should be

-Doesn't have eyelids so he literally never blinks

~Gyomei Himejima~

-Would be dressed as a traditional Buddhist priest/monk

-He kills demon slayers to "help them atone for their sins"

-Main method of killing would be using his rosary to choke them out, sometimes since he doesn't really know his own strength their heads pop off

-He cries blood instead of tears

-Blood Demon Art: Can make his blood as hard as diamond so the demon slayer would be unable to cut him on the first try, so he would be able to take advantage of their shock and kill them

~Tanjiro Kamado~

-Blood Demon Art: Just the same as Nezuko's, since they're siblings and all that

-He had come from a family of demon slayers, and after getting turned into one himself they all tried to kill him (except for Nezuko)

-Wears a muzzle only when Nezuko is around other demon slayers. They have to keep up a charade, but it's so hard to control himself sometimes and that's when the muzzle really helps

-His favorite part of the body is the heart. When he was human, everyone always saw him as kind and innocent but when he was turned he was seen as the complete opposite. He hopes that consuming the hearts of other people will return his old kind-hearted personality

~Nezuko Kamado~

-Nezuko followed in her parent's footsteps by joining the demon slayer corps, but instead of trying to find a cure for her brother she gets information and passes it to Tanjiro and the demon Hashiras.

-Nezuko ended up taking Tanjiro away from the bloody ruins of their home, and on their way down the mountain they ran into Giyuu who instructed them to go to Urokodaki so Tanjiro would be safe

-Has killed demon slayers who have seen her interacting with the demon Hashiras. She has to keep her record clean to climb the ranks and to help Tanjiro at the same time

~Zenitsu Agatsuma~

-Would lure people into a trap by guilt tripping them into being alone with him

-"Could you please help me? I lost my gramps, but I can't see him anywhere. Will you help me find him?" and then they'd get bodied

-Always avoids killing innocent people or new demon slayers. He feels so bad for taking their lives away from them, but sometimes he just can't help it

-He'll style the female demon slayers hair after he kills them so they can be just as pretty as they were in life when they get to Heaven

~Inosuke Hashibira~

-The boar mask would become his actual head

-Instead of duel wielding swords, they would be some big ass fangs that he swings around to impale demon slayers

-Inosuke fights dirty. He'll snap his jaws at you and laugh hysterically when he manages to take a chunk out of your arm

-Actively seeks out demon slayers to kill. He never kills regular people because they don't put up a good enough fight for him

-Eats every part of the body, including the bones

~Misc Characters~

-Kanae was a spider-esque demon and cocooned people in her webs to feed a young Shinobu and Kanao until she was killed

-Kanao was human-turned-demon by the sisters

-Urokodaki is an ex-kizuki member and all of his trainees are now the demons in the Final Selection

-the Fox Children, led by Urokodaki, are merciless to any wannabe slayer that comes into their forest looking to make it out alive. Most of the demon slayers that make it out are nearly dead or had ran straight through, not even trying to get a kill

-the Fox Children wear the masks because their faces are incredibly fox-like (think like, mid transition animorphs cover)

-Nobody knows what Urokodaki's face looks like, but based on his mask that's for the best

~General Stuff~

-In this au, the demons actually stick together and the demon slayers work alone which makes the Hashira Kizuki way fucking scarier than they already were

-And because these demons work together, they're all going to hold grudges against certain demon slayers

-When Kanae was killed, the demon Hashira went apeshit, especially Gyomei. Pairing his strength and horrible blinding rage at the fact his coven lost a very important member, every slayer he kills within the first year of Kanae's death die in horrible ways.

-Imagine following the directions your dove gave you to an old, overgrown sanctuary secluded in the mountains. The moonlight does little to illuminate your surroundings, but one thing you do see is the mangled body of your fellow demon slayer hanging from a tree. The only thing keeping them together is their spinal cord, and the impossibly large hand holding their head to a branch.

-The Hashiras are all extremely savage and violent, rarely ever sparing a human life. (sometimes Shinobu or Kanao might feel bad and spare a small child or elderly person, but other than that nobody is safe)

-Crows would service the demons, and doves would service the demon slayers. Everyone is always wary around crows because nobody knows whether that particular one belongs to a demon or not

[vixenpen]

To Resist Temptation pt. 1

(THIS FIC IS RIDDLED WITH BLASPHEMY!! I, myself, am not religious (actually an atheist) but this idea has been on my mind for a while. It is never my intention to mock or disrespect anyone’s personal beliefs. With that said, if you are a person of faith this fic may not appeal to you. It’s not to be taken as a serious representation of the faith it portrays! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNEDDDD!!!!)

(Trigger warnings: religious themes, succubus, authority kink, degradation, god complex/kink)

(Art by: @kadeart )

You chanted your prayers of protection under your breath quietly.

Every nervous thud of your heart seemed to pound in your ears as you ascended the steps to the large white brick chapel.

“Keep yourself safe. Seek salvation, and temptation won’t overtake you.”

The temptation won’t overtake me.

The mantra echoed in your mind over and over.

You smoothed your dress, hoping you looked appropriate. The clingy Sunday sundress fell just above your knees and didn’t expose too much of your cleavage. Of course it was impossible for you not to look tempting. Even just a bit. It was in the switch of your hips. The gleam in your eyes. The natural scent you gave off. It was, quite literally, in your blood. Not that any of this was your choice...

You shook the thoughts away, opened the heavy door of the church, and slipped inside.

“To walk without God is to wander without a true purpose.”

The congregation responded accordingly with hums of approval and agreement. Keigo continued.

“To stray from god’s path is to—“

His amber eyes fell on the late comer. A woman who stood out against the mostly somberly dressed masses in her pastel church dress. She kept her head ducked as she found a seat in the front row. Once she faced him, a soft content smile settled on her beautiful face.

Oh...she was stunning...

Soft, smooth looking skin, eyes that smoldered, lush lips, hard nipple-

What? No. Not here. Not now.

Everybody was watching him. Waiting. Keigo hadn’t even realize that he’d stalled for so long. Reluctantly he dragged his gaze away from the beautiful new comer and continued his sermon.

“T-to stray from God’s path, is to invite unrest into your soul.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keigo enjoyed these times best. The dark, contemplative silence of the confession booth. Just a holy man and God. The times between members coming to make their confessions felt peaceful and sacred.

He liked to stay behind a couple hours after service and a couple hours beforehand for his congregation. But it was just as much for himself as it was for them.

He rested against the wooden back, eyes closed in an almost meditative manner. Although his mind was far from clear. His thoughts kept wandering back to the mystery member who had slipped in late and gazed at him so enraptured. How her lips remained parted slightly, and everytime she crossed and uncrossed her legs, the hem of her dress rose a little more...

He shook his head mussing his tousled blonde hair even more. Those thoughts weren’t appropriate for a holy man. A man in such a sacred place. He couldn’t allow his mind to wander to such places.

The scuffling of someone entering the booth roused Keigo out of his thoughts.

“Um...hello?”

He held back a chuckle.

“Yes?”

“Oh! Uh, yes, hi! I’m sorry father I’ve never done this before.”

The disembodied female voice stammered nervously. Keigo squinted as he tried and failed to place the voice, and then he realized; it was you.

“Th-this is my first confession, and I’m not sure what to do. Can you help me?”

“O-of course,” he stammered back. He coached you through what to say, biting back a moan when you said: “Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

He pressed a hand to his stirring member. Sensing your hesitation. Your innocence despite the wicked beauty you possessed. How cute. How naive.

“This is a safe place, you can tell me what is troubling you.”

“Well...I have these urges..”

“What sort of urges?”

“It’s like...this hunger,” you replied, voice taking on a slight rasp that shot straight to the handsome priests dick. “I want,” your voice dropped into a soft whisper, “I want sex all the time. Day and night. Sometimes I see strangers and I want to give myself to them right then and there.”

Oh god...

Keigo’s mind was reeling from the salacious words dripping from your pretty mouth. He had known it. He knew someone that angelically beautiful couldn’t truly be innocent. It wasn’t natural. The magnetism you possessed in your swaying hips and the way it juxtaposed your soft expressions.

“F-father?”

Keigo coughed. “Um, yes. Go on,” he urged, “what do you envision yourself doing with these strangers?”

“Anything that could make them cum. The most depraved things. It’s as if I can see what people most desire sexually and it-it frightens me.”

You are a holy man, Keigo. A good man of faith.

The young priest told himself as his hard on strained.

“Father, what should I do? I don’t want to give in to the temptation. I don’t want to be corrupted or currupt others.”

“You must remember, that temptation is not sin itself.“ he replied.

Be strong. Don’t give in to temptation. He stroked his painful erection gently. This woman needs you. This poor lost soul...

“You still have a chance to turn away from temptation and turn to Jesus as your answer.”

“How though, father? When temptation is all around me. Even today I—“

His throat went dry.

“Today?” He pressed. “What do you mean today?”

“It’s shameful, father.” You replied rubbing your thighs together.

The desire pooling between your legs massaged the lips of your womanhood, sending pleasure through out your body.

You had chosen this new church home at random at the behest of your mother. The older you got, the stronger your succubus side became. Soon it might overtake you completely. Until you were a sex driven demon. Like your incubus father. The no good demon who had impregnated your mother.

It was your greatest fear whenever you looked in the faces of strangers who attracted you, whether it was physically or mentally. That you would infect them with your own curse and bear more cursed children.

But it was also so achingly tempting that it hurt sometimes. The toys you had bought didn’t help. The other incubus/succubus men and women you secretly convened with didn’t help.

You knew that you needed humans. Pure, untainted humans...

But you hadn’t expected a priest so handsome. So strong and self assured in his word. Hadn’t expected the hooded golden eyes that smoldered with intelligence and the desire of a young man who had repressed himself for so long that he ached for release. The burden of all the marriages he had severed at former churches because of his affairs with the men and women of his congregation and how it weighed heavy on his mind. Best of all, you knew he would do it all again just to feel that sweet release.

And God, as if regular humans weren’t tempting enough, fallen holy ones were the embodiment of desire.

“I know what you want the most, father,” you practically moaned. The honeyed cadence of your voice like a siren song to a mortal. You tried so hard to fight it, but you could no longer help it with the stench of his desire and lust filling your nose. “You want someone to run their fingers through that beautiful golden hair of yours while they lock you between their thighs. You want someone to beg you for their release. You want this so much that it frightens you too, doesn’t it? It almost aches. I could see it watching you today.

The priest was stunned silent. Afraid that if he did dare say anything it would be to ask the stranger to tell him more. More of his sinful thoughts. More of her own sinful thoughts. More about why the urges he had successfully kept at bay for five years now had come back to the forefront of his mind at full force when he looked at her.

Mindlessly, he pulled out his throbbing dick and rubbed the viscous spill of desire leaking from the head around the top before spreading it along the thick shaft.

You can’t, Keigo! You shouldn’t! Remember your prayers. Your promise to god!

Oh but what was it again? What were those prayers? The words had twisted in his mind. What was that promise to god? Something about repentance and regret?

The thrum of pleasure that coursed through him with every stroke only made him forget those vows more.

“I-I’m sorry father,” you continued. Your voice smothered the man’s senses like a warm blanket. So soft and inviting. Just like the rest of you. “I need your help...please.”

A prayer. A promise. You will resist temptation.

“I,” he choked on the words. His mind cloudy from the warring thoughts swirling about it. “I can help you. We can beat this temptation together.”

“Thank you, father.” You sighed. “Or I believe you prefer to be called: daddy.”

(Pt.2)//(Pt.3)

[quantumlocked310]

Order Up! Part 1 of 2

Extra Hot Hvitserk Macchiato for @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom on the bar!

Summary: You finally run into the cute barista from your favorite coffee shop when he’s not working. Will he be charming enough to lure you into bed? Or are you confident enough to invite him in yourself?

Warnings: Tooth Rotting Fluff, Slow Burn, Smut will be in Chapter 2

Note: This is technically a sequel, but can be read without reading Pour Overs and Pastries. (but that one is really cute, so you absolutely should if you haven’t)

Crossposted on AO3

+++++

The new job was going swimmingly. Your coworkers loved you, and you were crushing problems left and right. You’d even saved the company several thousand Krone by finding a smoother, more efficient way to execute some accounting procedures. The company was so happy they’d taken the chance on you, even though they had to go through all the trouble of coordinating the visa and moving you from New York to Denmark.

You’d fallen in love with the city, and your new life. Each workday you begin with coffee from Lothbrothers. The office has a little kiosk in the foyer, but the coffee from the little shop with the cute barista is worth the extra expense.

For three months your morning routine is peppered with pleasant conversation from Sigurd, local gossip with Ivar, and a whole bunch of covert staring at the muscles in Hvitserk’s back as he putters around the bar.

Two weeks into your daily trips to the shop, Ivar had turned to you while waiting for your drink and demanded your name saying, “Du er kommet her i to uger…” before seeing the look of immense confusion on your face and switching to English while rolling his eyes. “You’ve been coming here for two weeks now. Guess you’re a regular. Why are you in Denmark?”

You’re a little taken aback at his abrupt tone, but seeing as he has spent the last two weeks staring holes into his computer it is possible he’s just a little intense. You turn to him and say “A new job. I moved from New York,” but almost can’t spit it out, because as soon as you turn to answer him his icy blue eyes capture you in their magnetic pull.

You blink and he’s no longer looking you in the eye. “New York is a long way. Why Denmark?”

Shrugging you rest a hip on the counter and check your watch quickly. “It was the first overseas company I found willing to hire an American in the position I wanted. I’m very lucky, and very good at my job. Not to mention the perk of viking men.” You wink at this handsome stranger, and he looks away, a little flustered. Perhaps if you can’t catch the barista’s eye, you’ll have fun with this Dane instead.

“Latte for Y/N.” A voice growls from your side, and you turn around to grab your drink.

“Thank you, Hvits…” He is gone before you can finish his name, without so much as a “Thank you for coming,” like usual.

You frown, but suppose it must be busier than usual and turn back to the stranger you’d been conversing with. “Excuse me, I have to run to work, but it was very nice to meet you.”

“And you as well.” The stranger waves you off, and you scurry away, mind a flurry with thoughts of what you could’ve possibly done to piss off the cute barista. Was he just busy? Did you say something to the stranger that made him angry? You realize you never got the stranger’s name, but the rest of the anxious thoughts flow away with the calming walk to your office building.

+++++

The next day you learn the stranger’s name is Ivar, and you strike up an interesting friendship. Each morning you greet each other and while you wait for coffee he tells you all about the other patrons. You learn the large man on the bench from your first day is Bjorn, Ivar’s half brother. “But that’s a story for over drinks, not coffee.” You laugh together, but you have to go before he can ask you out for those drinks.

Ivar says the man at the window is the leader of a local church. Not a priest, and not a cult leader, but almost. Ivar is unashamed about his belief in their higher power, but makes it clear he doesn’t have a large commitment to Loki’s teaching specifically. The way he speaks of the older man, it seems like something had happened between the two, but Ivar is stubborn and refuses to speak anymore on the subject.

After six weeks of talking, Ivar tells you he’s an editor for a major Danish publisher. His sharp and ruthless mind makes sure no mistake is unaddressed and you get to sample some of the works he reads as he complains about plot holes or token characters.

Ivar seems to know everyone in the cafe, or can at least point someone out as new and predict if they will come back or not. Hvitserk will sometimes chime in with a comment about a patron. That they like this or that drink. That they don’t like raisins. That he thinks yellow isn’t their color. Or he bets they work for this lawyer or that restaurant.

Over the weeks you find out more little things about the two men, and you stop flirting with Ivar. You’ve noticed it gets him flustered and he seems to actually get uncomfortable, but he refuses to talk about it and changes the subject whenever you try. So you move on, and continue the friendly banter and non-sexual subjects. You’ve learned Hvitserk will stand up for the other employees. When someone is rude to Sigurd he will take over with a menacing glare and put in their order without a smile. If he hears harassing comments from people in line he will kick them out without thought, and Ivar supports him every time.

Your affection for Lothbrothers grows with every week you spend going to the coffeeshop, and your friendship with Ivar, and your crush on Hvitserk soar with it too.

+++++

Bright and early Saturday morning finds you browsing the local market for fresh finds. On the weekends you indulge your Farmer’s Market Aesthetic side and cook anything you can find. You’ve even started to befriend one of the local boulangers after he realized you love to hear about his process for choosing bread flavors for the day.

While talking to Pierre about his sourdough starter, you notice out of the corner of your eye a tall man approach the market stall. Pierre pauses in your conversation and you turn to get a better look at who is buying.

“Hvitserk?” His name slips out of your mouth in shock. You’d never run into anyone you know, who wasn’t a vendor, at this market before.

His head whips around, eyes impossibly wide as he stares at you, clearly thinking something similar.

“It’s Y/N. From the coffeeshop. Good Morning!”

“Yes, Y/N. Ivar’s new friend. Good morning.” He seems to pause, perhaps thinking about if it’s socially acceptable to turn tail and run. But then he simply asks “How are you?”

“I am well thank you. All the better for Pierre’s delicacies.” You smile toward the seller then ask, “How are you?”

“Well also, thanks. Do you come to this market often?”

“Only every Saturday for the past, oh, five weeks? Do you come here often, as well?”

“I have not been back in a long time.” He seems to think inwardly for a moment before coming back to the present. You wonder what makes him look like that. Who ruined this peaceful market for this gorgeous man?

“Well then you won’t have met Sara yet!” You grab his free hand and start pulling him toward one of the newer market stalls. On the way over you seem to realize what you’ve done, and try to pull your hand away out of propriety, but Hvitserk tightens his hold just a little and you can feel your face heat as you continue to hold hands.

There are a few people in line when you arrive, so you continue to make small talk, asking “So what made you decide to come to the market today?”

“I like to see what’s new or in season to add to the menu for the shop. Unfortunately the schedule doesn’t always allow me to scope things out as often as I like. Yourself?”

“I try to cook locally on the weekends, since I don’t have time during the week. There is amazing produce here, wait ‘till you try…” You’re interrupted by Sara proclaiming “My favorite customer!”

You laugh and hug your friend awkwardly over the counter. “Good morning, Sara. I want you to meet Hvitserk. He’s the barista at that amazing cafe by my apartment.”

“Co-Owner and barista, actually. It’s nice to meet you.” He reaches out his hand to greet Sara.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn't realize. How cool!” In all your talks, Ivar had never mentioned. You panic for a quick second before continuing. “Sara is the best beekeeper in all of the North. She also works part time with me in the office.”

“Welcome to ‘Sweet as Honey’! What can I get for you?” Sara chimes in with a big smile.

“He wants the small tasting jars. Lavender, Jalapeno, and Chai.” You turn to Hvisterk “Her flavors are ingenious and she comes up with new ones all the time. She brings in samples to work, so I'm both spoiled and biased.”

“I can’t wait.” He smiles softly. You go to pull out your wallet, but Hvitserk is already handing Sara some Krone. “You’ve bought enough coffee from me. I think I should return the favor.” He winks and inside you swoon a little. His flirty smile is a welcome change from the cool professionalism you get from him at Lothbrothers’.

“Thank you for stopping by! It was nice to meet you Hvitserk. I’ll see you on Monday, Y/N?”

“Bye, Sara! See you then.” As Hvisterk turns to walk away, Sara looks at you and points at him, then fans herself and pretends to faint. You give her a quelling look and shake your head no. She gives you an incredulous look in return, as if to say “Why not?” You shrug briefly thinking “I don’t know where this is going.”

You turn around to find Hvitserk has claimed a small bench by a tree a few feet away from Sweet as Honey. He pulls out the first of the jars, a small bag with six little cubes of bread inside, and a tiny wooden stirring stick. The heat of his body is scalding where you can feel it next to you, the bench only large enough to allow a sliver of air between you.

His large hands open the top on the Chai infused honey, and you watch his long fingers use the tiny stick to spread just enough honey on the first of the bread cubes. He offers you the cube. It would take nothing to grab it from him and pop it in your mouth, but you hesitate. He’s offered it at face level, so you take the chance. Your plump lips wrap around the soft bread, and your tongue sneaks out to lick any remaining honey off the tip of his thumb and forefinger.

In the time it takes you to chew and swallow he has acquired his own piece of honeyed bread. His is prepared lightning fast while barely taking his eyes off your face. The green of his iris is just a sliver, almost completely taken over by the black of his dilated pupils.

A quiet moan seems to force its way out of his chest as you make eye contact. “How does she get the delicate blend of cardamom and cinnamon?”

You clear your throat, but your voice is still a little husky. “I told you she was a genius. Try the Jalapeno.”

Together you try all the honeys, and Hvitserk comments on the balance of flavors, the texture, and how he would love to use some of them in either the pastries or the drinks at the shop. He also reveals that while they now have some bakers help in the morning, Hvitserk is still the one who recipe tests and makes all the menu decisions.

He puts his hand on your knee. “Stay here for a moment while I talk to Sara? I’ll be right back.” You watch him walk away and stare unabashedly at his ass perfectly hugged by his skinny jeans. He talks to the beekeeper, and you watch them exchange business cards

This day has turned out to be amazing, and you don’t want it to be over. Hvitserk has turned out to be an incredible conversation partner, and you can feel in your gut that the two of you click in a way you haven’t felt in a while.

When he returns, Hvitserk offers you both hands to help you from the bench. You take them, and as soon as you stand up you blurt out, “Come over for dinner tonight?” You wince at your tactlessness, but continue with “I bought so many good ingredients, and it would be an honor to share them with you.”

“I’m at Lothbrothers’ until 7. Can I come by after that?”

“7 is great. What’s your number? I can text you the address.”

You both exchange phones and add the new contact. When he gives yours back, you see he’s put Hvitserk Lothbrok in, but he’s also listed himself as “Hot Barista.” You roll your eyes at him when you look back up, and he throws you a flirty wink before saying goodbye and giving you a kiss on the cheek as well.

After watching him walk away you run back home and start prepping the menu, cleaning your apartment, and making sure you have some good wine to go with the meal.

Read Chapter 2 here.

Tag List: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ @appledressing​

[binniedeactivated]

saint. || soobin💦

a/n: ya’ll forgive me someone requested soobin smut and I could not find the request on my page lolololol so whoever requested this i hope you enjoy!

saint m.list

🖤┊𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 . ೄྀ࿐ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙/𝖆𝖚 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖆? 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖆’𝖑𝖑 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙. (𝖑𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜) 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 1893.

he was tall. sorry for stating the obvious but that was the most noticeable thing about him. I mean if you got really close maybe you could see his deep dimples that waded in both of his cheeks when he talked. Or if you were paying close attention to him you’d notice the way his eyes enveloped when he smiled or laughed. but enough of that though, choi soobin was nothing to admire. 

well, at least personality wise. he’d come to school in his snazzy maroon sweater vest and suit jacket and wore his hair in the side part that drove all of the girls crazy. you had to admit, it was reasonably so. he was a good looking guy. so why wouldn’t they? 

if they hadn’t been obsessing over him maybe they’d see him dump their textbooks in the trash when they weren’t looking or him cutting their ponytails or even worse, him lying to the priest about the sluts they were at the confessionals. poor father benjamin. 

luckily though you stayed low on the radar. I mean you weren’t completely invisible but at least your were the person who rather keep your head inside the book of Ecclesiasticus than choi soobin. you were one of the few at least. he even had the boys all over him, wanting to be him, wanting to act like him and dress like him. if this wasn’t a catholic school you’d think they’d rather be his girlfriend, too. but you couldn’t hold your school to a high standard I mean Melissa Mccarthy’s sex tape was floating around the school for months. And she was so called one of the most ‘attractive’ girls in school before she got expelled of course.

but back to choi soobin. he was a shit head. you knew in your heart of hearts he was. this is what mainly infuriated you when sister helena assigned him as your partner for a video watching. yeah a video watching. in which she’d pull out that big fat old tv and put on a black and white movie and expects you to write down the answers based on events that were happening in the film. she always assigned partners though because she thought two brains could capture better details than one. 

anyway he slides in the seat next to yours in the back of the room with a snarky grin on his face. he always had that dumb snarky grin. you pull down your plaid pleated skirt a little more over your knees. sister helena smiles at the both of you while passing out the question sheet and a couple of pencils. Soobin grabs it before you. not that you were racing to get it anyway. You saw him concentrating to write, must’ve been hard for him since he does little to no work. Then you realized he was writing his name and you wondered if how he even made it to senior year. 

it was your turn to write your name on the paper so you did so quickly before the movie started. you weren’t even 10 minutes into the movie before soobin began laughing and goofing off with his friends in the front of him. Sister helena shot you a severe look signaling the fact that she wanted you two to tone it down. but why did she address you and not soobin?

you nudge him on the arm. 

“hey quit it. sister helena is going to give us an F if you keep going”.

“and what does that have to do with me?”. soobin snarls you roll your eyes. 

“it has a lot to do with you because if i get a bad grade over you It’s going to be a serious problem”.

soobin laughs as if to say, ‘yeah right’. it only made you angrier. soobin tilts his head at you. you were kinda cute in a way. he never really looked at you before like he had now. he acted as if he were looking elsewhere and placed his hand on your knee. you flinch.

“soobin?-- what are you doing?”. 

you ask pushing his hand off. he does this sheepish grin that makes him the cutest but you didn’t want to admit it. 

“come on. we’re in the back of the room. don’t you want to have some fun?”.

“we have an assignment to do you idiot”. he places his hand on your knee again, only he raises it a bit more, dragging up your skirt a little. you had to admit, his hands felt nice. 

“you’re so worried about this assignment. trust me. I’ll make sure we have the answers even if we weren’t paying attention”.

your nerves ran endlessly as he dragged his fingers higher, now reaching the top of your thighs. you were grateful that you two were in the back of the room and that the table you two shared was enough to cover his movements. 

“s-s-soobin i don’t think we should”. you stuttered. it was weird how you forgot all the bad things about soobin as soon as he started touching you. He leans in your ear, 

“just relax. I’ll make you feel good i promise. have you ever been touched before?”.

no. and you would probably be the envy of the whole school if everyone knew who was waiting to touch you. 

“no i haven’t”. 

he ghosted his finger tips at the front of your panties, rubbing your slit lazily. you closed your eyes, feeling sorry for father benjamin and your confessions in advance. 

“you’re actually pretty cute”. soobin flirts with his lips still to your ear. you ignored his compliment letting him slip his fingers inside of your panties. he teases your clit with his fingertips before he touches it softly. 

you twitch and tap your foot so you wouldn’t be too suspicious to sister Helena. Not that she was paying you two any mind anyway. you don’t know what the hell gotten into you, but it was too late to stop it now. 

soobin scoots his seat closer to you and uses his other hand to grip his pencil in. He wanted to make he looked like he was doing as much work as possible. He pulled your panties back a bit more, using his finger to gently rub your clit in small circles. you shuddered. this was your first time experiencing something as mind blowing as this. 

with your priest of a father and religious mother you never had time to...explore. you finally saw what you were missing in life. soobin pauses his actions to spread your legs a little wider before he kept rubbing you. With each rub he’d do it more forcefully than the last. you bite your lips trying to detain any noises. it was hard though. 

“you’re so cute. you like getting your virgin pussy touched don’t you?”. soobin speaks in your ear with a low tone. he fastens the pace of his fingers feeling your puffy clit slick up in excitement. surges of electricity sprints through you. you pull your skirt over his hand. 

he casually pretends he’s watching tv and you’re suffering. If you don’t whimper, or wail, or anything you felt like you were going to explode in the next two seconds. He rubs you faster and you could feel your hips grinding against his fingers desparately. 

“don’t do that. fuck--you’re going to make me hard”. he warns in a casual whisper. you ignore him of course and clutch the table. you close your eyes and let his fingers slide through your pussy as you grinded. you opened your mouth hoping nothing came out. but you were in for a surprise when you created a small squeal by accident.

luckily though, no one but sister helena looked at you. With her pointer she pointed to the tv, meaning ‘pay attention or you will have detention’ . you’d sure liked to see her contain herself if she ever got fingered in the back of a classroom by a cute boy. but then again you wouldn’t like to see that, because  for a 50 year old woman that’d be fucking gross. 

soobin is chuckling lowly in your ear like the menace he was. “your pussy is so fucking wet holy shit”. 

you continue to bite your lips while he swiped your clit from side to side aggressively with three fingers. your heart pounded in your chest. you wanted to shriek, you wanted to scream but you couldn’t and it was killing you. 

you decided it was best that you left your small cries in the lowest volume as possible, only audible enough for soobin to hear. you were sopping through his fingers though. you panicked when you felt yourself pulse intensely. soobin grinned. he knew your were close. 

“that’s it, cum for me you little fucking saint”. he groaned in your ear. with your stuttering hips a wave of pressure came over you and you felt something leaking out of you. with your heavy breathing you had to come to terms with the fact that that was your first orgasm. 

holy shit.

the bell rung and classes ended and somehow someway you and soobin’s paper was full of answer by the time he turned it in. “Hey, you. come here I need to have a word with you”. sister helena grumbled looking directly at you. your heart raced. soobin gave you a small smirk before walking out the classroom. as almost if he was wishing you good luck. 

“yes?”. 

“I want to say that choi soobin is very misbehaved. But i am so glad I paired him with you. I’ve never saw him complete a whole paper his whole time here and this is his senior year here. hey, if you don’t mind i think i’d like to pair you two more often. Is that alright with you?”. she smiles. 

you blink. not believing what the hell you were hearing. 

“yes why not?”. you blurt out laughing playfully for good measure. 

“good good! I know what to do now. Have a nice day!”. you bow to her hoping she does as well. you walk out the classroom to see soobin standing on the wall next to the door smiling down at you like an idiot.

“what?”. you scoff. 

“have you ever had sex before?”. he asks casually as if he were asking you what your favorite cereal was. you shake your head no. 

“no. why?”. 

“do you want to?”. 

“what makes you think i’d want to do it with you? you’ve probably had sex with the whole school by now”. 

you scoff again walking away. he chases after you. 

“if that’s what you think then boy you’d be surprised by the truth”. 

“why are you even bothering? I’m a virgin it’s not like i’m some slut who can pleasure you and actually know what I’m doing”. 

“I can teach you”. he says confidently. 

“what?”. 

“It’s your senior year. I’m sure you don’t want to be a virgin for long. I mean, you can agree to let me teach you or i’d just might have to tell poor father benjam--”.

“alright! soobin. no need to go that far”. you adjust your backpack strap. 

“I’ll let you teach me. but where?”.

“my parents are having a church meeting tomorrow night. Meet me at my house around 7″.

[karanoid]

about top joe discord

LET ME ADDRESS A FEW POINTS:

There has been many fear and anxiety regardless the top!joe discord I made. I understand how it gives my discord a bad reputation. Somebody has kindly reached out to me to ask me addressing several points, which I’m now gonna clarify:

1. I am racist, I asked why, and they said mostly because of my dismissive behavior to people who called me out for drawing yusuf adorned in gold jewelry which made their friends feel unsafe. So, I am a muslim and was raised in a muslim household and community. I am fucking brown.

I didn’t say it because you don’t need to know that about me. What bothers me is how some people feel the need to come to my inbox informing me “maam yusuf is a religious muslim who prays 5 times a day and do all the supplementary prayers all while he drinks alcohol and fuck nicky in the dailies, he wouldnt be wearing gold maam no maam.” as if I didn’t know any better. so please, now don’t do that. If you care so much about the littlest details like wearing gold then you’ll also call out yusuf because he draws living beings and drinks champagne. yes it’s true muslim men are forbidden from wearing gold AND silk but let’s not forget, nothing in the comic and movies imply yusuf has ever been religious. It’s easier to see nicolo as religious because he was a fucking priest. Yusuf was a fucking merchant, it’s easy to see that he’d be less faithful because he would have been travelling and seen many kind of people to broaden his horizons and not contained to a little bubble of hyper religious community. However, let me remind you: whether yusuf AND nicolo are religious or not is entirely UP TO THE AUTHOR/ARTIST. It’s totally fine to make him religious and if you can respect it THATS GREAT, I ALSO LIKE HIM THAT WAY, but please remember it’s not even canon and hey sometimes I just draw things because I like the aesthetics. Also please, do not harass writers for getting a thing or two incorrect, even white people cannot get christianity correct, even between two muslims could be a disagreement whether this fic’s yusuf is problematic or not. I wouldn’t even expect anything more and THAT’S OKAY. Just don’t be an ass to muslims of color in real life and don’t fall into the believe that it’s a religion of violence. you can say that greg made him that way bc he knew nothing better but hey, I have no problem with that. again, it’s fine to make him religious, I’d be delighted but it’s ALSO fine to make him not religious.

2. I think that people only write Top!Nicky out of political correctness. OKAY. I apologize for this. I thought like this because I have accounts telling me that they were pressured into writing top!nicky or they wanted more readerships so I make a BIG assumption. I realized this is only a small part of switch and top!nicky fics and the big bulk of this must be out of genuine care. So yeah, I apologize for thinking that people only write top!nicky out of political correctness. I think writers should be allowed to write whatever they want. Yes this includes top!Nicky. And in whatever kinks they want it. However, this still doesn’t change that the discourses do scare people away from writing top!joe. Write top!nicky however you want, but stop vague-blogging about top!joe. racism isn’t inherent to top!joe and you can always remind people to be mindful with their writings but discouraging people from writing top!joe is not the solution. 

3. Top!joe is racist and people in the discord are racist. Okay, I am gonna touch several aspects why top!joe discord is considered racist: (1) because I don’t like to switch them, therefore I am racist. Sorry that’s not how it works. I have a clear preference and that’s just how I roll. Besides, a lot of people in the discord (including me) think either they switch (because they are 900 yo) or joe just doesn’t like bottoming. I’m not the kind of people who refers to reality for fiction I consume but people who prefer to top or to bottom exist (2) i want to be away from accountability and responsibility. Nope. The reason I made it is because I wanted to gather people with same interest as mine. 

4. I paint Yusuf as aggressive and the whole discord like him being an aggressive top. I think this is the only reason why the discord is seen in a negative light. Because wow what a coincidence that someone vagueblogged my discord at the day I celebrated about Nicky suggesting 20 years and wrote a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry. And beside someone made the WRONG assumption that we are focusing on Joe’s anger and violence (what). Okay, I don’t know how to break this down. But I will try. First, yes I was overjoyed at the news. Because I’m one of the people that do not like feral!nicky headcanon. I liked it at first bc it was funny but then it was twisted into Nicky being cold. So I don’t like it (lol), I still like it though but like I don’t seriously think that way. However, I never liked the idea that Nicky suggested higher than Joe. Because then his character just doesn’t click with me, there was a cognitive dissonance for me because joe clearly says nicky’s heart overflows kindness, you can see nicky as a medic in the credit montage. Also, from their body language and from the way the movie set em up, I think Joe is the one who suggested higher and I am glad to be proven right. Second, I did write a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry at Booker. People agreed with me, so I was not alone. But the reason I wrote that post is not because I wanted to paint yusuf as aggressive, but because I’m tired at people who think Joe shouldn’t display any negative emotions. I think it’s out of character. I do NOT think Joe is aggressive. That is NOT his wholeass personality. If you looked at my tog art tag, never once I portrayed Joe as anything aggressive. If I do, please show me. Third, people are conflating this with my post where I reblogged with a comment that implies aggressive Joe isn’t racism. Okay in this, the context is IN BED. It’s Joe being aggressive in BED. It’s literally BED ROLES AND FANTASY. I don’t even have a particular scenario in my head when I reblogged that, the original post clearly refers to bed roles with manhandling and kinks etc. like, why would you spank someone in public? Lastly, about the discord, NOPE, most people in the discord agree that Joe is either a GENTLE DOM or SERVICE TOP. But in my opinion, if someone likes Joe as an aggressive top (again, bed roles baby) I really don’t think it’s racism. It’s just... projection? 

anyway, back to joe’s emotions, these are posts from a moroccan man (paragraph #7) and a brown woman whose posts I agree with. Let’s be real, people of color are expected to shut up in favor of white people’s fragile feelings.

Now, about racism in fandom. I understand the concern because muslim men are painted as violent and aggressive. You know what I will never forgive those radicals for taking away innocents lives and to leave a lasting damage in how muslims are perceived in the west. However, you have to keep in mind, Joe in the movie is far from being stereotyped. I mean, Gina and Marwan practically greenlit him? Now, you might have concerns that writers are gonna turn him into a walking stereotype which is... okay, I understand that concern. But the solution is to communicate this ‘hey I think you make him too stereotypical in this etc etc’ not “write more top!nicky AND shame top!joe” because again, top!joe is not inherently racist.

also some people mentioned that they hope I recognize racial bias in the ship. dude, that goes without saying, all aspects of your life will be influenced by racial biases. however, this kind of thing is not specific to fandom/shipping. Like I said I’m fucking brown, friends and families with facial features that cater to white expectation are treated better. I did say at the bottom of this post, yeah I did notice why it’s always a brown character who’s always openly mad. And that’s in itself a form of racial bias. Racial biases affect everyone, white or POC, it doesn’t matter. But I got an issue with how people think this is racism. like how convenient, if by falling to racial biases mean you are a racist then what about those white people who created this racial biases in the first place? and I noticed the persons who got the audacity to cry about everything in this fandom is white?? I mean okay, they don’t know what I am, but not everyone is comfortable with sharing their private information like ethnic group, faith, etc. what if they really don’t want to share it? Because like you said, racial bias, whether good or bad will affect me. Now, I don’t know what white people are feeling, I’m not white. However, based on my interactions with them. We’re all just people sharing same interest, it could be they fall into racial biases, but all we shared about are just regular HCs. Even people making a conscious effort to combat racial bias still in essence fall for racial bias. You just cannot escape it.

According to this post, fandom assumes that the bottom is the proxy of writers, I don’t think this is applicable to everyone but let’s just say it’s true and people tend to write about their projection better so I’m gonna assume the racism part comes from the fact that..yeah I do think the bottom usually gets more fleshed out as a result of them being the writers proxy, so somebody posted this in the discord which I agree because yes I do think there’s a lack about yusuf’s background especially when it comes to crusade era:

but since I know most writers aren’t muslims, to me it’s not so much about racism but they simply know nothing about it, and not always out of ignorance either but in this climate, if you get a thing or two wrong you’d get harassed. so *shrugs* I understand the reluctancy. But here’s the thing, this is not about top/bottom issue but because most of the fandom are white so they have more freedom in writing the white character. Anyway, plenty of people have projected themselves into yusuf already, the whole “top/bottom” thing in this fandom is not even a thing. Yes, some writers project on the bottom so if you prefer bottom!joe that’s fine, somebody in the discord is doing a research and it turned out top!joe wasn’t even a CLEAR majority in JULY. So clearly they got their share already?

so please, let’s stop with the vitriol. if people are preferring top!joe it’s clearly because of different preferences. it’s not that deep. it’s the same way with how some people are preferring top!nicky. But we’re being driven out based on a hypothetical scenarios? like what do you want? for us to cease existing??? don’t be ridiculous.

I know people won’t listen to me. So this is my suggestion: LETS JUST IGNORE THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE. LET’S ALL JUST AGREE TO DISAGREE. 

[fandom-blackhole]

Sinful Sunday THOTS

So I'm starting this so this more so for myself. I was thinking, I take everyone else THOTS, but why not share my own? So on Sundays from now on I am going to post a list of THOTS I had during the week that I wrote down!

This weeks in shorter because I just got the idea last night and wrote them all up delirious with no sleep, so sorry for mistakes, but other words enjoy!

Thank you @fuckyeahbeskar for talking about two of these THOTS with me, and for telling me I should post one of them because that is what gave me this idea 😘

Sinful Sunday Masterlist

Pairings: Paz Vizsla x Reader, Priest!Din Djarin x Reader, Ezra (Prospect) x Reader

Paz Vizsla x Reader

So I love sweet Paz and all but what about enemies to lovers Paz?

I've thought about this one for awhile...

So you are part of the mandalorian tribe that Paz and the remains of his tribe had joined. Immediately you and Paz started fighting, you weren't sure why, but just something about him rubbed at you. It wasn't uncommon for others to walk into a room and find you and Paz butting heads, literally. The two of you had been separated multiple times by the leader of your tribe and the armorer, just to keep you both from killing eachother. Eventually you decide to just start avoiding him and ignoring his presence, tired of fighting over stupid things. Unfortunately that lasted only a month before your leader called you into the armory for an assignment. He told you that you were being sent on a supply mission along with one of the warriors from the other tribe. You nodded and didn't think much of it until you were preparing the ship and Paz came strutting towards you. All you could do was clench your teeth and cross your arms asking him why he was here. He had only stared at you for a minute before saying, "I've been assigned to the supply mission." After that he finished loading the ship before heading to set up the controls. You just growled and sent a comm to your leader saying that if you survived this mission you were going to kill him.

The supply mission was to take two weeks, one to the planet where the supplies were stored and another to get back. The first two days the two of you stayed away from eachother. But on the third day the two of you started butting heads and arguing. On the 5th day Paz had managed to corner of of the ship and pin you to the wall, and in that moment you hated how flushed and hot you felt. You had to end up taking a cold shower to calm down.

When the two of you finally reached the planet and loaded the ship with supplies you were glad to be able to take some time away from Paz as you wandered the market while he was off bartering with the merchants. You made sure to take your time before walking back to the ship to find Paz FUMING. You just shrugged past him and onto the ship, totally ignoring his angry words about you being late and being an idiot and so on.

The first day back in hyperspace was spent avoiding eachother again, but that night you were over come with the need to touch yourself. You hated it but as you played with your clit all you could imagine was Paz’s body pressed against yours, pinning you in place, how he would feel slamming into you. Much to your frustration you came with a long groan of his name.

The next day found you and Paz fighting again unsurprisingly, but this time was different. This time, Paz once again pinned you to the wall before leaning down and whispering in your ear, "You know the walls of this ship are thin, and I could hear every moan last night. Was I mistaken when I heard my name as well?"

Could you only reply breathlessly as he moved his thigh between you legs, "You fucking wish Vizsla." And he leaned down close, bumping his helmet with your own as he pushed his thigh against you and whispering something quietly under his breath before saying, "Mmm maybe you need to be punished for lying." He immediately spanked you, and you couldn't help but moan and you could feel his smirk as he did it again. Before grabbing your ass roughing and saying that you were going to be sore tomorrow, he was going to make sure of it. Paz took no time at all before pulling you pants down and turning you around to face the wall. You angrily started to protest, but was immediately shut up with another smack to the ass, with which you could only moan brokenly. You heard Paz chuckle,, before spanking you again, before rubbing a hand over your flesh. Then he harshly pulled you back into his chest and kicked you feet apart before immediately pressing his glove covered finger tips to you clit. Paz then told you, "Im gonna make this pussy weep for me until you are begging for my cock." And he kept his promise. Paz brought you orgasm after orgasm and by your fifth you were already starting to beg him. He only growled in your ear and slapped you pussy saying, "You can do better than that. Beg. Me." You tried again, but it also result in another harsh slap. This time you let out a broken sob and whined out, "Please, fucking please pleasepleaseplease, Paz give your cock... I need to feel it inside of me so badly. Fuck me pleaaaassseeee."

And before you could even take a breath you felt him slam his enormous cock into you. You could only whimper at the stretch and curse Paz. He only chuckled and wait a few seconds, detailing everything he wanted to do to you before he started pounding into you so hard you could barely stand or think straight. Paz didn't let up and railed you through several more orgasms before he came deep inside you himself.  Afterwards he carried you to bed and mockingly said, "Goodnight cyare."

The rest of the trip was spent with petty fights ending in fucking eachother senseless and by the time you arrived at the covert you found yourself somewhat disappointed that this was all going to end. But you were shocked when Paz turned to you after he had landed the ship and asked, "Marry me?"

You only smirked and said back, "Give me a good reason too, di'kut."

You heard him growl, before he pulled you onto his lap and said, "So I can look you in the eye as I fuck the life out of you, so I can finally shut that mouth of yours up with my cock down your thoat."

Let's just say that the other mandalorians avoided the ship for a few hours as they heard moans coming quite loudly from inside. The Armorer and the tribe leader both nodded to eachother and let out a sigh glad that they wouldn't have to deal with your shit anymore.

(In this THOT i also imagine Paz being absolutely infatuated with you from day one, and those feelings that rub at you is just intense attraction that you don't want to acknowledge. The Armorer and tribe leader set the trip up to try and push the two of you together so they didn't have to deal with the sexual tension so thick it could kill anyone that walked past. In the end the are fucking relieved it worked, though a little too well lmao)

Din Djarin x Reader

So Priest!Din thot....

After Sunday service one week you ask him innocently if he would like help cleaning up the chapel. Din smiles and says yes thank you. You wave your family to go ahead and wait for Din to finish speaking and saying goodbye to the parishioners. When the last woman leaves, little old Mrs. Taylor, he waves you inside. The two of you work in relative silence as you put away all the hymnals and bibles, the only noise being your movements and your own humming of one of the hymns from that day's service. By the time the two of you made it to the front of the chapel, you turn to eachother and pause looking at eachother before you both lean forward for a sweet kiss. When you pull back you smile at Din, before biting your lip and saying, "That was a beautiful service today, Father Djarin."

You could see Din's eyes dark the second you uttered his title. The look he gave you sent a warm shiver down to your lower belly. Then he reached forward and pulled you close whispering, "Only the best for my flock, my child." You couldn't suppress the small gasp that passed your lips as his hand moved to your hip backing you up until you felt your back hit the altar. You were shocked even more when Din suddenly lifted you and put you on the altar and immediately rolled you dress up your thighs whispering about how much he has been aching to feel you again. Din stops suddenly when he finds you missing your panties and he moans before grunting out, "A sinful temptress who just continues to seduce me with her wicked ways..." Then he's crashing his mouth on yours as he works to open his belt and pull out his aching cock. You can only meal against him he slowly slips into you. He stays fully seated inside of you for a minute, breathing harshly into you neck before pulling back to meet your eyes.

"You have no idea what you do to me, sweet girl. You.....you have consumed my every waking moment, and I cannot stop these sinful thoughts of you." Then he dives back down into the kiss as he starts pounding into you, muffins your moans and whines with his mouth. The two of you fuck passionately and full of forbidden love as you desecrate the altar of the most holy. Din praises and worships you and your body as if you were the diety he pledged his life too. When the two of you were thrown into the ultimate pleasure you met eachother's gaze and spoke the words you both wish you could say aloud.

Ezra (Prospect) x Reader

My Ezra THOT of the week....

Just a preface, Ezra has a prosthetic arm in this THOT...

You were a rather skilled prospector. You had almost a sixth sense for good dig spots and that made you raise through the ranks rather quickly. Even though you were valuable, you still were never able to hit a dig that allowed you to be payed enough to finally settle down. You were hoping this dig would be different. You'd been hired by a bigger company, and was going down to the planet with a crew of roughly 15. The way your employers had explained it, you all would be split into groups of three and whatever your group mined would be split into four, parts for the three of you, and one for the company. It was the best deal you had gotten, ever. The day you were to go to the moon you climbed aboard the shuttle and took a seat next to a man with a charming smile and a unique blonde patch. While waiting to leave the two of you became acquainted and learned his name was Ezra.

As it turned out, Ezra and you had been paired up in a group, along with a woman named Shelby. You also learned that Ezra was very much a talker and loved to please. Shelby got annoyed with his constant chatter, but you found yourself smiling softly and occasionally responding to his poetic words with sentences as graceful as you could make them. Loving the smile Ezra would shoot your way when you did. You also came to realize that Ezra would give nicknames to those that he latched onto and you learned quickly that he had dubbed you to be sunflower. At night the two of you would speak, sharing stories until Shelby would forcefully shut the lantern light out on you both telling you to shut the fuck up.

As grumpy as Shelby was, you were still hurt when one afternoon she disappeared for hours. Worried Ezra had gone to look for her only to come back with a grim look and a shake of the head. The two of you didn't speak the rest of the night, paranoid and not wanting to leave the other alone for a second. A few days later found you waking from sleep in a could sweat and with Ezra holding your face softly whispering reassuring words. That was the first night the two of you shared a cot, and after that it became a nightly occurrence. Eventually two of your three and a half month stay had passed and you found yourself looking up as Ezra walked into the shared tent after his shower in the communal space, he was shirtless and you watched as water dripped from his hair down his chest. He had immediately met your gaze and you blushed and turned back to your book quickly. You were shocked when you ft a finger trace you cheek, not having heard him approach. Then he spoke up and said, "Sunflower, I want you to promise me that if I cross a line, you will tell me. I in no way want to make you uncomfortable." You had only looked up at him confused. He responded by gently taking your book and setting it aside, before turning back to you and leaning in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, before he softly brushed his lips against your own. Whwn you didn't pull away, Ezra dived in and pushed the kiss further. Soon you found yourself sitting in Ezra’s lap, stipped of everything but your under clothes, and makeout passionately with the man who has haunted your thoughts since you heard his voice. You instinctively started grinding against Ezra as you started to feel a pressure in you belly, that resulted in him groaning and grabbing your waist before pulling back slightly and looking you in the eye. He traced your skin for a second, causing goosebumps to erupt everywhere before he whispered, "May I ask a favor, my bright sunflower," you only nodded in response before he rushed out quickly and not as poetic as you are sure he would have liked, "Sunflower, please, for the love of Kevva, climb over me and place those sweet lips above mine." You sat there confused for a second before it clicked and you shyly asked him, "You want me to sit on your face?" You say his eyes dilated as he nodded shakily and whispered out a singular, please. You could only nod and he gave you the prettiest smile as he flopped back onto the bed before just completely rippling you panties off of you. You could only whine as he pulled your hips up. Ezra made sure you were making eye contact with him when he picked a broad striped along you slit with a groan and several muttered words. Ezra repeated that a few times before he stopped at your clit one pass and sucked it into his mouth. You could only choke out his name roughly before he just started eating you out like there was no tomorrow. At one point he as you were getting closer he pulled back long enough to tell you not to hold back anything, to tell you to grind against his face. You only moaned in response before he pulled you down onto his mouth and dipped into you again. It didn't take you long to start gasping out his name, and when Ezra reached up and grabbed your breasts, pinching your nipples, you felt your eyes roll back as you came all over his face as he continued his ministrations dragging out your orgasm as long as you let him. When you finally came back to your body you found yourself laying on the bed and Ezra naked next to you already dozing, having cum from his own touches while he was tasting you.

[mrsalwayswrite]

The Prospective Bride (Finan x Reader)

Guys...I’m going to admit. I had entirely too much fun writing this. I hope y’all also like it. 

Can be read as reader or OFC. 

Warnings: Some swearing...I think that’s it.

Words: 4k 

Tag list: @happyveday​ @evelynshelby​

  "Uhtred! There you are! Uhtred!"

 "What does he want now?" Uhtred groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

 Finan shrugged, his own ire rising at the man's childish and shrill voice. "How much trouble ya think I'd be in if I stabbed him?"

 "Alfred may reward you…. save him the headache."

 They chuckled darkly as Aethelwold dropped onto the bench next to Finan at the alehouse. The two friends had been sitting happily and nursing cups of ale, waiting for the meeting with the king to begin. 

 "Did you hear the news?!" 

 "That ya're a turd?" Finan mocked.  

 "What?" Aethelwold glared at Finan then turned back to Uhtred. "No...no! Alfred in all his godly wisdom has seen fit to permit me more authority and responsibility…."

 "That's what you wanted." Uhtred interrupted, looking like he wanted to be just about anywhere but here at this moment.  

 "Yes, but...BUT, first I must marry."

 Finan snorted in his drink. "Poor lass."

 "Poor...poor lass?" Aethelwold sputtered, gaze darting back and forth between the two, "I... I have no intentions nor interest in marriage. Alfred will certainly find me a woman who is a harpy and will slowly suck my soul and purse dry...then, then! he won't have to kill me. Oh no, I will certainly wither away because of her."

 "Ya don't know that." Finan waved to the barmaid who brought over another cup of ale for all three at the table. 

 Aethelwold gladly took the cup, still sulking and bemoaning. "It is Alfred! He will make a mockery of me and this will be his way of reminding me of my place.  Mark my words."

 "If you say so." Uhtred rolled his eyes. "Do you know who this harpy is?"

 "No, well yes. I will. In three days. Her father is a wealthy lord of East Angelia. Alfred wishes to open up trade with him specifically. He hopes this trade will better relations between Wessex and East Angelia, to unite us all. To further this, he wishes to broker a marriage to this lord's daughter with myself. To show I am willing to do my duty for Wessex." Aethelwold finished sarcastically then promptly drained his cup of ale in one go. 

 "This may be good for you. Perhaps she is beautiful and you will want to hump only her." Uhtred tried to reason but to no avail. 

 "Oh, all the whores in Wintanceaster will wail at the loss of my coin and cock then." He rose to his feet. "I must leave you now. I must make sure I have a clean tunic to meet my prospective wife."

 The two watched the king's nephew strut away, then get distracted by a whore leaning out of a nearby doorway. 

 Finan turned back to his lord and friend. "That poor lass…Alfred would not really do that, would he?"

 Uhtred shrugged. "If it was for the good of Wessex, he would."

 Finan shook his head. He hoped Alfred knew what he was doing, what he could potentially subject some pious, sheltered girl too. Aethelwold would not be a good husband. Finan took another sip of his ale, listening to the sounds of the bustling city around him. A part of him was curious about the girl. If he was lucky, he hoped to see her before having to listen to that pig's arse lament anymore about marriage. That bastard would be lucky if any woman ever chose to willingly marry him. 

 *****

 I stood to my father's side as he greeted the king of Wessex. We had arrived last night, directed towards an inn where we were able to rest and refresh ourselves so we could meet King Alfred this morning. 

 Having left the guards who traveled with us back at the inn, it was only my father, myself and the two advisors standing in the throne room. The greetings had been formal between our two parties. I spoke not a word, my father introducing me as I gave a polite incline of my head. Here I was to keep up the appearance of a proper lord's daughter, something beautiful to look at that knows how to keep silent. What most did not know was the intelligent mind kept hidden behind my pretty face...and that was to my father's benefit. Especially with conducting trade, no one suspected me of gathering intel and information to relay back to him. 

 This was not the first time we had used these roles.

 "Now that pleasantries are done, shall we proceed to discussing business? Perhaps in my study with some refreshments? " Alfred said, hands clasped in front of him.

 "Certainly," my father nodded. With a quick glance at me, my father looked back at the king. "Perhaps while we are talking business, my daughter may tour your fair city...with a guard of course."

 "I thought she could join my wife in prayer."

 I fervently suppressed a snort. 

 "Later, when the heat of the day is greatest. We did not get to see much of the city as we arrived late last night. A walk would do her good, as she has not much experience in the world. Seeing a great city of God as yours is would be a blessing to her." 

 Alfred had met his match with my father. Both were clever men who used words to manipulate to obtain the result they desired. I almost wished I could stay and watch their verbal sparring; it would be most entertaining...but I had a duty to do. My father would want to hear of my thoughts of the city and its people...and the king's nephew.  

 "I see. Said that way I can certainly not refuse." Alfred waved a hand to his side. "Aethelwold will escort her. He was born and raised here and has knowledge of the area. I shall send Steapa as extra protection although it is unnecessary."

 "I thank you but I would ask that Steapa remains so we may garner his insight on trade routes and guards needed for them. I have heard of your man, Uhtred. That he is a great warrior. If he is here, I would prefer him and his men to guard my daughter for she is my greatest joy...but do not tell her mother I said that. She may become envious."

 Alfred momentarily looked like he sucked on a lemon. With obvious reluctance he agreed. "Uhtred," he called, looking past us, over towards the back of the room, "you and your man will guard the lady and Aethelwold. You will do your utmost to be good representations of Wessex and all we hold dear."

 "Yes, lord." Came from the back. 

 My father reached over and pressed a fatherly kiss to my forehead before whispering in my ear, "You know what to do. Be good."

 "Am I not always?"

 He chuckled; he was just as mischievous than I was. My mother claimed if I had been born male, I would have been a duplicate of my father. Quickly he swept out of the room with King Alfred, Steapa and several other advisors and priests. The doors shut behind them with a resounding bang. 

 "My lady."

 I turned to see a man with a round, boyish face and haircut that looked like he tried to do it himself. So, this was the man Alfred wanted to betroth me to. He looked like I could poke him in the eye and he would run away crying for his mother. 

 "I am Aethelwold, it is my greatest honor to meet you." He bowed slightly and grasped my hand, giving it a quick, sloppy kiss on the back of it. "Shall we?"

 Following slightly behind him, I could already see that all the rumors and stories I had heard about him were true. I had hoped they were an exaggeration. Luckily I knew my father would never force me to marry a pompous twat like him. This whole meeting was for show and for me to gather an impression of Wessex outside of Alfred for my father. I just had to play along for now. I wondered how many times I would need to remind myself of that while in Aethelwold's company. 

 Once outside, the sun felt delightful on my face. I could not help but look up and breathe in its warmth. Why ever would ladies willingly stay inside to pray or sew or gossip was beyond my understanding.  There were far more interesting things to do. It was once we stepped outside of the palace that I took notice of our shadows. 

 Turning around I glanced at the two men, both in some armor and with weapons on them. One had long hair with a thin beard, vibrant blue eyes and a sword strapped to his back. Between his looks and his clothing, he looked almost like a Dane. I guessed this must be the infamous Uhtred. The other one had a thick, full beard, dark eyes with laugh lines around them, a sword hanging off his hip and a cross that hung from his neck. Interesting. 

 "You are Uhtred, yes? The savior of Wessex and all Saxons?" I asked teasingly. I had heard so many stories of the man from my father's side. Were they all true though? It was easy for rumors and stories to be exaggerated and the hero to be no more than a wood-mouse even if the stories painted him as a dragon. Although looking at him, I would suspect the dragon. 

 He smirked, eyeing me. "Perhaps. Though Alfred would say it was his God that saved Wessex."

 "Yet it is you who wields the sword." I shrugged, turning my gaze to his companion, who was watching us with unrestrained amusement. "And who are you?"

 "I am Finan, my lady."

 An Irishman? I certainly had not expected that. Nor the way his gaze and accent put a warmth in my belly. 

 "It is a pleasure to meet you both."

 "Yes, yes, they are guarding us so they are to walk behind us silently!" Aethelwold stressed the last word, giving a glare to both. He placed a hand lightly on my lower back, redirecting me down the steps of the palace and into the bustling city. 

 I caught an eye roll from Uhtred as Aethelwold spoke, not that I could blame him. It was when I met Finan's eyes and he winked at me...oh this was going to be fun. 

 Normally I would slap away the hand of any man who thought they could corral or control me. For now, I allowed Aethelwold to keep a guiding hand on my lower back, more to see what he would do and to witness people's reactions. It did not escape my notice the further we walked, the lower his hand slowly slipped. 

 We walked by the palace and some shops, our walk casual and relaxed. I listened to Aethelwold ramble on about this or that, keeping my eyes and ears open to our surroundings. What I had seen so far of the capital of Wessex impressed me. There was certainly wealth here, far more than in Mercia. This would be a good place to commence trade for my father. 

 It was also at this point that Aethelwold's hand had slipped down to the point where his fingers were caressing the top of my arse with each movement. I gritted my teeth at the feeling and at how unaffected he seemed by it. This was unseemingly in public, let alone how to treat a lord's daughter. If this was his standard of respect for a lord's daughter in public, I shivered at the thought of how he would treat his wife. Clearly a woman was only something to hump and amuse him. 

 If he thought that idea included me...he was very wrong. 

 "What is in that direction?"

 Aethelwold looked to where I pointed. "Ah, just a short cut towards the blacksmith's. He prefers to have his shop on the outskirts of the city."

 "I would like to see it."

 "Why? There is nothing of interest for a lady as yourself."

 Oh?

 "Nevertheless, I would like to go."

 "If you insist." He forced a smile and guided me towards the alley that served as a shortcut. 

 It was when we were about a third of the way that I stopped. I could see some people walking past the alley but no one was paying attention to the four persons now stopped. A row of buildings was to our left, the back facing us. On our other side was a small coop with chickens and an overly eager rooster, who had no qualms making his presence known. Otherwise, we were alone.

 "My lady, is someth…"

 I ignored Aethelwold. Abruptly I sidestepped away from him so his hand was no longer touching me. His touch had become more and more repulsive as we walked. Rounding on our two shadows, I focused on Uhtred first. 

 Their quiet commentary had not gone unnoticed by me but Aethelwold pointedly ignored them as he continued to give me the "tour". 

 "Are you Alfred's man?"

 Uhtred crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you mean, my lady?"

 "Is this necessary?" Aethelwold tried to put his hand on me again but I smacked it away, still ignoring him otherwise. 

 "Do you report everything you see and do to Alfred? Are you his man or do you just follow his orders to fulfill your oath?"

 He raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure but curious where I was going with this. "I am not Steapa if that is what you ask."

 I nodded then turned my gaze to Finan. "And you, Irishman?"

 "I just do what my Lord Uhtred says." He chuckled, a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he met mine. 

 "Good." I smiled brightly at them, putting all my charm in and batting my lashes for fun. "I would hate to get in trouble. My father would be ever so disappointed in me."

 "What are you...oh!" Aethelwold started but his words cut off when I roughly shoved him against the back of one of the buildings. He stumbled, not expecting the force and slammed against the wood. 

 As he stumbled, I prowled after him, a snarl on my face. In a well-practiced move, I bent and pulled the dagger out of its sheath I always kept strapped to my lower leg and tucked just slightly into my boot. In an instant, it was in my hand and pressed firmly just between his legs. If his cock twitched, he would feel the edge of my blade. My other hand grabbed his jaw so his focus could only be on me. 

 "Let us get something straight. You try and touch me again; I will turn you into a eunuch. You keep your hands and any ideas of your cock to yourself. Got it?" 

 "Ah, yes. Of course, my apologies, I just...ah, ah, AH!" He paled even further when I moved the blade slightly. 

 "One more thing. You are a piece of shit. I will never marry you, nor will anyone force me to. And if by some miracle, it is arranged. Know this. On our wedding night, I will kill you before you even think about touching me. I am only here to open negotiations between my father and King Alfred. Nothing more. Now…" I slowly dragged the dagger up his torso to land at the base of his throat. "We can continue the tour with a better understanding of one another, yes?"

 "Yes?" He squeaked out. 

 "Good. We will be seeing much of one another the next few days. It shall be fun." I giggled, stepping away from him. A quick glance behind me showed Uhtred with a hand over his mouth, desperately trying to suppress laughter. Finan on the other hand had the biggest grin on his face and a starstruck look in his eyes. 

 I sent him a quick wink, finding myself enjoying that look in his dark eyes. 

 Done threatening my prospective husband, I knelt to replace the dagger in its sheath. Although I always carried it on my person and I knew how to use it well; only a few knew of it and I liked to keep it that way. 

 As I started to rise, a hand came into view. Finan stood before me with his hand out. Quickly I accepted and allowed him to help me to my feet, even if it was unnecessary. His hand felt too good holding mine, the roughness I knew to only come from swordplay, the hand of a warrior. He squeezed my hand slightly before letting go. 

 "Do you know the way to the blacksmith's?"

 "I do."

 "Excellent." I wrapped my arm through his, placing my hand on his forearm. "Will you escort me? I am in desperate need of a new dagger and would like to see what Wessex has to offer."

 That slow, lazy smile I was growing quite fond of spread on his face, dark eyes alight. "Aye, we would not want ya in lack, now would we?"

 "Lord Uhtred, do you believe Wessex will be in greater need of grain and iron this year? I hear King Alfred is continuing to build more burhs due to increased raids in Mercia."

 He answered my question from just behind me. "I suspect, my lady. Although East Angelia needs to remain vigilant in their own defenses."

 "Certainly. King Aethelstan is no fool. Even if he prefers to use priests instead of swords as of late."

 As we walked, we discussed trade and the Danes. Both were impressed with my knowledge and insight, to which I explained that I was my father's only child. He raised me as if I was a son because to him, I am his heir. 

 And if I happened to enjoy the feeling of strong muscles under my hand and warm breath dancing over my skin whenever dark eyes met mine...who could blame me? His Irish accent may also have something to do with my slowly decreasing proximity and increased flirtation. 

 The visit to the blacksmith was entertaining. Uhtred, Finan and myself along with the blacksmith, Aldwin, spoke easily of weapons. In the end, I chose a lovely dagger with a promise to come retrieve and pay for it this evening.

 The whole time Aethelwold grumbled just off to the side, looking like a petulant child. 

 "What will happen when you marry?" Uhtred asked as we walked lazily back in the direction of the palace. 

 "My father will never allow me to marry a fool for his lands, tenants and trade are important to him. He would want someone who is a good lord to replace him."

 "Will that not be ya?" Finan asked. 

 "Yes, unless I marry. Even then I still plan on being involved in everything. I am not one to sit idly by." I paused, smirking to myself as I looked around. "Perhaps I should not bother with marriage at all. The only thing I need is an heir of my own. I could take a lover, become with child and that would solve the problem."

 "I suspect many men will be disappointed when they hear that. I for one think the idea holds merit." Finan held my gaze and with that smirk that spoke of trouble.

 I stopped, turning to face him slightly. "Mmm? Is that your way of volunteering to be my lover?"

 "If the position is open…" He leaned down, his lips ghosting faintly over the rim of my ear. "I promise to make it worth ya time."

 That touch sent a fire burning in my veins and when I caught his eyes, I thought I could see the same desire reflected. "I would hate to be disappointed." I purred, running a finger slowly down his chest. 

 Uhtred coughed loudly from behind us. 

 My cheeks warmed at the reminder we were in public. For a brief moment all I could see and hear was him...and how much I wanted to see if those lips tasted as good as they looked.

 Up ahead I could see Lady Aelswith standing on the top of the steps with a priest on either side of her. Her hands clasped in front of her, eyes scanning the crowd intently. 

 I groaned, earning a chuckle from the warriors. I had hoped she would leave me alone but clearly, she thought I was in desperate need of prayer. After spending time with Finan, my imagination certainly could do with a cleansing.

 "Thank you for escorting me today." 

 "It was our pleasure." Uhtred said. 

 Instead of saying anything, Finan lifted my hand to his lips. His eyes remained glued to mine as his lips touched my skin. It should be illegal how a simple kiss on the hand could feel so erotic. Unable to help myself, my thumb stroked his bottom lip before he could release me. 

 Aelswith finally noticed me and called my name loudly. If the pinched look on her face said anything, she was not pleased to see me walking so comfortably with Lord Uhtred and his man. 

 I smiled at both warriors, taking a step back. I glanced over to the side to see the still sulking Aethelwold.  "Pleasure to meet you. It was most...informative." Spinning on my heel, I started towards the queen not even bothering to hear Aethelwold's response.

 I knew my father planned on being here for a few days before returning home. I could only hope during the upcoming days I would be able to see more of Lord Uhtred and his man. 

 Especially his man. 

 I might need to bathe in holy water when we returned home. 

 *****

 "I think I'm in love." Finan murmured to himself, watching her hips sway as she walked away. 

 "I do not think I have ever been so insulted in my life." Aethelwold grumbled, coming to stand on Uhtred's other side. "Harpy. As I said. She may have an attractive appearance but still a harpy. Although, it would be fun to bed her. I bet she rides well."

 Finan rounded on the smaller man. "Say another word and I'll gut ya like a fish."

 "Ooo...so protective. The way you two were practically eye-fucking, I would say…"

 Uhtred wisely grabbed the front of Aethelwold's tunic and shoved him a step back. "You will say no more or I will let him gut you. How dare you put your hands on her like you did earlier!" 

 "I….it was nothing. Just a bit of fun."

 "Can I gut him now, lord?"

 Uhtred sighed and released the king's nephew. "He is not worth the effort. Let us go, Finan."

 The Irishman fell into step with his friend. If he heard one more degrading word out of the pig's arse, his restraint would vanish. 

 "I do agree with one thing that Aethelwold said." Uhtred suddenly said after they walked a few minutes. 

 "What was that?"

 "You were quite taken with her."

 Finan laughed, grabbing the neckline of his tunic. "Aye, I don't deny it. She…I have never met a woman like her before. When she grabbed the turd and stuck her dagger between his legs…"

 "I am surprised he did not piss himself." Uhtred chuckled. "Yet I must warn you of something."

 Finan looked over at the sudden serious tone. "What?"

 "If she does take you as a lover, be careful." Then the cocky bastard had a shit-eating grin. "I would hate to see her damage you. I still have need of you."

 Finan threw his head back laughing as he slapped Uhtred on the shoulder. They headed towards the Inn to hopefully find Sihtric and Osferth.  

 As they walked Finan could not get the memory of her on his arm and smiling out of his head. Nor how her touch and heated gaze made him want to pleasure her in every way. He prayed he would get to see and speak with her again. Perhaps he could further convince her to allow him to be her lover, for he would surely be hers and only hers without question. 

[pillage-and-lute]

Thicker Than Water (Part 8)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, (here)

Ao3 link HERE

Please note, this is pretty heavy, it deals with a lot of common insecutiries for adults with ADHD and Jaskier blames himself for a lot of things, but it’s not triggering in the traditional sense. Much of this fic has been about the ways Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria and other ADHD symptoms can cause self-destructive actions, this focuses on other insecurities, common blames, and then the self-isolation that can come from guilt, even unfounded guilt.

Please remember, in this fic’s world Geralt and Jaskier actually do have a loving and pretty healthy friendship, albeit with communication issues. People fight some times, these are just ways in which RSD can mess with healthy relationships.

OTHER TW: Mentioned child abuse.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Yennefer and Ciri asked Jaskier to come down for supper that evening. Between lunch and dinner he’d napped, evidently passing out wasn’t the same as actual good-quality rest and his body was demanding it’s due. Evening came around, though and Yen took his elbow to help him stand.

They walked at a slow pace down the hall, Jaskier’s body not up for much more. Ciri stuck behind them, but the pace was embarassingly painstaking.

“Ciri,” Yennefer said. “This is a lot for Jaskier, and will take some time, why don’t you go see if they need help in the kitchen?”

Ciri gave one more concerned look at Jaskier, then bounded off. 

Yennefer steered Jaskier to an alcove in the stone of the hallway. He was embarrassed to find himself out of breath.

“What are you going to do?” She asked him. She wasn’t asking about his lungs.

“Eat supper I suppose.”

“I mean about Geralt.”

He knew she meant Geralt, and sighed. “I don't know, Ciri says I'm angry and I am...”

“But?”

“That day on the mountain I didn’t give him space,” Jaskier said, feeling a lump grow in his throat, blocking off his already small air supply.

“I never know when to give people space, I never have, I've been working on it my whole life and I still don't understand.” His chest ached. With emotion, with pneumonia, with tiredness. With shame.

“I’ve always been different, you know?” He looked up at Yennefer. He was taller than her but she sat regally, and he was hunched over, conserving his air.

“In stories being different is usually a good thing, you get cool powers and people love you, but life isn’t like that. And being different is...it’s so much worse when you’re a kid.”

“I know,” Yennefer said. Those purple eyes...she knew. She understood, probably better than anyone. There were parts of her story that Jaskier didn’t have, wasn’t entitled to, but she understood.

“I cant do things I'm not interested in, not don’t want to, can’t. Even if I am interested, they don't always get done,” Jaskier whispered, like he was confessing to a priest, not a barely-friendly witch in a cold hallway.

“I’m nothing but a ball of loose ends, tangled up and bouncing around, running into people and making them as tangled as I am,” Jaskier said. It came out half-sobbed, which upset his breathing and he began to wheeze, then cough.

“If I’m not interested in something, if nothing lights up my mind, I get so sad and tired it’s like this horrible weight.” Jaskier kept talking, feeling the emotions fighting to get out. “Being around people helps, I can get things done, be more normal. And interesting people, oh they’re the best, of course. They keep that awful sad, tired feeling away because they’re always interesting.”

He looked down at his knees, wrapped in their battered trousers.

“But I need to be around them so much,” he whispered. “And I’m too much for anyone to want around long.”

He leaned his head against the cold stone of the alcove wall, staring blankly and watching as his field of vision blurred with tears.

“I’m dramatic,” he said. 

“You’re a bard.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Dad called me a pansy, among worse things. He tried to beat it out of me. I just, I seem to feel more than other people. Happy is more happy, but sadness, fear, rejection, they’re all so much worse. I overreact and it makes me hard to deal with.”

He felt a tear roll down and get caught in the scruff on his chin. “I need people though, and I need people to like me. Crowds come and go I just needed one person to like me so I forced it to be Geralt.”

Jaskier was crying in ernest now, full tears falling and shoulders shaking, clogging up his breathing so his cries mingled painfully with coughs. Yennefer reached out and pulled at his shoulder, bringing him up from his hunched over position.

“I’m angry at him even though it was my fault,” he said, wretchedly.

“I followed him and took advantage of the fact that he doesn’t talk because he wont tell me to go away. I took advantage of his patience like that so someone could keep me around and I let myself believe that he actually wanted me around, that just one person could bear being around me. And being with him left me time to go seek out other interests, go ahead or stay behind, I never got bored and it was perfect for me and probably hell for him.”

Jaskier sniffled, looking away and studying the wall because he couldn’t bear to see the condemnation that would surely be on Yennefer’s face.

“And I fell in love with him. Which was stupid because I've been using him this entire time,” he whispered. 

“I used him for music and money, then I used him to bandage my self esteem and its all my fault.”

Jaskier finally managed to look at Yennefer and saw that she was actually rolling her eyes.

 “It’s not your fault, he was on a horse, you were walking, he could have left you behind anywhere.”

“He’s too kind to leave me to die on my own.”

“What about towns?” Yennefer asked. “What about the djinn?”

“The djinn was my fault.”

“The djinn was his fault,” Yennefer said, stubbornly.

“The djinn was my fault, I thought he was joking. He’d do that, you know? I’d ask him what he was doing and he’d say ‘cooking a unicorn’ or ‘hunting a gabledegook��� so I just thought he was joking again because I thought surely a djinn was only a story. Even if they weren’t there was no reason Geralt would want one. I made horrible wishes, they could have ruined lives, can you imagine?”

“I can.”

Of course she could. It had been stupid of him to say that, Yennefer knew better than anyone how a careless wish, or even a not so careless one, could turn out.

“I have to ask,” Jaskier said, since Yennefer didn’t seem in the mood to turn him into a salamander. “Did geralt wish for you to love him?”

“He wished for me to be bound to him the sex was just...adrenaline, magic, wanting another outsider, a little bit of the djinn. I won’t do it again.” She said, fervently.

“You don’t have to promise that, I have no claim to him,” Jaskier said.

“No one has claim to anyone,” Yennefer snapped. “But you love him. Anyway, I wasn’t telling you, I don’t want him. I don’t want sex with him I want his destiny, our destiny, nothing more.”

“I love him very much,” Jaskier said, after she settled from her outburst.

“Have you ever told him?”

Never, he might think he owes me something.”

“I think you think he’s more self sacrificing than he is. He wouldn't date you out of obligation, he’s not that sort of man.”

Jaskier tilted his head back against the stone. “But he feels guilty, for everything, all the time. What if he did it as an apology.”

“Geralt wouldn't do you the disservice of a pity relationship.” 

“We had a pity friendship.”

“You didn't.”

“We did.”

Yennefer peered at him with those strange eyes. “You love him though.”

“I do.”

“I don’t think its a lost cause.”

“I do.”

Yennefer shifted, pulling her hair over one shoulder. “When I asked earlier, I meant what do you want to do after this? Do you even want to see Geralt?”

“Oh gods I rambled and --”

“Shut up, you needed it off your chest.”

Jaskier sighed. “I always want to see Geralt, but I don't think I should be around him. He needs more space than most people and I need less. I do want an apology, I don't want him to grovel, I don’t want him to beg for me back in his life because that's a choice I want him to make on his own. I don’t even need him to tell me through speech because I know that can be hard. He could write a letter.I just...”

“And if you got an apology?”

“I intend to apologize first. I’ll apologize, maybe he’ll apologize, and that way we can at least be friendly, if not friends. And then in the spring I’ll leave, take a different path and it won’t matter anymore.”

I won’t be able to hurt him anymore, Jaskier thought, darkly.

“Nilfgaard wants you,” Yennefer warned. 

“I know,” Jaskier sighed. “I may have to fake my death or... oh!” He looked up at Yen, smiling even as he wanted to cough. 

“You can wipe my memory!”

Yennefer actually recoiled. 

Jaskier’s excitement had set off the coughing and he felt it tear through his throat and squeeze at his ribs until the fit eased.

“I’m not wiping your memory,” Yennefer said, severely.

“Why not? Yen, it’s the perfect solution, and Nilfgaard couldn’t get anything out of me.”

“And Geralt get’s his damned wish,” Yennefer snarled.

Jaskier looked down. “I know he didn’t mean it, he’s a good man, he wouldn’t wish anyone gone in that way, but yes, that wish would be granted and I’d never bother him again.”

“Geralt has a habit of making stupid wishes that he doesn’t actually want granted,” Yennefer snapped.

“You’re supposed to be on his side,” Jaskier said, smiling wetly. “It’s my fault, remember?”

“I don’t think even Geralt’s on Geralt’s side,” Yennefer said. “I won’t take your memories. You wouldn’t remember anything.”

Jaskier deflated. “I guess I’m as good as dead if I can’t remember songs or how to play the lute.”

Yennefer shifted uncomfortably.

“I would forget how to play, wouldn’t I?”

“Well...” she said. “No. You would remember anything you’d learn, knowledge isn’t memories, you know? You’d even know your songs, just not why you knew them or that you’d written them.”

“If you won’t do it, is there a mage who will? I’d only need to get to a city, how much do you think a spell like that would cost?”

Yennefer groaned. “No, bard, I’ll do it. If it’s what you still want, if you’re sure at the end of winter, yes, I’ll take your memories. It’s better than some quack doing it, or worse, turning you in to Nilfgaard but...I don’t like it.”

Jaskier was surprised to see her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I won’t take that choice from you,” she said, blinking hard. “But I hope it’s not the one you make.” She sniffed, she tried to make it seem disdainful but it was definitely tearful. 

“Anyway,” she said. “What about Ciri? She adore’s you, if you didn’t remember her it would break her heart.”

Jaskier waved a hand. “I”m only a storyteller,” he said, wishing bitterly that it wasn’t true. “She has a whole marvelous family full of stories they can tell her.”

“Didn’t you hear her, she doesn’t feel like this is a family,” Yennefer said, sharply. 

“We’ll fix that.”

“So that you can abandon her, you mean?”

Jaskier grimaced. “It’ll be safer for her. Even if I traveled with Geralt, there’s no guarantee Nilfgaard wouldn’t take me, wouldn’t read my mind and put her in danger.” He looked Yennefer right in the eyes. “I won’t let myself hurt her.”

Yennefer hung her head. “We’ll discuss it at the end of winter,” she said. “Do you still feel up to dinner?”

Jaskier thought about it. He felt lighter, in a way, unburdening himself of the guilt he’d been carrying was better, but he was exhausted, and his chest felt raw. 

“I think I’d rather eat in my rooms,” he said sheepishly. 

He ate dinner alone, wishing he wasn’t but he was practicing giving people space, and he felt proud of himself for it. He only had to continue it, apologize, and get through the winter.

Then he’d never remember he had problems to begin with.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They will get there. Please read the note at the top, these are all very common ADHD insecurities and relationship problems. Remember, Geralt is not the villain. He needs to apologize, and he’s trying, but the villain is the insecurity.

Tag List!

@frywen-babbles @mordoriscalling @thedarkestangel1 @kerfufflezz  @samukai  @charlies-dragon @live-long-and-trek-on  @holymotherwolf @morte-mistrata @mewithanie @sharondnovels @stinastar @ionlylikemycat @annafortoday @its-the-quenchiest-stuff @kkiyomizu @so--many-fandoms @endless-whump @ineffable-monster-romancer @tookarma @seraphim-miryam  @sweetiepieplum @nerdy-numinuos @ravenclaw-dirt