#also that tails one about the storms actually made me far too emotional no one talk to me for the next 2-8 bussiness days

[marzinstarz]

my personal takeaways from the twitter takeover i can die happy rn

[delimeful]

(don’t) take this the wrong way (7) (END)

final chapter of dtttww :) i had a lot of fun with this verse so i may take requests set in it in the future, and this might receive some more copy editing later, but for now this is the epilogue!

warnings: mild injury, mild hypnosis, for once no miscommunication :)

-

[Several months later…]

Sunlight trickled down through the water in wavy bands, illuminating the shallows and growing fainter and fainter as the distance from the surface increased.

Virgil didn’t spend much time in the shallows, too wary of being without escape, being made vulnerable to human vessels or poachers. Despite his dark and gloomy aesthetic, he couldn’t go too far into the depths either, simply because his fragile fish bones weren't built for it. His eyes weren’t built for it either, and down there where anything could be lurking, he would need more than speed to avoid danger.

So, on an average, sunny day like this, he could be found miles offshore, in waters that were easily too deep for unsuited humans to reach, but still well-illuminated by the light above.

There were a few old wrecks scattered about the ocean floor here, and though they’d probably been stripped by a pod in the past, he figured he’d go through them and check for anything that was left behind. Things that weren’t useful to a pod could certainly be things that were useful to him, after all.

He’d been poking through the undercarriage of one of the larger ships for an hour or two, relaxed as he ever got. He could take his time. The only creatures around to judge him were the shoals of fish and layers of barnacles built up amidst the metal, wood, and rust.

Actually… Virgil paused in his inspection of an old cutlery set to glance around.

What had happened to the fish?

Through a hole in the ship’s hull, he watched as a broad shadow passed over the ground and ships alike, large enough to belong to a whale.

There hadn’t been a single shred of whalesong above.

Virgil edged further back from the hole, eyeing the outside warily as the shadow receded, leaving behind only wavering sunlight on sand as though it had never been there at all.

There was nothing here that was worth sticking around.

He carefully made his way back to one of the other exits, in the opposite direction of where he’d seen the shadow head, the strokes of his fin cutting through the water with barely a whisper. The porthole was easily wide enough for him, and the ocean stretched out blue and vast before him, a promise of safety if he just moved fast enough.

A moment’s pause, to make sure he didn’t hear or see anything out of place, and then he was out, flitting from rock outcropping to bone reef and scanning the seas above. Not for the first time, he wished his scales were a little less distinctive in the day.

Behind him, an ominous creak.

He froze, and watched with mounting apprehension as a shadow spilled over him, looming closer and darker than before. The silhouette of an arm stretched out, heading towards him…

“Virgil, you must help,” a huge voice pleaded, “I’ve been had.”

He twisted around just in time to see a huge arm flop down onto the floor next to him, kicking up a cloud of sand and panicked burrower fish in the process.

It was wrapped in heavy wire netting from fingertips to forearm, and behind it, a giant mer was pouting at him with the best seal pup eyes he could manage, which, considering who his best friend was, were fairly potent.

Roman was huge, and he was a shark, with teeth and claws designed to shred and tear, and hands that could enclose him entirely-- but his elbows were braced against the ground with delicate balance so he wouldn’t crush anything, and he’d never grabbed for Virgil past that first disastrous encounter, and even now, his brow was furrowing with worry.

“Pufferfish status?” he asked, voice lowered from the dramatic plea of before.

Virgil’s mouth pulled up at the corners without his permission.

Roman was huge, yes, but he was also theatrical and eager and witty, full of sharp return quips for every barb Virgil had to offer.

He could hurt him, but he wouldn’t. Virgil believed that much.

“Prickly for a second, but I’m smooth now,” he answered, shrugging away the last of the tension. “Try not to sneak up on me without a warning click?”

“You have my word,” Roman replied, and if someone had told him months ago that he’d dare to ask anything of a giant mer, he’d have laughed in their faces. Now, Virgil knew that just like all the other requests, Roman would do his best to heed it.

“But really, my fingers are starting to feel numb. Help?” he entreated with a tilt of his head, shifting his net-wrapped hand a little closer.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t go away, though it tilted more towards amused now. He darted forward, twisting in a spiral around Roman’s hand to try and see the extent of the damage.

“How’d you even manage this? At least I had the excuse of being caught up in a storm,” he snarked, picking at a loose section with his claws. Roman’s fingers twitched a little, and he shot him an apologetic glance.

“I was… perhaps… trying to get a glimpse of those sailors that Logan mentioned patrolled the coast?” Roman offered, more than a little sheepish.

Virgil’s gaze turned sharp in a heartbeat. “Did they spot you?”

Logan had warned both Patton and Roman several times that not many humans would take as kindly to their long-term existence near human settlements as Logan himself had.

“No!” Roman assured, “I was very stealthy, truly, I was just… so focused on being stealthy that I missed the other vessel and the nets it had dragging along behind it. It could have happened to anyone!”

“I seriously doubt that,” Virgil replied dryly. He’d snapped a few of the looser wires with his teeth, but already his jaw was beginning to ache with the strain. “Well, you get to explain this to Specs, ‘cause we’re going to need his expertise in detangling for this one.”

Roman groaned in answer, dropping his head to plonk against the ground.

---

Logan carefully set one foot in front of the other, all of his focus on the thin strip of rock below him.

If he switched his gaze to even a few inches to either side, he’d be faced with the sight of a vertigo-inducing drop to the waves below, one that would have all but the most experienced tightrope walkers dizzy with panic.

His gaze didn’t move, though, unerringly focused on the ground beneath him, and on his own body. There was no need to look at anything but the ledge, a soft presence confirmed in the back of his mind, because he wasn’t going to fall.

Another part of him was skeptical, seeing as he wasn’t known for a lack of clumsiness by most. There was just so much to get distracted by, and it was so easy to look away and miss a curb or accidentally trip over his own feet--

But not now. Now, he was focused on just this one task, a gentle voice dragging his attention back whenever it began to stray. He was hyper aware of where each of his limbs were and where he needed to put them to continue forward, step by careful step.

Only a little farther…

“Logan!”

The harsh call snapped him right out of the trance, and he was abruptly made very aware of both the distance he could fall and the effects that sudden instinctual terror had on his sense of balance.

“Newton’s fucking Cradle,” he swore, and then wobbled again, precariously close to falling over.

There was the sound of water crashing against rock, and in the next moment, two giant hands had curled up on either side of him like the shells of an oyster. They provided him some much needed stability to lean his weight against, and he struggled to steady his breathing as relief swept through him.

“It’s okay, Virgil, I won’t let him fall! No cliffs, ands, or buts about it,” Patton’s voice was muffled, but not enough to miss the pun.

Logan sighed loudly, but he also shifted to let his full weight rest against the curl of Patton’s left palm, tapping twice to let him know it was alright for him to move.

His stomach still swooped slightly as Patton slowly shifted his hands away from the thin rock ledge, but there were some things that one had to adapt to when living with two very affectionate, grabby sea giants, and being toted around was one of those things.

Before long, he was level with the flattest segment of rock that made up their meeting place, which could be called an island if one was feeling gracious, but was really more of a collection of rocky spires and bridges that stuck out of the ocean.

Logan was barely able to sit up before Virgil pulled himself up at the edge of Patton’s palm, expression thunderous but his hands gentle as he carefully checked him over for scrapes or injuries.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack,” he grumbled, a phrase that he used much more frequently around Logan for some reason. Logan had already been reassured that it was an exaggeration and Virgil had no heart problems he knew of, so instead of worrying, he bore his friend’s fussing with good grace. “Did we or did we not agree that you need a spotter if you want to play around with bullshit sirensong magic?”

The mer paused. “No offense, Pat.”

“None taken!” Patton replied from where he had sunk further into the water to put himself closer to eye-level.

“I figured you would be along shortly,” Logan defended, and then perked up at the reminder of his most recent experiment. “Besides, one of the things tested in this trial was if the siren song could overshadow significant fear or even terror, and I wouldn’t have been nearly as afraid if you’d been there with me.”

“Aw,” Roman cooed, curling his tail up and leaning against one of the larger rock outcroppings, his posture slightly off.

Virgil dragged a hand over his face with a sigh, and then flapped a ‘go on’ gesture at Logan, distracting him. “So, what’d you figure out this time?”

Logan needed no further encouragement.

“Even the lightest application of a siren’s song can overwhelm other emotions,” he started, recalling the utter honed focus he had experienced. “While in the past I’ve felt distant or removed from my body while under its effects, this time I had Patton focus on requesting a very specific task, and due to the intense concentration it took, I was very present in the moment while fulfilling that task.”

“You didn’t snap out of it until I called for you,” Virgil interjected, more curious than wary. “Was it harder than normal to use the grounding tactics?”

One of the first things Logan had investigated was what it took for him to resist and even break free from Patton’s song, a task that Virgil had demanded in order to let him run any experiments with the siren’s magic. Back then, Virgil hadn’t expected Patton to agree, and he’d outright sulked for weeks to cover up the nerves he felt whenever the siren thralled Logan.

“It was,” Logan said, his excitement growing as he considered the new information. “Without significant outside stimulus, all of my attention was focused on the task, and so I couldn’t pull away mentally to do my normal grounding techniques!”

“I’ve never heard someone so excited about being hypnotized better,” Roman commented wryly.

“He should get a hypnoprize,” Patton added, and Virgil grinned, because he was a traitor who enabled Patton’s wordplay habits.

“Is there an award for smart people doing dumb things?” Virgil mused teasingly. “Logan could be voted ‘most likely to throw himself into danger in the pursuit of knowledge.’”

“That’s why he has us, Finding Emo,” Roman countered, gesturing extravagantly with one hand. “We would never abandon him to the cruel clutches of his own nerdiness.”

Logan couldn’t help but feel a thrill of pride at the casual way that Virgil ducked beneath one of Roman’s sweeping gestures, no trace of the blatant fear or suspicion that had been present as recently as a month ago.

They’d really come a long way from the misunderstandings of that first encounter, all of them.

A glint of light at the edge of the shark mer’s submerged forearm caught Logan’s eye, and he frowned. “Roman, what’s happened to your arm?”

Roman’s prideful grin dropped into sheepishness immediately. “Well, about that…”

“Princey here was abandoned to the cruel clutches of his own reckless dumbassery,” Virgil informed him, ignoring Roman’s trill of offense to drift back and shove at the hand in question until Roman finally lifted it, displaying the impressive collection of netting that he’d managed to get tangled in.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Patton clucked sympathetically, and Roman soaked in the attention like a very dramatic sponge. Virgil rolled his eyes even as he sawed at a few of the looser wires, and Logan sighed in fond exasperation as he reached for his pocket knife.

Perhaps some things would never change.

[i-need-air]

Oh-- I really really -really- liked your wolf hybrid Bakugou and-- if you don't mind, can you do one on Kirishima? Just the general headcanons, if this is too bothersome then you can ignore this once again- thank you

Just general headcanons you say? Okay, I had this written 2k words in before I got this ask and now it's at... ehem, let me take a deep breath for this;

Word count: 3.5k 💀 [of HCs 💀💀💀]

Why do I keep doing this to myself aksdjkd I love Kiri so much, my god! Thanks for the ask!! 💗

[ Masterlist ]

Hybrid!AU Kirishima Eijirou HCs

× i mentioned him as a dog hybrid and we're sticking with it because it just feels right, yano? anyway!

× you found out about how the new hybrid shelter in your city helped bust a fighting ring

× which was horrifying to think about

× one of your friends explained the process to you and you were definitely interested in helping someone out

× shelters were still underfunded and didn't provide much to help the hybrids adapt to society

× so you found yourself in front of the shelter without a plan

× just a dream and a spare couch that could thankfully convert into a bed

× before you could chicken out you stormed through the doors like a mad person, catching the attention of the guards and the front desk man

× it surprised you how disinterested they were though; were they seriously the people that dismantled a whole illegal fighting ring?

× they called a sweet old lady to accompany you

× when you explained your situation her eyes sparkled, looking you up and down and nodding her head

× she took you through some hallways, showing you around the precinct, questioning you about what type of hybrid you'd want

× to which you honestly didn't know how to respond, like anyone you could help????

× it kinda pissed you off how she spoke about the hybrids like they were pets, suggesting you'd get a kitty or a bunny, since [her words] they were low maintenance

× is this really a good shelter?

× you looked around, finding prison like cells left and right, some with people that looked at you curiously, some covering from your glance

× they were locked in...

× some growling could be heard far away but the woman shook her head at you, disapproving gaze turned to the side as she took you further into the building

× another room, this time cells were bigger, a few occupied, yet covered from you, indiferent and uninterested

× a man was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his hair

× "Kirishima, boy, get up to greet someone"

× his red eyes snapped up, whatever he was thinking about slowly forgotten

× he blinked curiously as you hugged your frame, feeling uncomfortable, even ashamed to be there

× but a sweet smile took over his features

× "Hey! I'm Kirishima Eijirou!"

× it's really all it took for you to grow fond of him; he got up and came closer to the entrance of the cell and introduced himself in such easy-going manner you forgot about everything and anything

× he calmed you with his presence, even if it was very disheveled, with old ripped clothes and hair messy, painted red with obvious dark roots showing

× he had a black fluffy tail waving slowly behind him too

× you introduce yourself with his encouragement and mumbled how you wanted to help someone out today

× he just smiled at you, taking you in

× let me tell you something about dog hybrids: they can sense emotions and intentions so Kiri would be a very good judge of character and he really, genuinely took a liking on you

× the problem is how the fuck do you say out loud that you wanted to help him out

× because you sure as hell weren't going to say you'd adopt him; he's not a child? we're talking about a grown ass man here? literally looked like 6'4ft/1.95m?????

× it was so shameful, your gut turned as you cursed society and he sensed it, expression changing, falling a little as he saw you look very out of place

× "Hey, hey, everything's gonna be fine!" he said

× he told YOU that

× instead of YOU telling HIM those words;;; you almost burst into ugly crying, forgetting about everything else, your minuscule problems or shame or whatever and just nodded at him

× "Would you like to come home with me, Kirishima?" you said, ignoring the happy clapping the old lady was doing, watching carefully how his expression, clear as water, switched from easy-going and reassuring to shocked then hopeful

× "I'd like that" he breathed out "—a lot."

× as you went out the lady was telling him it was a shame they separated his group of friends, something about being sent to different shelters, how he had to be a good boy, to behave, yada-yada and seriously;;; he was taking it so lightheartedly, as if he was so used to this behavior or even was thankful for it?

× it was starting to get annoying, specially when they gave you a collar for him, like no fucking thanks, but you'd take care of it later

× since it was very random and unplanned, you were making mental gymnastics to figure out what to get and what to do first, like clothes, food—

× journey home was pleasant as he walked close to you, asking you questions about yourself with a gentle smile on his features

× meanwhile people got out of both your ways because he was intimidating and big and large but his smile screamed sunshine

× all while he never really mentioned anything about himself

× you made a point to ask him if he was hungry, to grab a quick bite at any restaurant you could get at then go buy some clothes and necessities

× you were so casual and this guy was so shocked

× i swear, looks at you blinking stupidly then ✨beams✨

× spoiler alert; big boy was hungry

× it didn't matter honestly, just seeing him eat without a worry [even if everyone at the restaurant was wary of him but got a stink eye from you] was a relief

× since you answered his questions about you, you decided to ask some about him; you were going to be roomies soon so might as well get to know each other

× shocked again

× stops mid-bite when you ask him something and stares wide-eyed

× doesn't answer but you can see he wants to and you're confused??

× "did I—... did I say something wrong?" you'd press, scared you'd spook him away or something

× he just gulps down and looks ashamed

× casually tells you they've been told at the shelter owners don't care about them

× 🙃 say what now bby?

× he kinda starts apologizing because he understands why you wouldn't wanna know and you put your hand on his; kinda mutes him for a second

× "Kirishima, we're gonna live together and hopefully be friends in the process, right? I'd like to know about you, as much as you're willing to tell me"

× [ falls in love right then and there ]

× he's met humans before, many actually—

× even in the short weeks he's been at the shelter he's seen people come and go and none talked to him like you did

× stares with stars in his eyes and chuckles awkwardly, blush on his face

× "You're really nice, [Y/N]" he said before eagerly answering your questions; course, it leaves you confused lmfao but you brush past it

× okay! shopping next, long story short it was very hard to find hybrid clothes for his size so you pick to change human clothes and adjust them for him

× as you again mention this stuff casually he's just awestruck

× when you got home, bags in hand, you were explaining to him how you really didn't have much; you were working to get a promotion soon but for now you had a couch that could open up into a very comfy bed, which he assured you it was enough

× you were lowkey unsure if he fit it because like i mentioned, big boi is big

× he does! so that's a relief but you started considering giving him your bed; you mostly fell asleep on the couch anyway and to be fair, it was really comfortable and you mention it as he looks around

× his head snaps at you, wide eyed, yet does not talk

× so you ramble bc that's something fun to do! "I mean I went to the shelter without a plan and uh, I want you to feel as comfortable as possible and maybe the bed is a better fit and—"

× Kirishima Eijirou sees: 💕💞💕💞💕💞💕

× has never been treated like this, like he's an... equal... something he'll take months to share with you, but we're getting ahead of ourselves

× the thing is this boy will fall pretty hard pretty fast, but will definitely take time to make a move

× bc he is respectful

× so he thanks you for the offer and tells you it's probably the best place he slept in all his life

× can your heart stop breaking for him? i mean it's a good couch but it's no luxury hotel bed???

× [ we need to pause, OP made herself sad ]

× ok, so he's really helpful around the house, and he knows how to cook!

× takes no time to talk about his friends, special his best friend that cooked for everyone at the fighting ring and forced them all to help and that's how he was pretty decent at cooking himself

× wasn't the best though, but followed instructions like a boss

× he lives for your compliments

× literally his tail wiggles with no shame

× seriously;; tell him he did a good job even at the dumbest thing and—

× puffs chest

× wiggle-wiggle

× "Thanks!"

× 🥺💕💞 make him stop, he's so cute

× did i mention he has like floppy black ears? Omg his earsssssssssshnnngggggggggg

× because they move whenever he walks and they're mesmerizing

× and one day that you're observing them for science [not because your heart was like 💘pom-pom💘] you noticed his roots

× remember when your heart broke for him? hah, have some more because as you asked him, he started telling you that he was pushed into dying his hair red for the spectacle, diversity and what-not

× reassured you he grew to love it now, being part of who he is

× also gets a little bit shy when adding he wouldn't want to change the color in hopes of finding his friends someday and for him to be easily recognizable

× you bought him hair dye that same day

× WHICH! apart from gaining extra 🥺💕💞 from him, it created a nice routine between you two!!

× you offered to dye his hair and it was such a great time; he made you laugh, conversation going just as easy whenever you talked, you got to know each other a little bit more and—

× heh

× at the end, after applying all the red hair dye, you massaged his scalp gently

× guess who melts in your hands? yes, giant ass dog-man melts into a puddle under your hands and it's the cutest fucking thing you've ever seen

× I'm serious, he sighs and leans into your gloved hands with zero [0] shame, eyes closed and peaceful expression on his features apart from a small smile

× you tease him and he laughs it off, but promise him you'd give him head scratches when he was finished with the dye, washed off and hair dry

× and you better deliver

× "Don't think I forgot!" he'd say as he'd hop on his make-shift bed in the living room by your side, tail moving from side to side

× as you start playing with his locks, he falls into your lap and starts snoring

× move an inch and he opens his eyes to look at you confused

× puppy eyes questioning you if you're leaving 🥺

× yep, you fall asleep together

× you point out to yourself that those puppy eyes will be the death of you

× he's a touchy guy, okay? since he's been touchy with you from the very start you never questioned it, even read on the internet that many hybrids descended from house pets need physical affection, like hugs, pats, scratches, all the bag, so it wasn't a big deal for you

× except it was a big deal because he's been around for a month and you're already catching feelings and that's bad because you did not bring him there to fall for him but to help him start a new life and—

× oh my god, what if he thought you were one of those people from the horror stories about hybrid adoption that only wanted them for one thing—

× no, no, no, nO, NO.

× anxiety was getting to you as the guilt of catching feelings for him, plus the fact that he was financially dependant on you for the time which would've made it even worse if he found out, PLUS he comes from such a rough life, he definitely needs a break and doesn't need his first human friend in forever to be a piece of;;;

× Kiri catches on this really constant and increasing feeling of anxiety; he starts to send you worried glances but doesn't know how to proceed

× in such a soft voice he asks if you're okay, if something is on your mind

× and since you weren't sharing anything but acted as if everything was alright even when he felt you lied, Kiri started to get worried too

× why were you anxious? why weren't you talking to him about it?

× oh, god, was he a burden? because he felt like one;;; did you want him out? he felt like an extra weight for you and wanted to do something about it but maybe you got sick of him? he felt unmanly...

× the fact that he knew he cared about you as more than just a friend made him even more anxious and it didn't help that whenever he touched you he heard your breath hitch or your heart beating louder; he got his hopes up then down because

× you smelled like people; people he didn't know, people he wanted to know because he needed to know why did you smell like them? were they a treat? were they potential partners? he really did not want to ask bc Kirishima felt like it wasn't his place to know

× as tension grew in the house you decided to gift him a new phone, ready to give him some news that reached your ears

× it seems Kiri himself liked to do sports and mainly jog to keep himself active and he's started to pass by the local dog-park to play with the dogs

× imagine your surprise when a few neighbors asked you if he'd be willing to train their dogs bc he's been teaching them stuff like once a week and the dogs listened

× big time dog whisperer; he says "Sit" to one dog and all dogs in the neighborhood sit too, you get me?

× so you said it would be nice for him to have his own money; not like you didn't help him without care, but you saw his face every time you bought something for him and really felt like he needed some real independence

× he's in ✨awe✨ because you came up with clients already that were very eager for dog training sessions, which he loved??? and suggested hours, wages??????

× and you gave him this new phone to help him with it if he's interested too?

× "Well, the normal price on the internet around the area is—"

× "[Y/N]."

× "Hmm?"

× "You're really amazing, you know that, right?" he'd have his lips curled into a sweet smile

× which makes your heart go crazy and this man notices how you get flustered

× loves it

× get ready for compliments; a lot of compliments just expecting your sweet flustered reactions

× he's slow at realizing your feelings for him because he beats himself down and seems himself as less of a man but tests the waters nonetheless and a d o r e s every time you struggle to thank him for said compliments and don't know how to continue functioning

× catches on and gets his hopes up

× and so you do

× listen, this is hilarious because you're both dumb idiots and want to be respectful towards the other meanwhile he hugs you tighter and for a little bit too long, loving how you melt into him, kisses you on the cheek and sees you get all flustered, looks at you like you're the only one to ever matter until you stop talking, turning everything into a giant mess of silence until you both grin at each other???? I'm getting second-hand embarrassment, just kiss???????

× and it happened with an accidental kiss

× you greeted him as he walked through the door, excited to tell him about your promotion, rambling about the take-out you ordered while he smiled at you

× and it started to be usual for you to greet him with a kiss on the cheek, right? just what normal roomies do, you know [mhmm~]

× he's taking his shoes off and knows the kiss is coming, but just before you press it on his cheek you whisper/squeal "I got the promotion!" to which he turns his head in surprise at you making your lips press together by accident [mhhhmmmmm~~~]

× cue both of you apologizing, looking like a mess

× he's blushing

× you both loved it

× why are you standing so close to each other?

× why did he lick his lips in daze while staring at yours?

× which one of you was leaning in for another kiss?

× it didn't really matter because he's kissing you slowly, taking you into his arms like you were made of porcelain

× glues his body to yours and breathes you in, lips locked, neither believing it was real

× lifts you up in his arms with no difficulty and smiles, both inches separated from another; "Congratulations..." his breath would fan over your face;;;;

× yeah, okay, he takes no time to confess, resulting in a mess of manly words skdjekldj you guys talked that whole night while cuddling and stealing kisses, you on his lap

× [ his nose brushing your neck; he loves your scent omg ]

× it becomes official pretty much instantly and then all your worries wash away

× all the anxiety, all the stress and overthinking, they've all been sorted out in one night and trust me, afterwards this man is pure honesty and loyalty

× he won't hesitate to talk to you about anything and will be such a patient sweetheart with you, listening to every word you say without judgment

× loves cheesy stuff? as in the most cliché stuff seen in movies? that's his shit right there; whenever you two see each other after some time apart [sometimes 5 minutes apart] he'd pick you in his arms and spin you around, then expect you to kiss him

× if you don't, i will skfjdkfk step aside 👀

× skin contact; please, touch him

× if you're not he sends you those famous puppy eyes and we all know they're killer

× sighs, happy to hold you tight against him, engulfing you into his big frame; yeah, you're where you belong, in his arms.

× everyone in the neighborhood loves him; it's ridiculous, seriously, because you find out he helped around all the time when you were at work and gained everyone's love

× makes an instagram account to teach people how to train their dog and becomes an internet sensation, a small celebrity

× also bc he's hot and sometimes posts working out pics

× skdksjs imagine this: makes dinner for both of you, lits up some candles, goes all in, then fucking posts it on ig saying "waiting for my baby to come home #surprise" forgetting you can see it lmfao

× you see the story on your way home and 🥺💞 "ye i love his oblivious ass"

× soft gasps when you tell him after dinner

× has the audacity to be surprised, like babe????

× Kaminari finds him through social media and this baby cries in relief for a good half an hour

× both team up to find all the gang

× guess who talks praises about you all the time? mhm, this guy right here is proud to have you

× and Denki has to deal with it;

× anywho! want to break him for good? tell him you love him for the first time

× GETS. SO. EXCITED. AND. EMOTIONAL.

× but forgets how to speak

× finds his words to say it back after staring at you entranced, grinning like an idiot, taking you in his arms and giving you a bone crushing hug while shaking in place

× he's never felt this loved and adores every second of it

× you're like a drug and he's deep gone, man

× tells you he loves you every single day

[exleviathan]

TIMING: Immediately following ‘Red Sky at Mourning’ LOCATION: The lighthouse. PARTIES: @exleviathan & @eyes-in-the-night SUMMARY: Correy finds Levi with a hefty chomp in its leg. CONTENT WARNINGS: Pseudo-surgery, talk of blood loss.

—

As if the storm outside wasn’t bad enough, there was a big clamber all of a sudden. Like some giant bull was racing toward the lighthouse, waking Correy from his day time rest. Ever the grump, the old man shuffled toward the window ready to shout every obscenity he knew in gaelige and english. Whatever he’d expected to see, the tail end of a nasty looking beast retreating into the forest line was not it. A little confused, but hey, also intrigued, he traced the ‘footsteps’ back to where the thing had apparently come close to the building until he saw…. Fuck. 

Few things spurred Correy into action the way that seeing something or someone he considered his in danger. Lucky for both of them, the cloud cover protected the shadow nymph from any direct sunlight and he was able to rush out with no hesitation. 

 “Levi what the hell happened to you?” The demon looked awful. Like a chewed up dog toy that had gone a few too many cycles between the wash and the dirt. Before it could even answer, Correy was applying pressure to the wound with a careful wrap of shadows. Already scooping it up into his arms to bring inside. “You ain’t actually ‘spose to die, fecker. Not when we’re so close to fixin’ that.” 

 — 

 Well that was certainly a first. Levi’s gaze slid upward as Correy gathered it up off the stoop, the blood loss already making its vision darken around the edges. “I know. Don’t worry ‘bout that,” it groaned, allowing the other to carry it back inside without argument, head slumping against the lampade’s shoulder. It still felt miserable, physical damage aside. When was this shit going to let up? How many people could possibly be thinking about it at once? 

 “How’s… that coming along?” the demon groaned as it was set down somewhere Correy could get a better look at the damage. Its breaths were still ragged and raw, the one indicator of its compromised emotional state besides the sheen in its eyes that Levi couldn’t mask. “The kid agree to it, yet?”

 —

 Correy tended to the wounds carefully and precisely, as he attempted with most things. Wasn’t worth doing if it wasn’t done right, yeah? His shadows made it easy to get everything he needed to do the sutures. “T’ese punctures are feckin’ deep, what the hell did you piss off? And what the hell am I goin’ after, need ta know how big a knife to bring.” Some of them might need cauterizing. The lampade grimaced. This wasn’t good. He had a decent understanding of how all this was supposed to go, but it wasn’t like the fae was a doctor. Wasn’t even a healer. For the second time in his life he found himself upset at that fact. 

 “Aye, good news on that front at least. Kid’s open to it so long as we can make sure he ain’t awake for the procedure. You however, need to stay awake, lookit me.” Correy gently tapped the side of Levi’s face a few times. “Don’t you go passin’ out now. Not right now big guy.” 

 —

 “No, no, no,” Levi rasped, waving a hand around dismissively. “Don’t… go after him. Wasn’t his fault. I…” Closing its eyes, it let its head fall back. “... deserved it.” At first, Levi was fairly reactive to Correy’s attention to the wound, hissing in a pained breath here and there. But rather quickly, its senses seemed to dull and it quieted down, focusing instead on the inescapable dread that filled its chest, crushing its lungs beneath the weight. 

 Correy was saying something, but the words were muddled and sounded far off. Something tapped its face, making it squint in response as it twitched its head away from the irritant. It grunted something unintelligible, nose scrunching as the taps continued until it finally opened its eyes to see Correy leaning over it. “Not.. passing out,” it argued weakly, though that was pretty far from the truth. A new wave of sadness washed over it and it choked back a sob, lifting a hand to cover its eyes. “Stop,” it begged no one, speaking barely above a whisper. 

 —

 Well this was a shade of color Correy hadn’t ever seen on the Leviathan. Painted like a tortured figure in a baroque painting. The lampade moved to using his shadows for all the medical work, and brought both his hands to Levi’s face. Took a long hard look as he ran a thumb over the muddy cheekbones. “What’s gotten into you?” Was it really that worried about dying? Well, right now that would make a fair amount of sense, but normally Levi was the type to ‘rage, rage against the dying of the light’ wasn’t it? 

 “Oi, you stay awake through this and I’ll let you be the first in the lighthouse to see me arse naked, alright?” 

 —

 “Long story,” Levi croaked, attention dancing from one striking eye to the other. Its eyelids fluttered and its breath hitched in its throat, the hand that it’d been trying to hide behind grasping Correy by the arm instead. “It isn’t… me. Not my hurt. Everyone else’s.” It didn’t make much sense without context, but Levi couldn’t quite form its thoughts the way it wanted while still trying to control the barrage of horrible feelings that seemed intent on sticking around. Still… the deal that Correy offered did inspire an exhausted chuckle, and the demon looked up at him again with a slight shake of its head. “Gonna… hold you to that, bud.” 

 —

 “Well tell me while I do my work t’en, keep me focused Lev.” It really didn’t make much sense out of context. But Correy was an old fae, and a clever one at that. No way he could’ve known it was fury magic, but fae could do the same, or at least something similar. The demon wasn’t short on people pissed enough to make that kind of deal. Hell, could’ve even been another demon. His straight lipped grimace softened into a smile at Levi’s quip though. That was good, it kept its sharp wit through all of this. 

 “Ain’t the only thing you’ll have to hold on to mate.” Correy laid the double entendre out as he grasped one of the demon’s hands and let his shadows bring a piece of metal that’d been sitting in the hearth. Cautiously, but quickly, sealing up the insides of the wounds before closing them shut with a thousand tiny tendrils of smoke like shadow. Knitting like little spiders from a fairytale. 

 —

 Tightly gripping Correy’s hand, Levi watched as the burning hot metal was carried nearer, heart thudding in its chest. “Not really sure how… how she did it, but…” It grimaced in pain, looking away from the mess that was its own leg as the shadows did the work of sealing it up. Short, fearful breaths were sucked in and out as it tried not to let the feeling overwhelm it. “Made sure I have to… feel whatever I make other people feel. Must… be some kind of backlog, ‘cuz… it’s been a hell of an afternoon, Correy.” The brief moment of respite it had as it stared up at its friend was short lived, dying in the face of the metal being pressed to skin to cauterize. It couldn’t help the agonized howl that slipped free as it attempted to wrench itself away from the source of pain, panic flaring in its chest once again even though it knew it was safe. 

 —

 The shadows had a hell of a time keeping Levi's body steady and secure. Correy, as much as he remained looking placid and composed, was feeling his own amount of pain. Not so much because of the Leviathan, but on its behalf. As Levi spoke though, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at that too. "Yeah well, emotions feckin' suck. S'why I tried to have Baz take em away fer so long. Though that wish didn't work out quite as intended. Got better at control t'ough." Once the worst of the impromptu surgery was over, all that remained was the cleanup. Which, sure, wouldn't be pleasant, but much more manageable than sutures without anesthesia. "You feel everything you make folks go through, or just the bad shite?" 

 —

 Straining against the lampade’s shadows that held it down, Levi only had a few seconds of fight in it before it gave up, tears streaking down its temples from the corners of its eyes as it lay there. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Levi tried to stop itself from shaking, wondering who’s emotions it was feeling now for a moment before Correy spoke. It felt bad that Correy had gone so far to get rid of them, but in this moment, Levi understood the compulsion all too well. 

 “Don’t know,” Levi responded, its voice hoarse. “Haven’t really had the chance to…” It trailed off, staring up at Correy with a puzzled expression. “Don’t,” it whispered, lowering its gaze. “Don’t… worry about me.” It was almost pleading the lampade, realizing that it wasn’t sure if it had the strength to start adding those emotions to the pile as well. Still… it was nice to know he cared enough to be concerned.

 —

 Correy wasn’t usually one to struggle with directions, but this was different. How was he supposed to just stop worrying? Wasn’t usually the kind of thing someone could just turn off, but it was also part of the problem right now. Pale eyes flickered over the leviathan’s features. Exactly one course of action came to mind. A way to clear his mind, and with a little hope and maybe a smidgen of magic, would help clear Levi’s as well. 

 The kiss was not the cold calculated thing one might expect from the lampade. All at once, every bit of the energy and passion that he’d been holding back for thirty some odd years exploded forth. Gentle wherever it was needed, rough wherever the demon seemed it’d want the force. Perhaps a little out of practice, but enthusiastic all the same. 

 —

 Hm. It seemed that the deal was going to be upheld sooner rather than later, and Levi was hardly one to complain about that. It didn’t hesitate to return the favor, and while it may have been a bit more tame than usual, too exhausted to exert any sort of dominance in the situation as it typically did, it was thankful. After all, when trying to block out immense pain and forget all the shit that was making you miserable, an unexpected series of kisses from your friend-turned-roommate was certainly helpful.

 The one hand that didn’t already have Correy’s in it found the lampade’s chest and gripped his shirt in a fist that still tremored, but it did seem to still somewhat once the demon’s thoughts were well consumed by the fae that was bent over the top of it. 

 “I’d thank you, but I know you’d use it to make me do something stupid,” Levi breathed after its friend pulled back, the faintest hint of a grin stretching over its lips.

 —

 A rough laugh rippled through Correy’s chest as he broke off the kiss. He pressed his forehead into Levi’s with a smile. “Ehh you said the words, if I were a stingy git I could probably use it. Could still.” The nymph laughed again, a bit pleased with himself that the hasty plan actually worked. A bit more surprised at the sudden fluttering in his chest. Dust covered books in the back of an abandoned archive saw more action than the lampade. Most of the time he just didn’t want it. Could care less. Took a helluva lot of something to get him going. Apparently casting worry and any other negative emotion aside was enough. 

 “But… I dare you to thank me properly. Maybe I can do something better fer ye.” 

 —

 “Better? Color me intrigued…” The ache was still present, deep and sorrowful, but easier pushed aside in the welcome comfort that came from intimate contact. For a moment, Levi wondered how it had ever gotten on before without that, before remembering that it had never had the need. But right now it was desperate, clinging to anything it could get like a lifeline. It was, in effect, a lifeline—the only thing keeping Levi from drowning in the heartbreak of others. 

 Releasing Correy to push itself more upright, Levi caught the lampade in another fervent kiss, brow furrowing as it adjusted itself on the couch beneath him, trying to prop itself up enough to bring its hands to frame his face. 

 “Thank you,” it conceded, managing to spark a little mischief in its dark gaze, “for helping me. I owe you.”

 —

Another chuckle rolled out of the nymph as he felt the tingling tides of a well earned thank you rush around him. He bit down on his lip, just where the Leviathan had placed its own. To the fresh salty ocean taste that lingered. “Well–” Correy began with a drawl, letting the word dance at the tip of his tongue. Call it a warm-up. “When I’m done with you, to show your thanks, ye can put one of them stars right up on the chart. Your name and mine.” 

 At this point it was less about shifting a change of focus, and more about letting certain feelings rise and ride out. Things Correy had mused upon before, but never really found the right moment to indulge. He cradled his arms around the demon, and pulled it in close enough to plant a kiss on its forehead. “Bet you ain’t used to bein’ the one carried about.” The sly grin had grown to match the mischief in Levi’s eyes as the lampade leaned back. A bundle of pride and mirth. Shadows in the room seemed to deepen for a moment, then began to stretch out until they consumed the pair, only to dissipate moments later when they arrived on Correy’s bed. It wasn’t often he let people in his room. But this seemed like a good enough occasion. 

[popopretty]

Storm Bringer Spoilers (8)

I said I would translate this part earlier and the last week has been a busy one but it’s finally here. This is the part in CODE;03 (I guess) where Shirase finally got over his fear and risked his life to help Chuuya when Chuuya was fighting the skeleton that is supposed to be his “original” (I said so because we never know if it actually is the original or not). For a boy like Shirase with no special power, to throw himself into a battle like that for someone is a really beautiful thing to me. Their interactions here are so precious too. I couldn’t help smiling when I was translating it. I hope you enjoy it too and have a great weekend.

Feel free to retranslate it if you want. Just remember that I don’t speak either Japanese or English as my first language so there might be some mistakes or imperfectionness in this translation.

...

Hey, hey! 

Hey, hey, come on! What the hell is that? A skeleton? Are you kidding me?

Shirase rubbed his own eyes. That was not an illusion. The surrounding scenery was distorted. The abnormality of the gravitational field left the surrounding gravel floating in the air. 

In other words, the gravitational skill is being activated over there. In other words, Chuuya is over there. 

Too frightened, Shirase almost dropped the clothes bag that he was holding with his two hands. He held it back in a fluster. That was a clothes bag, however inside it was not clothes. It was a bag of stolen items. On his way to find an escape route, he entered a research facility and went gold hunting. After all, neither the securities nor the researchers were out. On top of that, in the research facility, there were a lot of jewels used for laser transmitters, high-speed computing terminals and a lot of other things that could be worth a fortune if sold. 

Shirase thought. These things will surely be burnt down to destroy the evidences anyway. If that’s the case, then wouldn’t it be of better help for people if we use it as a foundation to rebuild “The Sheep”, and let it be reborn as military money? I’m such a genius. He was thinking so as he got lost during his looting.

Then he wandered into this room. 

Shirase looked around restlessly. There was no sign of anyone other than Chuuya and the skeleton. Apparently they were fighting each other. He could catch a glance of the pained expression on Chuuya’s face. 

“Chuuya!” Reflexively, he ran forward, but stopped himself in panic. 

What am I doing? If I go to such a place, I will die. There is a limit to how foolish you can be to get involved in the fight between two monsters. I’m not that stupid. I act wisely and firmly. That’s how I have survived until now. 

Fighting is Chuuya’s job. Getting hurt is Chuuya’s job. Engraving our terror onto the enemies is also Chuuya’s job. And we handle everything else. That’s obvious. That guy has power. It’s only natural that he has to fulfil that responsibility.

But Chuuya today is weaker than ever. 

The Chuuya who is fighting right now has wounds all over his body. He has never seen Chuuya like that. He looks just like a boy of his age. 

No, not “just like”. Chuuya IS a boy of his age. Shirase suddenly realized that. 

... 

But still...

Still, it has nothing to do with me!

“Like I care! I am running away. Alone or not! You guys can do whatever you want about those war weapons or the truths of those special skills! I simply want to live a happy live!”

Shirase held his stuff carefully, turned his back and start walking away, as if he was carving each of his long steps into the ground.

***

The weight from the skeleton increased. In addition to the sound of their bones creaking against each other, there was another lower, heavier sound, probably the sound of the floor’s foundation being bent. If it were an ordinary human’s body, it would have become one with the floor long ago. 

“Stop...”, Chuuya spoke with his lungs being crushed as if he was whispering. “You are me...” 

There was a hint of hesitation shining in his eyes. 

The chin of the skeleton made a sound. The eye sockets carrying no lights at all were staring down at Chuuya. There was no emotions there. There was nothing. A complete void. 

From those eye sockets, from that nothingness, Chuuya heard something. Maybe it was just his imagination. But he couldn’t stop one word from popping up inside his brain. A meaningless word that seemed to be coming out from those white bones. 

”You were supposed to be like this."

“You are... me.” Chuuya said, glaring at the skeleton that had drifted so far from humanity, unaware of what he himself was saying. “If that’s the case, who in the world am I...?” 

The gravity got even stronger. The face of the skeleton which looked like death itself drew closer in front of his eyes. At that moment, someone shouted. 

“Ahhhhhhhhh!!” 

Someone just threw themselves at the skeleton and sent it flying to the side. The skeleton and that person rolled on the floor together. Chuuya opened his eyes wide. He knew the person. 

“Shirase...?” 

Shirase, who just rolled over, stood up and screamed in a squeaky, inarticulate voice. The skeleton that was using up all of its gravity to push down on Chuuya, was powerless to the attack from the side. Its elbow bone was dislocated from the impact. But that had little effects on its movements. It opened its jaw, trying to bite Shirase to death.

Shirase raised his clothes bag, which the skeleton bit right into. There were sounds of high-value jewels and electronic devices breaking inside, but the hardness of jewels had won against that of bones and iron. The lower jaw of the skeleton cracked vertically.

“Stupid Shirase! Run!” 

“Aaaaaaaa!!” 

Shirase shook his two arms with his eyes closed. His arms accidentally got caught in a transfusion tube connected to the skeleton’s spines. The tube came off and a black and blue chemical solution spilled out from inside. The skeleton suddenly tilted and stopped moving for a few seconds.

Chuuya noticed that. He screamed, “Shirase! Pull out those cables! All of them!”. 

Shirase was still waving his arms around incomprehensibly but after a short pause, he came to understand the meaning of that instruction. He rolled around, covered in chemicals, and grabbed all the cords and tubes that were dragging around like tails. He pulled them in and pulled out everything at once.

The bundle of cables leading to the next room were pulled out of the skeleton’s spine. 

The skeleton let out a scream. A body made out of bones only does not have a vocal organ. Its throat cannot vibrate to scream. That was the sound of gravity and the vanishing power of the skills that shook the bones and resonated like a musical instrument. It was the resonant sound of a scream that can take your soul away.

It sounded like a young boy crying in agony on the verge of death.

Eventually, the skeleton that had lost its instruction system and its source of energy supplies fell to the floor headfirst, breaking at its waist. Losing the gravity that was keeping its body together physically, it crumbled into pieces. Furthermore, the cracks from the attacks stared spreading through its body and it ended up breaking into countless fragments before vanishing.

 And just like that, the skeleton disappeared. Like nothing was ever there from the beginning. 

Chuuya was watching over it in shock, before he finally stood up. 

“Shirase.” 

Chuuya looked at Shirase while holding his side. 

“What?” 

Chuuya stared at Shirase as if he was trying to say something. He looked at Shirase who was covered in dirt, mud and the black and blue chemicals for a few seconds, then said.

“You look hella dirty now.” 

“Shut up!” 

Chuuya held out his hand. Shirase grabbed that hand and got up. 

“Let’s go. We need to meet up with Adam first.” 

“’kay.” 

Shirase and Chuuya walked alongside each other. Shirase took a quick glance at Chuuya. He was covered in wounds, dirt and blood. There were countless bruises and his side was still bleeding.

“Hey Chuuya.” 

Chuuya turned around. Shirase’s expression showed that there was something he had to say, something he had to apologize for. 

Chuuya waited silently. Then Shirase said. 

“You look hella dirty right now.”

Chuuya laughed with his eyes downcast, “Shut up!”.

....

[katzkinder]

Little Boy Blue

Mahiru is tired.

Kuro can see it, in the way his folding isn’t as neat, in the way the vegetables in their dinner aren’t as uniformly chopped, in the way his head bobs during school lessons, his laughter isn’t as loud, how he doesn’t check half so well before he crosses the street and needs the ever watchful hand of Sakuya to drag him back from the curb, a shout on the subclass’s lips, scolding and fussing about the car that had just whizzed past their little group.

Mahiru is tired, but he refuses to rest.

And it’s driving Kuro mad.

It’s as Mahiru is jerked and prodded, worried and fussed over by his trio of school friends, that Kuro makes a decision.

His Eve will get some sleep, whether he wants to or not.

Thankfully for him, he knows Mahiru wants it. The frustrating part is that his stupid, incredible, wonderful human doesn’t think he’s earned it. Not yet. Not when there was still more to do.

Which meant, joy of joys… He needed some help.

Good thing he had three ready made volunteers right there with him on the curb.

Now to convince them.

***

The easiest part, by far, was getting them to go along with his plan. Slipping into Mahiru’s bag to use the cellphone Tooru had bought him (every time he thought about it, he still couldn’t believe it. His own phone, his own clothes, his own games, his own… Everything, really), he sent a single text to three different numbers.

Mahiru’s exhausted. Help me get him to chill out?

The hard part…

“Hey, Mahiru! It’s been a while since we all last had a sleepover, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it has…”

“Since we’re already going to be walking you home to make sure you don’t wander out into traffic…”

“It was an accident!”

“Party at Mahiru-sama’s place~!”

“Would you stop with that stupid… Fine! But Sakkun is paying for the food!”

… Wasn’t actually that hard? But, well. Leave it to the grungy joker to just… Steamroll his way into Mahiru’s place, invited or not. And become a steamed cabbage in the process.

The power of Mahiru-sama is frightening indeed…

***

The first order of business when the five of them arrive at Mahiru’s apartment is taken care of handily by, once again, Sakuya.

“Pizza time!” he crows, tapping the order into a website Kuro only vaguely recognizes the name of. It’s not a delivery app, but the website’s own page, and while he’s busy with that, Kuro hops out of Mahiru’s bag, ready to go fetch blankets and pillows from the linen closet in order to set them all up.

Except Mahiru’s two human friends beat him to it.

All the better, he thinks, as he hops up onto the couch to watch them spread things out right in front of the TV. The living room is small, the area they’ve chosen to occupy even more so, but it’s what he would have chosen for Mahiru, too, to cram them all together, to surround his Eve with the simple pressure and warmth of his loved ones crowded close.

Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, Kuro is so… Grateful for Mahiru’s friends. Before him, and even after him, they will love Mahiru like a brother, like a family, know him in ways he can’t, the same way Gear knows him in ways Mahiru never will.

And that’s fine. To be known is to be loved, and more than anyone, Mahiru deserves it.

“Mahiru, can you help Ryuu-chan? I’m gonna go make sure Sakuya doesn’t burn your kitchen down trying to make popcorn.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know, I’m always the one who makes the popcorn when Shamrock can’t!”

“And how much of it do you burn?”

“Less than you, so nyeh.”

… Maybe he should go watch them.

“Ah, Kuro, don’t get your fur on the counter!”

“Can’t deal…”

At the least, Mahiru seems to already be feeling better. It’s like magic. The best kind Kuro has ever seen.

***

Kuro spends the night as a cat, nestled in Mahiru’s lap or lying across his back, little paws kneading his Eve’s flesh and purring up a storm, extra sweet and extra soothing, while the other three pile around them. Mahiru is… Quiet. But not a bad quiet, no. A good quiet, letting the presence of the other people in their home wash over him, their bickering and their teasing, not a host but just a friend, just another kid, a kid with greasy fingers and a half drunk bottle of cola and two boxes of extra large pepperoni pizzas with cheesy bread set out before them.

“Where the heck do you find these pizza places I’ve never heard of?” Ryuusei asks after a particularly long cheese stretch has him craning his head back and holding his arms out, making the other three laugh, “This is great.”

“Vampire SNS,” Sakuya tells him proudly, and snickers once more at the tongue click it nets him.

Much to Kuro’s surprise, after building their little nest, the green haired vampire had graciously given up his preferred spot next to Mahiru without a word, instead settling himself shoulder to shoulder with the short one, Ryuusei, while he and Koyuki had pressed themselves up against Mahiru like they were trying to merge with him. It’s a tangle of arms and legs, like cats lying one on top of the other, physical closeness that speaks volumes of the emotional one they’ve cultivated with each other, and which they were slowly, Kuro felt, trying to ease him into.

It was a strange feeling. Being included.

But it wasn’t one he hated by any means.

Ryuusei flops his head against Mahiru’s arm, cheek squishing ridiculously as he squints at the screen. “Who picked this again?”

The crunching from Mahiru’s right stops, and a bowl of half eaten popcorn, buttery and with the perfect amount of salt, is nudged his Eve’s way. Wordlessly, Mahiru grabs up a big handful of it, stuffs it in his mouth with a knowing little smile, a sort of carelessness Kuro can never seem to invoke on his own.

The shuffling of fabric, and Koyuki leans onto Mahiru’s shoulder as well, the barest hint of a pout to his voice. “Does it matter? Even bad movies are fun when we’re together.”

“You’re cheesier than this pizza,” Sakuya teases, and Mahiru grins, laughs, finally says something, the exhaustion all but gone from his voice.

“That means Koyuki definitely picked it.”

“So you’re the one responsible!” Ryuusei shouts, and Koyuki flicks popcorn at him, bounces it right off his head.

“Shut up! You can change it, y’know.”

“Well, we’re already this far in,” Mahiru muses, and Sakuya quietly plucks the floor tainted popcorn up to place on a napkin, “Might as well finish it.”

Kuro is… So glad that Mahiru has friends who can do this for him. To do the things he can’t. This sense of total normalcy, of being just another teenager… It’s not really something he can help with. Not really. He knows he’s the type to overthink, to become discouraged when his efforts don’t get immediate results.

But now Mahiru is laughing again.

It’s everything he could have asked for.

***

Hours upon hours later, the only light in the room is from the flickering TV screen, and the only sounds are the soft breaths of four teenage boys, fast asleep right there on the floor.

Kuro finally rouses himself, gets up, stretches, and carefully picks his way down Mahiru’s back. Only then does he allow himself to transform back into a human, cracking his neck, his back, and sighing heavily at the relief it grants his stiff joints.

It’s time to get to work. All that effort would be meaningless if Mahiru woke to a mess, so clean up crew Kuro shall be.

First go the soda bottles. Back into the fridge, without a label or a care for who had drunk from what, because it’s not like those four cared anyway, but Mahiru hated to waste food. Honestly, Kuro was in agreement on that much, but especially when it came to his favorites. So, twisting each cap tightly back into place, he made sure to set them up in plain sight so that they’d be finished in the morning (and if not by their owners, by him), blocking the light of the fridge with his own body and the tails of his coat so as not to disturb the quartet of friends.

Next were the pizza boxes. Each one was completely empty, but that was no surprise, given that there were two shared between the five of them. Even the little banana peppers included had been devoured. If Kuro had to guess… Mahiru. For some godforsaken reason, his Eve adored things that set his mouth on fire, and no amount of “it’s not that spicy!” would change Kuro’s opinion that Mahiru, sweet faced, stubborn, wonderful Mahiru, just wanted to see what the fires of hell tasted like.

(And maybe he was a bit of a baby when it came to peppers, but clearly that wasn’t his fault)

Onto the counters the pizza boxes went.

Next came the bowl of popcorn, filled with nothing but unpopped kernels, then the plates, then the napkins, then the painstaking process of picking up every infernal piece of popped corn that had been jokingly thrown about between friends with zero thought for who would have to clean it up all up.

Considering how many Sakuya had tossed, he had a feeling the other vampire had known Kuro would take it upon himself to tidy up their garbage, and found himself cracking an annoyed, if fond, smile.

Little brat.

Mess more or less taken care of, Kuro had one last task to complete, and fetching the fluffiest quilt he could find from the closet that hadn’t already been used to pad out the hard tile in front of their TV, he carefully, carefully, spread it out over the pile of sleeping boys. Not a one stirred, not even Mahiru.

His smile turned ever so slightly bitter.

Well, that was fine. That was good, even, because it meant that, more than he’d thought, Mahiru had needed this night, this little slice of being normal, of simplicity.

Looking at each face in turn… He thought that maybe, all of them had.

Himself included.

Tucking himself into the crook of Mahiru’s neck was easy, a warm, furry weight that had his Eve curling up even more, ever so slightly, setting off a chain reaction as each teenager also shifted, one or two murmuring in their sleep, shuffling closer to each other like small birds seeking safety and comfort during a storm.

And that was fine, too. Kuro would watch over their dreams, every one.

Sleep tight, guys. Sweet dreams...

[usaginotwst]

☂️🔪🖤🧺 for jade, kalim and floyd please?

Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Tumblr never notified me that I had more asks, I feel like a heel!!!

☔️— What are they like when they’re emotional? How quickly do they recover?

Jade is a very patient guy. Things just seem to brush by him while he remains unaffected. However, no one is immune to negativity, especially one so far away from home. Homesickness hits him when he least expects it and after a phone call from his mother, he finds himself weighed down with the dark feeling of longing.

When he gets like this, he reaches out to you to see if you're able to spend time with him to take his mind off of things. When he's in your room, he sighs deeply, alerting you that something's wrong. Jade still tries to deny it, but one look from his you and he finds himself breaking down. He doesn't shed tears, but he does come close. If you let him vent and talk about the wonders of the Coral Sea, encouraging his excitement when he tells you about the best festivals and most exciting things to find down there, he'll start to smile more naturally and the tension leaves his shoulders.

Jade never stays upset for long because he knows himself better than anyone and can find ways to cheer himself up. There hasn't been a moment that he's found himself in dire straights. Yet.

When Floyd gets upset, the world knows it. He takes it out on anyone smaller than he is, namely freshman, shoving them to the side and roughly bumping into them in the hallway as he makes his way somewhere secluded where he can throw a fit in peace.

Floyd is the type of guy that gets frustrated with his own emotions, wishing they would stop and let him off the ride, which only makes him angrier or dive deeper into sorrow. He doesn't have the same kinds of mood regulating system that Jade seems to have, so he has to tire himself out before he can be okay again.

In terms of being homesick, Floyd will huff and puff before getting up and decided to just go home. It's the simplest way to ease the pain, he thinks, but you stop him, telling him its not reasonable to go all the way to The Coral Sea. This only irritates him further.

Some adjustments have to be made before he throws a full-blown tantrum, but when you draw him a bath all the way to the top where he can switch to his true form, he goes from fuming to a pout, which is a start. Floyd sinks deep into the tub so all that's visible is his eyes over the waterline and his tail that's too long and flips up and over the edge of the tub.

When Floyd starts to blow bubbles under the water or splash at you, that's the cue that he's ready to talk.

Poor, sweet Kalim is a crier. He cries at everything. He's a cancer after all. When he gets seriously upset, he wails at top volume. Snot pours from his nose and spit dribbles down his cheeks as he swipes at his tears.

Kalim will suck it up and stop crying just long enough to reach you before he breaks down again. The world could be ending, but once he's in his person's arms, all would be right. Once he feels safe, Kalim will calm down to a low sniffle, wipe away his tears and nuzzle his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent before sighing you out.

Like a raging storm, Kalim's emotions leave just as quickly as they come. Usually he cries himself out and has to take a nap afterward due to the emotional toll and exhaustion.

🔪— How would they react to injury/misfortune befalling their partner? Do they feel at fault?

Jade's ever present smile falters for a moment before he leads you away with a flourish and reassurance. After triple checking to make sure you're truly okay, he will go do his own snooping to try and figure it all out. If it was caused by another student, Jade would just start appearing everywhere that student was. In the cafeteria, out in the playing field, in the back of class. Jade would make that person's life a living hell by gaslighting them, making them believe they're going crazy, and generally frightening them.

If it was just an accident of your own accord, Jade would sigh and poke a little fun at your expense (unless you were seriously hurt) and then help bandage you up before he realizes that he doesn't really know as much first aid as he thought. He hoists you up, piggyback style and takes you to the infirmary. Your proximity makes up for any guilt he'd been carrying since finding out about your injury.

Floyd on the other hand, would go in swinging. Once he figures out how it happened, it's squeezing time. He's almost put on academic probation for putting another student in the infirmary wing, but it was worth it to defend your honor. If it's not a situation that he can just squeeze away, he might feel totally conflicted. He wants to help, but for the first time in his life he feels helpless and it staggers him a bit. Guilt keeps him at bay as he reevaluates his importance in your life. He'll bounce back, but it'll take him awhile.

Revenge is the last thing on Kalim's mind when he hears that you've been hurt. With the immediate first thought of your food being poisoned, he rushes to your side. If it's a more physical injury, while relieved it's not poison, Kalim would shed guilty tears and promise to take care of you no matter what. He doesn't leave your side and it may come to the point that you have to tell him to relax and go do something on his own because of how clingy he is.

🖤— Random romantic headcanon

Kalim likes to lay with you and watch the stars, taking each moment to point out constellations. When he can't find any, he likes to pull you close, breathe you in, and it's not until his wandering hands reach your own do you realize he's humming a low tune. Floyd flops back and forth between being touchy-feely and not wanting anything to touch his skin, but when he's in a cuddly mood there is little you can do to keep his hands off of you. He leans on you in line for coffee. While you're reading, his fingers waltz up your spine, over your shoulder, and down your arm to intertwine with yours. He likes random kisses, but also gives light bites to your shoulder when you're not paying attention.

Jade loves it when you listen to his rambling. When he realizes, mid-tangent, that you're looking at him with love in your eyes, he sputters for a second and a blush starts travelling up his neck to rest on his cheeks. Overwhelmed with love, he can't even continue when you urge him too.

🧺— Random domestic headcanon

Floyd loves baths and made sure he had a custom one built for your house on land. He has his nightly bath ritual and if it isn't done 100% on the nose, he gets irritable. He runs the bath and while it's filling up, he goes to fetch you - no matter where you are or what you're doing - and races back with you in tow to continue prep. Bath salt, milks, essences, and all sorts of things go into the bath and before you know it you're both in there as well. He holds you close and only allows you to leave once your promised 15 minutes are up, then he finishes the rest of his bath alone to soak.

Kalim's not a morning person. He will do absolutely anything to keep you in bed with him an extra 5, 10, 15 minutes. He groans and stretches, and with his outstretched hand he pulls you to him and settles back in. His favorite days are the ones when you actually get to stay in bed with him and laze about, whispering sweet nothings and sharing lazy, bleary kisses in the morning light.

Jade is an almost perfect househusband. He takes care of the cooking, the cleaning, and everything in between. It wasn't something you forced him to do, he just seemed to fall into it himself. However, on the days he wakes up to find you already up and tending to the household chores so he can get some extra sleep, he finds himself remembering just why he loves you.

[sinner-as-saint]

You Were Made To Be Mine - 2.

Pirate!Bucky x Mermaid!Reader

Part 2 of this series

Run-through: Bucky is one of the greatest pirates ever known. Living peacefully in his vast and flourishing archipelago; filthy rich and respected by all those around him. He is the leader of his people and his massive fleet, and is viewed as no less than a king by his crew and the people on his lands. He, however, has a secret that he keeps from everyone. The infamous and brawny pirate has lost his heart to one of the most beautiful creations he’s ever seen – you. Ever since the moment he saw you, he knew that you were meant to be his. But he belonged to the earth, you to the ocean. Could love and resilience somehow find a way to unite two worlds?

Themes: mermaid!reader, mythological elements, pirate!bucky, fluff, angst

Bucky had never experienced heartache before.

But right now, as he was sat alone on the rock where he usually met up with you at nightfall, he concluded that no pain was more terrible than the heartache he felt when you didn’t show up at your regular meeting spot one night.

His throat hurt given he had called out your name so much and so loudly for the past hour or so. Usually, whenever he called, you’d show up within seconds. But today, it had been over an hour and there was no sign of you. Fear, worry, guilt and pain – it all hit him right in the face like a harsh wave.

“Where are you, my little pearl?” he murmured to himself in his hoarse voice as he sat on the rock alone, sulking and missing you so terribly he felt physically sick. Now he understood why the saddest lovers wrote the most devastatingly beautiful poems because right now Bucky felt overwhelmed by emotions he didn’t know one could feel and if he had a pen and paper in hand, he would write the most melancholic of poems while he pines for you as well.

My little pearl… Bucky chuckled sadly at the nickname he gave you a while ago. It started when one day you brought him the prettiest shell you had ever found, and inside it was a lovely, shiny little pearl.

-

“Isn’t it the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen?” you had asked, excitedly showing him what you had found that day.

Bucky nodded. “It is pretty, but not more that you.” And since, he loved how you blushed and hid your face each time he called you ‘his little pearl’ after that. And given the ocean was your home, the nickname was very fitting.

-

The fear settled in not long after. What if you were lost somewhere and you couldn’t find your way back? What if you were injured? What if you were lost and injured and couldn’t call out for help? What if… what if you had found a merman and decided to stay because Bucky wasn’t worth it? He knew he was being ridiculous but he couldn’t help but think so.

No!

Bucky’s possessive nature took over and he was going crazy with each passing moment spent in your absence. His anger soon morphed into complete and utter sadness. And he was miserable. He had seen you just a day ago, but he missed you terribly already. Your hair, your soft lips, the vibrant colors of your tail, your warm but damp hugs; all of you.

He stayed put there for the entire night, alert and waiting. But you didn’t show up. Bucky waited until dawn, and he rowed back to his island; sad and heartbroken. Did you leave him? Were you lost? Did you find someone else? Were you injured or trapped somewhere because of your obsession with that mythical potion?

If it weren’t for Steve running into him as he made his way home, Bucky would’ve shed a tear or two. That’s how much he was hurting.

“You look like a mess.” Steve pointed out. “Where have you been?” he asked, clearly seeing that something was wrong with Bucky.

Been waiting for the love of my life to show up at our usual meeting spot, but she didn’t come. I don’t know if she’s mad, or in trouble or hurt, or all of that. “Just out.” Bucky replied and made his way to his home, in desperate need for some hours of sleep.

-

Nightfall came again and Bucky rowed back to the isles at around midnight. He didn’t find you on the rock like he always did, again. He didn’t see the flicker of excitement of your fins as he got closer. He didn’t see you. And his heart felt like it was being torn apart.

He called out your name again. And again. And again like a madman. But you didn’t show up. Bucky waited on top of the rock again, looking up at the starry night sky and drowning in his sadness. Then out of nowhere, he heard the soft splash of water he knew all too well.

“Sweetheart, is that you?” he sat up straight and looked around; alert again. He heard the splash again. And the spark of hope inside him which was fading out, came to life again. With the help of the burning torch by his side, he could see quite well.

And then he saw it. The shiny tail, the silky fins and the beautiful face he was madly, dangerously and hopelessly in love with.

“Y/N!” he called out your name and didn’t think twice before jumping in the water and met you in the middle as you made your way to him. You had the biggest smile on your face as he swam towards you. He threw his arms around you and held on to you to keep himself afloat but also to hold you as close to him as possible.

You giggled at how he behaved almost like a little child, clinging to you for dear life. You wouldn’t lie, supporting the muscular man and yourself above water was a little hard. But you welcomed his almost suffocating embrace without any complaints because you had missed him terribly and you were aware you hadn’t come to meet him yesterday so you had to make up for it.

“I missed you!” you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and your lower body worked extra hard to keep the two of you above the surface.

Bucky almost shed tears, he couldn’t believe you were here in flesh and blood, not a fragment of his imagination, but the real you. “Never disappear like that ever again, you hear me?” he sounded relieved and angry and heartbroken all at once as he chided you but also held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I won’t, I promise. I’m sorry.” You whispered in his ear, pushing your face into the crook of his neck and relished his warmth. The water was cool, so his body heat felt heavenly. Bucky pulled away and swam on his own for a bit, realizing that he had shifted all his weight onto you earlier.

“Where the hell were you?” he sounded hurt. “I was waiting, I waited the whole night.” He recalled how upset he was last night and you felt guilty for not showing up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t explain why you didn’t show up! Where were you?” he wasn’t going to let you go without getting the truth out.

You hung your head down in shame and guilt. And Bucky knew what that look meant. “Come on up.” He swam over to the rocks and climbed up, thinking you were right behind him. But when he turned to look at you, he found you still in the water. He frowned. “Sweetheart, come on up.” He held his hand out for you. You swam a little closer but stayed in the water.

“I’m… I’m good here actually.” You tried your hardest to convince him but he didn’t buy any of it. He raised an eyebrow at your words.

“You don’t want to come up on our rock?” he sounded confused. And you couldn’t help but faintly smile at how it was ‘our rock’.

You shook your head gently. “No, I’m fine here.” You lied.

Bucky sighed in frustration. “Okay, just…” he exhaled loudly. “Tell me what’s going on, okay? Because first you disappear out of nowhere, then you come back a day later and act like this. What is going on?” he had the right to be a little mad. Hell, if he just disappeared out of nowhere like that you would be pretty upset as well.

You kept your head hung and decided to just be honest and tell him truth. So you began; you told Bucky about how you went to search for the potion. And how you accidentally found yourself in unknown, deep, dark and dangerous waters; far from home. And how you got lost for a long while, and almost became the meal to larger predators. And how you escaped, but were injured because one of them chased you and almost sank its teeth completely into your tail. You told him how you returned home; worn out, injured and bleeding and unable to swim properly. One of your siblings tended to your wound as soon as you got home but the pain was so bad that you passed out for hours and only woke up a few minutes ago.

Bucky listened attentively. Each new piece of information about the terrible situation hit him like a violent storm; leaving him breathless and mind blown in the worst way. So his gut feeling had been right all along; you were indeed lost and hurt so far away from him. And had things turned out just a little differently, he would perhaps never see you again.

Bucky remained quiet even when you were done talking, sheepishly filling him in on all that you did and all that happened to you. You knew a long lecture about your safety was coming sooner or later. But honestly, this time you deserved it. Then again, you were doing this for both of you. You were desperate to be part of his world and share this life with him, and you couldn’t do so until you were able to walk the ground he walks on.

After a few long minutes of silence, after processing all of it, he spoke up, “Let me see it.” He asked, referring to the wound you had gotten.

You got to the sandy shore and waited for Bucky to approach you with the burning touch in his hand. He squatted down beside you and inspected your tail thanks to the light provided by the torch. He found the wound at around the middle of your tail. A long, irritated and bloody gash. Part of which was wrapped in algae; he remembered you telling him that some algae were used as medicines by merpeople.

His demeanor changed as soon as he saw the wound. He felt guilty, because he was the initial reason why you were chasing after this potion. In some ways, although indirectly, he was the reason why you were hurt and he almost lost you forever had it not been for luck or your extreme survival skills and courage.

“What was it?” he asked, his voice was calm but it didn’t hide his anger nor his guilt completely.

“I didn’t see. It was too dark down there. But it was big and scary and loud.”

You could feel something bad was coming. A gut feeling, or something told you that something was going to happen soon which would hurt you a hundred times more than the wound on your body. Bucky planted the torch on the sand, a few feet far from where you sat, and he plopped down next to you. And something told you he was gathering the courage to say something which was going to break you.

Truth is, he was hurting. Hurting so bad that he wanted to scream and shout and beg someone, anyone, to make it stop. Like a thousand cuts, open and raw and bleeding – the pain was indescribable. He almost lost you, and he was going crazy just thinking about it. His head was almost dizzy and his heart was racing. He wasn’t thinking straight. All he knew was that he was the reason why you could’ve gotten killed and worse part is, if you did – he would never know.

“I can’t risk losing you.” he said, looking down at the sand beneath him.

You watched him intently. It always amazed you how perfect his side profile was. Perfect lips, perfect nose. Only today, his pretty eyes were sad. “You’re not going to. I’m fine. I came back, didn’t I?”

“Yeah but you also almost got eaten by some mysterious sea monster. And if you did, that would be on me.”

Oh no… you knew where this was going. “But I didn’t. I-,”

He cut you off quickly. “I love you, alright? I love you and I never knew it was humanly possible to love someone this much. But Y/N, I can’t sit here and watch you try to get yourself killed over something which probably doesn’t exist!” he paused, chest heaving as he tried to contain his emotions. “What if you go out there tomorrow and this time you didn’t come back? What then?”

You hung your head down as the image of a heartbroken Bucky filled your head. “What happened yesterday isn’t going to happen again. I know what to look out for now.”

“Do you?” he asked calmly, trying to make you realize that this was wrong. “You need to get this myth and give up this crazy obsession, you hear me? Why can’t we be normal and happy without it? Why can’t we just-,”

You cut him off rather coldly. “Because look at us!” you raised your voice a little. “There’s nothing normal about us! We can’t be anything more than this without it, it’s our only hope, why don’t you get it? We both want the same thing, Buck. I need to be with you, I want to. And this will-,”

He shook his head and then turned to you, “Can’t you see what’s happening? You almost got killed because of it!” he was getting hyper too.

You waited a little while before answering, trying to read him. “Not being with you is killing me as well.”

That broke him.

His anger vanished into thin air. “Come here, my little pearl.” His voice softened as he carefully pulled you onto his lap. Your tail rested sideways on his lap and you placed your head on his shoulder while his wrapped his arm protectively around you. “You got hurt because of me.” He stated softly.

You sighed and persisted. “No.”

He pressed his lips to the side of your head. “Yes, and that can’t keep happening. I won’t allow you put yourself in danger on my account.”

No… “Please don’t leave me.” You pushed your face into the crook of his neck to hide your tears. “Please.”

He sighed. “Can you promise me you will stop looking for that thing?”

“No.” You held on to the hope with all your heart that you will find it one day. You knew you were really close to finding it too, you couldn’t possibly give up now. Besides, once you did you and Bucky could be together forever without the barrier of physical differences and that was the only thing which mattered.

Bucky sighed in frustration. “This makes me feel so selfish. And guilty. And just overall terrible. You’re putting yourself in danger, you’re getting chased by predators, and you’re getting hurt and all for what? Me?” he paused and pulled away to look at you. “I love you that way you are, you don’t have to change for me. Just stop looking for this thing.” He sounded much calmer than before.

This was another fear of yours. How long would he be indifferent to the fact that you both were of different kinds? “A few years from now, you’re gonna want a wife. You’ll want kids, and a family. And I wouldn’t be able to give you any of that.”

“I don’t want any of that if it’s not with you.”

You sighed. He did too. Then he made a decision which hurt him more than anything. The sight of you wounded was heartbreaking. And he didn’t want to find you with a bigger wound the next day, or worse, he didn’t want you to lose your life. He would rather you live the rest of your life safely, without him, rather than risk your life trying to be with him.

“I have to let you go, my love.” he whispered the words you wished you hadn’t heard. You immediately circled your arms around him tighter and sniffled, nuzzling his neck.

“Please don’t.” you whispered. Bucky let the tear fall finally, unable to hold it in. You spoke again, “Each day I wake up and find that more and more of my people are moving far from here. It’s just a matter of time before they all leave, leaving me behind.”

The thought of you all alone down there where he couldn’t physically reach you or protect you was no less than a nightmare. But that path that you’d have to go down just to be with him was scary as well, and it would hurt you. So Bucky convinced himself that he was doing this for your own good. He took a deep breath, feeling a lump forming in his throat. “I have to do this.”

You sniffled again, tightening your arms around him. “No. You can’t give up on me. You’re all I have, Buck. Please.” You pleaded. He kissed the side of your head and cradled your head gently like you were a fragile glass figurine.

“You can have a long and beautiful life ahead. One where you won’t have to leave your home, where you won’t have to change or chase after a myth or get hurt-,” he stopped talking when he heard a sob escape your lips. He pulled you closer and hugged you tighter.

“No.” you cried, wetting his skin with your warm tears.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I love you, more than anything. And I know I will never be able to love another. But for your own well-being, I need to let you go. Because although it will kill me each day, I would rather live with the relief that you’re out there alive somewhere rather than live with the guilt that you got yourself killed while trying to be with me.” Bucky tried his hardest to keep his voice steady. He couldn’t.

“Don’t leave me.” Another sob left your lips.

He sighed, his breath shaky. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, I always will. But I can’t see you getting hurt like this because of me. This is for your own good.” He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head and carefully lifted you off his lap and set you down on the sand again.

He got up and your heart began racing much faster than earlier. You felt like you were about to pass out again. Your heartache morphed into rage inside of you, but you managed to contain it. “This is it then, huh? You’re just gonna leave me here like everyone else and forget me and move on with your life?” your sounded bitter and you had every right to be.

Bucky looked down at you and blinked his tears away. “I could never forget you. And I will love you till my dying day. Believe me, this isn’t any easier for me. But this is the only way to stop you from getting yourself hurt or killed. You need to let go of that madness.”

You chuckled dryly at his words. Borderline angry, borderline hurt. “You were wrong when you said you were selfish. You’re not just that, but you’re a coward as well.” Bucky watched how you wiped your tears and got back into the water. And before you swam away, you turned around to look at him. “If you change your mind, I hope you hurt just like you’re hurting me. But unlike you, I won’t be giving up on us.” You spat at him before you swam away as fast as you could.

As he watched you leave, he second guessed what he had done. He hoped you didn’t think that he loved you any less because you were different and belonged to a different world than him.

You didn’t think that way. And you knew he loved you just as much as you loved him but you had never expected him to take such drastic steps. You were hurting and before you knew it, you found yourself diving deeper. And while overthinking and bearing your heartache, realization hit a little later than usual and you found yourself swimming further and further away from home; into deeper and darker waters…

 -

When Bucky got back home, he was greeted by his close friends all waiting for him in the well-lit dining room; all sat around the large, oval stone table with goblets in front of them. Bucky tried his hardest to greet them like he normally did.

“You know we can see right through your bullshit, right?” Sam spoke first. The rest of his friends stared at him and Bucky knew that they knew that something was up. They were the closest friends he had, they were family and he knew they could see right through him.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked, trying to act cool and received a bunch of groans and sighs of frustrations.

Steve spoke up next, “You leave almost every day at midnight. You row to God knows where, then you come back at the crack of dawn. And now you look like you’re a sad trader who just lost all his ships.” Steve spoke almost teasingly, but his concern could be heard in his voice.

“We’re your family, you know you can tell us anything.” Thor spoke up next.

“What is it, Barnes? Tell us.” Okoye spoke after. She was the kindest, strongest woman Bucky had ever come across.

Bucky hesitated. Oh so they noticed? He was glad that they did, because that would make talking about it a little easier. Only the issue here was, would they believe him if he told them the truth? Or would they just think that he’s lost it?

“Bucky. Talk.” Sam was beginning to lose his patience.

Bucky took a deep breath as he took a seat at the table as well. He grabbed the nearby jug of wine and filled the goblet closest to him and took a long sip. Then exhaled loudly and began talking.

“It’s… a woman.” His first few words earned him curious looks and a smirk from Okoye. “Well, not exactly a woman but…”

Ten minutes later, Bucky finally finished filling his friends in on all that’s been going on for the past many months. He told them about his unusual love life involving you. And how things began getting complicated and then gave them necessary details about your recent break up. They listened with straight faces. And despite being a bunch who always joked around, they were surprisingly serious as he talked.

When he was done, his friends were all quiet for a whole minute. Then Okoye spoke up,“You broke that poor thing’s heart when she spent all this time loving you?”

When she put it like that, something shattered inside Bucky. “I… I love her and I couldn’t sit there and watch her-,” Bucky stopped talking as Okoye shot him a glare. And that glare spoke volumes so he immediately stopped talking.

“Don’t make excuses. You broke her heart.” Okoye said in her no nonsense tone. “She wanted to come live with you. Among us. What’s so wrong with that?”

Bucky answered quickly after taking another sip of wine. “There’s nothing wrong with that. But how could I support that decision of hers when it would only hurt her even more. And the worse thing is, even if she’s trapped somewhere down there, I would never know.” he took a deep breath. “What if she dies chasing this god damned potion? What about me then?”

His words did make his friends think some more. Maybe his intention had been right, but the way he dealt with the situation wasn’t so right.

Steve whispered under his breath, “Well, love really does make people go crazy.”

Bucky spoke up again. “She was so hell bent and obsessed with finding that nonsense that she wasn’t realizing she was putting herself in danger.” His chest heaved, his emotions choking him. “She shouldn’t have to change for my love. She should embrace who she is and live her life. And be safe and happy.” At this point, he began doubting his own words and actions.

Could he himself live without you? How long could he pretend that ‘doing the right thing’ wasn’t killing him already?

“Why are you so against the potion?” Thor asked.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “Because it doesn’t exist. It’s a myth, a legend.”

“How do you know?” Sam asked, leaning back in his seat. His brown eyes staring into Bucky’s blue ones. “Months ago merpeople were myths to you as well. Now you’re foolishly in love with one of them.” he reasoned.

Bucky got really quiet again and avoided everyone’s eyes. Had he… had he made a terrible, terrible mistake?

Steve spoke up, leaning his elbows on the stone table. “Look, all this potions and merpeople, this all just proves that there’s a whole other world beneath us that we know nothing about. We should respect them. For their own safety, and we could at least try and protect them by keeping this a secret just between us.” He paused then stared at Bucky, “What we shouldn’t do is break their hearts when they’ve fallen in love with us!”

Yup, he deserved that one.

“You said it yourself, family and friends first. She’s your girl, she’s family. The least you could do was trust her and not give up on her.” Sam said in a serious tone. “Besides, how can you say for sure that she’ll give up on trying to find that potion now?”

Well shit. He hadn’t thought about that. He froze, tensing up at Sam’s words. Shit, shit, shit.

“You should go apologize. Now.” Okoye suggested.

Bucky groaned and wanted to bang his head on the wall. “She took off. She’s mad at me.” He mumbled and his friends all rolled their eyes at him and groaned in annoyance, mainly at his stupidity.

-

Heeding his friends’ words, Bucky went to find you the next day at nightfall. Except he didn’t have to be sneaky this time because they all knew he was leaving. But when he got to the isle and called out your name, you didn’t show up.

And a bad vibe loomed around him and around the place. He knew immediately that he had indeed, majorly messed up. He shouldn’t have let go of you like that. He thought he was doing the right thing but turns out, he ruined the best thing in his life.

Bucky waited at the shore. Heartbroken and hurt and angry – at himself. He was just trying to keep you safe. But in doing so, had he just lost the love of his life? For good this time?

[obae-me]

Hey can I request how the brothers would react to the MC seeing them in their demon form for the first time and being scared?

I hope this answers enough of what you wanted, thank you so much for your request! 💜

Lucifer

Good. This is what he wanted. To make sure MC knew his power and position. He uses his demon form mostly as an intimidation tactic, it lets his brothers know when he’s serious, and it tells the other demons who’s in charge.

However...MC was now on the ground, looking up at him with nothing but fear in their eyes. They were frozen, unable to even answer his simple questions. He had just wanted to let MC know not to defy him, leave them a bit rattled, not...quivering. Maybe...he had gone too far?

Now MC can’t even talk to him without shaking, without doing their best to avoid him at all costs. This was not what he wanted any longer. He was supposed to make them feel at home here. It would not do any good for MC to be terrified of him for an entire year.

Also...was he really so horrifying? He wasn’t quite as obsessed with his appearance as his brother Asmo, but it wounded his pride that MC seemed to only see him as a monstrosity. He was sure his form was a bit overwhelming, yes, but was he not divine? Was he not stunning?

He took MC out to do whatever their heart desired as an apology. He’ll work on slowly getting MC accommodated to his demon form, also making sure not to only let it show when he was angry. He’d do it slowly, at their own pace until they get to the point where they’re comfortable around him, complimenting and petting his wings. No one ever gets to touch his wings, but he’ll allow it for MC, as long as they never look so scared of him again.

Mammon

He’s not a fan of horror, he won’t ever admit it around his brothers, but it freaks him out a bit. Which is why he can’t get over the expression of unfounded terror that MC had when he showed them his demon form. It didn’t settle right with him. It bothered him a lot, actually. Making him highly irritable. 

Even as the second born, no one was ever scared of him. Lucifer was the terrifying one, most of the time, his younger brothers hardly respected him much less feared him. So finding out that MC was terrified just by seeing him in his true form confused him greatly.

So, because he’s not the greatest with plans, he stormed into their room. In his demon form of course. Why would they have a problem with it? What was their deal?

He bashed his way though the door, hands on his hips, demanding answers. God he hated how he sounded like Lucifer sometimes. But he quickly stopped in his tracks, hearing the small whimpers coming from MC’s mouth. Not again, he thought, and then spoke to them in a soft voice.

“Hey...hey, human, it’s still me, it’s still Mammon...what do you look so scared for? These things can’t hurt ya.”

It wasn’t completely truthful, his horns and wings could be deadly if used right, but for MC, he’d show them they were harmless. If letting MC touch his wings and horns helps them not be so scared of him, he’ll allow them to do it. Even though they’re incredibly sensitive. He has to try so hard not to squeal or squirm, he wanted MC not to be scared but he didn’t want to look ridiculous in front of them.

Levi

After the demonic bout of envy that drove him to his demon form, it wasn't until he calmed down did he realize how MC had looked at him. He read it as disgust. They ran away from him because they saw how he truly looked, and they hated him for it.

He’ll solve this problem the same as all his other problems, hole himself up in his room for days at a time. He’ll come out eventually, but he’s ashamed to show his face now. It drives him wild how he’s so self conscious for a human, but he can’t help it. All he can think of is how envious of other demons with their much cooler looks.

He’ll apologize to MC anytime he transforms.

MC has to set the record straight with him, even though they were the one scared in the first place. They just freaked out a little, this place and it’s shapes were all new to them. Seeing him get angry with a new tail and horns, it was a bit too much to handle in the moment. It was nothing against him, it was just a final confirmation that he was a demon.

It takes him some time to feel comfortable again letting MC see his demon self, but the next time they do, MC is wary, but not nearly as frightened. In fact, they start to love his form. They tell him anime characters they love that he reminds them of, and after he gets over his envy over those fictional characters, he’ll blush and feel more confident in being more open with his true form.  

Satan

Of course MC would be scared seeing him in his full form of Wrath. Any human would be scared seeing someone transform with horns and a tail and a thick aura of anger surrounding them. So when he saw that MC’s legs were shaking so bad that they could barely keep themselves standing, he wasn’t surprised.

It did bother him, however, and he was unsure why. He had been used to scaring people away before, his brothers also knew not to mess with him too much for fear of making him furious. So why did the scene of MC holding back a bloodcurdling scream keep playing again over and over in his mind? It was extremely distracting.

He went to talk to MC about it. Purely for curiosity's sake...only for that reason.

Satan notices that MC is obviously concerned about setting him off again. He takes a deep breath and tells MC that he will remain in his human form until they are either okay with it or until they leave. He’s the most patient, so no matter what they choose, he can wait.

They come to him a few weeks later, ready to see him again without his strong murderous intent attached. MC actually loves playing with his feather boa. They won’t tell him it looks a bit ridiculous on him, but if anything, it makes them less scared of him. 

Asmo

He’ll take this the hardest. He’s all about how he looks, how he presents himself, how other people see him. Not once, not once, had anyone ever looked at him like that before. Bedroom glances and sensual touches, yes. Eyes and body language that told him that MC would do anything to get away from him as fast as possible, he’d never had that before.

He’ll be in his room, refusing to come out until he’s scrutinized every single detail of his body, wondering what it was about him that MC couldn't stand. The wings and horns were different, but he didn’t look nearly as scary as his other brothers. He was supposed to be attractive. Beautiful! 

Was he...self conscious? No, no, impossible. He’s just...curious why they didn’t like him was all.

He will end up pestering MC until he gets some sort of answer. He didn’t expect MC to just tell him they were scared. Scared? He made them scared? Oh what a precious sweetheart MC is!

He’ll cuddle them, compliment them, make them feel comfortable as a way of apologizing for traumatizing them so. The next time MC sees him in his demon form, Asmo had made sure they were dressed in the cutest thing possible. MC laughs and wonders why they ever were scared of the flamboyant demon of Lust.

Beel

He had said it numerous times that he wanted to eat them, and Lucifer hadn’t exactly withheld explaining to MC all the ways they could be consumed by demons. So when Beel transformed, all they could think about was them being consumed.

Beel had lost control of himself, destroyed part of the house, and now he saw the way MC acted around him. It made him sick to his stomach. He always wanted to prove himself to be a protector, making sure the people that were close to him always felt safe. Already he had taken a liking to MC and yet already they were fearful of him.

The only way he could think of to show his trust was to share food. Share his food. His brother had never ever seen Beel not finish a meal, but for a little while, Beel would give MC some food off of his plate to make sure they ate. He never wanted to see MC tremble like that, especially not from him, he wouldn’t be able to handle it, the guilt would eat him up for dinner instead.

He won’t be satisfied till MC is comfortable with him entirely, demon form, human form, all of it. He’ll take whatever steps necessary if it means MC feels safe around him. 

Belphie

It’s only natural that MC would be scared of his demon form after what happened. Even if the MC he hurt so badly wasn’t the one that stayed, Belphie could still catch nervous glances from MC anytime he sounded like he was about to lose it.

He won't tell anyone the reason why he’s been sleeping so poorly since then is because he can’t stop dreaming of the same moment over and over and over again. Watching their face wrapped in an endless scream. MC does find it concerning when the demon of Sloth is refusing to get any sleep.

It’s actually Beel who comes to MC first, telling them to talk to Belphie. Since they’re twins and they have a magical twin connection, he’s felt awful, feeling endlessly restless no matter what he eats or how much he exercises. He pleads MC to talk to his brother.

It takes a long discussion with MC doing most of the talking before Belphie gives in and apologies with his cracking voice betraying his emotions. He just wants to go back to dreaming, he wants to stop reliving this endless nightmare.

MC stops being scared of Belphie when he falls asleep in their lap, and Belphie finally is able to move on from that terrible moment.

[footballcloud]

Familiar - Anyone You’d Like

Unlucky today baby, when do you think you'll be home? xxx

delivered - 17:58

read - 18:02

It was a familiar feeling for you. Being ignored. It'd begun to become the norm meaning that loneliness had also begun to seep in. His team had suffered a heavy defeat, something else that was also becoming familiar for him and that meant you spent a large proportion of your time with him feeling like you were treading on eggshells. Although, you spent very little time together anymore, so at least he spared you that feeling. It was past 2 o'clock in the morning when he arrived home, from the 3 o'clock kick off but he seemed to be arriving back later and later each week which meant you were at home by yourself for longer and longer each week with only your phone for company. God knows what he was doing between leaving the ground and getting home. Your friends back home didn't cheer you up on FaceTime the same way a night out did but those had been few and far between recently.

As soon as he arrived home, he dropped his rucksack with a heavy thud by the door and closed it behind him. Brushing past you, he drank quickly from a glass of water that you'd left out for him in the hope it'd settle him down. You watched him as he drank it with his back turned to you, contemplating whether you should break the silence to try and console him but risk getting your head bitten off if he hadn't calmed down yet, or leave him to simmer for a while and speak to him in the morning. It wasn't a rarity for the two of you to go for days without speaking to each other despite living under the same roof and sharing a bed. You were working or he was training, away with the team or on his Xbox.

"How are you feeling?"   You asked tentatively, being able to feel his anger radiating off him even with is back still turned to you. "Fucking fantastic thanks", he made a snide, sarcastic remark and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve before refilling up his cup, "and don't tell me that bollocks about 'it's always better to talk things out', because not. You're the last person I want to speak to". He added abruptly, imitating your voice for a second or two before slamming his glass down on the kitchen worktop. His word stabbed through you like a knife in your back, but it was the last sentence that provided the fatal blow. It wasn't like you to lose it with him, you were definitely the calmer one out of the two, but even you were on the verge of losing it.

"If you don't want to talk to me now, when were you planning on speaking to me?" You raised your voice slightly as he turned round to face you and gave a pathetic shrug as if to say 'I don't know'. "Because if you're not planning on talking to me, then there's no point in me being here. You dragged me half way across the country for what? For you to ignore me, stay out until stupid hours of the morning and throw a tantrum like a child when I ask where you've been?" You snort scornfully, feeling your temper rising in your stomach but you didn't feel the need to suppress it given that's all you did around him.

"Jesus fucking Christ, lay off it will you? If it's so much of a chore to be here with me then go back home!" He folded his arms over his chest, vein pulsing prominently on the side of his neck which showed his heart rate pick up as his bit back at you. "Why can't you see the position that I'm in? Take yourself out of your stupid footballer bubble and see the bigger picture for a second. I've dropped everything for you to be here. Friends, family, degree, but you haven't even got the decency to acknowledge me!" You were somewhere between tears and about to erupt with anger. You needed to stop yourself from saying something you’d regret in a few hours time but there were some things that you needed to get off your chest because they’d be brewing in your head for a while. He’d certainly changed since he’d moved clubs, you weren’t sure if it was the bigger pay cheque, larger media following, heavier pressure on him from playing at a higher level or possibly a mixture of all of them - but he definitely wasn’t the same person you’d started dating almost three years ago now.

“All I see is someone being needy for attention”, he snarled which was the final straw for you so you took yourself off to the spare bedroom, not even able to look at him without his face making you distraught and a little teary, let alone share a bed with him. Your relationship had never been perfect, he’d blow hot and cold with you occasionally, dipping in and out of commitment without a second thought leaving you feeling like you were on the outside, never really knowing where you stood with him from time to time when he would give you the cold shoulder but cuddle you for a hour the next day. You weren’t perfect either, not being able to grasp how someone was so carefree, causing you to occasionally making a decision out of impulse rather than thinking through the consequences before hand, meaning an argument would escalate even more when he frustrated you. It was times like that when you had your biggest doubts. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling for hours on end, trying to work out what you’d done to irritate him that time. The fact he was so carefree was beginning to become a reoccurring theme, possibly the root of the problem was that was he didn’t really care, or at least he acted like he didn’t. He was becoming inconsiderate and you were becoming tired of it.

The morning after wasn’t much better. The atmosphere was still heavy with tension that could you virtually cut with the knife you were buttering your toast with. He was across the kitchen from you, making a mug of tea with his back turned to you but you could tell from his posture alone that he was tired with his shoulders slumped. After last night’s fiasco, you’d learnt not to break the silence and get your head bitten off, you’d said all you felt you needed to without going too far and really doing some damage.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” He spoke, sleep evident in his voice as he threw the teabag in the bin. “Which bit?” You asked, not entirely sure as to which part if the argue argument he was picking at, there was quite a lot to go through. “When you were going on about the point in you being here?” He reminded of the events that’s you’d spent hours trying to block out your mind. You had two options: say yes and risk World War 3 taking place over the kitchen island or say no and bottle up your feelings again like you’d been doing for months. “Yeah... I did”, you confessed, chose the first options and watched his face sink. ‘Oh fuck’, you thought, ‘that wasn’t the answer he wanted’ - his emotions plastered on his face flung you into a world of guilt as he stared solemnly into his mug.

 “Would you go back home?” He asked, not breaking his gaze with his drink to make eye contact with you. You wanted him to know how you truly felt but without hurting him, even though he’d spent months unintentionally hurting you. “I’ve considered it”, you spilt to him, “only occasionally when I’m overthinking things. You know when your deep in thought in the middle of the night and everything seems a billion times worse than it actual is”, you added, trying to reason with him to soften the blow and being careful not to add insult to injury. Yet last night, thinking about it didn’t make it any worse, instead just putting things into perspective and you were seriously considering taking a break and going back home. “I don’t think either of us are in a state to talk about”, you watched him yawn as your eyelids felt heavy, the adrenalin rush from the argument clearly took a told on your quality of sleep.

“We can’t just keep brushing it under the carpet”, he said matter-of-factly as if he hadn’t been acting like a child 8 hours ago, he was hardly a martyr. “Why are you so desperate to talk now?” You impulsively blurted and then instantly regretted it. It sounded far more facetious than you intended whilst he lent against the kitchen island as you waited for his reaction. ‘Fucking hell’, you scolded yourself for being such a bitch, whilst your boyfriend stood opposite you - practically a ticking time bomb with the end result probably him throwing hands and storming off again, but on this occasion it was probably deserved after the snide comment.

“I can’t be under a roof with you knowing that your unhappy with me, something needs to change”, he took a sip of his tea and nodded calmly, changing the subject, not giving the reaction you expected but you certainly weren’t complaining. “Tell me, what is it specifically that you makes you unhappy because I can tell somethings wrong”, he made eye contact with you, with bags under his eyes and glaze behind them that told you he was upset too. “It’s the blowing hot and cold, staying out late, mood swings...”, your voice tailed off towards the end. You could’ve rambled on and listed a whole host of things that annoyed you but you didn’t want to overwhelm him given that sensitive conversations like that were few and far between.

“The team’s been struggling at the moment, you know I haven’t quite got the hang of a work - life balance yet. I try not to bring it all home to you, babe, I swear but sometimes I can’t help it”, he babbled on aimlessly for a bit but it was the nickname that softened you, making you relax in your seat and smile slightly. At least it had given you some clarity that it was nothing you’d done to upset him. “It’s fine, calm down we can work through it”, you reassured him as he started to get worked up about what he had and hadn’t been doing over the past few months, and whilst the situation hadn’t been ‘fine’ the fact he wasn’t totally oblivious to your feelings anyone made things better. The two of you sat in silence for a while, him sipping on his drink and you nibbling your toast which had gone cold by that point.

“You gonna eat that?” He asked, eyeing up the half eaten piece of toast on your plate. You just shook your head which he basically took as an invite to finish it for you. “I love you, you know that right?” He whispered and swallowed the toast before giving you a kiss on the side of your head, no doubt leaving toast crumbs there as well. You leaned your head on his shoulder for a few moments, enjoying the blissful silence between the two you that, for once, wasn’t awkward or tense.

“You know the first thing we can sort out?” You lifted your head and faced him, who nodded eagerly

“What?”

“Your morning breath, go and clean your teeth”, you held your nose mockingly and pointed to the stairs, telling his to go to the bathroom. He furrowed his eyebrows in dismay and kissed your lips despite your resistance although it hadn’t being particularly strong given you’d had very little physical contact, that you were oh-so familiar with, it was definitely something you’d missed.

~ tell me who you imagined it with, hope you enjoyed it 💕

[fallen029]

Nervous

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"You sure?"

Mira tilted her head to the side though her eyes betrayed the cute, quirky questioning vibe she was going for as they, instead, seemed rather disbelieving. It was easy for Laxus to note it these days, having fallen like most other in the hall for her typical chaste trickiness and innocuous pretenses over the years, but after being far more than just a guild member to her now for a good number of them as well, he'd begun to pick up on the little things.

Like how she seemed forever trapped in a guilelessness that didn't quite entrap her as well as she thought it did.

But this was fine, the ease at which he disarmed her now, as Mira was able to pick apart the man's own fallacies and walls.

"Yeah," he grumbled to the woman's question, but she only grinned at him, as if victorious, as she picked apart his lies with ease.

"Then why are you biting at your nails?" she asked with round eyes. "You only do that when you're nervous."

And now she'd managed to annoy him.

"Mira-"

"I'm only curious," she insisted with a little shake of her head. "Dragon."

He huffed some, his chest deflating as he finally gave her his full attention. They were in the bar, as they typically were, but Mirajane had actually found a moment to take a break. Rest. S-Class trials were, at that very moment, going on and those who hadn't been chosen were sulking away from the guild for the time being while a decent sized group was off being put through the rigorous trials and tribulations that were associated with being designated part of the elite group of mages that were Fairy Tail S-Class wizards.

Laxus had no reason to be nervous.

He'd claimed his spot many years before and, at times, wondered if he even had eventually surpassed the old geezer all together. He'd be a wizard saint, someday, he knew, or at least told himself so, and that meant that he had far more concerns than something as silly as a guild distinction.

Not when may one day have the distinction among the entire continent.

S-Class trials had nothing to do with him and, if anything, he was mostly just glad to find that bar emptied out some that day.

"It's okay," Mira assured him then though and when she reached across the table, it was to grab his hand, pulling it down so that she could caress it as she looked deeply into the slayer's eyes. "I am too."

"You are what too?" he asked dumbly, confused equally by her words as he was calmed by her gesture.

"Nervous," she insisted.

"About what?"

"The same thing as you."

"I'm not," he told her, "nervous."

"Laxus-"

"What do I have to be nervous about, huh?" Then, frowning, he questioned, "What do you?"

"Well, actually, I'm nervous about a lot of things," she said, releasing his hand, but only so she could bring her own up to her cheek and rest her head there then, as she thought. "I have a shipment of meat that hasn't come in yet and I know, this weekend, if I don't get it, that I'll have to serve meals without any meat portion and the guys will be pretty upset about that, which will affect my tips, and I've been trying to save up money for my wedding. Which brings me to my next point, I've been saving for a wedding that can't yet happen because my boyfriend is dragging his feet with proposing to me even though we've talked about it a thousand times-"

"Mira," he warned, but she only shrugged.

"The dog I look after was sick last night, too," she finished. "I'm nervous about that."

Laxus, with a slight breath, questioned, "What's wrong with him?"

"He has the shits."

And he blinked. Then narrowed his eyes while the woman only gazed right back with hers earnest and honest.

Shrugging some then, Laxus said, "If you need help wrangling him down to a vet, I could-"

"Oh!" Mira sat up then. "And I'm super nervous because my baby brother is off on the S-Class trials and I want him to preform well." Shrugging, she added, "But I'm torn, because I also want all of my friends to do well. Including your best friend. Freed."

Laxus' face fell then as he realized he'd been duped (possibly; her street dog did have a hefty amount of ailments from time to time) and only looked off once more as he remarked, "Sounds like your problem. Not mine."

"Oh, it's not a problem. Laxus. To be nervous about such things." Sighing, she said, "It means that you care. About them. To be nervous for someone else. I want them all to come back, knowing that even though they can't all be the winner, at least invigorated and ready to start right back at training and trying their hardest to, eventually, be that winner. It's an honor to be nervous on someone's behalf. I'd gladly take all of Elf's nerves if it meant he could put all his focus into the trials right now."

Laxus snorted. "Yeah, well, bully for you. Freed can take care of his damn self. I don't need to worry about him, like you and your loser brother."

"Behave."

Snorting, the man looked off before saying, "I'm not worried. Over Freed. Or anything."

"Fine. Not worried then." Mira had lost some of her jolliness at the slight her boyfriend had sent towards her absent brother. "But you are thinking about it. Aren't you? Even just a little? He's your best friend. I would at least think-"

"I'm," he insisted to her with a finality in his tone he usually reserved for literally anyone who wasn't his demon, "not nervous about the S-Class trials. Or worried. Or concerned. Alright?"

Sighing, she looked off for a moment, considering the slight surge of people that had come in in the last ten minutes or so and weighing in her mind whether or not her break was officially over. Not quite ready to let it go though, when her eyes drifted back to her boyfriend, it was with another set of words on her tongue.

"If you're not nervous about the trials," she began in that tone and it was enough, just on its own, to make him regret coming into the hall that day, "then that must mean that you're nervous about something else, so what is it? Huh? Is it that you've been seeing someone else?"

"Mira, what?"

"Some other woman, is it, then? Who is she, Laxus? Huh? Don't think that I wont' make a scene here, right now, in front of everyone, because-"

"What are you-"

"-if you don't tell me what it is that you're so nervous about, then I have no choice but to assume that you're cheating on-"

"I'm nervous for my friend, alright?" And he usually wouldn't take such a tone with her, but he did then, snapping some, out of aggravation and, maybe it was a trick of the lights, but the woman could have sworn she even saw a flick of his fangs as the vein on the side of his head bulged and his eyes darkened. "I want him to be S-Class with me and I'm worried that your stupid brother or one of those other idiots will get it over him. Or that...that… He'll fuck it up himself. Is that what you want to hear? Huh?"

No.

The other people around the guildhall did not.

But they had, quite clearly, heard nearly every word of his little outburst and, feeling all those eyes on him now only made the man growl louder. He was primed for a retreat, storming off and staying away from the hall for a few days, until he could stomach a return without smashing in the face of the first person who questioned him.

Mirajane, however, wasn't going to let this happen.

Because, yes, she had been very happy with the explosion of information that had just fallen out of the slayer's mouth. She'd only been prodding at him her entire break. For it to result in such a satisfying revelation meant it hadn't all been for not.

"Awe," Mirajane giggled, clapping her hands at the slayer's misery. "You guys are just such good friends, huh, dragon? You feel a lot better, don't you? Getting that off your chest?"

"No," he told her with the same candor that he'd just exposed himself and his nerves to the entire guildhall. "I feel worse."

"Well," Mira hummed as, job complete, she got to her feet once more, she offered, "I feel better. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Demon." The moniker was more of a proclamation than an endearing term. "You're evil."

"I love you," was her purest of explanations and she meant it too, he could tell, as her deep blues flashed a bit of hurt. "Helping you admit your feelings for your friends is how I show that."

"Yeah, well," he muttered under his breath, "then you need to find new ways."

Laxus took off that night, before her shift was finished, but that was fine with the woman as she'd more than begun staying most nights at his apartment.

When she arrived, he was flicking through an old atlas, comparing it to a current map. Something for a job, was all he grumbled to her when she lightly questioned, and Mira let his tone go because, well, she had been rather insistent before, at the bar, and all things considered, he hadn't outright acted a fool.

Just mostly.

"If Elfman doesn't make S-Class," she did whisper, eventually, over dinner that night and she saw the man roll his eyes, thinking she was trying to goad him back into a conversation, "I'll cry."

Grunting, he only continued to stab at the steamed vegetables at his plate, never rightly bringing them up to his mouth, but not quite ready to admit, when he insisted in a huff that he be the one to make them, that this was a bad idea.

"Of course," she hummed again, "if he makes it, I'll probably cry then, too."

"Mira?"

"Yes?"

"I already told you what you wanted to hear," he told her plainly. "What else do you want from me?"

"I'd like you to make a big emotional plea again," she replied back with the same amount of flatness that it almost made the slayer recoil. At the sight of it though, she broke some as, with a giggle, she admitted, "I'm just talking, dragon. About my baby brother. Who wants this so badly-"

"If he wanted it badly, he'll come back S-Class," Laxus told her as, with a shake of his head, he went back to stabbing at his vegetables. "If he doesn't, then that means he didn't want it badly enough."

"Well, I'm not saying that to him, if he comes back not S-Class."

"Yeah, I figured."

"And I'm not saying that to Freed either."

"That's fine," Laxus told her. "I will. He knows where to go to hear the truth."

"A little kindness will get you a lot in life, Lax," she replied, but he only shrugged some.

"Won't get you S-Class," he retorted and, well, the next morning would finally put the entire conversation to rest.

Cana had never looked prouder than herself and, that night, never gotten drunker, than when she was finally, after wanting it for so long, so much, to find herself on the same Fairy Tail tier as her father.

He was there, Gildarts was, having been hanging around for a few days, prepared for this, and she seemed rather annoyed by all of his attention, shoving at the man's face any time he tried to hug her, but betraying her annoyance by the glistening in her eyes, every single time he, also drunkenly, announced to those amassed how proud he was of the guild's newest S-Class member.

His daughter.

Mirajane was caught as she always was, between dismayed at the heartbreak evident on the faces of those who weren't victorious and the one who was. As she comforted both Elfman and Natsu over their losses, she did take note, across the bar, of where Freed was very stoic and graceful in his defeat, but still being comforted in their own ways, by his two friends.

"Who wants to be S-Class anyways?" Bickslow questioned. "When you can be part of the most elite team in all the lands?"

"I would," Ever admitted under her breath though, still, she patted at Freed's shoulders sympathetically.

It was as they stood though that all three felt it. It had been looming, after all, the entire time. The presence of their most highly viewed mentor, Laxus, who came out of hiding, down in the game room. He'd been down there transferring his nerves into some rounds of pool, but Cana and Gildarts very loud commotion had finally caught his attention and he found himself not welcomed to the celebrations of the member he'd most desired.

At his approach, both Bickslow and Ever took a step back. They too had disappointed the man in the past, but never quite in such a grand fashion. Freed was primed to take the gold this time around, only to lose out to the guild drunk and Evergreen couldn't help but to glare over at the other woman, hating her more, even, than Titania, just for that day only.

Laxus came to a stop before the trio, eyes on Freed, and the rune mage forced himself to meet the gaze of the other man. It was just as he was beginning to open his mouth though that he caught sight of Mira, over at the bar, staring very pointedly his way and he took in a breath, instead of speaking, reconsidering his words before he was unable to take the back.

His gaze didn't soften, not exactly, but Freed was almost surprised when, instead of being reprimanded, he was welcomed with a pat at the shoulder from the man, as well as a slight grin.

"You kicked Elfman's ass, at least, right?" the slayer asked to which the other mage bowed his head a bit.

"Well, we did find ourselves across from one another and I found myself moving on while he did not, but-"

"All that matters."

"L-Laxus-"

"You'll want it more, next time," he told the other man simply. "After getting so close."

"Yes." And he balled up his fists then, Freed did, nodding his head at the man as he insisted, "I will!"

It was a celebration that night, not a pity party, as Cana was far from someone that anyone could look down upon (especially not with her father there, intent on making certain this didn't happen) and it was a good night.

For everyone.

The night peaked though, for Laxus, when towards the end of it, as he sat up at the bar drinking with the still far too giddy Gildarts, listening to the man go on about all of where he'd been (with some praise for his little girl sprinkled in there), Mirajane appeared at his side. The slayer originally thought it was to refill his mug, which he held up to help her with this, but instead of leaning down to fulfill this request, the woman instead pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering long enough for Gildarts to giggle at the man.

"Mira," Laxus questioned with a bit of a rosiness to his cheeks as the woman rightened and did, finally, begin to fill his mug with golden ale once more. Such public displays were hardly their style and the man raised his head then to question, "What was that for?"

"I just like it when you're nice, dragon." She even giggled. "I like it a lot."

But the night was busy and she was being called off again, across the bar, which left the still somewhat blushing Laxus and grinning Gildarts.

"You caught a good one, Laxus. Proud of ya."

"Shuddup."

"No, seriously." And Gildarts glanced over his shoulder then, to the table where his daughter was plying herself with barrel after barrel while her guild members, all so thrilled by her accomplishment, sat nearby, happily congratulating her. "I fucked up. You know. Once. With the only one that mattered. Sometimes you don't get second-chances, man." His serious tone faded though as his face contorted in a smile that didn't seem to stretch right across it as he said, "Unless you're like my Cana! No need for second-chances; she's all S-Class!"

"Yeah," Laxus snorted, "she just needed fourth and fifth and sixth-chances."

"What did you say? Eh? Laxus?"

And when Gildarts turned his head then, his face had contorted into something far darker and Laxus found it best to just sip his beer in silence for awhile.

They left together that night, Laxus and Mira did, the man a bit drunk and the woman, who'd worked the entire night away, stone cold sober, but it was fine, as she seemed high on something else.

"I'm so happy," she insisted to the man. "For Cana. It almost washes away how badly If eel for Elf."

Almost.

She was twirling and skipping that night, slightly before her boyfriend, and he only watched her for a few moments then before speaking.

"Maybe," he offered with a bit of a shrug, "he could come out with me. Elfman could. And we could train some times. To get him ready for next year."

And she stopped dancing then, Mira did, to look over her boyfriend as she instead flel into step with him. Slipping her arm into the crook of his, she snuggled up close to the man who, even drunk, only rolled his eyes.

"You're so sweet, Lax," she assured him as the man only groaned. "When you wanna be."

Even though his reaction seemed the exact opposite, slowly, Laxus was learning that, maybe, he always wanted to be.

[whatgaviiformes]

Hey! I wondered if I could be cheeky and ask for a combination of 2 Olympic prompts? I'd really like a combo of victory for one brother (maybe Scott?) and loss for another (maybe Gordon) on the same day (if not in the same event). To be honest, any pair of brothers would be fine. And I know this is kind of detailed and complicated, so I am more than happy for you to refuse, or only take part of this to work with. Thanks!

Only if I can be equally as cheeky and combine events 😊 And it's funny you ask, I had just been talking to @the-original-sineater about a similar concept a few days before this prompt came in, and so I hope you don't mind, but I asked her if she didn't mind joining me as a co-writer on this one. The result has been a true passion project for the two of us - we've had a hell of a lot of fun working together. I sincerely hope it shows, and that you enjoy this story. Thanks to you both for the continued inspiration. 

@katblu42 I also know you are having a rough go of things at the moment, so this story comes to you also with sincere Thunderfam hugs and well wishes.

The full story is up on Ao3 here: Faster, Stronger - Together

Or you can continue to part 1 below, and I will link to her post of part 2 at the end.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Faster, Stronger - Together (Part 1)

Scott braced on the edge of the pier. Toes curled around the lip, knees bent. The death throes of the typhoon that had passed through two days earlier made the water grey and choppy.  It wasn’t the best conditions to race in, but it was the Olympics. You took what the gods gave you.  But that made him want to hit the water even more.

“Hey Scooter! On your left!”

Scott glared to his left. There was only one person in the group of 50 that dared to call him that  and with that goad. “Watch it FISH, I know where you sleep.”

His younger brother Gordon just laughed at him.

“Frigging fish.” He turned his gaze back to the water and waited for the starter’s pistol. Olympians tended to run in families. But having two brothers in the same event? In the same games? Uncommon, if not actually rare.

There was a chuckle to his right. “Little brothers are the bane of our existence, yes?” Denis Vallee of France was Scott’s primary competition, after Gordon. They had both had younger brothers in the games, but Denis’s had the good taste to be a fencer.

The pistol sounded before he could answer, and Scott dove into the water. The shock between the warm, nearly chewable air and the cold, storm churned water was enough to make him gasp. He shook it off and swam 1500 meters of the crawl.

Unless you were a little shit named Gordon Tracy. In which case you used the god damn butterfly . Used it, led with it, and was smug as hell about it. Anyone else saying anything like that about Gordon, in Scott’s presence, found out in a big hurry not too. Scott was the only one allowed to badmouth Gordon, his privilege as a big brother.

Still, this water was utter crap. He let a swell throw him forward. You had to pace in the  Triathlon. 1500 meters of swimming, 40 clicks of a bike race, and 10 more clicks of running. It was a hard race to begin with. But in these conditions? It was brutal.

The first buoy and boat were in sight, marking the first turn. He kept as tight as he could to it. Anything to shave precious tenths off his time.

He could feel the lactic acid build up in his legs as they made for the second buoy.  That was the turn that would take them to the headland and the bikes. God, his arms were burning. The chop made an already hard swim tougher. He had to post a good swim time. It wouldn’t be a great time, but as long as it was good, it would be okay.

The water was changing, calmer, a little warmer. They were in the headland's lee now. He could see the curve of the beach when he turned to breathe. It was only a dozen or so more strokes before his fingers hit sand. He got a leg under him, pushed upright and started to run for his bike.

He could see Gordon ahead of him. Denis was to his right, pushing through the water.

17 :23:41 That was Scott’s time. He could build on that.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Eight laps.

The irony was not lost on him that it was Scott who taught him how to ride a bike in the first place. They’d raced back then too, converting the acres of land on their family’s wheat farm into an obstacle course, even as Gordon found his balance on two wheels and his muscles filled out to challenge the length of Scott’s legs.

Being the eldest, Scott had the advantage then.

He was still a force, and Gordon knew not to underestimate his brother’s stamina at his age, the old man (and only Gordon was allowed to say that; privilege of being a younger brother). Scott may certainly start in the chase group after the swim, but he’d make his way forward into the leaders by the end of the cycling race.

If he had any chance at winning, Gordon had to work smarter.

Triathlon was about endurance across the three events. His disadvantage was that he was strongest in the swim, and the swim being the portion of the event that took place first allowed his competition plenty of opportunity to catch up to his scores.

Gordon knew his best chance to stay in the race was to give himself the head start, and while he could dominate the event with the crawl, every time he pushed his hardest through the swim using the standard stroke, he always burned out in later events.

The butterfly had been his secret weapon.

He’d been perfecting his approach to the triathlon event for months. The butterfly worked almost every muscle group, all pecs, and core, and deltoids, and trapezius, leaving his legs less drained and better reserved for the cycling and the run.

He knew what people would be saying about his change in swim strokes, how arrogant it might make him look. But Gordon knew his body.

And he knew Scott.

He was not going to let Scott beat him; he was going to win the hell out of this race and the butterfly was going to be what helped him do it. He was one of the fastest swimmers in the world, and it still gave him a hell of a solid lead with his time coming in at 16:59:12 for the full 1.5 kilometers.

And then he had no time to think, removing his cap and replacing it with a helmet for the biking portion.

Just practicing cycling alone and on flatland he could complete the 25 miles in 55 minutes on average. The 40 kilometers of the Olympic standard was just shy of that length, and with one lap almost complete, he knew those few uphill slopes could slow him down.

He stood on the pedals and leaned into the last curve of the track.

Seven laps.

As wide a lead as he had, he knew the competition would catch up eventually, but hell if he was going to make it easy on them. His guess was they’d catch up three laps in, and then the goal from there would be to stay in the group of leaders, even if he slid a bit further back. He could regain the ground he needed at the run.

Six laps.

The air was stifling and muggy, and it didn’t help the heat he felt in his lungs as he pressed his feet faster into the circular rhythm.

Gordon felt heavy, but controlled breathing against his neck.

That was the other reason he tried to get ahead. On the swim team he competed with lanes cleanly defined, and victory was about speed and skill alone. In the triathlon, the athletes were basically on top of each other, so close, too close.

Aw shit.

Vallee was on his tail.

Five laps.

The breakaway group was a pack of nine from what Gordon could feel around him. There were two right behind him, and six leading at the front, with Scott and Vallee fighting each other to push into first, other names like Tvedt and Balazs and Ricci weaving in and out behind them.

He was maybe milliseconds behind, but those milliseconds mattered.

Just keep with the group, Gordo.

Four laps.

Around him were chants of “USA!” They weren’t for him; they were chants for Scott, who’d taken a solid lead. It made him proud. From the back of the group, he still felt the thrill of the chase and the support of his countrymen invigorate his tired muscles, as they pushed through the fire and pressed forward.

Three laps.

The two competitors behind him fell back towards the peloton. He didn’t know how far behind they were, but it left him last in the breakaway. It made him feel like he was losing.

But he wasn’t.

He wasn’t losing.

He was okay, this was okay.

Breathe.

Two laps left.

Honestly, he was falling a bit behind too.

The back of Scott’s shoulders were red and flushed. Gordon should definitely have been focusing on himself and his own frantic pedaling, but he wasn’t able to stop thinking that Scott was pushing too hard.

Hell, they all were.

And, shit, everyone was still cheering .

Final Lap.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Virgil moved Kayo’s hand from his hand to his forearm. He didn’t want it broken. Which is what would happen if she kept squeezing.

Alan’s leg was bouncing so hard the chair he was sitting was dancing in place. John only looked calm. He was leaning forward, elbows on thighs, hands locked together. The white of the knuckles betraying his emotions.

Virgil had a stress ball in his other hand. One that might not survive this race if things kept up at this pace.

As much as he appreciated the support of their community in donating the high school’s gymnasium to livestream the event, the cheerful laughter of the townsfolk around them grated against Virgil’s skull. While it was a celebration for their town, it was incredibly nerve-racking for the Tracy family and their closest friends.

Supporting one brother in an event? Easy. Having two competing in the same event? Well, that was the hell of Solomon’s choice, wasn’t it? Scott had always dreamed of winning gold in the Olympics and had dedicated his life to training for the triathlon. But then, even though Gordon had already had his go on the swim team four years prior, he’d put so much of himself into training for the triathlon since - living and breathing cycling, running, and building up his endurance.

And there could only be one gold. No matter how they sliced it, they’d be celebrating with one brother...and mourning with the other.

Gordon’s old high-school swim team had gone wild when the second youngest pulled out the butterfly, darting immediately into the front of the pack, even with the more difficult stroke. Water was his element, and apparently he wanted everyone to know it.

The bike club had started yelling the minute Scott hit his bike. This course was where Scott could shine. Like Kansas, it wasn’t flat either. Scott was the master of the short hill and his friends knew it.

All Virgil could focus on was the flush on both his brothers’ faces. There wasn’t much one could do about a typhoon. Nature set her own schedules, but running a race in the remains of one? With humidity in the 70 percent range and no sun to help dry it out even a little? It worried him. It worried him a lot.

They watched as Scott powered through the last turn, and slammed into the transition area so fast he was running when he left the bike. The racers had a precious two minutes to change and start the running section. The last section.

Scott’s elapsed time was a solid one hour thirteen. Vallee’s was one hour thirteen and fifteen seconds. Gordon was at one hour fourteen and twenty seconds. Striking distance for the top three. Which would be the best outcome possible as far as Virgil was concerned. Each brother getting a medal. It would lead to some trash talk over the family dinner table, but they could live with that. Scott and Vallee burst out of the transition area at the same time. They were running side by side. A shot that the broadcaster seemed to take great delight in showing. They were so well matched they seemed like one runner.

Gordon was a bare heartbeat after his big brother. Ten kilometers, five out, and five back. This just might be the longest forty minutes of Virgil’s life.

He clenched the stress ball tighter in his hand. And watched with bated breath.

END OF PART 1 - Continue on SinEater's blog here.

[hungryflowers]

You’re Different Backstage

Title: You’re Different Backstage

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

Continuity/Fandom: Balan Wonderworld

Character Relationship(s): “Balance” Balan/Lance

Character(s): Balan, Lance

A/N: This is going to be my FIRST NSFW submission for this fandom. Do not come at me with the torches, pitch forks, knives or shotguns. I, very recently, sent myself down the rabbit hole of Balance (Balan/Lance) and kept wondering: how nice would it be to see some good ol’ fashion sexy time with the two of them? Since no one has done it yet, I thought, why don’t I? What’s stopping me? Who can stop me? NOBODY!!! So I did this. And it took me 10 days to do, so please accept my thing!! Also, also, this will probably be the longest porn w/o plot I’ve ever written. Hence why it took nearly ten days. The editing alone was bananas!! Another thing, I’d like to apologize in advance if I offend anyone here who is Non-Binary or go by They/Them pronouns. Since Lance is canonically non-binary, I tried to keep it as close to the orientation as possible. This was real hard as I usually default to male pronouns for both of them. 

However, I didn’t do the same for Balan, as he does tend to go by more male pronouns than Lance does even though they are also androgynous in appearance. Maestro is a more masculine term even if neither of them actually are. Another big thing: Balan’s genitals here. Since they don’t have actual default genitalia, I like to think that he has the ability to oscillate his genitals. He can have male and female parts just not at the same time. With that out of the way, please indulge in this steamy lil’ fan fic. And yes, I take criticism.  

Other/Warning(s): Massive smut warning!! Penetrative sex, Oral and Cunnilingus, Some minor swearing, graphic depictions of sexual situations as well as multiple orgasms.  

Lance didn’t enjoy setting the ‘mood’ as others had assumed it. They weren’t  deeply inclined to romantic, or sappy gestures like the better half of themselves had been. Balan seemed better at the sentimental side of affirmations of love and adoration. Or of praises and well-wishes that devolved into lasting conversations of love and happiness. 

No. No such things came out of Lance. They never gave in the way Balan would crave it. All they have ever wished for in turn was the physical catharsis of those suppressed feelings. Lance never called it love. Far be it from them to say what it wasn’t, but call it what it is. For them, it was just sex. The debasing art form of it too; bed-rocking, sloppy and wet, body tingling sex. That kind one would have as a means to purge the physical, mental garbage of the day and get back to work. The sex that revolved around more the need to take and not deal in the emotional ramifications. Lance’s fangs would draw in a wicked grin, the idea of that perfect, lasting till the morning time sex rarely sounding so bad. They had raptured, fantasized of the feel of Balan’s more delicate, tender frame mashed into theirs as he was ridden to a mind-blowing high that could leave them both speechless for a long while. 

They would languish in these thoughts. The perverse nature of them driving him to do insane things in search of the release from the monstrous, bone-rattling ache. For now, Lance busied themselves to look away... their thoughts hazy and muddled with the resurfacing gnaw of pursuing pleasure. Their mouth ducked into their tattered caplet, hiding the baring growl that prickled at those lips. Soft, ocean-colored eyes hardened with shock, and some surprise as they locked with Balan’s. They must’ve been so entranced with the inner turmoil, Lance never registered the glance the maestro was giving them. The Maestro of Wonderworld’s presence did things to Lance. Things they acknowledged and didn’t like. Gods, who decided to torment them so by making this being so damned beautiful and siren-like? How dare he sit with an air so casual, it appeared nothing ever bothered him? Damn him. Damn his soft, luscious and devilish curves; feminine in some ways while masculine in others. But moreover, damn those goddamn large and intelligent yellow eyes.

Golden pools shimmered deliciously in the lamplight of the slow evening. The theater was always quiet at night. It was period of reflection, relaxation. Or maybe a time to finish some old project. Maybe begin anew. For Balan tonight however, it was his time to catch up on a few good reads. He hadn’t picked up a good novel in some time. Usually the only papers he read were his rough drafts of scripts and plans. But he loved to read. When he didn’t harass Lance with trivial tasks, or for the nuisance of conversation, Balan read. If not that, he wrote. He was a maestro of the craft; short stories, full-lengths, prompts and scenarios, or sometimes just a journal entry. On this night he didn’t busy himself with putting quill to parchment. 

Balan's mouth opened, a sound coming out but no words. He wasn’t entirely sure how to ask about Lance’s wellbeing with being snapped at. The other appearing to be in a dour mood tonight. Placing the book on the small, rounded oak table Balan unfolded his legs to stand. He stretched idly, rubbing at the back of his top hat before pulling it off his head to fluff out his bouncy mint-colored dreads. Humming a little tune, Balan rummaged through his showman jacket, pulling out a golden rubber band to tie his long dreads back. The tendrils folded down his shoulders neatly once they were out of the way, exposing the intricately made heart marking atop his dark forehead. 

His eyes fanned over the negati’s hidden features before he walked over to the bar on the far side of the room. Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out an aged bottle of wine; the label slightly tarnished and dusty read in calligraphic silver “Caraveét”. He grabbed gold-rimmed chalices, pouring the shimmering iris colored wine into each of the glasses. He grinned, smelling the sweet and tart flavors. He took a slow sip from his glass before tapping the bar table with his gloved fingers, the racketing bring Lance out of their stupor.

“Did you want some?”, He inquired, hoping the swirling liquid would ease the storm that ravaged the negati, “You seem a bit broody tonight. Perhaps, a couple of glasses should ease both our minds.” The maestro chuckled giddily raising his glass as it gleamed in the low light. 

Lance regarded the glass, then the maestro as he walked over to them. The tentacles on their back lashed so abruptly, Lance had to do a non-verbal apology when they knocked over a few chairs by accident. They weren’t brooding. Not even mad, but they were feeling something. Just not sure how to find the words for it. 

Balan’s eyes drifted to Lance’s, regarding them. Waiting for them to answer the question they most likely didn’t hear in the first place. 

“What?” The tone was not to be a biting, agitated type yet Lance couldn’t make themselves look at Balan, knowing full well the turmoil they were in.

“Nothing... I was just asking if you would like a glass of wine? You are more the brooding lot than usual. Drink with me.” Balan’s playful baritone voice felt like velvet as it caressed their ears. That voice caused Lance to sulk further more, hiding their face inside the caplet as the thoughts, seeming to feel more like whispers of temptation, dominated their rational thinking. 

He took the offered glass yet chose not to drink of any of it. Instead he loomed over the rim as Balan took a long swig of his. 

Lance licked at their lips, unknowing of the gesture. They would give more than anything to kiss the taste off of Balan’s lips. Or just to kiss them at all. They had wondered what it would be like to feel the maestro’s lips tentatively licking, caressing theirs in a heated lip-lock. The maddening thoughts came back tenfold, causing the other in audible snarl, attempting to shut them away. 

“Lance... are you okay?” They heard Balan on the bridge of their conscious, the other’s voice like a muddling hum as they stood up quickly to move in front of Balan. The other, not knowing how to judge the move, backed into the bar, his glass still in hand while he searched the eyes of Lance. They appeared to be wild, nearly frantic with an energy Lance never expressed. 

Lance leered at the other silently before pushing himself right into the maestro’s form; trapping him in front of the wood lacquer. Balan’s fleeing gaze made Lance smile. Not grin... smile. His mouth perking with something that could not be said as his hands went to Balan’s cravat, pulling the other slowly toward him. 

“No...”, Lance confessed, eyes lulling closed dreamily, “I am not okay. And you are to blame.” That smile showed off the fangs, the points flitting in the soft lamplight. 

Balan could not fully process what was going on before Lance leaned in fully to capture the other’s lips. Night after night, they had dreamt up this moment and even now they cannot believe they had gotten this far. It was far better than any dream or wish; light blue eyes sliding closed as a slender tongue went past the maestro’s parted, stunned mouth. That moment caused a ripple of shock to seize Balan, contents of his glass spilling onto the floor, no doubt leaving a stain that’ll have to be dealt with. He didn’t even have the knowledge of dropping it, yellow eyes staring at Lance’s softened face before he willed himself to kiss back. His hands, once frozen indecisively, pulled Lance in close.  

Neither were sure how it had come to this, but Balan didn’t have the heart in him to make Lance stop. A small purr rumbled the kiss as Lance began to pull off. They disconnected breathlessly, only the small tail of spittle between them. Their breaths were heavy and hot, burning like steam with each exhale. It took the maestro to gather his bearings before his mouth was able to work again. 

“W-Why am I to blame?? Lance what’s happened to you?” Balan felt as if he knew what was about to happen, and tried his best to make it all make sense. He was normally in a lot more control in surprise like situations; yet here... he was unable to predict the sheer tumbling force that Lance was portraying. 

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Lance whispered, deftly kissing down Balan’s neck, inky-black hair brushing amethyst sparkled cheeks, “I’ll make you understand.” They said louder with a growl that exposed fangs.

Purrs rumble through Lance as they fumbled with anything that would be able to get Balan’s ensemble off. Instantly they are met with resistance as Balan shoves at them, hands going to the sharp shoulders defensively. 

“Lance! What do you think you’re doing?!” Balan exclaimed, standing his ground before Lance doubles their efforts to expose the maestro. They are only slimly successful when get to expose Balan’s upper shoulder; the tear just big enough to reveal swirling lines of golden runes, “Have you lost your mind?!”

 The other refuses to answer him, bringing themselves flush against Balan to kiss down the exposed markings. 

Had they managed to lose their mind? Lance would have to give that some thought later on. In the afterglow. But first, they’d have to get down from the tantalizing high that has them under a spell. Their lips brushed softly down the exposed skin, running lightly over the maestro’s clothed arm. Gods, both of them just had on too many layers. Lance flared up, frustrated by the inability to firmly feel the decadent skin.

“Lance, let me go!” Balan demanded, the command in his voice barely swaying Lance to push off him. He was losing control of the situation. And the scary part of it was that was what he wanted. Balan would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want this. Yet to get it from Lance this way was never a part of the plan. 

“You don’t want me to let you go.” Lance stated, eyes twinkling with more than just mischief behind them.

“Yes I do!” Balan choked out, his act and bravado beginning to fail him.

“Then why are you pulling yourself into me?” Lance chuckled, allowing their hands to wander down Balan’s waist.

“I’m-” He stammered not expecting to see or know that he had been pulling Lance closer the entire time. Forbid it all, he wanted this negati more than anything right now. And he was showing how badly. Damn his body for this. He was normally in better control of his reactions, this lapse should not have been tolerated. 

His be-speckled face shown with the brewing embarrassment of being caught before shoving himself a bit harder, finally escaping Lance’s grasp. The poor thing looked a fright; face flushing a deep violet, hair askew as it rolled down his shoulders and back, teeth clenched in discomfort as he attempted to steady his breathing. His chest must’ve rattled from the urge to scream at Lance. Instead he stamped off, refusing to let Lance see how flustered he became. He’ll have to be in his room for a while to work out the steam that began to build.

He didn’t get far as a few tendrils of inky black wrapped around the other’s waist. He could hardly make a verbal protest while being pulled back into the other’s form. Large claws going up his neck, arresting Balan’s smooth belly as the tendrils dipped further. The tentacles moved lively, squeezing and pulling on the other as Lance’s hands swept and groomed over the maestro’s suit. When one hand dipped between Balan’s legs, he seized up. 

Yellow eyes dilated, Lance’s touch freezing his mind. The groan that escaped him was not intended yet was enough to make Lance’s groin ache. He was going to force those sounds out of Balan. In one way or the other. Their night was going to be fulled with these delicious noises. The tendrils smoothed over him, probing the other perversely. 

“Lance...please.” Balan became unaware of what he was begging for. He wanted this to stop, but he also felt like he’d regret refusing. This Lance... was much different than the one he’d encountered previously. The change felt real jarring; since they never made moves into his personal space. For anything. Least of all... This! He wanted to see where this could go. How much better it could get. 

His own hands skimmed over Lance’s suit, prompting the other to loosen their grip as Balan slid away from the tendrils. Balan took one coil in between his fingers, golden eyes gazing into the blue ones. The heat behind the other’s eyes made Lance shudder, a harsh sigh coming from his mouth as Balan took the tip of Lance’s tendril into his. The look stayed as the tendril came from Balan’s mouth, his tongue connecting it. The appendage darted out to swipe at the excess spittle left behind, the maestro’s eyes still glowing with a renewed heat. 

The action prompted a sneer from Lance’s features, their hand waving for a portal to open up behind Balan. The maestro gasped, turning to the hazy violet-colored portal. The shout of shock was to be expected as he was shoved right through it, the residual tethers of Lance’s self control snapping audibly as it receded. 

The overwhelmed, unknowing audience of Tims sat, wiggled, waddled and creeped up to sit in the place both beings had been.

                           ______________________________

It was not the fall that left him breathless as he landed on the massive expanse of what felt like a lavish bed. It wasn’t the deep contrasting colors of purple and gold accents that were illuminated by rainbow-esque runes and paintings of Negati markings throughout the immense, intimate space. Nor was it the pulsating rivets of scarlet that blended salaciously with the black and purple blankets and amassing of huge, plumy pillows. 

Lance himself left him utter breathless; transfixing him, mesmerizing him with the oscillating negati runes that gleamed in the room. Lance had never done this display before. Their runes barely pulsed or shined vibrantly whenever they were around each other. Evermore rarer when he was alone. The runes gave him an ethereal hue that the nighttime sky couldn’t rival. He brushed that thought away as Lance struggled out of their wardrobe, hardly mindful of seams, buttons or zippers as the top half of his shorn cloak was disposed of somewhere in the low lit room. Balan flinched yet shuddered at the ferocity Lance had showcased in removing his own tunic and darker colored vest from underneath. With his chest exposed; the tapestry of rune lines and fuchsia gleaming in the violet backdrop of the room, he was on Balan.

The maestro’s bright color scheme contrasted a great deal with the whole room, snow white wrapped in gold and scarlet with the fettering of navy with his undershirt. The colors screamed obnoxiously in comparison, and Lance wanted them all off. Balan looked on, dazed by the negati while Lance’s -no longer gloved, dark- fingers delved to pull apart the top of the collar, effortlessly tearing it asunder, a low suffering sound coming from the maestro but not much else. He would figure that Lance would be like this. There was no such thing as intimacy or care with the negati. Everything he touched broke in his hands. Balan knows well that this time will be no different.

 Those warmed hands skimmed over the prone body, fingers probing through the opened seams of the tattered clothings. They tickled him, a warm and fuzzy sensation spreading throughout the squirming frame. Balan felt lips on his chest, hands assisting in the pleasing endeavor while the other arched and shook. His mouth opened in an exhalation of steaming desire. When Lance pinched a nipple, Balan shot upwards in heated rebellion, forcing Lance to restrain him with his tendrils. 

He was about to demand that Lance release him yet was cowed into silence by a startling growl, “This ends if you keep moving.” That voice, their voice had done something to the maestro. In other instances, Balan would have fought Lance until the other relented control, but during this... he went oddly still, placate as Lance continued to trace a trail of kisses down his chest. He brought his hips forward and up as the negati began kissing down his belly, stopping shy of the seam of his pants. Warm hands went into the other’s pants, the kindled heat coming off of Balan’s genitals enough to make Lance purr. 

The maestro struggled against the hold as Lance pulled his pants down, heeled boots joining them as pile on the floor; kissing trails down his waist and down his legs. When the teeth pricked his skin, Balan thrashed. His face aglow with purplish speckles that brightened with his flush. He sparkled everywhere; cheeks, chest, hips and down the markings of his illuminated, swirling markings. Even the tendrils of his hair began to glow a slight with the forbidden heat. The hold on the restraints doubled.

“What did I just say?” Lance growled, the reverberating making Balan tense.

“L-Lance! Lance...”, Balan was calling to him yet couldn’t reach him as the negati roughly rid him of his clothing. Nearly naked, Balan shivered in the cool of the room as well as under the heated gaze of the negati, whom crawled up his frame to, again, kiss and lick at his newly glowing speckles, “Please... don’t stop! Please, Lance.” The maestro whispered pleas were a shock to the negati’s ears. He still wanted to punish him for fighting but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was becoming so lost to the feelings. 

“Save your voice, pet...”, Lance whispered as his fingers slipped past the maestro’s brightly colored panties, feeling him for the first time, “It is too premature for you to be screaming for me now.” He chuckled more as his folds became reactive to the fingers smoothing them over, luscious wetness forming inside the panties. 

Balan’s eyes widened, the shock of Lance’s finger boldly touching him made him to squirm, his own palm moving atop the negati’s. Much to Lance’s surprise, he didn’t hinder him yet chose to guide his fingers even closer, near enough for them to breach the delectable, delicate walls. Sun-yellow eyes rolled back once he felt one fingertip push its way inside, stopping short of sinking in completely. The maestro’s moan was unabashedly loud, body rolling in venture of more fingers. Lance marveled with fascination at the other’s willingness; form softening as he shook his head to and fro in delirium. He couldn’t stop shaking, lithe body aroused as the finger came from his wet sex. He smelt utterly delicious, dripping the natural nectar like a perfectly ripe fruit. His tongue slipped out to have a taste of it... and it had been everything he had hoped for. 

The aroma of the finest wine with the scintillating notes of vanilla and lavender. His cock pulsed in his own pants, over eager for its own taste. 

In horny glee, Lance yanked off the maestro’s panties, tossing the last piece of clothing into the darkness of his chambers in order to marvel at the most succulent sight in between the other’s rune spiraled legs. The plump lips of the vulva were just perfect enough to kiss, the natural wetness dribbling onto the blankets, glittering a soft purple as it did. The negati locked eyes with the heated, glazed expression before moving to take Balan’s mouth in a heated, soft kiss. The other kissed back with more fervor than before, free hand going behind Lance’s head to drag him down. 

 They pulled away with a long, loud sigh. The other scoring hot in contrast to the sheets beneath. Balan splayed his legs more, allowing for more room.

Lance grabbed up his thighs roughly, pulling him to the end of the bed to comfortably rest on their knees. Without much warning, Lance dipped his mouth right onto the humming lips of his vulva. That tongue went right to work at lapping up the sticky juices in and around those lips, a soft chuckle coming out of Lance as Balan shouted in lewd desire. His giant hands went right to Lance’s head, twining his fingers in the other’s hair as he shook and shimmied to the lapping tongue, hips arching to bring those lips closer to his pussy. 

Lance focused on the luscious flavor of his cunt, dragging Balan closer to them as the maestro attempted to pull back. Their grasp got tighter the harder Balan fought against the hold.  He felt the other’s grip in his hair, the tugging just enough to keep Lance deep. He lost his mind to Lance’s teeth grazing the top of his clit before sucking hard on his folds.

“Gods! Uhh, huh, L-L-Lance!”, Balan stammered, the corner of his eyes prickling with unshed tears while he fought and screamed into Lance’s lips. He was in heaven, but damn him if he’d admit that to the Negati. Balan flailed his head, mint-colored dreads going all over as he lost all semblance of control, “Dear gods Lance! Please! I cannot take...!” Balan pleaded for him to stop, to show any mercy on him as an intense rush of savage, carnal desire shot through him. When the other didn’t heed him, he wept. A startled sob ripped from his gasping maw as he arched into Lance’s rippling tongue. 

Lance backed off in order to awe at the loss of self control Balan was beginning to display. He took in the panting, shaking mess of a maestro before his very eyes; mouth hanging open as he greedily swallowed gulps of air, body aquiver with mind melting lust, hands holding his head like a vice as those sinful thighs wrapped around him. The sight of him made the negati moan unintentionally, tongue plundering the maestro. The vibrations of it caused Balan to clench on him and scream, both hands abandoning Lance’s hair to slide against the cooler sheets. 

“Oh! Oh gods, please, please...” The maestro whimpered, body relishing in that feeling while his mind boiled in intensity. 

Lance, accounting for Balan’s behavior, moaned louder and longer against the lips of Balan’s clit, as well as kept their tongue inside with the intent to find his G-spot. They kept at it for sometime, their tongue buried deep as their hands massaged over Balan’s heated, dark thighs. They kept the maestro as close as they could as they tongued the bundle of nerves located far up the other’s pelvis. 

“Wait! Wait! Lance please... don’t...please-” He hardly could finish the plea as instant rapture shot through his frame, causing him to clench on Lance’s tongue in a spine-melting orgasm. His mouth hung open in a room-rocking cry as his body snapped rigid, arms behind him as he grasped tight on the sheets. His chest thudded rapidly to his erratic breathing. His flesh clenching and tingling around Lance’s tongue the climax continued through him. There would be no reprieve however as he became rigged again, legs snapping around Lance’s head suddenly with another powerful orgasm. 

Lance had not stopped even through the second climax. Not even with Balan wailing in what could be felt as pain. The silky walls gushed with his essence, the liquid sex simmering on the negati’s tongue as they drank it. A pleasured laugh rippled through them as they pressed hard kisses to the top of Balan’s pussy. Kissing it several more times as Balan screamed at them in another language. They still didn’t stop as he felt the other kicking at them with feverish intent. When he almost clambered away, Lance reinforced their hold to plunge their tongue into him again. 

“For gods sake Lance! I can’t take anymore! Stop, please! I beg of you!” He wailed as tears streamed down his face. 

An empathetic grimace came to Lance’s face as they finally relinquished his hold on the thoroughly ruined maestro. Their lips were deliciously wet with the slick of the other’s sex, the taste even better than the wine he captured on Balan’s lips only moments ago. He watched him roll on the sheets, finding some balance of his overheated body and the cold contrast of the dark sheets. Deliriously, he crooned and purred as he came down from the high. It took him about five minutes total to calm himself. And then he smacked Lance’s shoulder. Hard. 

“Bastard! I told you to stop! What in the hell would it have taken for you to listen to me?!” He hissed, eyes narrowing darkly as he sat up. He seemed the opposite of pleased at the moment. A contrast that Lance felt prepared to deal with. Can’t please some people. The sentiment literal in Balan’s case. 

“You were fine with me not a few minutes ago.” Lance jabbed as they groaned at the pressing of that erection against their tight pants. The glare Balan shot at Lance made the other’s ears pin low. 

“That was before I had two orgasms in a row, heathen! You should have more respect for me. And be more receptive Lance. This isn’t just about you!!” He snapped. Nope. None too pleased at all. 

Lance blinked, “This... wasn’t about me. Trust that if it were; I would’ve fucked you through this bed. The only reason I didn’t do that is because I want to see you cum. I’ve only ever heard that-”

“Wait, wait a minute. You’ve heard me climax?” Balan started, a touch confused. 

“In your bedroom, when you think you’re alone. True, there are no visitors around but someone was always in the theater,” Lance purred as soft as a breeze. The negati smiled at the brightening embarrassment on Balan’s face, wishing now he had his hat to hide it. It softened them so seeing the normally composed, bombastic maestro reduced to a shivering, blushing mess. Gingerly as allowed, Lance caught Balan’s face, causing the other to look at them, “I guess I just wanted to put the face to the voice. And I am not disappointed.”

Lance leaned over to kiss the still warm cheek of the maestro as the other side-eyed him, the smallest smile forming. 

“I’m... not used to this side of you. You’re normally so far away from me. In fact doing you’re very best to stay out of my sight. Even when I want you there. You know...”, A slow pause before Balan finished the thought, “You are different... too bad we both have to be backstage to see it.” 

“I’m different backstage?!”, Lance’s long ears perked at the comment, not ever having someone feel or compare the sentiment, “I’ll remember that then. Do you want me to continue then? Or would you rather sulk about how I never know about your needs and cues?” Lance’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that could rival Balan’s.

“Yes, damn you. That...was a genuine experience.” He giggled, the noise a delight to Lance’s ears, leaning back on the plushy pillows, tendrils sprawling out comfortably behind him. With a singular exhale Balan relaxed against the sheets, hands going in his hair, fiddling with and tossing a singular white sliver of his tendrils. Only... it wasn’t his hair, Lance noticed and then raised an unseen brow in suspicion. 

“Is that... an ear?” They breathed a laugh as Balan hid it in his hair again. When he sat up, it confirmed everything that Lance thought prior; he had the same ears as they did, a slight longer, floppier and appeared to be super soft. The negati’s eyes sparkled as they pulled out the hidden appendages, wondering why they hadn’t noticed them until now. 

“I-I-I never liked them. They’re long, cumbersome and don’t fit under my hat properly. So I just have been tying them back along with my dreadlocks. Wha? Why are you pulling them?!” Balan shrieked, his sensitive membranes folding as Lance fiddled with them. The stark white with the hue of light green made the ears stand out, the occasional flap picking up the slightest noise. 

“Why hide them? I think they’re absolutely wonderful.” Lance emphasized as they waggled their own long, dark ears. Their ears sat higher than the maestro’s and didn’t bend as much. He crawled over to the negati, aligning his hips in between the others legs with care. Their pulsing erection awoke his deepest desires, causing Lance to grind their clothed crotch into Balan’s exposed one. He gasps weakly, feeling the outline of the negati’s cock against his sensitive folds, gloved hands moving up Lance’s arms to bring them in for a deep kiss. 

Consumed by more the kiss than the passion behind it Lance drove their tongue deep into Balan’s mouth, tasting the other’s breath and intermingling the taste of his fluid sex. Balan’s tongue stuck out as Lance’s lips engulfed them, teeth grazing over the appendage while Balan groaned hotly. He brought his head higher, the expert work of that tongue making him drunker than any alcohol. The longer it went, the more impatient the maestro became; his hands going from Lance’s arms to dip into their pants to rip out the other’s cock. 

Lance’s eyes flew open as hands peeled off their pants and pulled out their cock, the member free from the strain at last. They’d never lie to themselves about not feeling relieved. The darker phallus was impressive at best; thick in girth and longer than Balan’s, some negati rune marks trailed on either sides of their crotch and lower hips, and the tip looked spire like yet appeared to be soft to the touch. Balan would find out soon enough. 

“I get it. This is moving too slow. But I thought that you’d appreciate it.” Lance inquired, chest rippling in steady laughter. It felt like a punishment for forcing Balan to ride out his first orgasms. 

Balan didn’t speak as he shoved Lance over, raising himself atop the other. Seated on their lap Balan took in the sight of his paramour, and just how dazzling they appeared. Chest rising and falling with softened breaths, the runes coming to life again in a brief flashes of multicolored lights, but he couldn’t stop looking at the other’s face. The heart marking atop his forehead blazing almost vermillion instead of the darker pink it usually was, their small fangs bared, glittering in the soft purple hue of the bed chambers. 

He leant down, kissing the long neck, chest, pressing his lips hard onto his ribs and trailed a heated kiss down their pelvis; stopping just short of that maleness. He spared them a coy heated glance before kissing the drooling tip, eyes going to Lance to see their reaction. The other tensed, mewling the moment they felt those lips, tip swelling on demand.  

“I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Just as you had did to me.” The heat in those words made it more fact than statement and Lance couldn’t wait long enough. They could have never imagined having the current maestro of Wonderworld’s mouth on their dick. To be honest, they could not imagine any of this happening right now. There was something so decadent and sinful about the way Balan talked dirty. Such things were just never heard from such an angelic mouth. 

He stopped thinking altogether as Balan removed his gloves, throwing them onto one bedside table to fist his thickness roughly, stroking the lengthy girth. Thumbing over the head, he gauged how steady Lance was, the swelling member making the maestro’s mouth drip with unshed spittle. From the way he opened his mouth and sucked in them in deeply, Lance could have sworn that he had done this before yet can never remember a time this would ever happen. 

“Ohhh yes! Balan...” Lance’s lungs stopped working the second Balan’s tongue encircled the head and bobbled repeatedly, his saliva silkening his hot length. Lance shuddered, moaning deeply as the tendrils on their back came back to life and spread across Balan’s pussy, massaging the outer vulva instead of the velvet walls. The sensation caused the maestro to moan around the dick in his mouth, a chain reactive shiver from Lance followed. 

Balan slowly rocked on the tentacles that fondled on his folds as he swallowed down more of Lance, lips almost resting on their crotch before pulling off. Soon the maestro began working his hands with his tongue, hands pulling at the medium sized balls as the underside of the long cock was stroked by Balan’s tongue. 

The tentacles worked Balan harder, the other groaning loudly with the near penetration on one tendril. The movement caused Lance to swear, hands digging into his hair, pushing the mint colored coils out of his face. 

“Don’t stop Balan! Please don’t stop!”, Lance cried as they got closer to an explosive release. The vision of seeing cum painting the maestro’s immaculate, lovely face caused a shudder to surge out unconsciously. The tentacles groped the silky vulva with an intensity that caused Balan to pull off the other’s cock to choke out a cry. 

“Lance!,” Balan called, drippings of drool falling onto the sheets as he shivered on the tentacles that never penetrated. He growled low as he pushed himself back on the largest of the tentacles, the bulb going right into his pussy, slicked with the welcomed wetness, “Ha, oh yess.” He crooned before stuffing the throbbing cock back into his mouth, pumping and sucking with the same vigor as the tentacle inside. 

Lance mumbled something in a different language, thrusting into Balan’s warm mouth, along with the tentacle slipping through the sticky mess seeping from his tightening walls. They could barely muster the maestro’s name as a ringing sound flushed through their ears, body going tight as a bow while Balan swallowed down the cock fully. Their hands dug into the other’s hair making sure Balan was close enough to swallow all of the rich, violet colored seed as it splashed down his throat. The tentacle widened inside of his pussy, pushing on the clit with the vibration of its master’s climax.

They thrashed in zeal as Balan continued to suck them dry, not worried about the veiny tentacle that fucked him deep. He was determined to live up to his statement; soft, warm hands smoothing over Lance’s sharp hips as he swallowed him down more, moaning and whimpering as the length sputtered more seed. When the tentacle pushed more into the G-spot, Balan cried out, forcing his hips down to rock with his new orgasm. He had to get the cock out of his mouth in order breathe a bit proper as his walls vibrated with the climax.

The room became blanketed in a contented silence as they both came from their highs; Lance’s chest heaving air as Balan sat on their hips to find his mind. He purred with fervor as the tentacle slipped out of his cunt.

“That was good, yes?” Balan inquired, eyes wide and soft, body just as soft and pliant as he awaited a reply. The poor darling was self-conscious. A trait he never displayed when performing for anyone, nor anything. 

Lance’s laugh brightened the maestro’s be-speckled face, ears twitching with the tenor of sound.

“That was the best head I’ve ever gotten, my lune-light. And you did what you said you would do.” Lance spoke breathlessly while they leant up to brush their forehead against Balan’s. The feathery kiss, as well as the compliment, drove the other to keen delightedly, ears flapping in exuberance. 

“Your... ears. They flap whenever you’re excited or praised don’t they?” Oh, Lance was about to be so evil now. The sly grin invited as much. 

Balan nodded his head, not even knowing he was acknowledging the question, smiling and flushing like mad as he did. 

“Look at you. Flushed, heated and so devilishly handsome. A most salacious siren you turned into,” Lance growled as they pulled himself up but kept Balan in his lap, “A gorgeous being like you deserves to be drenched in the most opulent of pleasures. The thickest form of desire. Do you want me to worship you?” That damning voice caused Balan to shudder and grasp them in desperation. 

“Yes! Worship me, worship my very body, revere it!”, He shouted, no longer bringing himself to care about anything other than the euphoria, “I want to feel you in me, on me, all over me!” Heat basked from his body as his ears flapped, mouth open in heavy pants. His naked cunt rocked on Lance’s cock, not sinking in fully. The movement caused Lance to spur into action, going on their knees to better to better position Balan, the maestro spreading his thighs eagerly on Lance’s lap. 

Lance’s fingers intertwined with Balan’s, his hands warm and only touch wet. They pressed their teeth into the skin, reveling in the dark wrists that glowed subtly with golden accents and swirling patterns. Lance repeated the motion, tongue lapping at both wrists, palms and fingers. Lance felt the smoothness of the maestro’s beautiful hands. Their eyes shimmering in reverence as they pressed sweet kisses to each fingertip slowly. Their own hands felt up his palms; still so warm and just as silky soft. That tongue continued to trace the long golden lines, taking his time to press his lips into his wrists. 

“Balan...” There weren’t enough words for Lance to say, or piece together for the time spent with each other. Nothing could prepare either of them for the sheer intensity of this new emotion. Melding of carnal lusts neither have the ability to describe. So for the first time tonight... Lance stopped talking. Letting only their bodies say so much more. 

Steadying him, Lance brought Balan down on the hard thickness slowly, agonizing slow. The maestro’s glint was hot and heady, hands going to Lance’s shoulders as support. Lance heaved a hot moan, aligning the next thrust directly into the maestro. There wasn’t a need to test if the other was ready for it or not; his tightness giving way subtly with each small piston. The fiery gaze of Balan soften into kindled embers once he was fully seated on the other’s cock. He was starting to perspire, a reaction that Balan never had to anything in his life. Rushing sweat beaded down his neck, his chest and around his waist glazing him in a hue of condensation that began to make his body slippery. 

They stayed in each other’s laps for a second before Lance thrust upwards, igniting Balan’s tongue again. He cried out in another language, most likely a swear considering the dialect. He groaned weakly, his body submitting to the roughness Lance invited with each movement. The moment Lance had worked out the rhythm the thrusts became harsher, more precise, pinpointing the exact spot to hammer him into a delectable frenzy. Lance’s breaths got rougher, louder, more of their teeth becoming exposed as they snarled in ecstasy. 

Balan could barely hold on. Literally. His grip on Lance’s shoulders loosened each time the negati impaled him, the motions making him too sensitive, body on fire. Though barely cognitive, Balan did his best to rock up to meet with his thorough pounding. Moving his hips at an angle, Balan caught the ribs of Lance’s spired phallus, screaming out as it stabbed him. 

The maestro’s screams did something primal to Lance, the sex-fueled fire warping and corrupting their licentious mind. 

“You like it?”, The negati spoke deeply, the baritone voice smokey and laced like a honey-tipped whiskey glass, “Look at yourself. Becoming undone with just my cock. You cannot comprehend how fucking devilish you are! Siren!” Lance dragged Balan down, further stabbing him with the rigged member. They were so close yet weren’t about to go if Balan didn’t first. They were going to see the maestro climax on his dick. There would be nothing to stop it now. Astoundingly, Balan replied to the question, voice much like Lance’s yet tremulous in its form.

“Yes! I love it, I love you!,” His gaze meets the others in an embrace that Lance cannot escape from, “I love you so much, don’t stop please.” The plea is whispered as the remainder of Balan’s self control is pounded out of him. His lanky legs surrounding the negati, forcing them to stay the course as his cunt devours them hungrily. 

It becomes too much for Lance; the fucking, the confession... just the sounds of Balan’s voice as they fuck. They snap forward hard, cock slamming the maestro’s pelvis as they climax, taking Balan right with them. The guttural snarl that surges from Lance actually scares Balan, those golden eyes wide with an erotic fear of the other before it fades with a deep-bodied orgasm that reverberates through his soul. He wails out, the pleasure so cavernous it eats him alive, body stiffening to the point of pain, absolution and exultation drowning him in high waves. His clit sucks Lance of everything; reason, sense, the will to stop. He trembles at the feeling of the other’s seed shooting inside of him, viscous ropes of cum shoot forth as Lance loses the rhythm of their own thrusts. 

They stop fully when Balan’s cunt loosens its hold, the negati falling forward atop the messy sheets. Balan makes a cry of something between pain and pleasure when he is flopped on his back with Lance atop him. Lance’s member has yet to soften inside the other’s creamy walls, the spired tip rubbing on Balan’s g-spot. 

The room falls silent again, save for the heavy pants and breathless laughs from the two. Neither recovering fast enough as the euphoria drains all other sensations from their bones. Lance’s spine is dexterous as wet spaghetti, mouth open in loud gulps of air. Balan fares no better, legs twitching uncontrollably. Bare chest dripping with sweat, golden markings along his arms and stomach gleaming and flickering in the contrasting violet lights. His coils are drenched as well, pouring over his eyes and messily over his face. Speckled markings aglow with the shades of amethyst make him look pulchritudinous. 

Lance raise themselves up, both of their hands going on either side of the exhausted maestro’s supine form, loins still burning from the near volcanic heat from their fucking. They readjust their position, body flush to the other, seeming to never be close enough. They smile softly as Balan smiled chastely at them. 

“That was fantastic... honestly the best sex I’ve ever had.” Balan complimented, his eyes not as glazed from before. 

“Good to know, but I hope you didn’t start thinking it was over?” Lance drawled, the tone eerily lustful.

Balan stares quizzically. How could anyone want another go after that?

“You want to go again?”

“Just one more?,” Lance breathily laughed as their hips rock gently, phallus a touch harder than prior, “If it helps, you can lie on your back and I’ll handle the rest.” They lean over Balan, kissing his cheeks and the heart on his forehead. 

Balan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t complaining about another time, but his body sure was. He internally decided one more bout wouldn’t cause too much strain. 

“Lancelot, the insatiable one. Who knew you’d be addicted to my cunt?” Balan chuckled; the nickname still an endearment to Lance. It would be rude to lie about how the name made them warm on the inside. And hearing that sugared voice utter it with a playful air softened the negati. 

“Not just your cunt... but you as well. I love you too.” The words came out before Lance knew. Their lips moved yet didn’t have any prior knowledge of it until seeing the way Balan stiffened, long ears swaying upwards at the words.

Both of their chests fluttered; Lance never expected to say those words during sex. This...this was not supposed to be about love. And yet, it was all Lance had on their mind. They had Balan now. All they would have to do is love him. In more than this way. With all of this joy they had felt in the confession, the familiar ick of something tar-like bubbled to the surface. Lance’s mind honed in on all the deprecating things the voice said.

‘What? You can love? Oh Lance... it will be ruined by you so soon.’

‘You once loved...and look at what it turned you into!’

‘This is sex Lance... that’s all it will. ever. be.’

‘He can only feel pity for loving a monster like you’.

The voices began to make Lance physically sick. No matter how hard Lance tried, they wouldn’t be willed quiet. They began to tremble uselessly, a sob retching from the negati as those thoughts and words; their own words swallowed them.

The maestro lunged forward, planting a kiss on the other’s lips. The cathartic heat that came from it brought Lance out of their head, focusing on the other below them. They both stayed lip-locked for a moment, Balan kissing as if Lance were about to drown any minute. The kiss saving them from themselves for a moment like this. The voices dissipated, barely a hum coming from the back of Lance’s mind. They didn’t matter. Only Balan did. The kiss ending when Balan pressed those lips to the fuchsia colored heart atop Lance’s brow.  

The touch was so gentle. So tender that it made Lance’s heart swell.

They looked down at Balan, who smiled pleasantly back at them. The look of love so much more than it could ever be. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay’ is what those golden pools spoke even if Lance didn’t hear it aloud. There wouldn’t be a need to. 

In spite of how small it was; Lance smiled. The motion felt real. He hadn’t had a genuine smile in over a thousand years. Gods, when was the last time he felt pure happiness unfold in his heart? There’d be a time and place to think on that later as they shifted Balan’s hips more, grinding forward, hips shifting to reawaken his long erection. The stings of pleasure rode through Balan, arms going behind his head to grab for the jumbled mess of velvet purple blankets. A small whine went past his lips as Lance’s midline bumped against Balan’s pelvis again, causing a flare of scorching desire to arise. The maestro never subdued, or otherwise suppressed his moans. He would allow Lance the ability to hear how he felt for him. 

The negati gripped Balan beneath his thighs, pulling his legs away so they could splay open. The new position allowed Balan to relax instead of trying to readjust too often. 

A surprised gasp from the maestro made Lance look at his face; the beatific expression of this dazzling, bewitching and downright mesmeric creature spurring Lance to pump into him harder. The be-speckled maestro had his eyes closed, turning out the warm, shimmering pools of the richest gold many would never see. 

“Please lune-light, open your eyes for me.” The reciprocal adulation of love  Lance gave could break someone’s heart and warm another’s but it was his tone that made Balan’s eyes open; aroused and so husky. When he looked upon the negati, a form of ardor seeped through him. A shy smile graced his features as he nuzzled into Lance’s chest. 

“Ohhh, say that again. Call me that again,” He whispered as his body arched with the deeper, slower thrusts, “I need to hear it again, Lance.” He began pining for the sound of the other’s voice, chest heaving in irregular patterns. Long ears flicked up, picking up the sounds of Lance’s exertions as they grounded each other closer to climax. 

“Lune-light...my lovely lune-light, you are so stunning.” Lance cooed, eyes warm as they watched Balan’s ears flap in jubilance. They fucked into him harder, faster when Balan’s hands went from the sheets to cling to Lance’s arms in order to steady himself. He was succumbing again, mind lost as avaricious lust ensnared his visage. 

Lance repositioned one hand to grab the maestro’s tight waist and underneath his back, slowing their thrusts first in order to shift a portion of their weight to sink in deeper. They kissed the inner thigh of Balan’s left leg as the other hand grabbed there and held him tight. The new position brought Balan’s ass up from the bed, both legs hanging on either side of Lance as they brought their pelvis’s together. The negati had to get to their knees for the next part to become effective, sprawling their hips a little. When they had gotten in position, they leant over to press another reverent kiss to Balan’s forehead, the friction causing the maestro to growl. 

“Move. Lance, I beg you.” Balan’s resistance melted a long time ago as his hands tightened around Lance’s upper arms. 

When they move, Balan’s equilibrium gets flipped upside down. The position had the maestro screaming so loud, Lance tipped their ears down to block out the sound. The reaction was instant, the gorgeous being’s mouth flying open as he threw his head back with each stroke. His hands scrambled for purchase of the negati as he began thrusting back on the other’s cock. Body spasming at the rippling sensations. 

The change in position did wonders for Lance as well; they were able to take in all of the other’s grace, elegance and succulent desire. The screams of pure ecstasy powered Lance onward, eyes half-lidding as they aimed their thrusts. Lance felt the maestro’s bruising grasp loosen, the body tightening from the exertion. He looked as if he was going to lose his mind again; assuming he had ever found it after the first few times. 

“Look at this.... look at you,” Lance growled, hands leaving Balan’s waist to drag the other further down, “This is what I have been wishing for. I’ve have been waiting for you and this! Gods, now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.” The negati enunciated a portion of their words with alternating thrusts that caused Balan to spasm around them erratically, the maestro’s head swaying, more mooring, like a boat on torrential waters. 

Balan tried to stutter something in response. There could not be any words he could be able to use in a circumstance like this. The euphoria blanketing his headspace, only the want for this to never end on Balan’s mind. He wished he could stay like this forever; being loved in between his legs the way that Lance was loving him. Tears welled up but were blinked back. That familiar entrapment, that build was upon him now. A spring ready for release as Balan angled himself to meet a harsher thrust from Lance. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he tugged on the negati for some leverage. And he tugged at him desperately. 

“I-I-I can’t-- hold it back much! Lance, I need this! I can’t hold back! Oh my gods!” Balan’s pleasured whimpers were music to the other, the noise causing Lance to pulsate inside those divine walls. He was about to let it all go. Neither of them capable of denying their animalistic need for a blissful finish. 

“Do not hold back my lune-light! I want us to be in climax together. I’m ready, just like you are. Lock me inside your heaven!” Lance yelled, throwing their head back unabashedly for the final few thrusts. 

Something in the gravelly tone caused Balan to relent all self control at that moment, the high octane pressure rushing from his pelvis, seeping into his blood in a body rattling orgasm. He screamed, more belted out his release, muscles contracting and constricting in a severe, mind-numbing vice. He could no longer keep his eyes open, passion scalding his insides making his body heat unbearable. 

He kept spasming, helpless as Lance roared one last time, pinning Balan’s softened frame to theirs in a rough, possessing manner. They dove off the  pinnacle with as much fury and need as Balan did. Their fingers dug into the tender skin, maw wide with a roar that shook the room. The negati’s own form convulsing and seizing as Balan’s cunt squeezed their cock to the point where it ached. They shuddered with the intensity and rush of seed; feeling way too hot inside of the maestro, shooting deep inside, not stopping even as Lance humped Balan through their own climax. 

When they were sure they had nothing left to give Lance let Balan go, the other’s spent body flopping atop the bedspread. The negati pushed back their inky dreads back from the sweat drenched face, eyes slightly glazed. They shook with the inglorious feeling of satisfaction before pulling out of Balan’s thoroughly ruined cunt, their cum drooling out in delectable, erotic ribbons. The scent of the intermingling sex made the cock twitch. Without a thought given, Lance’s pointer finger went past the swollen, beat-up lips of the maestro’s pussy; swiping the oversensitive folds for just a taste of the cream. 

Balan yelled, overstimulated and a touch annoyed, kicking at Lance.

“Fucking stop! You’re going to kill me!” Balan cursed, his chest heaving. He was the perfect picture of the word ‘ruined’; mint-colored coils askew all over his face, sublime form thrumming with the residual orgasm. 

“Would this have not been the best death to have?” Lance giggled sweetly, tongue slipping out to lap at the mixed cream of their sex. The taste was of it was so divine, it couldn’t be described. When their legs regained function Lance dipped into the conjoined bathroom. Balan barely registered the sound of water coming from a faucet. Though he wasn’t going to register anything for a while. His eyes slipped closed, breathing becoming more steady as the high simmered out of his frame. He didn’t hear Lance’s footfalls when the other returned into the room yet the feeling of the cold, damp cloth felt exquisite on his hypersensitive skin. He smiled happily as the cloth went over his face, chest, arms and even his back, swiping away as much sweat that wasn’t collected by the sullied bedsheets. 

He winced as the cloth went between his legs, touches kept tender and dainty while the negati cleaned his clit. The movements were apologetic in the sense of the rough handling. With the remnants of their sex thoroughly cleaned, Lance threw the dirty cloth into a hamper nearby and crawled into bed. They felt the need to say something to Balan, yet was not prepared to see the other fully asleep. The smile remained on his face as he dreamt soundly. Safely. 

The maestro rarely slept so seeing him do so, even in the other’s bed, was recherché. The moment a surprise to see with their own eyes. It warmed their heart in so many ways. Lance wondered inwardly if their heart could get any fuller. Carefully, as to not wake him, they slid Balan’s frame underneath the heavy blankets, keeping his head low to rest it against the larger puffy pillows.

As much as Lance tried, they couldn’t lie to themselves about how adorable and desirable this being was. Is... and still will be. They could make up some spun tale about how Balan lusted for the feeling of this sex. And yet, they wouldn’t. They weren’t going to deny the affirmations and litanies of love, passion and reverence he bestowed. In this way, Lance loved Balan. Balan had loved them too. This new feeling blossomed and flowed within them. It was all Lance cared about and would gift this love in kind to Balan tenfold. It was definitely what they both deserved. 

For now, Lance snuggled into the maestro, a happy little smile playing on their cheeks whilst pressing their face into the other’s neck. The mint-colored coils of the other’s hair fell in a tangle on Lance’s face, making them wrinkle their nose. 

“I...love you, lune-light...”, Lance whispered pressing a singular reverent kiss to the glowing heart on Balan’s forehead, the mark shimmering against the darkness. The negati nuzzled the sleeping being, arms crossing Balan’s chest to swaddle him close to their body, “I don’t know if you had heard me, but I just hope you know.”

Unknown to Lance, Balan had heard him. His own smile was genial and kind, taking the affirmation as it was. There was no need for Lance to explain themselves. Such things like this rarely, if ever, happened. So Balan accepted this. He had openly accepted that Lance is, and will remain, worthy of love. 

“I love you.” The enamored statement was simple, sweet and soft-sounding. So such so that Balan wasn’t sure Lance heard him, the negati was already snoring before he could say anymore. With an exhale, Balan’s eyes slipped shut once more. His own hands went around to hold Lance’s closer to his body. Their combined warmth radiating soothingly as they slept throughout the rest of the night.

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 265 “Keyhole”

So Golden Kamuy is back with a chapter that really make me...

...okay, I’m curious, very much so, really, I just can’t resist. I feel so called out watching Tsukishima and Koito trying to overhear what Tsurumi is going to say to Sofia and Asirpa...

Anyway, let’s start.

The covers shows us an image framed by a keyhole, a reference to the chapter’s title and to how some characters will spy from a keyhole and learn of Tsurumi’s past, because that’s what the image depicts, Tsurumi holding his baby while his wife hugs him from behind.

Tsurumi is basically wrapped in love, it’s clear is wife loves him and the way the baby rests against him, while perfectly normal for a baby, seems almost to suggest the baby too is hugging him.

It kind of reminds me a painting from Gustav Klimt, of which is often shown only a part of it, a woman hugging a child, as if it was meant to represent motherly love . The full painting is actually called ‘The three ages of a woman’ and features three women in varying stages of age, symbolizing the cycle of life.

This scene seems to leave out the old woman and paint Tsurumi in between the woman in the spring of her life, Fina, and at the beginning of it, Fina... but in a way symbolically Tsurumi can be ‘the old woman, which in the painting is in an aura by herself and with a desperate expression, who now gets finally included between the other two.

Tsurumi is the only one of the three who got to grow old and he’s clearly desperate for his loss. Sure, in the image he looks like his younger self, but the image is basically symbolizing how, through a keyhole, we’re looking at him talking about his past. The real Tsurumi that we would see if we were to look through the keyhole is older, alone and desperate... and in a way the younger Tsurumi shows a bit of this.

We can see the left corner of his mouth is up, but the same can’t be said for the right one. Even his eyebrows are slightly raised, in a bittersweet expression. This is not Hasegawa, this is Tsurumi remembering his beloved ones, this is Tsurumi remembering what being Hasegawa felt like, the joy of being with his family and the pain of having lost it.

But okay, enough with my speculations on the cover, let’s start with the story.

Kikuta, Tsukishima and Koito, who were sent out by Tsurumi with the excuse to check for the others discover that the soldiers who were on foot had reached the planned meeting spot but the same can’t be said for the three men on horseback (who were tailed by Hijikata).

Kikuta suggests to split and look for them, and Tsukishima tells Koito to stay there just in case the three of them will show up... which they won’t do as, below Tsukishima’s balloon we can see on image of the three of them lying on the ground, efficiently disposed off by Hijikata...

...who, however, is starting to show signs of his age as he’s panting and has some blood on his face, a sign it wasn’t an easy battle. Hijikata, joined by Ariko and Kantarou, plans to search for the 7th in order to get Asirpa back.

Meanwhile Sofia’s men plan to search for her.

Now... let’s go back a moment.

Remember how Kikuta told Koito and Tsukishima they should split and search for the men and Tsukishima told Koito to remain behind?

Well, this caused the three of them to go for separate ways, unsupervised by each other.

Koito, who has noticed how Tsurumi has reacted seeing the photo Sofia had, feels curiosity bubbling inside him and decides to go back into the church from a side entrance so as to spy on Tsurumi’s conversation only to discover Tsukishima had anticipated him and is now trying to peep from the keyhole.

Basically that was why Tsukishima told Koito he should stay back, so that Koito wouldn’t go with him and Tsukishima could freely spy Tsurumi.

Honestly I wonder if Kikuta too is taking care of a personal business, maybe not spying Tsurumi as he might already know of Tsurumi’s family, but it would explain why he told the others to split and wanted to go search for the riders when it was safer to assume they were killed and just give up on them. Or maybe Kikuta is the only one who’s doing actual work.

We’ll see.

Anyway Koito and Tsukishima show their maturity by arguing, each saying the other is there to spy Tsurumi because they don’t believe in him.

Koito though, tries to deny it, but Tsukishima, with a vein bulging as if he were quite angry, points out how Koito was now able to talk to Tsurumi normally...

and how this might be a sign that a distance grew between them in his heart. So okay, pot, I present you a kettle in denial. You do your best trying not to be a pot in denial as well.

Anyway Koito has no words to counter but, in that moment, they hear Tsurumi telling Nikaidou to go stand outside and keep everyone else away from the church then, as soon as Koito is out, Tsurumi checks the church AGAIN for intruders, forcing Tsukishima and Koito to comically hide under the desk, making really clear he doesn’t want anyone to hear the discussion he’ll have with Sofia.

I should probably mention Tsurumi’s face is always kept heavily shadowed... but if this is to keep his expression in the dark or Noda actually plans to redraw it for the volume version... well, this is up to speculation.

We’ve a flashback then, showing how Sofia, before exiting from Hasegawa’s house, spotted the photo of herself, Kiro and Wilk about to be burned and retrieved it. That’s why she still had it.

As the flashback ends Sofia wakes up to see Tsurumi seated on what seems to look like a clergy throne. She realizes her hands are tied (and she seems to hold something in her hand but maybe it’s just me)...

...and then notices Asirpa gagged next to her.

Tsurumi stands and removes Asirpa’s gag, warning her though to keep silent as he would prefer not to treat her roughly if he can help it.

We can see the gag, which was nothing else but her matanpushi, had left marks on Asirpa’s face as Tsurumi, who had placed it back around Asirpa’s forehead says it suits the brave and beloved child of the Ainu.

Overall Tsurumi seems gentle with Asirpa... if this is because she’s a child and it reminds him of his daughter (it’s an effect she had on Nihei as well) or he’s just pretending to win her favour... well, this is something we’ll discover in the future.

Tsurumi then comments he’s glad they could meet it again and the visual in this is very interesting as we basically see only his eyes since the lower part of his face is completely blackened and what little we can see of the upper part is covered in swirling lines that seems to hint to an emotional storm.

Giving his back to Sofia he also says he’s glad he could met her again which causes Sofia to ask him who’s him.

Tsurumi comments it’s no surprise she couldn’t recognize him as they had both changed and their previous meeting took place 18 years ago.

I’m a bit confused by this.

The official timeline says they met in 1891. 1891+18=1909

However the story started, always according to the official timeline, in 1907 and, supposedly, only one year went by, placing us in 1908. Have we... lost a year somehow?

Whatever, Tsurumi calls Sofia ‘Zoya’, showing her the photo but it still doesn’t ring any bell in Sofia. However, when he asks her if she has forgotten about his family too, commenting all their photo were burned that day and all that remains to prove they were alive are their finger bones. As he says so he shows two bones, one clearly belonging to Fina and the other so small it should have belonged to Olga.

As he mentions their names the visual shows how Tsukishima, who’s eavesdropping outside, connects them with the finger bones he saw in Tsurumi’s possession.

Those names ring a strong bell in Sofia as, with a shocked expression and panting (we can see the small clouds her breathing made around her, signifying she’s panting) she recognized him for Hasegawa-san.

It’s worth to remember Sofia always felt an intense guilt for Fina and Olga’s death, so her reaction is completely understandable. Those deaths in a way changed her life.

Tsurumi’s brain leaks as he thanks her for remembering them.

‘Oboete ite kurete arigatō’

憶えていてくれてありがとう

“Thank you for remembering”

Asirpa knows Hasegawa’s story as she was told about it by Kiro. Her interest though is for the people in the story as she asks Sofia if that picture portrays her father and Kiroranke and if it was taken in Russia.

Sofia seems still shocked and doesn’t reply.

Koito, hearing this, is surprised Tsurumi had a wife and a daughter. Tsukishima’s veins are popping out as if angry as he makes a sound of disbelief (はあ ‘haa?’) in a strained font.

He doesn’t seem positively impressed Tsurumi too had a past life and people he cared who might have influenced his choices. He possibly might have wanted Tsurumi to be solely attached and devoted to his men.

Tsurumi goes on, claiming after Kiro died they found some letters in his belonging, letters that he received from Sofia when they were writing each other while Sofia was in Akou prison.

Tsurumi suggests he and Sofia should join their knowledge together and tell Asirpa everything about who killed the Ainu and why Wilk had to die so as to taka away Asirpa’s ‘itami’ [傷み “Pain, grief, distress, damage”]. ‘Itami’ is actually in between brackets.

As he says so we see an image of Asirpa with a serious expression and an adult look.

It’s not the first time that, when the situation is serious, Noda depicts Asirpa as if she were older, her eyes slightly squeezed so as to take away the roundness that makes them look like the eyes of a child and her lips shadowed as if she were to wear lipstick.

And it’s such a sharp contrast with his words because the child he’s talking about doesn’t look like a child anymore because she’s forced in a situation that’s not fitting of a child and she will likely required to show a maturity a child normally doesn’t possess.

On a sidenote, as said before, Tsurumi has acted polite and ‘kind’ with Asirpa so far, but there’s to keep in mind in the volume version of chap 211 there was the implication Tsurumi came to believe it was Wilk who shot his wife and daughter.

Does he wants revenge on Wilk through Asirpa?

It doesn’t mean he necessarily have to want to kill Asirpa, he might want to ‘destroy’ Wilk as a father figure in her eyes and then take her as a replacement daughter. Wilk took his own child away so Tsurumi might take Asirpa in exchange.

And this might gain him Asirpa’s cooperation. Though, considering he planned to jail her in such a terrible place always in the volume version of chap 211, I really fear he doesn’t have nice intentions toward her.

I really, really hope things will go well for Asirpa, I don’t want her to be hurt... but I’ve to admit I’m also really, really, REALLY curious to hear what happened... hoping it’ll be the truth and not the result of Tsurumi manipulating information.

We’ll see.

It’s interesting Tsurumi said he and Sofia has to piece together what they know... as if he doesn’t have all the answers... which might mean he’s either lying or he wasn’t there when the Ainu were murdered.

I’ve always wondered, honestly. Murdering everyone wouldn’t get him any close to the gold, so it seemed weird he could have ordered to kill those Ainu. At the same time, unless Wilk chopped everyone down to disguise himself among the corpses, the damage done to them seemed the one that would be caused by an explosion.

We know Wilk didn’t do it and I honestly can’t think of Kiro doing it considering how reluctant he is at killing Ainu.

Did Tsurumi men attempted on doing something without him being present and things went wrong and everyone died but this caused Tsurumi not to know what happened?

I’ve always wondered if Ogata knew more than he let out... but he could have discovered things from either Kiro or Tsurumi so this isn’t telling us much.

Can it be that something happened that wasn’t caused by either Tsurumi or Wilk or Kiro, like other Ainu getting involved, fearing Wilk and the others would cause a war?

I’ve always liked to suspect Asirpa’s uncle but, of course, who knows?

Really, I can’t wait to know the truth!

...on a sidenote I wouldn't be surprised if Noda were to decide to keep us on hold a little longer and show us, in the next chapter, what's doing Sugimoto, or Ogata, or Hijikata. We'll see.

On another sidenote... even though I fear Tsurumi might hurt Asirpa... I feel really bad for him in this chapter. The pain for losing Fina and Olga should have been terrible, him being the only one to remember about their existence. In a way it should feel like a relief to get to meet Sofia, someone else who knew them and cared enough to keep on remembering them. ;_;

[evil-slytherin-queen]

More Than Our Blood

WARNING: physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, racism, child abuse, small amount of blood

It was a few days after winter break, and so far it had been rather uneventful which was, in Harry's opinion, an extremely good thing. No one had confessed their undying love for him, no one had spread any rumors about his relationship, and no one had harassed Draco either. So far things were looking very good.  

Harry and Ron were walking through one of the outside corridors, returning to the common room after a day of classes, when the pair unexpectedly rammed into a bunch of other students. The two Gryffindor's exchanged exasperated looks. Large groups of students gathered together never meant good things for them. They usually ended in fights and house points being taken away. Reluctantly, they pushed past the dense and chattering crowd only to find Draco and an older wizard in the middle of it all.  

It seemed Harry spoke too soon.  

This would most certainly be an event.  

Harry's eyebrows knitted together and his green eyes shone with worry as he watched the older wizard shout at Draco. He was slightly taller than Draco with the trademark silvery blond hair of a Malfoy that reached far past his shoulders. A permanent snarl stayed on his lips almost like a wolf baring its teeth, and that fact alone made Harry feel even more unsettled at the thought of this man yelling at Draco. He also took notice of the cane the man held that had a snake’s head as the handle, no doubt a wand hidden inside of it, which furthered his cruel-looking image.  

Must be Draco's father.  

Harry chewed on his lower lip worriedly. He'd only ever met Draco's mother, a lovely witch who was equal parts elegant, kind, and fierce. No wonder she had left Mr. Malfoy. He was vile, cruel, and pathetic. The complete opposite of the refined woman she was. 

As far as Harry knew she'd raised Draco by herself other than the odd holiday or weekend he was forced to spend with his father, something Harry's boyfriend complained about constantly. Although, now that he thought about it, Draco hadn't complained about his father in quite a while. He'd actually been rather quiet about it lately. But Harry had just assumed he hadn't been to see his father in a while. That was his mistake. 

He tuned into Lucius Malfoy's shouting then, his voice rising even louder than before. It bounced and echoed throughout the courtyard, grating Harry's nerves.  

"You're as worthless as your good for nothing mother-"  

"I'm sor-"  

"Do not interrupt me when I am speaking!" Lucius Malfoy hissed as he raised his right hand and struck Draco across the face. A sickening clap rang out in the courtyard as Draco let his head fall forward till it hung in shame, his eyes glued to his feet and a red handprint surfaced on his pale cheek. The courtyard was now completely silent of all of the students’ whispers. Many had sympathetic eyes focused on Draco, but a small few, including many Gryffindor's, were looking smug about the harm that had come to him. Bloody bastards, he couldn't help who his father was any more than Harry could.  

Rage blossomed in Harry's chest like a roaring wildfire as he shoved his books into the nearest students’ arms, which just so happened to be Ron, and stormed toward the two Malfoy's. His eyes were blazing with anger as he whipped out his wand and harshly pressed it into Lucius Malfoy's neck, completely unfazed by the Death Eater. He stood between one of the most infamous dark wizards and Draco without an ounce of fear. He vaguely remembered Draco calling him stupidly heroic and awfully Gryffindor-ish earlier that year as he did so. Draco was probably correct.  

"Touch him again, I dare you." He spat, his face mere inches away from the older man. It was a threat and it came out in a cold and detached tone. He barely contained his urge to curse the old man with something foul and unforgivable. No one was allowed to lay a hand on Draco like that. No one. Not even his loathsome father.

"Look at that, your little half-blood faggot has come to save you. The things your mother allows you to get away with and with a filthy paki no less. You've truly tarnished yourself, Draco." Lucius drawled bitterly as he looked down at Harry with the utmost disgust, his lips curling nastily.  

"This does not concern the likes of you," he said, harshly shoving Harry to the ground with a swipe of his cane. Harry let out a growl at the words, blood boiling viciously. Draco wasn't tarnished. 

Lucius grabbed onto Draco's forearm tightly, nails digging into his pale flesh. His nails would no doubt leave marks and a possessive part of Harry's brain couldn't help but think that no one other than him should be allowed to leave marks on Draco.  

Lucius pulled Draco harshly towards him, little beads of blood surfacing as he tore Draco's delicate skin in the process. And Harry's fury only seemed to grow at his actions. Who cared if Lucius smacked him around and threw slurs at him, but how dare he touch Draco like that! How dare he dig his nails into his arm so painfully that it left blood trickling down onto the cobblestone floor. Harry could see nothing but red as he grit his teeth. 

"We are leaving," Lucius announced pulling his son along. Harry looked up from his position on the ground and was seriously debating on whether or not he should just charge at the bloody git who dared harm Draco in his presence. It was, after all, a very tempting idea. But, being the wise person he was, he thought better of it and remained silent. He knew this was something Draco had to do alone. He knew his boyfriend was stronger and braver than anyone gave him credit for. He could do this. 

He watched as Draco yanked his arm from Lucius and hurried over to help him up with a soft smile that Harry returned. Harry held firmly to the blond's hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze as Draco faced his horrid father.  

"I will not be going with you, Father, and I will be informing Mother of all your doings," Draco looked down at Harry and gave him a smile that melted his heart, before turning and glaring at Lucius, "You ought to leave before she hears, Mother can be ever so nasty when displeased. Besides, there isn't a thing you can do to make me into something I am not. I will never be like you."  

Harry did not doubt that Lucius stared horrified as Draco leant down and kissed him square on the mouth. The ferocity behind the kiss left butterflies swirling in Harry's stomach after he pulled away. He truly was head over heels for this boy.  

The pair stood staring into one another's eyes until Harry heard Ron shout from somewhere within the crowd.  

"Harry, watch out!"  

He looked up to find Lucius raising his wand at not him, but Draco with a malicious and manic grin on his face. Harry's eyes flared, his hand clenched around his wand as he lost complete control of his emotions which set off his magic as well. A strong wind whipped around him as he marched towards the Malfoy patriarch, a murderous look on his face.  

With a few wordless spells, that he had no idea he was capable of using, he forcefully shoved Lucius against a wall, flicked his wand out of his grip, and had the vines wrap around him keeping him firmly in place. 

"I warned you, didn't I?" He hissed with a look that could have made any and every one of the students present in the courtyard turn tail and run. He could hear them gasp at his actions and the faint click and flash of a camera going off somewhere to his left. A small part of him realized this would certainly make the front page of the Daily Prophet later that week. It surely was a sight to behold, the big bad Lucius Malfoy splayed halfway up a wall by a teenager on a rampage. He could see the headlines now, 'Breaking News: The Boy Who Lived Assaults Ex-Death Eater Lucius Malfoy on School Grounds over his Son!' 

Good. 

They should all know not to mess with Draco unless they wanted to deal with Harry. 

"Professor! Harry's gone mad!" Someone squealed from somewhere in the crowd. Harry was too infuriated to look away from Lucius' scowling face to see the crowd part to let both Professor Flitwick and the Headmistress walk in.  

"That will be quite enough of that, Mister Potter. Thank you." Headmistress McGonagall said as she laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. The tension in his back bled out as he allowed himself to be maneuvered away from Lucius and into Draco's awaiting arms.  

"Mister Black, please take Mister Potter to the infirmary." Professor Flitwick said, gesturing to Harry's arm which had a large gash from elbow to wrist. He hadn't even realized he was bleeding. It didn't even hurt. He supposed that must've been the adrenaline. Draco nodded dumbly, a dazed look on his face as he began to pull Harry away from his spiteful father. And Harry would have let him too if Lucius Malfoy hadn't felt the need to open his mouth and speak again.  

"Just you wait, Draco, I'll beat the disobedience out of you if I must, but you will not disgrace the Malfoy name with such revolting dalliances any longer!"  

Harry shrugged off his hands and turned back around to storm up to Lucius, digging his wand back into the old wizard’s throat. The older man flinched at Harry's actions and went to speak again when he cast a silent Langlock, effectively gluing his tongue to the roof of his mouth and silencing him.  

"Come near him again and I will be the one in Azkaban." He growled lowly, his heart pounding, eyes narrowed, and a cruel curl to his lips. No one dared touch him, his hair standing on end, magic angrily crackling around him.  

"You are nothing! Nothing, but a pathetic, racist, homophobic, blood purist, and entitled prick. Just a stupid bully who never grew up. You couldn’t be more worthless if you tried," He pressed the tip of his wand further into his neck, if it had been a knife it would have more than drawn blood, and leant in leaving them nearly nose to nose, his voice dangerously low as he continued, "Draco is a Black, he may be a Malfoy by blood but he has never represented you or your awful family. I will kill you next time, Lucius, do not doubt that."  

With that he drew back and smiled venomously, patting the older man’s cheek. It was a purely condescending gesture and Harry watched as Lucius angrily threw his head in the opposite direction of his touch. Like he was poison, like it burned. Harry hoped it did.  

"Have a lovely time trying to deal with Narcissa Black once she hears about all this, I'm sure she'll gladly put the fear of Circe into you herself." Harry laughed coldly, then turned and pulled a stunned Draco towards the hospital wing.  

• • • 

Once they had gotten to the infirmary, Harry continuously refused treatment until Draco was healed, effectively pissing off Madame Pomfrey in the process and making him bleed all over her pristine floors. But he was adamant. He didn't want Lucius' marks all over Draco any longer than they needed to be. And Draco didn't need the reminder, neither did Harry. 

He said nothing as he watched Madame Pomfrey clean up his boyfriend. He silently pet Draco's hair and rubbed his back soothingly as she gave him a calming draught for the panic attack that seized him after he'd snapped out of his stunned stupor. Harry stayed that way as she healed him and finally finished flitting around them anxiously, leaving them alone with an exasperated huff.  

Harry sat propped up against the pillows an armful of pretty blond. Draco was curled up against his body, a shaky hand clinging to his shirt as they cuddled in a cot. Despite the near foot he had over Harry he always was more of a little spoon. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Harry," Draco murmured looking up at Harry from where he was tucked into his arms. His pretty silver eyes, red-rimmed from the hysterical crying he had done a few minutes prior. He sighed and kissed Draco's temples.  

"I know," Harry hummed, pressing his nose to Draco's hair and breathing him in, the smell of green apples and parchment settling his nerves. Draco was fine. He was safe. Lucius wouldn't touch him again, he would make sure of that. He turned his head, leaning his cheek against Draco's hair, "I just wish you had. Why didn't you, love?"  

"I thought I could handle him on my own. I didn't think he would show up and make such a scene. I thought I could-could make him see reason about me, about us," Draco said, his voice getting quieter with each word, "It was childish, a stupid idea. I was being foolish, seeking his approval. I'm sorry for how useless I am, for dragging you into all this." 

"You are far from useless and nowhere near foolish or stupid, Draco. Your father, from what I've heard and what I've seen, is an unreasonable and foul man. He doesn't deserve to have you as a son, he never did." Harry said, his voice firm and unwavering. Draco shifted a little, making Harry raise his head till their eyes met. 

Draco reached up a hand and stroked soft fingers down Harry's cheek. His eyes were full of guilt as he glanced from Harrys’ now healed arm to his face.

"I'm sorry he called you those nasty things," He whispered, "You aren't dirty or anything of the sort. Not for your blood, for your skin, or for who you love. And he hurt you, too. I'm so sorry, Harry." 

Harry's eyes softened as a few stray tears ran down his boyfriends’ cheeks. He wished Draco understood how little he cared about being called racist and homophobic slurs or about getting a little scratch. None of that mattered so long as Draco was safe and happy. 

"Sweet thing, you don't have to apologize, especially not for something you didn't do. I'm alright, I've had worse," Harry said as he wrapped a hand around Draco's and brought it to his lips. He kissed his fingertips, his palm, the soft inside of his wrist just where his pulse was at, and hummed quietly. He loved kissing his wrists, feeling his pulse on his lips, reminding himself that Draco was here, was real, was his. It had taken a while for them to get to this point and he loved to remind himself of this. 

Draco made a displeased sound at his words.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with such disrespect and cruelty, it doesn’t matter whether you've had worse or not. It’s awful, you do not deserve that, especially not from my relatives.”

"How you view me, Draco matters more than anyone else. Their words carry no weight, no value in comparison. Not even big bad Death Eater, Mr. Malfoy." 

"But-" 

"But, nothing, love. If you can see me for more than just my blood, then I can do the same for you." 

Draco gave him a sweet smile and leant up to kiss him, only for Ron to burst into the Hospital Wing with a loud slam of the doors and Harry's books in tow. 

They both shot up, gawking at him, wide-eyed and shocked. Ron was disheveled, to say the least, his hair sticking up at odd ends, cheeks flushed a dark red and huffing deep breaths before he took a large gulp of air and fixed Harry with a dark look. Oh, Merlin. 

"Never," he said dangerously low, "Never, leave me alone with those blasted monsters ever again!" 

He stormed over to the shocked couple and continued to speak, his voice steadily rising to a yell. 

"Do you know how many of your fans I had to pry off of me just to get here?! They were all falling on top of each other, on top of me, trying to grab your bloody things and return them to you!" 

He unceremoniously dumped Harry's things all over the ground and huffed out a sound of irritation before poking Harry in the shoulder roughly. 

"You owe me butterbeer for at least a week." He grouched before turning to Draco with an altogether different look and demeanor.

Ron smiled at him sympathetically and pat him on the shoulder, a large contrast from the angry boy he had been moments ago. 

"I'm glad you're alright, Black. I'm sorry that happened. If you ever need anything ‘Mione and I are always here in case this git," He jabbed a harsh finger into Harry’s shoulder again, making Harry scowl and flick his finger away, "Isn't around with his bloody hero-complex to save the day." 

"Hey! I do not have a 'bloody hero-complex'!" 

Draco snorted at that and merely pecked him on the cheek. 

"Of course not, my love. And thank you, Weasley, I appreciate that." 

Ron gave him a kind smile, then turned to leave, but not before flipping Harry off and shouting, "A whole week, Harry," over his shoulder as he went. 

"Yeah, yeah whatever, mate!" Harry called back before turning to face his boyfriend, "And you, don't you patronize me, Draco Black, I do not have a-" 

Draco let out an exasperated laugh and crashed his lips down on Harry's to shut him up. He snogged the living daylights out of him before pulling back, leaving a dazed look on his face. 

"Yeah, alright," Harry babbled, face feeling flush and mind fuzzy from the kiss, a dopey grin settling on his face, "I suppose I do have a 'bloody hero-complex', but I'll only admit it as long as you keep snogging me like that." 

"Hmmm, I think I will. Your 'bloody hero-complex' is rather hot. So's the wordless magic, Merlin was that mouthwatering."

"Good, I'll keep that in mind."

Draco laughed again, a sweet and elegant sound before Harry stole his mouth into a kiss.

[transparenthologramrebel]

My po3 OFTS au is a thing now (Chapter 2 electric boogaloo)

Chapter 2

Hollyleaf POV

“Thornclaw, take Bracken fur with you to collect some moss for bedding. Brambleclaw organize a hunting patrol, we lost all of our prey in the fire. I don’t want the queens and elders going hungry tonight.” Firestar instructed as he walked through the camp assessing the damage. Hollyleaf was working with Cinderheart on dismantling the burned parts of the warriors den. Hollyleaf and her brothers found Thunderclan sheltering in the old two legs nest on the far side of the territory. Thunderclan sheltered in the nest for the night and returned to the ruin camp at early sunrise. The camp was now bustling with activity as cats worked to clear the debris left behind and assess the damage. Hollyleaf watched as Brambleclaw nodded to Firestar before taking Berrynose, Honeyfern, and Sorreltail out of camp. The reunion had been brief with Brambleclaw when the three returned to the clan. Not that Hollyleaf could look at him the same after the revelation on the clifftop.

“Is he really like Tigerstar? Is he just waiting for Firestar to pass so he can take over?...Is he really cruel to Squirrelflight?” Hollyleaf thought as she watched him leave. She had heard tales of infamous fights between her former parents, but she had never witnessed it herself. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the mere thought of the word ‘parents’. Squrrielflight had returned safely to Thunderclan as well, but Hollyleaf and her brothers refused to acknowledge her. Hollyleaf’s shock and rage from the night before had sat with her throughout the night and now turned to bitter anger and disgust. She doubted she would ever speak to Squirrelflight again after her betrayal. 

“Hollyleaf are you alright?” Cinderheart’s soft voice broke Hollyleaf out of her mind. 

“Huh..uh yes...I’m fine…” Hollyleaf said, beginning to strip the warriors' den again. Cinderheart ran her tail down Hollyleaf’s spine reassuringly. 

“I can tell when something is on your mind, you know.” She said with a purr. 

Hollyleaf sighed heavily, knowing her best friend was right. She had always struggled to lie to her. She spotted Ashfur who was busy helping Ferncloud repair the nursery. Her fur prickled with anxiety and rage. 

“I wished the flames had consumed him! He’s a traitor to the clan and the warrior code!” she thought angrily, as the memories of last night filled her storm filled mind. 

“Hollyleaf?” Cinderheart chimed again.

“I...uh..yes...sorry..I’m just...last night was a lot...we almost didn’t make it.” Cinderheart stared at her, her eyes soft with empathy.

“I know, I was so scared when you, LionBlaze and Jayfeather weren’t with the clan. I thought you....” Cinderheart's voice faded into a whisper and she pressed her head under Hollyleaf’s chin. “I’m so glad you’re alright.” Hollyleaf’s chest rumbled with a purr as she rested her chin on her best friend’s head. 

“I’m glad you’re alright too.” 

“How is Lionblaze? I...I haven’t been able to talk to him last night. I want to make sure he’s alright.” Cinderheart asked as the two friends once again returned to her work. 

Hollyleaf blinked as she pondered the question. Lionblaze...why was she asking about Lionblaze specifically? As Hollyleaf thought about a good way to respond, the answer to why Cinderheart was asking hit her like a monster.

“Dear Starclan, she has a crush on my brother! That’s the last thing we need right now!” Hollyleaf thought, feeling her emotions in a whirl.

Hollyleaf grunted as she struggled to pull one of the branches off the den, she was too wrapped up in her mind. 

“Here let me help,” Cinderheart grasped the branch in her jaws as well, and they pulled it off together. Hollyleaf dropped the branch, licking her paw and ran it over her muzzle.  

“Lionblaze is alright. We’re all pretty shaken up.” She finally squeaked out. 

“I’ll have to check on him later. Perhaps I can go hunting and bring him back a fresh vole.”

Hollyleaf stared at Cinderheart who was now staring at her brother across the camp. Cinderheart quivered with a nervous yet steady purr. Her eyes were half closed with contentment. Hollyleaf felt slightly envious. She doubted she would ever find a mate or even find a time in her life to. She was part of the three, she had a larger destiny and that also included becoming leader of Thunderclan one day if she had the chance. 

Lionblaze now having taken notice of the two she cats trotted over to them. 

“Hollyleaf, Jayfeather needs us to go with him to find herbs. A lot was still destroyed in the fire,” he said before turning to Cinderheart. “I’ll try to bring back some prey for you while we’re gone.” 

Hollyleaf felt herself roll her eyes so hard they would pop out. 

Cinderheart purred as she ran her tail over Lionblaze’s shoulder.

“Thank you. You should go Hollyleaf, I’ll get Foxpaw to help me finish with the warriors den.” Hollyleaf nodded following her brother over to Jayfeather who was already waiting for them at the now cleared tunnel. 

The three siblings headed out into the forest. The scent of smoke and fire hung heavy in the air, the trees were blackened and their bark crumbled at the touch. Even the dead leaves that had littered the forest floor had turned to nothing but soot. Hollyleaf sighed, heaviness hung in her chest as she lifted her paw that was now blackened. 

“Everything is destroyed. It’s going to take a long time for the forest to heal. Is Thunderclan going to make it?” She wondered, continuing to follow after her brothers. 

“We need to talk about what happened last night.” Jayfeather finally spoke, as they were now far out of earshot of other cats. 

“Agreed.” Lionblaze chimed in. “First things first we need to stop Ashfur from telling the clan.” Hollyleaf rolled her eyes.

“I doubt that fox heart will do anything. He got what he wanted… he hurt Squirrelflight by making her tell us the truth. He’s torn our family apart.” Hollyleaf growled her ears pinned back. She wished Ashfur was in front of her now so she could tear his pelt off. Lionblaze scoffs at his sister. 

“Do you really think that? You saw him last night! He was willing to let that fire kill us! I’m sure he would have! You don’t know Ashfur like I do! He was my mentor and let me tell you he will do anything to hurt Squirrelflight!” Lionblaze snapped, his claws flexing digging into the soft sooty earth.

“Perhaps we should let him tell the clan.” Jayfeather muttered. Hollyleaf spun looking at her brother letting out an astonished gasp.

“Do you have bees in your brain!?” she growled at him.

“Squrrielflight already let the truth out. The consequences will come no matter what….its just a matter of time. Besides what will Ashfur say? That he threatened to let us burn to death all over his inability to let Squirrelflight go?” Jayfeather’s voice was very matter of fact. “He will be exiled or even killed, but I doubt he’s thought that far ahead. He’s too blinded with rage. Squirrelflight could possibly be exiled, but I doubt Firestar would do that to his daughter.”

“What about us?” Hollyleaf quickly reminded him. “Thunderclan will turn on us if they find out the truth! What will our clan mates think, even if we aren’t exiled...wait...if we’re not Squrrielflight’s kits are we even the three…” Hollyleaf’s voice trailed off into a whisper. Her stomach felt like it was in knots, her legs felt like they would buckle, as she struggled to breath.

“Starclan how could we be so mouse brained! There’s nothing special about us!” Hollyleaf wailed. “Of course Jayfeather can see into dreams he’s a medicine cat! Lionblaze you’re just a warrior any cat could fight as well as you with practice...and I’m just ....” Hollyleaf wailed, her voice trailing off into a whimper. Hollyleaf had always wondered when her power would appear. Jayfeather and Lionblaze had always seemed to have had their powers since kithood, yet she had been left behind. Now she knew why, they were ordinary cats. They weren’t chosen by Starclan if anything Starclan hated them! 

Lionblaze stepped closer to his sister running his tail down her spine. Hollyleaf sighed heavily leaning against her brother, taking comfort in her brother. 

“I don’t think that's true...we have to be related to Firestar in some way!” he reassured her. 

“But we aren’t! There’s no possible way! The only way we could be related to Firestar is through Leafpool and she’s a medicine cat! She can’t have a mate or kits!” Hollyleaf growled. Her tail lashed as her fur bristled standing on end. She felt like she couldn’t breath, her whole world was collapsing in on her and Ashfur had been the one to take it away. Hollyleaf bared her teeth, scrapping at the dirt with her claws sending chunks of earth behind her.

“We should kill him...that would silence him forever.” she hissed. Her brothers looked at her bewildered. 

“Hollyleaf we can’t do that...if we did we would actually be exiled then!” Lionblaze spoke, his voice lowered in bewilderment. Jayfeather calmly laid his tail on her shoulder. Hollyleaf turned and looked at him, as she did she felt her rage beginning to cool. Jayfeather’s face was soft with reassurement, but also filled with extreme worry. 

“Don’t worry we’ll find a way to stop him. I’ll walk in his dreams, maybe the threat of the wrath of Starclan will be enough to scare him into silence.” he said, his voice a bit more chipper, hopeful even. Hollyleaf’s fur fell flat and she sighed.

“We should still keep the secret to ourselves....after we stop Ashfur from ever speaking about this we need to find who our parents are.” she planned. Her brothers nodded in agreement. As the three went to finally find herbs and prey Hollyleaf made a promise to herself.

If Jayfeather couldn’t stop Ashfur, she would in any way possible.