#an instance where I'm really not sure what to name the chapter

[kingkat12]

euphoria (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: spanking, fingering, hair-pulling, clit-play, pussy-slaps, dom/sub, name-calling, praise, fluff (believe it or not), angst, aftercare, Roman is an ass (surprise lol)

summary: what happens when a certain someone comes home early from his work-trip in a really untimely matter? but maybe the main question isn't what-- maybe it is why?

word count: 10,848

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a/n: oh how I loved writing this chapter... the smut scene got so long because I spent a whole day only writing, AHH how I love summer break!!!!! enjoy lovelies<3333

I've never been good at emotional stuff-- containing it, working through it, understanding it. But anger? Anger, I was good at.

Peter laughed at something one of his colleagues said, effortless as ever, as I stood at his side, nodding along to a conversation I only caught half of; something about pre-litigation strategy, and a new partner hire who might be a walking HR violation. I hated thinking about HR. Why did we have to talk about HR? Fucking HR. Just thinking about the HR lady made my heart push up into my throat, clogging my airway, making me worry I'd start wheezing like a child that had swallowed a chew toy. 

I was also a walking HR violation, yet Peter had no idea. None, whatsoever. Would he want to be here with me at this nice banquet if he knew I was? Definitely not. Certainly so. 

Nodding along to the conversation between the legal team for Godfrey Industries, swirling my drink, trying not to look so guilty, I wondered where Mr. Godfrey was tonight; probably some rooftop in Switzerland once again, surrounded by models whose cheekbones could slice glass, surrounded by women he probably wanted to fuck. 

Mr. Godfrey didn't want to fuck me. He didn't even want me to touch him. How could I disgust him so?

If only he were here to see me now; I was dressed to kill and standing beside Peter, the hottest paralegal in the office who only had eyes for me, who wanted me. I should have been glowing from the attention. I should have been containing my giggles, blushing, wrapping my arms around his, clinging to him like a giddy date probably did in normal instances, but instead, I felt like the wilting, dying orchid in the corner of Mr. Godfrey's office. 

"Hey,"

Peter's voice cut through the legal chatter, low and careful, meant only for me; my eyes darted up to his, wide. His hand ghosted the small of my back again, grounding me in a way I didn't deserve. "You good? You've barely touched your drink."

I blinked, caught. "Oh," I mumbled, swirling the contents of my champagne flute. "I-- yeah, I'm good."

Peter gave me a look; lawyer instincts, surely. "Uh-huh,"

I smiled, a little sheepish, and took a sip to prove a point. "Happy now?"

"Hmm... I'll settle for now, in favour of peace in the court," He stepped a little closer, shielding us from the others with the easy slope of his body, his voice warm enough to melt the ice climbing up my spine. "You know," he murmured, leading me away. "I was half-convinced you'd bail on me tonight. Figured I'd get some text last minute saying 'sorry, food poisoning, maybe next year'."

That garnered a real giggle; "You really have that little faith in me, Peter?"

"Come on, kid, how would I know?" Peter grinned, shrugging as he looked back, checking that our desertion went unnoticed. God, it was annoying how kind his face was; open, honest, and safe. With him walking so close, I could smell his muted cologne, the cloud of dreamy musk, and I couldn't believe I wasn't able to feel the same way about him as I felt about my asshole boss. Peter was fucking perfect.

I sighed, looking up at the sunshine walking next to me; "Well, surprise, I showed up. And I'm glad I came, Peter,"

It wasn't a lie. I was glad. I loved hanging out with Peter. He always looked at me like I was whole, like I hadn't been chewed up by a man who could unmake me with one glance. I loved being near Peter, because standing next to him and his kind eyes never failed to give me the illusion of being someone different-- someone good.

"That's good to hear, because you look...." Peter paused, scratching the back of his neck like he didn't want to overstep. "You look amazing. Just-- yeah. You look great."

My chest ached; I wished that compliment would land the way it was meant to. I wished I could believe him instead of wondering if Mr. Godfrey would even notice me in this dress, or if he'd just raise a bored eyebrow and return to his drink and long line of supermodels. I felt so unworthy of Peter's eyes, his words, his kindness; maybe Mr. Godfrey should link him up with one of those Swiss models too? He deserved that much. 

I smiled anyway, feeling my cheeks redden as my pulse quickened. "Thank you," I breathed. "You look really good, too."

"Ah, is that right?" Peter cocked his head to the side, his smirk curling. "Guess I'll have to wear actual suits more often, huh?"

"You say that like you don't wear one to work every day,"

"Yeah, but I don't usually do the whole pocket square thing." He gestured down at himself; "This was for you, obviously."

"Noted," I smiled, even though it hurt-- God, I was really leading him on, wasn't I? 

Before Peter could snark back, already laughing, someone called out behind us.

"Rumancek!"

Peter winced, half-laughed, and turned. I could see his face melt with annoyance the second he saw who it was, letting out a small groan, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. "Sorry," he tried, already backing away as he sent me that apologetic look I knew too well. "That's Kyle. If I don't go hear him brag about his latest settlement, the bastard will explode. Two minutes, max?"

"No worries," I murmured, nodding along. "I'll be here, or passed out drunk over the ledge of the balcony. Either or."

Peter's brown eyes shimmered, charmed; "Not on my watch, young lady,"

Within seconds, he melted into the crowd, swallowed by suits and the warm, polite, rich laughter echoing through the banquet hall. I watched him go, the ghost of his cologne still clinging to my wrist like a secret, but as I turned, wondering where the waiter with the nice snacks was, I felt something in the air shift.

It was subtle, like a ripple under the surface of still water. The hair on the nape of my neck stood up; my instincts were ablaze. What was this?

I turned on my high heels, ears perking up, scouring the hall, until--

The sea of people opened up.

Standing near the entrance, talking to one of the board members, dressed in that signature black-on-black, was the man who wasn't supposed to be back until 23:47 tomorrow. That was the time of his flight. It was on the damn schedule. I had scheduled that damn flight. 

Roman Godfrey.

He was scanning the room with his usual disinterest, lips slightly parted, eyes sharp and heavy-lidded like he was always thinking something awful, yet he somehow managed to keep a charming smile as he talked to the key members of the company. He was good at this. This was his forte. 

Mr. Godfrey looked like sin. Mr. Godfrey was sin. Hair slicked back just enough to show off the cut of his cheekbones, the soft, spoiled curl at the ends betraying how young he still was— young enough to be reckless, young enough to get away with it. He was drunk on this, wasn't he? The power he wielded when he entered a room. Forbes nose, Forbes nose, Forbes nose. Unfair.

But then, before I could do anything to stop it, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes found mine with carved precision-- had he been looking for me?

My breath caught.

For a moment, we just looked at each other. No expression. No smile. I felt my skin burn beneath my dress, all the way down to my bones; my chest raised, heaved, as I refused to back down from the staring contest, refused, refused. 

Mr. Godfrey was back. Death had come for me.

And with a growing, sly smirk, he raised his hand, motioning for me to approach with the same two fingers he had once rubbed my clit with. 

That was when something cracked inside of me; I let out a choked laugh of disbelief, feeling the anger boil inside of me. Hello? Who did he think I was, his servant? A waiter? Why did he think he could call on me like that, like he didn't have the energy to walk over to me himself? I flailed my free hand, lips parting, grimacing back at him to show what I thought of him, silently telling him off. 

Irked, I watched as Mr. Godfrey gave in to a slight twitch of his head, his green gaze narrowing. The next twitch was deliberate, more of a come here motion, and that in turn set off a twitch in my eye, along with a shake of my head. 

War. This was war. Anger, I was good at.

But... Mr. Godfrey was better.

Because he didn't need to raise his voice. He didn't need to snap his fingers.

He just looked at me, like he knew every inch of my body under this dress, every secret curled up in the pit of my stomach, every thought I'd had about him since the second he left for Geneva. Some of those secrets, I had given him for free though, through that fucking drunk email. Mr. Godfrey's expression was darkly amused, but underneath it, I saw it; the irritation, the nerve I had struck by disobeying my dominant. 

Then, like it was inevitable, like he was bored with the charade, he lifted two fingers again. Slow. Deliberate. The same motion. Not playful this time, not even smug. Just... final.

Come.

My stomach twisted.

And surely enough, my heels carried me before my brain could stop them, slicing through the crowd like I had purpose, like I wasn't being called across the floor like some pet. My heart pounded with humiliation, heat, fury, but I obeyed. I fucking obeyed. 

I reached him just as his conversation tapered off, just as the board member excused himself with a pat on Mr. Godfrey's shoulder and a lingering glance my way. 

Mr. Godfrey didn't look at me, not right away-- he didn't have to. He simply took his glass from the table beside him, sipped slowly, and murmured, low enough only I could hear;

"Took you long enough," he said. "Enjoying your evening?"

I didn't answer-- I didn't want to. I stared past him like I hadn't heard him. Was that all he had to say to me? Was that it? Was he seriously leading with small talk?

Mr. Godfrey clicked his tongue, amused by my antics. "Ah," he said. "We're doing this."

"Doing what?" I snapped.

"You not looking at me, and me entertaining it," He cocked his head, waiting for me to glare at him. "That's not how this works, though. You know it."

"How what works, exactly?"

"You and I," Mr. Godfrey gave up on trying to get my attention; instead, he positioned himself next to me, looking out on the guests as he calmly sipped his champagne. 

I had to do everything in my power to not fold my arms over my chest and pierce his foot with my sharp heel. "Okay, then. Then maybe I don't think I like how you and I work anymore," 

A pause. The sound of the party humming behind us-- cutlery, laughter, some jazz quartet in the corner. He didn't rise to meet my anger; that was the worst part. "I see," he said. "So what is this? A tantrum?"

"No,"

"No?"

"I throw tantrums when I want you to manage them, but that was when I trusted that you wouldn't go too far," Going against him like this made my fingers tremble around my glass, and I had to force myself to continue; "You overstepped. You hurt me."

"Aw," Mr. Godfrey drawled, tilting his head, clearly mocking me. "And here I thought you liked a little pain."

Asshole. 

Finally, I turned to look at him, immediately met with his green eyes. Infuriatingly enough, he had that look about him that told me he was convinced this was a joke-- that this was part of our play, that this was part of our dance. "Not that kind," I muttered.

Mr. Godfrey's gaze flickered, searching my face for the truth, and finding-- what? More performance? A scene? He tilted his head slightly, mouth set in that careless, impenetrable line. "Mm," he hummed. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Oh, fuck you," This was clearly about the Swiss models-- did he not realize?

Seemingly not. Mr. Godfrey only smiled, evil yet charming. "Is that what this is?" he asked, quiet. "You missed me, so you're biting?"

"I didn't miss you,"

"Didn't you?"

"I didn't even know you'd be here,"

Of all things, that landed. A fractional pause fall, small, but enough to let me know he was finally paying attention. His lashes dropped slightly over his eyes, gaze narrowing. "No?" he murmured. "Did you not see the schedule change?"

"No,"

"You always check that," he mumbled. "Slacking off, then?"

"No," Fucker. "It's a Sunday. I don't work for you on the weekend."

"Then who dragged you out?"

Something told me that Mr. Godfrey was genuinely curious, maybe a bit shocked? I waited a beat, let the silence press in between us like a knife, as my eyes narrowed further; "I came with Peter,"

He didn't blink. He didn't breathe. He didn't do anything.

For a moment, I almost wondered if Mr. Godfrey had heard me at all. But then, slowly, I watched the corners of his mouth curl-- not in a smile, not even in anger, but in something colder, something almost like disbelief. "My paralegal?" he chuckled, mocking as ever. "That's original!"

My eye twitched; I wanted to smack him. For the first time ever, I genuinely considered it. I bet he'd moan. Twisted fucker. "Better than spending a week in Switzerland with a harem," I hissed. "Or was it a business trip? Who knows."

Mr. Godfrey's expression didn't shift much, but something behind his eyes sparked. Not rage. Not offense. Amusement, maybe? Finally, he knew what this was about. His fingers curled tighter around the glass, slow and measured, like he was restraining a grin. His pupils didn't shrink-- they narrowed, sharp and calculating. "You've got a lot of nerve talking to me like that," he said, voice low, but not threatening. He sounded entertained, like he was watching a show, like this was the moment he had been waiting for all week.

"Says the man that gets off on being challenged," I huffed. "Don't act like this isn't exactly what you wanted. Why else would you call the paparazzi when you went to that party?" I dared to glare up at Mr. Godfrey, hoping he'd feel my wrath; "I'm not fucking stupid. I know how those things work."

A flash of something showed on his face, barely-there, lightning-quick, but I caught it-- oh, I caught it.

"I don't want to do this tonight," I said, standing my ground. "You said you'd be gone for a week. I want my whole week of peace."

Mr. Godfrey's laugh was short, almost a snort-- "Wow," he said under his breath. "I thought we were enjoying the same game here." He took a step forward, eyes scanning me with that slow, assessing look that always made my stomach twist. "What, the models upset you? I was giving you something to bite back over." Mr. Godfrey's smile curled, but it didn't reach his green eyes; "Come on, now. Don't tell me you've forgotten how this works," he added, lips curling, voice edged in that same boyish mischief he always used when he wanted to keep things unserious. "Play with me, won't you? Or are we rewriting the rules?"

... Seriously?

Was this all a game to him?

Before my brain could churn through the possibilities, Mr. Godfrey took one last step forward, which in turn had me backing into a nearby table; he leaned forward, brushing it off as him putting away his drink, smooth and planned. His lips hovered just above the shell of my ear; "You think I flew in early across the ocean just to leave you alone?"

No. 

No, no, no.

He wouldn't come here for me. He wouldn't. This was yet another cheap trick in the book, wasn't it? Typical heartbreaker, that's what he was. How had I not seen it before now? That would've worked on me a week ago, but not now, not after the whole ordeal with the Swiss models. He took it too far. Still, we hadn't agreed on exclusivity-- that word was probably not even in his vocabulary. Did I have a right to be upset? 

My breath caught, and a shiver travelled down my spine; Mr. Godfrey's breath was warm. I felt beyond warm too, and I was sure I'd start boiling at this rate if he didn't move. Surely, this whole ordeal hadn't lasted for more than a few seconds, but as I found myself unable to breathe, I stared up at him, wide-eyed, silently begging him to move. 

"I don't know why you came," I said, breathless. "But now I wish you hadn't."

Mr. Godfrey stilled.

For a moment, just one slim, suspended moment, Mr. Godfrey looked at me like he had never seen me before. Not the girl from the interview, not the secretary he tormented, not the girl who folded under his tone-- something in his gaze shifted, cracked at the edges. Maybe it was confusion, maybe it was restraint? Maybe it was the very first flicker of doubt that I wasn't playing anymore?

With that, slowly, he stepped back. Just a fraction, though-- just enough to let the air cool between us, just enough to let me pass.

And I didn't wait for him to change his mind.

My heels scraped hard against the floor as I moved, fury twisting in every step. I didn't look back; I wouldn't. Tonight was mine. Tonight, I had authority too. Just because he cut his trip short, shouldn't mean that I had to adhere to his antics? 

But then, the second I thought I had gotten away, a hand caught my wrist-- not harshly, not even tightly, but like it was automatic. Mr. Godfrey yanked me back like he had already decided I belonged to him, and this was just part of how the night would go.

Now, the smirk was wiped off his face-- now, he was pissed. 

"Fine," he hissed through gritted teeth, no longer caring if people were watching. I was his property in his mind, anyway, and he could do as he pleased, right? "You want to be like that? Be like that. But you're gonna go talk to Derek, the lead of catering, and tell him this party needs ice. And while you're at it, count how many glasses are left at each station. I don't want anyone bitching about shortages. Get it sorted, and do it now."

I would've gasped, had we not been surrounded by people-- I should've known that he would do this, I should've known he wouldn't let me get away so easily. This was my punishment, wasn't it? Staring up at my boss, blinded by his violent beauty, the green of his eyes, the caramel brown of his hair, the looming authority with which he held me, I couldn't believe this was happening; "I don't work for you tonight," I huffed, trying to get out of his grip, but to no avail. "Find the fucking party coordinator lady, this is not my!--"

"You work for me always," Mr. Godfrey hissed, tightening his hold. "And you will do as I say."

It slipped out of me before I could think about the possible repercussions; "No!"

A beat.

Way too long.

"... No?!" Mr. Godfrey looked like he was about to explode. "What did you just say to me?"

Finally, I yanked my wrist hard enough for him to let me go; "No!"

The word echoed, sharp and crystalline, slicing through the low din of the party, but not loud enough to draw eyes; it was just enough to seal it between us.

No one else seemed to notice. The music swelled over it, masking the crack in the air, laughter clinked against champagne glasses, like I hadn't just signed my doom. We could've been arguing about napkins for all anyone knew, for all they cared. 

But he knew, and I knew, and that would be enough.

I didn't dare to see how he'd react-- I knew this would cost me. I knew I had just carved a line in the sand I couldn't step back over, but I turned anyway. My heels bit against the marble floor as I walked away, eyes forward, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. I didn't breathe until I saw the silhouette of Peter's black suit; here, I was safe.

But Peter saw me before I even reached him.

His smile, that warm, crooked thing that usually lived somewhere between mischief and charm, had been replaced by what looked like a glare. His eyes flicked over me, reading the tightness in my shoulders, the way my lips were pressed together too hard, the raw, blinking shine still wet in my lashes, before he stared back at the perpetrator-- Mr. Godfrey.

When I approached him, on the brink of hyperventilating, Peter reached one arm out, pulling me closer by my waist, immediately sensing my distress. "What the hell was what?" he asked, not accusatory, but concerned. "I didn't think he'd be back until--"

"I know," I said, breathless. "He's an ass. He just... he--" My voice cracked down the middle, a quiet, trembling thing; "Can you drive me home?"

Peter's fingers curled slightly at my waist. He looked over my shoulder again, jaw ticking. "Home? Yeah. Of course. But-- are you sure? I can talk to him,"

"No!" Too fast, too sharp. Fuck. "Please don't. Just... don't."

He looked at me, visibly torn. "You're shaking,"

"It's fine," I lied. "I just-- I need to go. Please, Peter."

He... didn't budge.

"Peter," I touched his chest lightly, just above his lapel. "You're not going to get through to him. And even if you say something, he'll just make it worse for me tomorrow."

His eyes searched mine, reluctant and unreadable. "You shouldn't have to deal with this,"

"I know," I whispered. "But I do."

For a long moment, Peter just looked at me-- really looked. We stood in the middle of the party like we were underwater, everyone else blurred to nothing. I could see him deciding; hero or bystander. Rage or mercy.

Finally, after a beat that nearly broke me, he exhaled. "Okay," he said, soft. "Come on, kid."

Peter wrapped an arm more firmly around my waist this time, possessive without meaning to be (or maybe a little?), and started leading me toward the exit. I kept my chin low, my eyes lower, trying not to be seen or noticed.

Still, I knew that was impossible. I knew Mr. Godfrey was here somewhere, watching this, drinking it in-- he wasn't going to let me get away so easily, was he?

I dared to look up, and I immediately found him stood near the tall windows, half-turned from a cluster of investors, his body tense in that controlled, tight way I'd come to recognize when he was mad. One hand still clutched the champagne, but the other had curled into a fist at his side, knuckles stark white. He wasn't listening to the man talking beside him, not really-- his eyes were locked on Peter's arm around my waist.

And then they flicked up.

Met mine.

And that was what it took for me to press closer to Peter, away from Mr. Godfrey, away from this party. This wasn't the clean break that I had wanted-- this was a warning shot, and I had just fired it at the worst possible target.

This could cost me everything.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The night air was cooler than I expected, brushing against my bare shoulders, but it cleared my head a little. My heels clicked on the pavement, slower now. Peter matched my pace easily, hands in his pockets, looking so much more at ease than I felt.

"You know," Peter said as we reached the front step of my apartment. "I half expected Roman to throw a drink at me."

I gave a weak laugh, stopping in front of the door. "I think he wanted to. Maybe next time,"

"Better bring a poncho," he said with a half-smile, his brown eyes never leaving mine. For a second, we just stood there; him with one step down, while that usual crooked mischief quieted in his expression, replaced with something far gentler. He was reading me, trying to decide if I was still breaking, or just beginning to bend back into shape.

Peter's hands were still in his pockets, but he leaned forward slightly, like his body was pulled toward mine without him meaning to. "You sure you're okay?"

My heart hurt; "You don't have to do this," I started, gentle and low. 

"What do you mean?" The question was so simple in his mind. "Make sure you're fine?"

"Yeah," I breathed-- my hand reached to linger at the door knob, shifting my weight from one heel to another. Suddenly, I couldn't meet his gaze. I couldn't face him. "Thank you for driving me home, and for the lovely evening, and for being so kind, but... I don't deserve this."

"Nonsense," was the immediate response. 

That made my eyes dart up to look at Peter, the porch light catching the silver at the tips of his dark lashes. His jaw was tense, but his smile was soft, almost reverent, like he saw something noble in me that I couldn't. "Nonsense," he echoed. "You deserve good things, kid. Don't let Roman convince you otherwise. I've seen countless girls like you come and go out of his office, one more broken than the other, but you can't let him break you. Not when you shine so bright."

My throat tightened, my lips parted-- suddenly, my head felt light. Was this how it was supposed to feel? "Peter--" I started, but there was nothing to follow it with except for the sudden ache behind my ribs like someone had struck me there. Peter looked at me like I hadn't already been burned, used, and destroyed, and that... that felt unreal.

"You're not just some secretary," Peter said, quieter now. "You're just hurting, and-- and he saw that and pushed, didn't he?"

I looked down, blinking too hard; this was hitting closer to home than I had expected. "You don't want to know," I breathed. "You wouldn't look at me the same."

With a sigh, Peter reached out, hesitant at first, and touched my arm; a warm and grounding touch. "I see you just as you are," he murmured. "And I like what I see."

There was a pause. That undid me more than I expected-- my heart stuttered in that small silence, and when our eyes met again, something passed between us, uncomplicated, for once. No power games. No traps. Just kindness, and maybe even longing?

Peter's eyes dropped briefly to my lips. Not in the lustful way I was used to-- just a flicker, a beat too long. His body shifted ever so slightly closer, shoulders angling in, and suddenly, it felt like there was a question floating between us, one I didn't quite have the courage to voice.

"You want me to stay?" he asked, low, like he wasn't sure himself.

I didn't answer. I didn't know. I didn't dare.

"I could--" he started, a breath closer. "Just for a minute. We could talk. Or not? Whatever you need."

Fuck. My pulse was going through the roof, I was sure my hands were clammy, my eyes had widened beyond retrieval, but then...

The door finally clicked open behind me, cool air brushing past my ankles. I should have said goodnight, should have stepped inside and closed the door and let it end sweet and clean-- but I didn't.

I lingered...

And Peter noticed.

The thing is, I wanted comfort. I wanted to feel like I wasn't spiralling alone, like someone saw the mess and didn't flinch, or didn't want to make me flinch because of it. Still, I also knew this wasn't neutral-- Peter wanted to be the one I turned to, the one I leaned on, the one I kissed.

His hand ran down my arm, slowly, his fingers brushing mine-- just a featherlight touch, waiting for permission.

I didn't move. Didn't pull away. I think, maybe, I wanted to see if I still had that effect on anyone, if someone could still want me without breaking me open; Peter wouldn't ever want to break me. He'd want me whole. Breathing. Happy. Unbothered, pampered, content, calm, neutered, and nice. I could be nice, right? I didn't have to run my filthy mouth all the time? I could stop getting off at inappropriate times and places? I could be normal. I could be the perfect, sweet girl. I could be. I really think I could be.

And then, Peter leaned in-- slow, respectful, letting me stop him. His breath was warm, his nose just brushing mine, and my heart thudded hard once in my chest, and--

I almost let him.

Almost.

Because suddenly, in the cold night air, in front of my open apartment door, it hit me that I couldn't.

I couldn't be normal. I couldn't play nice. I didn't want to be unbothered-- I wanted to be set on fire. I wanted gasoline to be poured all over me, to feel my blood boil, to feel my body melt, because only then would I feel alive. My mouth needed to run. My skin needed to burn with the sting. 

I... couldn't go back. Not after having met Mr. Godfrey. 

I was ruined. I was filthy. I was me. Peter didn't want the real me-- he didn't know the real me. If he knew, he'd run for the hills. He'd know I was used up. He'd know I had been defiled by the one man he couldn't stand. 

So, with Peter's lips barely an inch away from mine, his warm breath ghosting over my upper lip, I dared to speak; "I should get some sleep,"

Immediately, Peter pulled back. "Yeah," he said, clearing his throat, suddenly all nerves. "Of course. Yeah, totally."

My heart hurt for him-- my heart hurt for us. 

I leaned forward, wrapped my arms around him, and pressed my cheek to his chest; this felt better. This felt right. I liked hugging Peter-- he froze only for a second before folding into the hug, his chin brushing the top of my head, holding me like I was something delicate but not breakable, like I was allowed to just be held. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, eyes welling up with tears. 

Peter held me tighter, arms wrapping all the way around like he could shelter me from the weight of my own words. "Don't be," he said into my hair. "You don't owe me anything."

I pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy, the porch light haloing his silhouette; his brows were drawn, like he wanted to understand but knew better than to press. "I wish I met you before," I breathed. "Before all of this. Before I turned into someone I don't recognize."

He cupped the side of my face, careful, his thumb brushing a tear I didn't know had fallen. "You don't always have to bleed to earn good things. Not everything has to be a battle. It will come to you in a few years, trust me," With a sigh, Peter leaned in again, just enough to press his forehead to mine, and his voice came soft and certain; "But when you do feel like you've done enough suffering to deserve something nice... I'm here."

Oh, how that gutted me-- that kind of gentleness always did.

I mustered the strength to nod, barely, and stepped back. To steady myself, my hand found the doorframe, and I felt like my brain was fighting the enormous shutdown I was holding back. Everything Peter had said made so much sense-- maybe he actually saw me more than I thought? I couldn't think about it. Not now, not here. 

"Goodnight, Peter," I whispered, a small smile accompanying my words. "Thank you for tonight. I had a great time."

"I'm glad," His smile was small, tired, but real. "Goodnight, kid."

I watched Peter retreat down the steps, hands back in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched like he had left with more weight than he came with-- fuck. 

I closed the door only once I couldn't see him anymore, and then I leaned my forehead against it. I didn't cry-- not really. I just... stood there. Hollowed out. Full of warmth I didn't know how to carry.

Peter was light...

But I had already been claimed by the dark. 

Not only claimed, actually-- consumed. Because the only thought that remained after I'd allowed myself a little breakdown, was damage control. Damage control. Damage control. 

Mr. Godfrey was going to make my life hell. He had seen me leave with Peter, I had openly defied him, and... 

I knew there was only one thing to do to maybe make tomorrow just a smidge easier.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I stared down at my desk, nudging the stapler for the fifth time to make sure it was aligned with the edge of the table. This was crazy. This was nuts. Why was I doing this, and why was I doing this at two in the morning?

After Peter, after everything, and after I had gotten out of my dress... 

I ran back to work.

Back to this desk, this office, these goddamn pens, as if putting them in order might put me back in order too.

So here I was, nudging my stapler, sorting my pens, and wiping my computer screen in the exact same outfit I had worn to work a few days ago. Sick fuck. Heart hammering like I was about to go out on stage and give a speech, I walked back and forth, back and forth, to make sure I hadn't missed anything. 

I couldn't sit still; I wanted there to be nothing Mr. Godfrey could take me for. I knew he was now going to wreak havoc in my life again, I knew he was going to try to make my life hell, and this was my way of trying to cushion the fall. 

After having gone up against him, it felt like my brain had melted and become mush. How could I do that? How did I manage to tell him no? In that moment, that had felt like the biggest rush, but now...

What the hell had I done?

Hyperventilating, I nudged the stapler a bit to the left, feeling my eyes well up with tears all over again. I had also messed everything up with Peter. I had realized that everything that had happened between me and Mr. Godfrey had caused irrevocable damage, because hello-- how the fuck had I allowed myself to be driven to the point where I was having a breakdown at the office at two in the morning?!

I swiped at my eyes quickly, angrily, then turned back toward my desk again... only to freeze at the sound of footsteps echoing down the marble hallway outside.

Slow.

Measured.

Unmistakable.

I knew that walk-- I knew the rhythm of his shoes like the back of my hand.

The click of his shoes drew closer, and I didn't move; I couldn't. I stood by my desk like a kid caught sneaking out, blinking through the leftover blur of tears, still wearing my black office heels, wearing my usual office attire like a fucking maniac.

My stomach flipped violently when I realized how close he was, but I didn't run. I straightened my spine like it would save me, like posture could hide panic. The steps then came with absurd slowness, like he knew the sound alone would be enough to skin me.

And then---

There he was.

I spun around to face him; Roman Godfrey stood behind me, framed in the low office light like some half-dressed specter of everything I had ever wanted and shouldn't have touched. His coat was open over his shirt, a few buttons undone. No tie. His hair was damp at the ends like he had just stepped out of the rain or a scalding shower, and his jaw was tight.

"What... the fuck," he hissed, vicious; "are you doing here?"

That was it. No greeting. No smile. No teasing quip. Just quiet, simmering fury.

I let out a shaky breath, realizing I was cornered; there was nowhere to go. My back hit the desk, and my hands went to grab at it like it would save me. "I could-- I could ask you the same thing,"

"You could, sure," he said, voice low and threatening, eyes dark like never before. "But this whole building? The one you've technically trespassed? It's mine."

I flinched. He didn't yell, but God, it was worse than yelling. That cold authority, that quiet confidence that he could have me arrested or worse, and I wouldn't even put up a fight; I was already breathless. "I didn't break in," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I have a key. You know I have a key."

"Oh, a key," he scoffed, tone mocking, gesturing at the spotless desk. "So this is just a normal night for you? Rearranging office supplies at two a.m. in your little secretary costume? Jesus."

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling-- I wasn't ready to cry again, not yet. But Mr. Godfrey just kept looking at me like he didn't recognize me, like I was a problem he couldn't categorize, and it was killing me. 

"You look unhinged," he finally said, taking me in from head to toe with something like disgust. "What is this? Did you lose your mind while I was gone?"

Something inside me snapped-- enough.

"Maybe your OCD rubbed off on me," I muttered. "Maybe now I'm just as fucked up as you are."

The moment the words left my mouth, the silence that followed was so thick it might as well have died. Mr. Godfrey went utterly still. His jaw clenched once, then again, like he was grinding down a scream between his molars.

And then--

He exploded.

"That's enough!" he barked. "You think you get to act like this because what? I left the country for a week?! I don't know who made you such a brat, or why you think you can act the way you've done tonight, because I've given you everything you've ever asked for!"

"That's-- You don't even let me touch you!" I cried, voice breaking. "You let me need you, and then you punish me for it! All I ever wanted from you was some-- some basic decency, you spoiled piece of shit!"

"Decency? Decency?" His laugh was dry, bitter; "You wanted this! You asked for it! You even got down on your fucking knees and begged for it! So don't turn around and act like a victim now, just because I didn't behave exactly how you fantasized!"

"I'm not!--"

"You've wanted exactly what I've been giving you, so I don't get why you suddenly want out!"

"I don't want out!" I yelled, angrily wiping away my tears. "I just didn't-- I didn't think you'd run off with a bunch of models!"

"Oh, fuck you!" Mr. Godfrey snapped-- his words boomed so loud, I was sure the walls of the office shook. His fists had balled, his jacket had been tossed to the floor, and his ears had gone red from all the screaming. "You're just assuming things, but you're the one who ran to Peter the second I left the country! You even went home with him!"

I let out a sob, realizing there was no stopping my tears; "Nothing happened with Peter!" I cried. "Because you've made me sick! I'm sick! There's something wrong with me now, and-- and!--" My voice was hoarse, and I could barely finish my sentences. Saying it out loud just made it a thousand times worse, and I broke apart. "Please just do something!" I sobbed, shamelessly letting my tears fall. "Just-- please, I can't!-- I can't snap out of this, I need!-- I need you to-- snap me out of this!"

Stunned, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes widened, staring at the crying mess in front of him. I bet he hadn't expected a full breakdown like this, not at two in the morning, not when he had probably come here to fetch some file or God knows what. Mr. Godfrey's chest heaved from all the yelling as he stared at me, really looked at me, for the first time since I had started unraveling. The storm in his green eyes faltered, cracking just enough for something softer to seep through, something painfully close to concern.

He didn't say a word. He knew what I needed. 

Mr. Godfrey stepped forward. Reached out. Grabbed my wrist with a firm grip that barely hurt but left no room for argument, and started pulling me toward the door to his office.

"Wait--" I tried, but he cut me off with a sharp look.

No questions. No explanations. He knew what I needed.

When we reached his office, Mr. Godfrey pushed the door open without ceremony. The only light came from a dim desk lamp, casting long shadows over the room and over his face. Sniffling, I tried to wipe the tears and the snot, and somehow found myself... getting calmer. That was not how this usually worked? Usually, this would get my heart pounding even faster, but now? It felt like I was about to be relieved, like he was about to make it better. 

And he was the only one who could.

With a click of the door behind us, Mr. Godfrey looked down at me with an unreadable expression. I couldn't understand whether he was furious or getting over himself-- it was impossible to decode.

Then, his voice came quiet, almost calm; "I think ten would do,"

Ten? 

Oh.

"I don't know if that would be enough," I breathed. 

"Fifteen would only make you cry harder," he mumbled, clearly from experience. "That wouldn't help you."

"Twelve, then...?" 

"Twelve?"

Were we really having a civilized discussion about this...? About spanking?

"Three times four is twelve," I mumbled, sniffling. "You-- you like threes."

Mr. Godfrey stilled, his chest rising with soft, slow strokes. This was it-- we had made a deal, and he didn't have to say anything to know he was sold on it. Had I just done business with the most notorious businessman of the country? 

The way I was put over his lap was different this time; this felt like something sacred, like a routine we had practiced. Every other time had been consensual, but this... I had never wanted it more. I had never wanted him more.

As Mr. Godfrey's big hands reached for my skirt, I heard him sigh as he bunched it up around my waist. "Fucking hell," he mumbled, tracing the line of my underwear; the exact pair he had gifted me a while ago. "I knew these would suit you." 

There was nothing I could do to fight the shiver that ran up my back, and I let out a shaky breath. 

And he noticed the breath-- of course he did.

Mr. Godfrey's large palm flattened against the small of my back, warm, steady, possessive, while his other hand ghosted over the curve of my ass, fingers brushing the edge of the silk like it annoyed him. The heat of him seeped into my skin before the first strike even landed, but it didn't come right away.

No, he waited. Drew it out. Let the tension stretch until I could barely breathe.

And then--

Crack.

My body jolted, the pain ripping through me as I cried out, quiet and broken. "Fuck, ouch," I breathed. "One."

Mr. Godfrey hummed, dismissive; "You don't have to count," His fingers dragged over my sore skin, smoothing out the ache like it was his to mold. "Just try not to tense your legs. It's going to make it much worse."

That was odd-- why wouldn't he want me to have it worse? "But... it's supposed to hurt,"

"Yeah," he murmured. "But not to the point where you pass out."

Before I could say anything, his hand came down again, harder, firmer, to the point where my air left me with a shaky cry. God, it hurt, but I had missed this more than anything; the shock, the pain, the shame-- I loved it.

And then, when I thought it couldn't, it only got better.

"This is for your filthy mouth," Mr. Godfrey hissed, another smack falling before I could answer. "This is for your bratty little attitude tonight." Crack. "You really thought you could run your mouth without consequences? Not around me. Not ever."

My eyes burned as the heat bloomed beneath my skin, the sting deepening into something molten, something that settled in my core and made my thighs clench without permission.

Crack.

I gasped again, this one more strangled than the last.

"You even looked smug when you mouthed off," he hissed, bending low enough that I could feel his breath against the back of my neck. "Like you wanted this, you fucking brat. You did, huh?"

Another hit-- my body twitched in his grip. "Yes, sir," There was no use in lying, right?

I could almost hear Mr. Godfrey rolling his eyes. "That's what I thought," he muttered; his hand stroked the curve of my ass, then squeezed, like he was checking his work. "Bet you even missed this when I was gone. Bet this shit was on your mind when you sent me that drunk mail."

Crack.

Tears slipped from my eyes, not from the pain, but from the unbearable rightness of it all. He was punishing me like I belonged to him, like I mattered. Did I? 

Then, when I expected the next strike, it didn't come. Instead, Mr. Godfrey's hand moved further down, easing between my thighs, forcing them apart as I squirmed in his lap. Like this, I couldn't see anything, couldn't do anything, so when he dragged his thumb down my clothed, wet sex, I let out a shaky, quiet moan. What was happening?

"Do you get off on this, hm? Being put in your place?" 

I could only nod, looking back at him with glossy eyes. There was no hiding. There was no escaping. Where were we now? Six? Seven? I had lost count, even though I promised myself I wouldn't. 

Mr. Godfrey tsked, probably getting a kick out of the ruined sight of me. "This is not for you to get off," he huffed. "This is for you to snap out of whatever mess you've made in that tiny brain of yours. Why the fuck are you so wet, huh? Are you not ashamed? You should be." 

Then, with a flat hand, he smacked me between my legs-- Jesus Christ.

It was the oddest sensation. That force against my clit was both agony and pleasure unlike any other, and I let out a broken, loud cry of a moan that I instantly regretted, because suddenly? There came many more, small ones, firm, as my back arched up against Mr. Godfrey's hand, trying to meet the strikes for some reason I couldn't understand; this was the oddest, most pleasurable sensation, and I only knew that I wanted more. 

"Fuck, fuck-- fuck!--"

At that, Mr. Godfrey's hand moved and pressed into the curve of my lower back again, holding me in place like it was nothing. His strength felt effortless, like pinning down something wild; a reminder that he could hold me here forever if he wanted to. His voice stayed low, infuriatingly calm; "Look at you," he breathed, as if disgusted-- but there was nothing disgusted in the way he touched me. "What am I supposed to do with you, huh? Dirty girl."

My hips twitched, involuntarily seeking friction, something, anything, but he didn't give it. His thumb hovered again, threatening, teasing, denying, and then with the most feathery touch, traced a line down my underwear, stopping right before he reached my clit; for a second there, I even forgot to breathe. "Please," I whispered. 

"You act like a little monster," Mr. Godfrey continued, disregarding my pleas. "And then cry when you get treated like one."

"I'm not!--"

"You're not what?" he bit back. "Not needy? Not desperate?"

I clenched my jaw, tears clinging to my lashes, the shame glowing so hot in my chest I thought it might consume me. But still, I whispered, lying through my teeth; "I'm not crying,"

Mr. Godfrey chuckled-- a real one, low and cruel. "No," he murmured. "You're whimpering."

And then his hand slipped inside the waistband of my underwear; not hurried, not greedy, just steady. Intolerably slow. He dragged his fingers along my slickness, letting out the softest, sharpest breath when he felt how soaked I was. "Christ," he mumbled. "You're absolutely filthy."

Yes. 

Yes, I was. 

Mr. Godfrey held them there, two fingers barely pressing at my wet entrance, not moving. The tension knotted behind my ribs, unbearable. "Say it," he murmured.

I blinked, dazed; "Sir?"

"Say you missed me,"

My eyes widened just a bit, and my breath got stuck in my chest-- what? Why did he want to hear that? Why did he want me to say it? "I missed you," I confessed, shaky, not sure what to anticipate. 

"Are you lying?"

"N-- No, sir,"

Mr. Godfrey's digits moved, barely, with pressure at my hole that made my breath catch; would he put them in? Then, his fingers moved away, slow but deliberate, now dragging up to circle my clit once, twice-- before pulling away completely. "Stupid girl," he mumbled. "You shouldn't have."

My mouth parted in an airless gasp as he slid out of my underwear and came back with the flat of his hand, striking harder than before--

Crack.

"Eight," I gasped-- barely a whisper, barely a breath. The word slipped out before I could stop it, torn from the tight, trembling place in my chest. Everything burned. The ache had started as something low and dull, but now it bloomed sharp and alive, tracing every nerve along my spine and spilling down my thighs like fire.

Behind me, Mr. Godfrey let out a low breath-- half a sigh, half a laugh. The sound was cruel in its amusement, like he had expected this from me. "Still counting?" he murmured, voice velvet-smooth and full of mockery. "Didn't I tell you not to?"

I couldn't answer. My jaw was slack, my face already slick with tears, heat prickling under my skin-- I didn't know if I was shaking from the sting or from the shame that pulsed like a heartbeat in my chest. 

"I think you like the numbers too," Mr. Godfrey said next, almost to himself. His nails scraped a slow trail down the side of my thigh, making me jolt, making my stomach twist. "Makes it feel earned, doesn't it? Like you deserve it."

I whimpered, some fractured sound catching in my throat.

Another pause. Then;

Crack.

"Nine--"  The word burst from me on instinct, no thought behind it; just a raw, knee-jerk reaction.

He didn't let it go.

In one smooth, terrifying motion, Mr. Godfrey caught a fistful of my hair and pulled, yanking my head back just enough to make me gasp. My eyes flew open, vision swimming, breath catching. "I said," he hissed, low and cold in my ear; "Don't count."

"I'm sorry, sir," I whimpered, already unraveling. "I-- I keep losing track, I can't-- I need--"

His grip tightened again, sharp and absolute, every inch of him a warning; "Don't give a damn," he hissed.

Crack.

My whole body jolted, and a whisper of a ten left my lips. Shit. Shit.

This time, he didn't scold me. Maybe he hadn't heard me? But then, Mr. Godfrey pressed his hips forward, so I could feel the weight of him beneath me-- feel him growing beneath me. That was when it hit me that he was hard; thick, hard, and cruelly restrained. He wanted me to know. He wanted me to feel.

"Jesus," he muttered, now dragging the silk of my underwear down past my thighs; did he want to get a better look at the mark he was leaving? "Look at you... Wet like you're in heat. Ashamed yet?"

I was, but I wasn't. What the fuck was this feeling? I didn't even care that I was exposed anymore.

"It seems not," Mr. Godfrey hummed, dragging his fingers through the slickness between my legs, coating them, before trailing them down my thighs, humiliating me with every slow move. "Little brat's been dripping since strike three." 

I shivered; this was sticky. I was sticky. My legs were sticky. Was he? I whined, helpless, pathetic; "Please, sir, I feel-- ew, I feel--"

Crack.

My cry was loud this time, a real sob punching out of me-- finally, I had forgotten everything about the models. Peter. Mr. Godfrey's absence. The mess at the banquet. The lady from HR. The previous secretary. The emails. This was what I had been longing for-- this was the kind of numbness only Mr. Godfrey could give me, show me, teach me. This was why I needed him. That was why I needed this, us, whatever it was. 

As it all came crashing down on me, I felt the eternal knot in my chest unravel-- suddenly, I felt lighter than ever. Suddenly, I was ethereal. There was peace. Through my glistening tears hanging off my eyelids, I felt myself smile-- I slowly turned my head, looking up at Mr. Godfrey, showing him the release he had unleashed upon me. 

His green eyes, which were previously furious, had softened, but not noticeably. I could see it in the way his shoulders fell just the smallest movement, the way his face softened for just a beat too long, the way he let go of my hair-- he knew. He felt the euphoria too. 

This was the premise of everything.

This was why we needed each other. 

And then, to put me out of my misery, came the last crack of his palm against my skin-- I let my mouth fall open in a silent moan as I felt my body go limp with the relief. Euphoria, coursing through my veins. Euphoria, being pushed to this state. Euphoria. 

Mr. Godfrey exhaled behind me, pleased. "There she is,"

Then silence came, as a gift to us both. A heavy, glowing kind of silence that filled the room like warm light spilling across polished floors. No footsteps. No fumbling. No more commands.

Just him. Just me.

I heard him breathe again-- slower this time, calmer. Mr. Godfrey then reached for me with unexpected care, curling his arms around my torso, guiding me up and pulling me gently into his lap, settling me sideways so my legs draped across his. I didn't even think of the oddity of his softness-- my brain had melted into the best form of delirium as I let my head fall against his chest like it belonged there, right beneath his collarbone, where I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

I wasn't trembling anymore; I had found peace.

One of Mr. Godfrey's hands rubbed slow, careful circles up and down my back, his touch soothing now. The other cradled my thigh, his thumb absently brushing over my sticky skin-- no intention, no edge, just grounding presence.

"You did well," he murmured after a while, barely loud enough to hear. His voice wasn't sharp anymore; it was low, warm, and close. "Took everything I gave you, didn't you?"

I nodded faintly into Mr. Godfrey's broad chest, a wet exhale slipping from my lips. My hand came up to loosely clutch his shirt, something I would've never dared to before-- I didn't know if it was for balance or need. Maybe both? 

"Good girl," He pressed his lips to my temple-- not a kiss, really, just a press. His mouth was warm. "I've got you." Mr. Godfrey tilted his head down to rest against mine for a moment, our foreheads nearly touching. "I shouldn't have stayed away that long," he said. "Look what it did to you."

Look what it did to us.

... He didn't say that part, though. He didn't need to.

My body felt heavy in his lap, but not in a bad way; in a way that said I could stay here forever. "I needed this," I admitted, quiet as ever, soft and uncomplicated. "I needed you."

Mr. Godfrey's jaw moved like he was biting something back-- we didn't have to talk about the rest of it. Not yet. I didn't push. I got it. I finally understood. "Shh," he murmured again. "I know. I know." His hand kept tracing circles into my back; "Do you feel any better?"

"Yeah," If only he knew. "I just-- I'm just a little sticky, though." I tried pulling my thighs apart, but with every move, I felt the slick Mr. Godfrey had smeared all over them. If I really focused, I could still feel the arousal pulsing through me, the build-up that hadn't gone anywhere. Squirming, mildly uncomfortable, I let out a shaky breath against him, unsure whether to mention it or not. Maybe not. I could go one night without it. I could get off when I got home, right? 

It just... wouldn't be the same.

But that was when I realized Mr. Godfrey wasn't done with me, anyway.

He felt the shift in me instantly-- the restless little squirm, the way my thighs tried to edge apart just slightly, only to stick uncomfortably. The breath I let out was thin, almost whiny, as he reached down to help me spread my sticky thighs. "That's good," he murmured. "That's gonna help."

"Help?" I echoed, voice frail. "Sir, I don't-- I don't follow?--"

I didn't need to.

Mr. Godfrey's hand slowly went between my legs, his long, thick digits reaching the warmth of my slit, listening to the quiet whimper that left me. "Don't think," he murmured, slicking his fingers on my wetness, dragging and catching over my clit; "Let's just finish this up, hm?"

I was jelly in his arms, letting out a shaky moan as I sank into the feeling. I couldn't believe Mr. Godfrey was taking care of me, couldn't believe this was happening. Usually, he wouldn't touch me like this, wouldn't be so physical, but here we were.

"You really thought I was gonna let you walk out like this?" Mr. Godfrey said, brushing slow, lazy circles over my clit, each pass firmer than the last. "Can't let you leave the office in this state. How would that make me look, hm? I have a reputation to uphold."

I whimpered, my hips twitching against his palm.

"Mm... Thought so," he murmured. "You've been holding onto this for days, haven't you?"

My head fell back against his shoulder, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut; he had no idea. He had no fucking idea. If he ever left me for Switzerland again, I'd kill him with my bare hands-- it had been unbearable.

"You're lucky I'm feeling generous," he added, rubbing me in steady, expert strokes that had me unraveling by the second. "You're lucky I maybe missed you, too. There were no cute secretaries running around in Switzerland, y'know? You made my day with that fucking email."

My breath hitched, and I let out another quiet whimper, trying to keep my eyes open even though they were glazing over. "I thought you--" I moaned softly as his circles turned firmer, nearly derailing my words entirely. "I thought you were angry."

Mr. Godfrey chuckled quietly, the sound rich and warm in his chest, vibrating softly where I rested against him. "Oh, I was furious," he said, almost affectionate in his mockery. "But only because I couldn't do anything about it. Sitting in a boring meeting, trying not to picture you going nuts here, getting off behind my desk... Do you know how fucking hard it is to negotiate with a tent in your slacks?" Then, unexpectedly, he slid his fingers lower, easing one inside me. "But I knew I'd make you pay for it eventually."

I gasped against him, burying my face in Mr. Godfrey's chest; I never expected him to be inside of me in any way at all. Suddenly, it was also dawning on me that he was letting me cling to him, letting me writhe against him-- what was happening? "Sir," I breathed. "I'm so-- so sorry."

Mr. Godfrey made a quiet, amused sound at the back of his throat, finger curling slowly inside me, deep and deliberate. "No, you're not," he murmured, teasing rather than accusing. "But that's alright, for now. I didn't ask you to be."

I whimpered softly, clutching tighter at his shirt as his thumb brushed over my swollen clit again. My hips pressed forward without permission, desperate to feel more of him, to chase that unbearable friction he was creating, and--

"Easy," Mr. Godfrey murmured, his voice softer, almost soothing. "Don't rush this. I've waited a week for this."

I shuddered at his words, my breathing ragged against his chest. "I just--"

"You just what?" he asked, tilting his head down to whisper directly into my ear, his voice velvety with quiet authority. "You just wanted to torment me from a continent away? Wanted me thinking about you every goddamn second of every meeting?"

My breath hitched on another moan as he slid a second finger inside, stretching me carefully, gently. "I just wanted you to-- to miss me too,"

Mr. Godfrey's lips brushed my temple again, his voice softer than before. "That's cute," he murmured. "That makes me a little less mad."

He tightened his grip around my waist, pulling me closer against his chest as his fingers moved inside me, working carefully, insistently, as if he had memorized every response my body had ever given him and he was using it against me. "Shh, there you go..." he cooed, warm breath tickling my ear as his fingers fucked deeper into me. "Be good for me, just like that... You did so well tonight. I'll let this slide, just this once."

I couldn't believe this was happening, I really couldn't. Exhausted, I clung to Mr. Godfrey, helpless, burying my face deeper into the warmth of his chest as the incoming release finally started to unravel me. It was different this time; gentle, quiet, almost sweet, and somehow infinitely more devastating. The sound of his thick fingers pushing into me over and over was obscene, but I didn't care-- with my heart beating like never before, I even dared to look down at the scene, my breath catching in my throat. His fingers were so wet, the circles he rubbed into my clit were more intense to watch, and just the sheer size of his hands compared to my body was enough to make me shudder.

Mr. Godfrey caught up; "Pretty, huh?" he purred. 

I nodded against him, eyes wide as I watched his soaked fingers working me open-- deliberate, practiced, and cruel. "Yes, sir," I whispered, too aroused to be embarrassed. "It's... it's so--"

"So what?" His voice was a low hum at the crown of my head, his breath warm, his fingers not stopping. "Say it."

I swallowed hard, my legs twitching. "So good," I whimpered.

"Damn right it is," he murmured, mouth brushing over my temple again. "You think I'd give this to just anyone?"

My stomach flipped, my walls fluttering around him involuntarily, and he caught it instantly.

"Oh, you like that," he purred. "You like knowing you're the only one who gets this, hm? The only one I'd let fall apart like this in my lap?"

Wait... what?

What about the models? Hadn't he fucked the models? My brain was melting, falling apart; had he not done anything with them? Were the photos only that, just a show? Our little game? I couldn't answer. There were no words left-- just the sound of Mr. Godfrey working me over. "That's it," he murmured again, voice all praise now, nearly reverent. "I've got you."

Mr. Godfrey's fingers quickened just a hair, curling with each thrust, and his thumb never lost pace, circling tight and fast until I was keening into his chest, eyes clenched, body on fire-- I never wanted this to end. 

"That's it," he whispered again, breath catching. "Such a good secretary, hm?"

That did it-- I was. 

I was.

I was.

My whole body shattered in his arms, trembling, weightless, wrung out. I clutched onto Mr. Godfrey, my boss, my dom, pressing my forehead to the hollow of his throat as I came, letting it wreck me in waves that didn't stop until I was soft and boneless in his lap, barely able to breathe. That was worth the wait of this week. That was worth the chaos. That was worth the longing, the tears, and the pain.

Mr. Godfrey held me-- still, he didn't say a word for a long, long time.

His fingers slowly eased out of me, and then what remained was just the sound of our breath, rising and falling, like we had climbed the same mountain and were only now realizing the air was thinner up here; stupid, stupid risk-takers.

Finally, I opened my eyes-- his were already on me, green and clear.

... Something had changed.

I knew it with how still he had gone, in the way his gaze lingered, like he was trying to see past my skin, like he realized something he wasn't ready to admit.

Mr. Godfrey exhaled slowly through his nose. "Fuck," he muttered, almost too quiet for me to hear. His arms hadn't loosened at all, but he suddenly looked like he was trying to get a grip on himself. "You really don't make this easy."

My chest tightened, unsure what he meant-- what that look meant. "I don't?" I whispered, voice still ruined.

Mr. Godfrey shook his head slightly, like he didn't trust himself to say more. Then, finally, gently, he pressed his lips to my hair.

Just once.

Just long enough to make my heart stop.

"I know who I'm calling into the office tomorrow," he mumbled;

"A fucking exorcist."

(a/n: oh Mr. Godfrey...... playing with fire, playing with secretaries, what's next?? EEK THIS WAS SO FUN, may they both now be confused as hell!! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE!!<333)

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@immernixia @a-differentbrandof-beans

[gracieheartspedro]

Lotus Eater | chapter 3 - 2.8k words

my main masterlist - eddie masterlist - series masterlist

previous chapter - next chapter

summary: halloween comes around. you need to get some weight off your shoulders and eddie is fully willing to help you out.

warnings: slow burn, 18+ mdni, mentions of bullying, abusive parents, smoking the good stuff with eddie, some flirting (kinda?), staring at each other, eddie is a smartass, so is reader, talking about drugs, doing drugs. think that's it.

a/n: hey friends! welcome back. i am really trying to keep up with the taglist, so if i forgot you, i'm sorry! thank you guys for all the love you have shown so far <3

School was becoming a lot.

Every day, it just felt heavier. Whether it was being called a name or someone making a sly comment at your expense, it was all-consuming. You spent the last month trying to just ignore the bullying, but as soon as you got home and sat alone with yourself, the racing thoughts had you spinning out. 

You needed a fucking break from it all. 

It was Halloween, and while everyone at school had been talking about the big party at the Harrington’s residence, you were held up in your room and occasionally answering the door for the rare trick or treaters. The one instance you opened your door for an influx of kids, you took notice of Eddie’s trailer across the street. The door opened, and in the light of the door, you could see Eddie holding a bag of candy, all the while wearing a cascading vampire cape. It makes you laugh out loud as you give a handful of tootsie rolls to a firefighter and a  Ghostbuster. 

Your mom gets home, and she does what she always does. Make you feel like total shit. She tells you how annoyed she is that you’re taking up hours, how she’s sick of your car just sitting in the yard, how you need to stop eating all of her ramen.

As she’s yelling and slamming her to-go coffee mug down on the kitchen counter, you pull your legs out from underneath you. The couch was becoming uncomfortable, and you were beyond irritated with her, even though she had only occupied the space for less than a minute. 

“Where are you going?”

Her voice shrills, and it makes goosebumps scatter across your skin. 

“I am gonna go for a walk,” Is all you say as you slip on your flip flops and fly out the front door. You place the bowl of Halloween candy on the doorstep, letting the leftover kids in the neighborhood raid it. As you walk towards the street, Eddie’s door opens again, but this time not for a kiddo. He’s jingling his keys and walking to his van as you stand awkwardly under the street light. 

He catches your eye, and you manage to peep out a small, “Hey.”

“What are you doing out here?” He asks, pulling his driver’s side open. He leans over the seat, rummaging around for something. You walk closer, looking around to see if anyone else is outside. You always got an odd feeling when you walked around the trailer park at night. You felt like you were being watched. 

You cross your arms over your chest, “Mom pissed me off so I told her I’m taking a walk.”

He pulls himself out of the van, huffing as he flicks a lighter in front of your face, “In broken flip-flops?”

You furrow your brows, confused by his statement. You glance down at your feet and see that one strap of your shoe is completely hanging off. You did not even realize that your shoes were completely falling apart because you were racing out the door.

“Well, shit.”

He laughs at your response, slamming his door shut. “Why don’t you come join me? I’m watching Nightmare on Elm Street and smoking.”

You had never been in Eddie’s house before. You had stood at his front door and peeked inside, but never actually explored what was behind it. You also hated horror movies, they made you paranoid. 

But you did not want to go home to your nagging mother. And walking around scared you even more, broken shoe or not. 

“Sure, that sounds nice.”

-

The moment you walk into his house, it smells just like yours. Weed and cigarettes. His house was a bit more stale-smelling, probably from the other brand of cigarettes he and Wayne smoked as opposed to your parents. 

He unties his cape, taking it off and balling it up on the kitchen island. You settle on his couch, the brown wooden table in front of you littered with paraphernalia. A small red bowl, packed with crumbles of bud with a hoard of lighters and ashtrays. 

You start to think about the one time you consumed weed and how off it made you feel. 

It was sophomore year, and Kacey dragged you along to some party Steve Harrington was throwing. You two passed around a joint with a couple of older kids, trying to appear cool and calm. After three hits, you started to feel something. A calmness. A thrill that was only occupied by the looseness of your muscles. You felt almost out of touch with your body, which made your anxiety creep up after 30 minutes. You needed to go home. You needed to get away from this crowd of kids. You needed to be alone. 

The moment you came home, your parents were nagging you about being late. Using the front door always woke them up. But the yelling seemed to slip away from your mind, still very high and uncaring to your parent’s bitching. 

Maybe you could feel that way again. Indifferent to your parents.

“I am taking you up on that offer,” You say simply as Eddie settles next to you on the three-cushioned couch. You take in his side profile as his wild brown eyes are trained on the small television across the room. He does not even look over at you. “What offer?”

You recall Eddie only ever making one offer to you. 

Maybe he is just high? Or super forgetful?

You pause, still staring at him, “Smokin’.”

His head snaps in your direction, his long hair almost smacking you across the face. “I thought it fries your brain?”

Your body starts to run hot when you realize he is teasing you. You are pretty good about putting him in check, and your classic retaliation is making him feel guilty via manipulation. Your mother taught you that. 

“My brain needs to be fried after hearing what my mom just said to me.”

Eddie gets quiet, looking away with a confident nod.  

He lights the weed in the bowl for you. You observe his fingers shakingly keep the flame on the bud, burning it as you inhale slowly. You were an amateur after all. You did not want to embarrass yourself in front of the biggest pothead in school. 

You pull the mouthpiece away, keeping the smoke in your cheeks. You looked stupid as you swallowed whatever you could manage before coughing out the rest of the smoke. 

Eddie smiles, sitting back on the couch while your insides burn. You feel the high hit you almost immediately as your chest heaves. You could feel some anxiety creeping in, but Eddie’s voice cuts the scattered silence. 

“Do you need to talk about it? Your mom, I mean.” You sit back with him, getting comfortable against his very springy couch. You need to find some way to relax, and while the couch was not pleasant, it was better than yours. Anything was better than your house. “No. Nothing new.”

“Copy that.”

–

After your second hit, you feel borderline sick. You decline another go at it as Eddie lights up and takes his third. Your dazed mind cannot look away from the way his jaw tightens and lips purse out against the mouthpiece. His rings curled around the chamber, the smoke lacing through the tiny channel. 

“How often do you smoke people up?” You ask, trying to pull something else out of your empty brain. You needed him to talk so you would not hyperfixate on his mouth and freak him out. You did not need to make Eddie Munson uncomfortable somehow. He swallows his toke like a pro, smiling at you as he blows smoke out of his nose, “A few times a week, maybe. Usually, when I sell to someone, I’ll let them try it with me.” You throw your arms over your chest, noting the goosebumps that travel up your arms when Eddie’s voice gets deeper. You needed to get a hold of yourself, it was becoming awkward. “That’s mighty kind of you.” He nods sheepishly, like hair dropping across his cheeks, “I’m a very nice guy, I don’t think you get that.”

You knew Eddie was a nice guy. He was odd and disrespected authority at every chance, but he was never hateful. He was a bother to most, loud and boisterous. You were pretty good at paying no mind to him and his outbursts when they happened in your vicinity. Plus, you knew his family history, how he grew up, and that gave you enough perspective as to why he acted the way he did.

So maybe you called him a freak when Kacey mentioned him, but deep down, you did not really mean it. “No, I know you are,” You reply, your hands dropping to your thighs. You manage to look up at his dilated pupils, “You’re nice enough.” You can tell it catches him off guard, “Really?” “I mean…” You drift off, trying to regain your composure. But you are failing. The weed has made your bones like jelly. “You offered to take me to and from school every day. And you never complain. That’s pretty nice.”

“Yeah, I guess,” He shrugs, peeling his eyes away from you to glance at the gory scene on the TV, “That’s not a big deal, though. You are right across the street.”

He’s right. You start to panic for a response, not wanting to be too complimentary. But it was a big deal for you. You did not want to take the bus, especially because the last time it practically traumatized you. Picking gum out of your hair while hysterically crying over the bathroom sink. Eddie was your hero, in a sense, but he could not really know that. “You could’ve told me to kick rocks or something.” You anticipate a silly response, and that’s exactly what you got. His hands drift over his chest, gripping his left pectoral muscle, right below where his heart would be, “Now that’s just malicious. What good would that do me?”

You roll your eyes, his tone making your face get hot. He stands up and walks over to the remnants of the Halloween candy. He gestures towards it, almost to ask if you wanted any. You decline with a curt head shake. He picks out a lollipop, peels the wrapper, and pops it in his mouth. He comes back to your side, jostling you a bit as he aggressively plops down. 

“So are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and that girl you used to be with all the time? You two seemed pretty close.”

You knew he was going to pry. It was simply in his nature to be nosy. You go to reply something snippy, but when you look towards him, he is dragging his tongue along the lollipop. It makes you completely halt all movements as your brain draws a complete blank. 

You know you probably look like an idiot staring at his tongue and lips making work at that red candy, but you simply could not stop yourself. 

It was the weed. It had to be the weed. He finally shoots you a look, and it brings you right out of your trance. 

“K-Kacey?” You manage to sputter out, “S-She’s talking to this guy who’s a total asshole.” He puts the candy between his molars and holds it there as he talks, “So she got mad at you for that?” You shake your head, still trying to regain your senses. His lips are now red and painfully noticeable. “Well, she got mad I told her that he’s an asshole.” He scoffs, sitting back against the springy cushions, “Oh, that tracks.” You were not expecting that response. You are becoming a bit too easily instigated by his snarky replies, but you simply cannot stop yourself. The instant retaliation is deeply seated inside you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

He is taken aback by your tone; you can tell by the smirk that spreads across his face. He thoroughly enjoyed getting under your skin. “You’re very blunt. And honest.”

You are instantly defensive, “And that’s a bad thing?” He’s quicker with his retaliation, “Did I say that?”

Your high is teetering on giving you a full-blown panic attack. Eddie looks at you, his head tilted down at you like he’s waiting for an abrasive counterargument. But you do not give in. “No.” As soon as you say that, he chuckles dryly, “Then no, I don’t think that.”

You somehow had to turn it back on him. You do not know why, but you equally wanted to get under his skin. “You had a tone.” He shakes his head, calmly, “I did not have a tone, sweetheart.”

You are silent, your gaze glued to his face. You notice a flicker in his eye contact. They go to your lips. You realize in that moment that you are practically panting out of your mouth. 

The conversation has strayed away from where it started so badly that you are now wondering if Eddie even asked you something. What were you even elaborating on? Why is he even saying you are blunt, again? Did he actually have a tone with you?

“So you told her that he was an asshole and then what?”

Right, shit. That’s what he was talking about. You clasp your hands together, tucking them between your thighs. Get back on track.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with me, now I guess,” You rejoin. You feel like there’s no harm in being honest about the situation, too. Eddie would not run off and tell everyone that your ex-best friend now has a drug problem. “Plus, I saw her snort something in class and I don’t know if I want to be involved with… all that.”

You notice the way Eddie’s eyes have gotten heavier as you speak, his eyes now focusing on your mouth as you gossip. There’s a silence that hangs in the air, like he did not fully pay attention to a word you said. 

Eddie was an experienced smoker, but why is he acting like a couple of hits threw him into the deep end? There’s no way he just looks at you like that. The hush is finally disturbed when he clears his throat, “Well, if you need a friend, or friends, you can always sit with me at lunch.”

You knew most of Eddie’s friends. They were weird, social outcasts. Nonetheless, they were harmless. But you cannot help that nagging thought in your brain. People at school ostracize that whole group, and you already had a target on your back. Did you want to make it worse for yourself? You scoff, trying to play it off, “Who? You and the nerd brigade?” “Hellfire Club. We call ourselves the Hellfire Club,” He reminds you, sitting forward so his elbows are on his knees. You note the way his t-shirt flexes over his back, and you hum to yourself. You are making it a bit too obvious that you are checking him out. 

Stop it, brain. Stop doing that. “I’m aware.”

He looks back at you, smirking knowingly, “Yes. Me and the nerd brigade would gladly take in a refugee.”

Refugee. One loser providing space for another loser. 

You look down at your picked-over cuticles, now wanting to avoid eye contact. It was becoming a bit too tense for your liking. “I don’t want your charity.” “It’s not charity to want you to have friends.”

His voice is hushed, almost like he’s whispering a secret to you. You are not sure why he cares so much about your high school experience. Or why he cares about you in general. You bite the inside of your cheek nervously, “It’s charity when it’s forced.”

He scoffs. You know he has probably had just enough of your quips, but you truly cannot help yourself when you are around him. “Why are you so stubborn?” You snap your neck to look over at him, “Because it’s… I don’t know. It’s a defense mechanism.” He giggles, his chest heaving quickly, his head thrown back. It’s dramatic, but you knew Eddie was known for theatrics. You watch as he flops over the side of the couch, propping his feet up onto your knee. It is like a switch in him flipped. 

“And the weed isn’t helping that?” He ponders, gesturing towards the grinder of bud that’s directly in front of you on the coffee table.

You nudge his socked feet off of your leg, “Guess not.” “You should smoke some more, sunshine,” He states, nudging your leg playfully. You shake your head at first, but then you think for a moment. 

If he’s offering… 

“Hmm… maybe I should.”

divider by @saradika-graphics <3

taglist: @moon-esque @walleloveseve @kellsck @awkward00noodle @person-005 @emxxblog @mediocredreams @justalotoffanfiction @kelsiegrin @whenimhomealoneijustdance @cherryheairt @thejordiverse @3rd-conchord @micheledawn1975

[obsidianpen]

Howdy! Awhile back you mentioned you weren't likely to get back to Enticed and asked if anyone wanted to pick up and write the rest, you could share your plot/plan with them... I'm no where near as good of a writer as you and couldn't do that (it actually terrifies me the idea of trying to continue a fic that you started tbh, you are one of my favorite writers). But I still find myself sometimes imagining what happens in later chapters of Enticed, for instance the big showdown at the end of OotP where Harry finally presents at the Ministry, and then in Year 6 when Harry as an Omega leads to some kind of huge Alpha fight (I imagine something like a massive chaotic bloody fight in the Great Hall where the Alphas are all triggering each other & beating each other to a pulp/dueling while the Omegas hide and Betas run for cover and teachers try to stop it). So, I wanted to ask if you wouldn't mind sharing maybe your general plot/key scenes with us just for fun? And maybe the endgame couples? If not, no worries! :)

sure! Spoilers ahead!

so yeah Harry presents as a delta (omega) during the whole ministry fiasco, ofc, and it’s about as dramatic as you would expect me to make it. It happens during the possession scene and so V is right there - like couldn’t be closer to it really - and loses all self control and sense of self, trying to uh, get Harry lol but Bella, also a delta, is there, and she and Harry’s dynamics actually revolt each other so she’s not affected at all. She manages to drag her lord away to safety (she is the only one who would be powerful enough to do this), where he otherwise would have been caught by Dumbledore.

Harry meanwhile is a mess, and it’s too late for any kind of repressing potion for him. He gets taken away by Dumbles (who has MUCH more self control than Voldemort btw) and is put into quarantine. Poor Harry, it’s not a fun time.

he eventually resurfaces and is told what all happened. He has a nice little chat with Dumbledore about the uniqueness of being a Delta, which Dumbles knows all about, because duh, Grindelwald was a delta. (He also learns ollivander is a delta).

year 6: Harry is getting all the stares. He’s finally able to perceive magic and now he GETS it. He and Ginny (also an omega) have insta-bonded. Hermione is protective and already planning future ministry legislation. Ron is uncomfortable but is still Harry’s best friend and ride or die.

Draco Malfoy keeps a great distance from Harry but can’t seem to keep his eyes off him. Harry gets it because he’s having the same problem with him and about six other alpha wizards. He still hates him.

Harry is no longer able to stay in the boys dorm. He now has to stay with the other omega girls in their special dorm room, which he finds mortifying at first, but then realizes how necessary that is, and grows to enjoy them quite a lot.

Harry is aggressively adopted by Godiva (self appointed Head Omega of the Gryffindor squad) and is forced to be ‘one of them’ (though he still escapes all the time and prefers to hang out with his ‘lowly beta’ friends). Godiva is upset when she learns his name is not Hadrian or Harrison. She calls him Hadrian anyway. In lieu of being able to give him a real proper lady make over, she and Fey (who has a muggle mother as I’m writing her) figure out Harry’s glasses prescription and get him some contacts ‘so that his lovely eyes can be admired properly’ and because ‘those glasses are hideous and you’re going to make us all look worse if you wear them’. Harry is sort of into it once he gets used to it. Snape kicks him out of class when he shows up without them with no explaination.

Harry becomes obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Hermione tells him it’s just because he’s an alpha and says be needs to go shag someone else to get over it. Ron is still uncomfortable. Harry says it’s def only because Malfoy is up to something Bad but he isn’t sure if he trusts himself anymore.

Harry (who has to be even more meticulous with taking repressants btw, because he’s not as predictable as a delta) thinks yeah maybe hermione is right actually but every time a bold alpha dude hits on him he panics and can’t handle it. Godiva sighs and makes it her mission to teach him.

the Myrtle bathroom scene with Draco goes very differently. Idk for sure how that would go but probably Malfoy has been forgetting to take his repressing shit what with how stressed he is and there’s probably some pretty intense hate sex, or at least very close to hate sex and plenty of hate snogging. Is this drarry? Maybe

the death eaters still break in, Harry still goes with Dumbledore, Dumbledore still dies

seventh year starts semi similarly, Harry is out with Ron and Hermione doing their thing and hunting horcruxes but they have a limited supply of the repressing elixir for Harry. Voldemort, being a bastard who still very much wants to kill Harry (perhaps more than ever now, because deltas are exceptional and this makes Harry more of a threat in some ways), puts insane regulations and safety measures around repressing elixirs for omegas, as well as any ingredient needs to brew it, making it impossible for Harry to get his hands on any without outing himself. They eventually run out when they’re out camping in the woods when Ron is with them and they have the locket.

he has no options. Hermione and Ron have to tie him up and help him suffer through a heat when one hits (they’re beta so they can’t help in the uh, other way). Harry is losing his mind halfway through it. The only thing that helps at all is the locket. He somehow gets to it and puts it on. Locket Tom reaches him in a dream and manages to convince a half-mad Harry to say ‘voldemort.’

the snatchers show up first. This includes Fenrir Greyback. He immediately goes insane upon finding Harry like that. But voldemort has been waiting for something like this to happen, so he shows up too.

big crazy alpha duel. V versus Fenrir. Hermione and Ron can’t get anywhere near the insane magic that’s happening, but Harry can. He’s having the wildest magical awakening of his life, and when he commands these two alphas (who he no longer sees as individuals in his current state) to kill for him, they do (or they try to anyway; Voldemort wins)

and then ofc Voldemort is supposed to kill Harry because that was the point of all this. But he sees his locket and Harry’s wearing it and that poses many questions and, well, if he’s going to kill Harry anyway he might as well enjoy him first. Somewhere in the middle of that much more intense and messed up hate sex, he realizes what Harry is, so of course he takes him ‘home’ (and don’t worry either he takes him away from hermione and Ron first or more likely Harry somehow banished them, idk the details there but I would not have them watching that lmao).

uhhhh yeah that’s about how far I had the plot going in my head!

[nicstylus]

I'm rereading Skulduggery Pleasant for the nth time. Here are my newish revelations.

Playing with Fire Edition!

First || Previous || Next

List of artwork links at the bottom.

!! Spoilers for all of Phase 1 and 2 !!

I forgot a lot of this book. I tend to mix up PwF and DD Because they both focus on a lot of the same bad guys.

I taught martial arts for several years, and I can really appreciate the real growth that Valkyrie goes through. There is no training montage, shes not suddenly good at martial arts OR Magic. She steadily grows with each book. Derek did a hell of a job being real with how learning to fight works and how much time it takes. How panic destroys your focus and how techniques can be applied perfectly but still not work sometimes. Fights are messy and require your brain to move quicker than your body, and then adrenaline kicks in and suddenly you're relying on muscle memory, so you better hope you trained your shit properly. These books as a whole are really good about showcasing this, but I noticed specifically in this book that Valkyrie is written exactly how a novice fighter would be.

This is the first book where we actually get to see China fight and see her signum linguistics in motion! It says in this book that China's tattoos turn black/visible when shes actively using them. When she taps certain ones they glow different colors. I'll have to come back to this and see if this is continued to be described and I just somehow forgot?

We also get introduced to Skulduggery's hilarious interrogation techniques in this book. Not Detective Me yet, but instead we get the Terrifying Blood-Sucker of London Tanith being forced to go with the flow is so funny, I love them

We know Gordon had claustrophobia from AOH. Is is a genetic fear? lol Anyway, do we think Val's claustrophobia mayyy have been triggered by the Torment's hallways almost crushing her? Just possibly? Hmm (The first instance of her actually having a claustrophobia panic is when Sanguine drags her down in this book)

I wish they used code words more often. I know it sort of loses its 'gotcha' when you know that 'be brave' means they have a plan, but I would have at least liked to see it again. It's used twice in this book, alas. Give me more Derek.

As you do. It seems like history likes to repeat itself, hmmmmm

There's LOT's of significant foreshadowing in this last few chapters actually. Rereads are so fun because when I'm specifically looking for clues, I find them :0

Cut to FTO, where they do indeed fight three gods. Valkyrie got Apollo's dodgeball there xD Not to mention Darquesse etc etc

I'm not sure when Derek decided that Skulduggery was going to be Lord Vile, but I'm convinced he at least knew by book 2. Exhibit A, when Skulduggery knows exactly whats coming, and how to avoid it because he's done it before (I don't think we ever see Vile use this power again though, I think Derek forgot about it lol)

Exhibit B: He knew exactly where to undo the armour

I know that China doesn't learn Vile's real identity until LSoDM, but this is hilarious because she's so down bad for this man and she doesn't even know the extent of it yet xD (Cough change the world cough SoW cough cough cough)

Tanith was supposed to die in SOTA. Because she doesn't, Derek almost kills her in every book leading up to her Possession. In this book the Grotesquery injects her with Helaquin poison :D! She also almost gets crushed by the Torment-spider and gets put to sleep by Vengeous, but eh, just another Wednesday yk?

Shout out to the 7 named characters that were introduced in this book and didn't live to see the end of it. (Not all of the 21+ Characters that died were named, and the Reflection only mostly died so hey)

✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏ ✏

Here's my PwF-specific artworks:

Cover Redesign

Training Duo

I would never have tripped

Be Brave

Vibing

Baron in Vile's Armour

"Naw, just sleepin' "

First || Previous || Next

[wings-of-ink]

Hear ye, hear ye!

All of you who have been anxiously awaiting Chapter 4 can send a big thank you to the Microsoft mayhem that happened on Friday. Because of it, I have had two entire, unprecedented, days off of work during which all I did was write and edit chapter 4! Stuff like this never happens to me either, so I ate it up. My work computer is still super broken too, so who knows what will happen tomorrow, lol.

So, chapter 4, barring anything disastrous that I do not yet foresee – is coming very soon. Like, any day this week soon. For now, I am looking for bugs and other errors until I feel comfortable getting the update loaded. I will also be updating the warning list and some things on the itch page. I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something I wanted to do, and am having a hell of a time remembering what it was…

Anyway, if it interests you, more details below!

In going through some of the Google Error Reports, I had a couple that I either could not resolve or find.

It was reported that checking player stats in chapter 1 would not work – that it would flash only for a moment. I could not recreate this. If anyone else has seen this, please let me know.

In the end of chapter 2 where there are multiple ways to spend your time there seems to be some issues with how choices become unselectable after certain clicks and it just doesn't seem to function correctly. I have fixed the issues I have found, but could not recreate all of the instances that were reported. This section may get an overhaul in the future since I understand the coding a bit more now.

It was also reported that fonts are not changing. There is definitely a weird issue with this and it will take some time for me to sit down and hammer out. The fonts do change for me, but notably, I don't think they are switching to the correct font types. They don't even appear to be the same fonts from when I first starting this project, lol. This issue is on hold for now.

The last 2 bonus segments for the end of chapter 3 are being pushed aside for the time being. I kept finding myself feeling like I was hammering them into the chapter and it was a little exhausting. If I force it, it will be less enjoyable to read. The segments that are missing are the ones for hanging out with Zahn and Nathanael. Zahn's is easy to wiggle in elsewhere at least, but I'm not sure if Nathan's will make it in or not. We'll see, my motivation was purely for chapter 4, so now that it is ready to go, I'll have another crack at it before I drop or move them completely. They aren't super important to the story, but are just for fun (and if Oswin got his, it's only fair that Zahn gets theirs too). That last section of chapter 3 ended up way too long, so it may get adjusted later anyway.

As with any work in progress, I can't guarantee that your old saves will work. That's probably how we are going to have to roll for a bit until I really get things nice and smooth. Eventually, I will add an option to start from a later chapter and go through and make the (MANY) relevant choices to skip ahead. This may be implemented when Chapter 6 is ready to go since all the ROs will be available.

I also want to figure out how to implement named saves to make it easier for you to sort. I appreciate IFs that feature this, but I do not yet know how to do it, but I'm going to research. I like to play through with several MCs, and I'd like to offer enough info in the saves and/or Stats Menu that you can do this and easily know who you are playing as. Let me know what you would like most in the Player Stats Menu too. Note, that some options do not appear here until you choose them in the story.

Coming up…

Since Chapter 4 is down, I will soon be posting a big poll about future IFs. I've been compiling info for it here and there for a couple weeks on possible options for me to write in conjunction with God-Cursed. So, stay tuned for that in the coming days.

I will FINALLY get to my inbox in earnest as well! I will keep reaction asks paused until further notice since they take me the longest to answer. Feel free to still send in comments or quicker questions. If your question is too spoilery to answer, I will not be able to post about it.

Anyway, hope you are all doing well! I can't wait to see what you think of chapter 4. I hope you enjoy it. I'll get it out just as soon as I feel comfortable enough with it. ^_^

[cocktailjjrs]

So......

Since I've been suffering with these angsty thoughts... i though i would invite you all suffer with me...

It's about Chuuya...

I was doing some research for my fic (mainly going through bsd novels, blogs, tags and all) and came across this one Insta post in passing (sorry, i don't remember the name).

It was about BSD's cycles.

First, cycle of abuse, going from Mori-Dazai-Aku-Kyouka

and Second of rescue, going from Natsume-Oda-Dazai-Atsushi-Kyouka.

And then they highlighted a third category, the one's who are not saved - including Chuuya, Aku and Q.

At that point i didn't think much about it, just another post while scrolling Insta.

But now it's keeps bothering me, a constant reminder, whenever i read something BSD.

And It's so heart wrenching.

It also hit me, Q and Aku can still be saved.

Q, while we don't exactly know where they are right now, there is a chance of them getting their own arc, backstory and then being saved.

Aku, while still in Mafia, his partnership with Atsushi is his saving grace already. He is making an effort to not kill, just for their deal/bet. By the end of it all, he will be in a better place than he is now.

But Chuuya. (Spoiler's for light novel's if you haven't read them)

I remember very clearly, when in Stormbringer (don't ask me why i remember this byheart), when Murase dies Chuuya says, "Hey Detective, Weren’t you gonna arrest me?! Weren’t you gonna bring me into the world of light"

Don't get me wrong, I still believe Chuuya belongs to Port Mafia, the darkness suits him better than light.

But that does not mean he never wanted to get out of that darkness. This one instance in SB was proof enough. Makes me wonder, if things had gone even slightly differently, would he be in a better place than he is now? Is there still a chance?

What's even more tragic is that after the whole SB thing, no one seemed stick around enough to help him fight his own demons.

And he definitely has MASSIVE DEMONS.

His whole life seems to be one catastrophe after another! Don't believe me?

His first group, whom he called friends, betrayed him. Classic stabbed by poisonous knife in the back.

Hardly a year later, his second friends group, Flags, was killed by an emotionally unstable man-child seeking validation, insisting on calling him brother.

He went through a horrid ordeal, having to learn he was a lab experiment, seeing your clone vaporise to nothing but bones in your own arms, having to fight those same bones. And as if this was not enough, then fighting the monstrosity of a singularity and in process loosing the only chance to determine your humanity. (Actually whole of SB is dreadful, i don't think it'll ever get worse than that - i really hope it doesn't)

Then, given by the timeline, another year later, his third group of friends was killed by Shibusawa.

And again a year later - his partner, who brought him in all this madness, just fucking leaves without a word. This is the least tragic thing that has happened to the boy, i swear.

And I'm sure it didn't end there.

There must have been so many things going on behind the scenes in those missing years, hell even after the series began, Chuuya has been out of scene because something or the other was going on.

Now you have Fyodor fucking shit up for no apparent reason. With this shitshow, many mafia men, some of whom Chuuya might have developed a relation, are definitely dead. Not to mention the mental gymnastics going to trying to at least be on the same fucking chapter as the two geniuses.

AND ALL OF THIS IS JUST IN THE CURRENT TIMELINE. Don't get me started on BEAST VERSE!!! (That's a can of worms I'm really not ready to open at this point)

The thing with Mentally strong individuals is, they have abnormally high emotional intelligence, they are unnaturally resilient, they can compartmentalize their grief, they empathise with great deal of people, think rationally at any given point and think of ways to make things better.

What many people fail to understand is that no one is born Mentally strong, it's the circumstances that make them as such.

It can happen even through small things.

No one being there for you to express your deepest fears. No one just listening to you, even if they have a solution to your problem. Or having seen other's nightmares come to reality and feeling your own are much smaller, or having made to fell that way.

It creates the mentality of never sharing your fears, your insecurities, your discomfort - because at the back of the mind you keep telling yourself - oh, this person has gone through so much more than i have, my fear is nothing compared to it. I can handle it on my own, they have their own problems to handle. Everyone is busy, i don't think they have time to listen to the same problem I've been facing for years now. I've manages so far, i think I can manager just fine.

You start to undervalue your own feelings and start to fell like you'll burden them. Start to feel like you NEED to handle it on your own.

Now, i don't want to go into a spiral of mental health, but when you look at Chuuya, you can't help but marvel at that kids Mental resolution.

His first action after being stabbed in back was to make a deal with a demon to make sure he doesn't harm them, because they are just kids.

His first reaction to being provoked into revenge was to say Fuck off to his manipulator, not falling for the temptation and doing what he felt right.

He even forgave the killer of his friends (And also the one who tried to kill him) for gods sake! Understanding what he was going through.

He even walked away after knowing his parents are alive (oh the irony) not wanting to put a target on them. (I'm actually on fence with this, the chances of it being a manipulation tactic from Mori is just as high as it being the truth)

He had tremendous mental fortitude.

But you still see the cracks in his emotional state,

He was desperate to know if he was human or not, inclining towards the later.

He didn't know, that your friends can do some nice things without expecting anything in return. They can go above and beyond your regular stuff just because they are your friends, there doesn't need to be of anything at stake in friendship.

Hell, there was a point he believed having a Heart was too sophisticated for him, that he can't be that human!

I can go hours and hours about this.

What i can say for sure is, he has demons in all sizes, shapes and forms, something that he has stuffed in his closet only to deal with them himself, not letting them see the light of the day.

i just don't see anyone actually being there for him long enough for him to trust them fully with his demons.

No, not even Dazai. Dazai himself was a walking cry for help, like hell Chuuya is adding to that pile. He may have found a constant in Dazai in three years, seeing as all other's met their end in one. I believe in those three years, somewhere Soukoku began to feel like his safe place, somewhere he didn't had to think about his demons only by the virtue of dealing with one made of flesh and bones. But then even Dazai left.

I don't think even Kouyou was there for most part. And considering her obsession with a flowers of dark with Kyouka, i think it pulled Chuuya more in her own tragedy. Afterall, she also was never saved.

Mori is there, but Mori is a Demon in his own rights. What we've seen is their interactions have been those of a boss and his close confidents, nothing personal or emotional. Which also makes sense when you think of Mori's theory of running an organization. Chuuya, all things considered, the most powerful member of PM and he is treated as such.

The other significant members of PM, the guerrilla squad, black lizards or Kajji - all of them may know him better than most, but he is still their executive. If a 15 and younger kid took the title of being a protector of his rag-tag group seriously, being a responsible and dependable executive comes with higher stakes. He will carry out his role as one, even if it's the last thing he does.

.

.

.

That was me rambling.

My point is, i wanna give Chuuya a big hug, tell him it's okay to fell tried sometimes. To let himself be vulnerable. That his fears are not invalid. That he is not invalid. That he isn't the problem, never was.

That he will still be valued and wanted, even if he one day looses his ability or he is no longer the strongest.

Can someone please save his boy?

[nyxnightshade7656]

Hooked Pt7

Things go from good to horrible in 2.2 seconds. Also, in this version of a Siren, her voice triggers illusions only the victim can see. I'm not sure I portrayed that very well here, but there will possibly be more instances in later chapters. Maybe. As always, comments/concerns/constructive criticism is always welcome.

Google translations

C'est une Fille - That a girl Bon travail - Good Job

Things had been quiet around the mansion lately. As quiet as a school full of mutants could be, at any rate. No threats, no life or death missions. Just the occasional trip to try and recruit a new mutant to the school to teach them how to control their powers and live in peace with humans. Honestly, it set her teeth on edge. It was too quiet, to the point that she was nearly jumping at her own shadow. In her experience, which was admittedly nothing like the X-Men had lived through, things being quiet for too long meant something big was coming. She hoped she was wrong, and it was just all her years of having to be hyper vigilant that was making her paranoid, but she didn’t think it was. Her dad had started taking her out into the woods more often in an effort to keep her sane by forcing her mind onto other things; like training and tracking. But so far it hadn’t worked as well as Logan had hoped it would. It didn’t help that he was as on edge as she was, and she could feel it. She gave him an A plus for effort though, he really did care in his own gruff way.

Today was a day where all the X-Men were in the mansion, and the younger generation of mutants were either in the Danger Room training, or they were in class learning the traditional school curriculum. She was left to her own devices, so she was outside, elbow deep in dirt and weeds, trying to exercise her paranoia out through gardening. She had just finished planting some cayenne peppers to later be used in cooking when she heard it. There was an explosion, she shot to her feet, looking around wildly as suddenly there was a cacophony of noise. There were shouts and screams, she thought she also heard crying, but nothing was as loud as the sudden influx of emotions.

 Fear, Anger, Worry, Terror, Panic, Anxiety, Confusion, Disorientation, Distress, Pain, Shock, Stress and vulnerability. They bombarded her mind, driving her right to her knees as she clutched at her head as if she were trying to keep it from splitting apart. It was all too much, too overwhelming, she didn’t even feel like herself anymore, merely a shell or husk as the emotions of the people around her filled her like tea overflowing a glass. Everything around her was fading in an out, all the negative emotions were affecting her ability to think and process, she couldn’t even remember her own name at the moment. Suddenly, there was more noise coming from closer to her, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. It was like she was having an out of body experience, part of her aware of the danger but her mind could not seem to communicate with her body.

“Git ‘way from ‘er! How’s ‘bout ya pick on som’un yer own size, yeah?” The sound of Gambit’s voice helped ground her some, but she still was struggling to just open her eyes. There was the sound of a scuffle, but it seemed so far away, like she was hearing everything through several walls and a tunnel. Then, there was silence. The emotions were still build, swirling and swelling like a storm, but the ones closest to her were trying to be calm. But she could feel the fierce protectiveness warring with the forced feeling of calm, like they were trying to comfort her, “Chère, parle moi. Talk ta Remy, ‘mon.” Hands. There were hands on what she thought were supposed to be her shoulders. She whimpered before she could stop the sound, breath catching in her throat as fear and worry overwhelmed her even more, “Non, Chère, it Remy. Jus’ Remy. S’okay, yer okay, ‘mon.” Why was he saying that? Why was he talking to her like he was worried she was going to fall apart? “Chère, Remy need ya ta show me som’thin’. Need ta know ya in dere.” Oh. That’s why. She was shaking, and hadn’t even so much as looked at him yet. Finally, after what felt like hours of fighting through an undercurrent to try and find the surface, she managed to open her eyes. She was instantly greeted with Remy’s red-on-black eyes filled with worry. His expression quickly melted into one of relief, “Dere ya are, Chère. Remy glad ta see ya jolis yeux.” He whispered softly.

She bit her lip, she looked around and spotted a man laying on the ground, but Gambit quickly moved back into her line of sight, “Non, Chère. Don’ lookadat. Look at Remy, yeah? Much prettier sight.” His words were playful, but his tone and emotions were both full of a powerful protectiveness. Her eyes instantly met his, and he gave her a smile, “Dat’a girl. Les git you inside where I’s safe, huh Petite?” His voice was steady, his face was relaxed, there was nothing to physically indicate that he was anything other than calm and collected. But she was an Empath, and he couldn’t hide his emotions behind a flawless poker face. He was worried, boarder line panicked. She could not, for the life of her, figure out what would make the unshakable Gambit be so worried. Before she could do so much as blink, he had his hand on her elbow and was hauling her up like she weighed nothing. When she stumbled over a couple steps, Gambit didn’t even hesitate. In one fluid motion he went from taking a step to swooping down and sweeping her up into a bridal carry, “I gotcha, Petite. But we gotta get’cha outta here. Ain’t safe.”

She buried her face in his chest, trying to ground herself. The emotions in the air were a chaotic conglomeration that tasted like ash on her tongue. Too many warring and conflicting flavors. She bit her lip hard enough to break skin as she tried, and nearly failed, to keep her powers under control. She was trembling in Gambit’s hold, prompting him to hold her tighter as he picked up the pace, nearly running now as he tried to get them into the mansion. The sound of fighting, flesh hitting flesh and metal hitting metal, as well as the unmistakable sound of Cyclops’ optic blasts filled the air as Gambit rounded a corner, but it was the sound of Storm calling to Gambit that had her lifting her head from his chest, “Gambit, you found her?”

“Oui!” Gambit called back, hand moving from her back to the back of her head, as if he was going to try and make her hide her face again. There was a flash of lightning as Storm focused on giving Gambit cover. But it wasn’t enough, there was a flash, and then something hit the ground at Gambit’s feet, sending them both flying through the air. She skid across the ground like a smooth stone thrown across water, only stopping when her head and shoulder collided with a stone wall. Her vision swam as she clutched at the side of her head, trying to find Gambit, or see what had made them go flying. When her vision finally cleared, she saw that they were farther away from the main fight than she had realized, Storm had been distracted by an arial attack that drew her away from aiding Gambit. She started to crawl towards Gambit, it looked like he had collided with a different wall, but he had what looked like a splash of red from his hairline to his chin. The image was blurry for her, but she knew what that splash of red meant. Head wound.

She just barely made it to his side when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye, she jerked her head around, only to regret it immediately when her vision swam again. She pressed a hand to her head, trying to get the world around her to stop spinning, “Belle? Y’a’ight?” She glanced up at Gambit, his face was blurry to her, but at least he seemed to be awake. She nodded, wincing at the pain it caused her, then turned her head back towards the movement from a moment ago. Only to be faced with someone wielding what looked like a high-powered rifle at close range.

She felt the fear and anxiety hit her harder than she had hit the wall moments ago. Her eyes began to glow a vibrant purple as her power clawed at her, begging to be released. And for the first time since she realized what her power did; she let it have control, “Drop your weapon. Those living here are not your enemy. Your own men, those you invaded with, are your enemies. Turn on them. Turn on them and leave. Not. One. Of. You. Standing.  NOW!” Her voice was not merely one voice. No, her voice was a cacophony of voices, her voice sounded like a legion of voices all at once. She was her own harmony, melody and rhythm. Instantly, at the sound of her voice, the man that had been about to shoot dropped his weapon as his face went blank. She watched as he looked around, as if seeing something not there, that only he could see, and then he turned and matched off, towards the main battle.

Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath, eyes wide in horror at what she had just done, yet she felt no remorse for sending that man to his doom. He would have killed her and Gambit if she hadn’t used her Song on him. Then the trembling started. Anxiety, fear and self-directed anger filled the air as she lost all control over her power. She clutched at her head, fighting for air, everything felt too much, her bones were too large for skin that felt stretched too tight. The noise around her faded to a whisper then blared into a screaming siren at random intervals. Her lungs felt like they were both over-inflated and like she couldn’t drag in enough air all at the same time. Her throat felt as if she had swallowed glass, or lava; raw, bruised and shredded. She couldn’t feel her fingers, her feet were so numb she wasn’t even sure if she was touching the ground anymore. Her vision went from blurry, to shadowy, then the edges began to go dark.

“-Re, Ch-“ Was that a voice? It was so hard to tell. Her head felt like it was both underwater and in a vacuum. Nothing was making sense, everything was too much, so much. Yet everything felt disconnected, “Chère! ‘Mon back to Remy, yeah? Wit ‘im now?” Panic. He felt like panic. There was disbelief, confusion, fear. No, was it her own? Was she feeling those things? Who was feeling all of that? “Non, Chère. Non’a’dat. Focus on Remy, hear? Jus’ Remy, can ‘e hold ya, Chère? Ya gotta breathe, ‘kay? Listen to Remy’s voice, can ya do dat for ‘im?” Why was he so worried? What was happening, was someone hurt? Who was making that sound? Was someone crying? Why were they crying? It sounded so far away, “Chère, ya breakin’ Remy’s heart.” Suddenly there was a warmth surrounding her, making her realize how cold she was. Then she heard something. ThuThump ThuThump ThuThump. Subconsciously, her lungs started to try and match the rhythm set by that thumping, “Dats it, Chère. Follow da sound’a Remy’s heartbeat. Time it. C’est une fille. Get some air, let it in, don’ fight it.” Oh. Oh, that crying was her, wasn’t it? That unholy wailing. It was all her. She could feel her fingers now, and she had dug them into her scalp, bruising the skin under her hair, digging her nails in until she had almost broken skin in an effort to prevent her head from splitting open.

Remy gently pried her hands away from her head, but only after carefully untangling her fingers from her hair to try and avoid causing her anymore harm than she had caused herself, “Dats it, bon travail, Chère.” He pressed the words into the crown of her head. His emotions were all she could feel now, other than her own. She wasn’t sure how long he held her, or how long he kept pressing reassurances into her hair. But he remained calm despite how worried she could feel he was. But finally, finally, she managed to take in her first full breath since this all began. Her screams and cries had dwindled down to silent hiccups as her body tried to regulate itself back to something closer to normal.

“Ya with Remy, ‘gain?” He whispered against her temple. She nodded, slowly, “Dat was real impressive, Chère. Knew you was an Empath, but dat wadn’t da skills of an Empath. Dat why ya don’ talk?” His tone was soft and gentle. Sweet and understanding. She felt her stomach drop to her feet at his question. She just nodded. He hummed and lightly trailed his fingers over her shoulder and down her back, “Les’ get ya inside, Chère. Scottie, Wolvie and da othas can clean up da res’ of da mess ‘ere.” He held her closer and stood up, holding her bridal style once more. She buried her face in his chest, clutching him tightly, using his steady heartbeat and soothing emotions to keep herself grounded for the moment. His steps were smooth and easy, a slow even cadence that quickly lulled her to an uneasy sleep.

[aritsukemo]

Paradise | Chapter Four - Final Selection | KNY

Summary: It's finally time for the Final Selection Process!

Warnings: Demons. In-depth descriptions of someone being eaten. Mold is used to describe the Hand demon so all my mycophobic folks beware! Cannabalism mentioned. Mentions of death in multiple instances so, with all that said, read with caution!

A/N: I somehow managed to force myself to finish the final draft of this chapter so I was like, why not post it? May be the last chapter for a while since school's starting back up, but hold that with a grain of salt. I'll try my best to work around my schedule and get another chapter out asap! <3

Taglist: @overluvsick, @nursedflowers, and @jspidey5

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"Thanks to my training with Makomo, I've learned to detect the opening thread. It's the reason I won my fight with Sabito."

 "When I'm battling someone and I pick up the scent, then I can see the thread. The thread is connected from my blade to my oppenent's opening, growing taut the instant I see it. My blade is drawn towards it with great force and when close enough, I slash at the opening.."

I stand there, awestruck as I stare at the boulder which is now sliced in half before me. I couldn't wrap my head around how this happened, "Where did Sabito and Makomo go? I cut Sabito's mask in half, so how did the boulder get cut?" Many questions swarmed in my head, but as I got a whiff of Mr. Urokodaki's scent, I quickly put them aside and turned around.

As I thought, Mr. Urokodaki was walking up to me. It's been so long since I've had a talk with him since I usually passed out as soon as I got home and woke up really early to come out here. That said, I didn't know what to say and in the end, all I could do was mumble out his name, "Mr. Urokodaki.."

He makes it to me at last, but walks past me, stopping when he's in front of the boulder. He stares at it for a moment before he said in that gruff voice of his, "I never intended on sending any of you to Final Selection," And my heart dropped. So this was all for nothing? That thought crossed my mind, but before it could sink in, Mr. Urokodaki continued and I noticed the scent of sadness mix in with his usual scent as he said, "I didn't want to see children die anymore.."

 "I was sure neither of you would be able to slice your boulders, especially you.." And I suddenly felt his hand in my hair, "..But you did great. Well done, my boy!"

The way he said those words made him sound his age, like an old man praising their grandchild for walking for the first time. But as he stood there with his hand still in my hair and told me, "Tanjiro, you're a remarkable kid," All that he reminded me of was my father. He reminded me of my dad and I didn't realize it until he pulled me into his arms that I had started crying.

 "Make sure you and the girls come back from Final Selection alive," He muttered in my ear as I felt his cheek against my head. Similar to a parent hugging their kid who's about to go on some long trip away from home to sell goods, "Both your sister and I will be waiting for you three here."

As my arms raised and I hugged him back and buried my face into his shoulder, I found myself thanking the gods above for my mentor who's holding me in his arms. I'm glad I made that decision back on then. It was definitely the right choice..

Third Person Pov

The crackling of fire and the low gurgling of vegatables boiling was the sounds that filled the hut that night. All eyes were on the food. Tanjiro gawked noisely, his cherry colored hues blown wide like his mouth. Sumiko sat beside him after previously being dragged out of the room they slept in by the intoxicating smell. She had a dank-colored book cuddled close to her chest and she stared at every bit of food with hungry eyes, drool had even began peaking from the corner of her lips—the sight was like staring at a demon who had just set its sights on a human after not seeing one in years. 

Y/n seemed to be the only one not showing her surprise or hunger on her face. As she sat in the middle of her siblings and Urokodaki, she stared down at the food; her otherwise dim eyes lit under the fire's glow. They were distant, as if what was right before her was miles away and her lips were nailed into a thin straight line that hadn't left her face since she had returned to the hut. Her hand had found place fiddling and she mindlessly had one of her fingers pushing up against the nail of her middle finger—not using nearly enough force to hurt herself or pop it off, of course. Nevertheless, her otherwise lost in thought, slightly troubled-looking expression had lost it's edge a long time ago when the first grumble sounded from her empty stomach.

In short, she looked like an anxious little kid in the eyes of her mentor and he and the other two ultimately didn't pay her much mind.

 "What's the occasion? There's so much," Tanjiro finally asked, his voice matching his expression as he broke his gaze away from the food boiling in the pot to Urokodaki, who had a wooden bowl in hand.

 "You all have completed your training so we're celebrating," His mentor said as he scooped up some of the food with the ladle and dumped it into the bowl. His voice laced with this cheeriness that was unusual to their ears. Now with the bowl in his hand steaming and filled, he lifts it up to Tanjiro and says, "Don't be shy. Eat to your heart's content."

Tanjiro perks up, smiling widely as he takes the bowl from him, "Thank you very much!"

Sumiko's to follow, her eyes gleaming as she watches Urokodaki's every movement. When the next bowl is finally filled, she immediately reaches for it, having long since set her book aside. And, as soon as it's in her hands, she uses her chopsticks and shoves some food in her mouth, mid-chew as she finally mumbles out a muffled, "Thank you."

 "Sumiko, that was rude," Tanjiro scolds, voice light yet tone stern just like his mother would do to his other younger siblings, "You shouldn't talk with your mouth full like that."

Shoving more food into her mouth, she nods. And this time, she quickly chews the food in her mouth, swallows it, and then replies with a small, "Sorry.."

 "It's alright. I don't mind," Urokodaki said, lifting a bowl in Y/n's direction. She blinks as if she was surprised, but soon takes the bowl out of his hands, muttering a low, "Thanks.."

Idle chatter filled the room after that. With Tanjiro being the main speaker as he hopped topics. From talking about how good the food is to praising his sister for being able to slice her boulder in only half a year to which she brushed it off before changing the subject altogether. Sumiko was too busy stuffing her face to add any commentary, but she listened intently to every word that left her older siblings' lips.

Urokodaki watched all three of them in silence, taking in every expression they made no matter how miniscule. He milked in their faces as if it was the last thing he'd be able to do, all while thinking unspoken words he found ill-suited to speak aloud, lest he wanted to ruin what possibly could be their last moment of peace.

 "There's nothing more I can do for you all. From here on out, you three will be put through such hardship and strife that your training will seem like nothing in comparison. So for now, at least, I hope you're able to rest well tonight without a care in the world.."

Snip. Snip. Snip. Burgundy-tipped hair falls gingerly onto futon sheets with every slice that echoes through the room. Tanjiro has his hands in his hair, snipping away at the excessively long strands. He struggles just a tad. Every snip with the scissors don't always slice, but he manages relatively well on his own. Even so, Y/n found herself walking up to him anyways..

 "Give me those," She said, tone dull to avoid sounding unnecessarily pointed. Tanjiro's face morphs into one of surprise before a smile of gratitude crosses his expression. 

 "Thanks," He tells her, and Y/n merely hums at him, moving behind him as soon as he places the bulky pair of scissors in her hand.

Sumiko sits against the wall closest to the door. One glance at her could tell you how focused she was. Her thin brows scrunched a little and creased her skin, her lips were glued in a thin line, and her starlight pupils darted along the page of the book she had propped up against her knees. Her grayish blues would pause occasionally upon spotting a rather difficult word and her expression would harden only to ease up when she finally gets past said word. It was a fairly normal sight to others, but Tanjiro and Y/n found themselves glancing over at her more than once that night.

Even after two years, seeing her so concentrated on something felt like being pulled into a lake by an unsuspecting and strong wave; it was befuddling and bewildering if they were to be so blunt.

 "Hey, Tanjiro, Y/n, Sumiko," A simple call from their mentor had all three of them pausing what they were doing to look over and give their full attention to him.

Tanjiro was the one who spoke up for them, asking, "Yes?" to which Urokodaki asked his own question, "Did you enjoy that hot pot?"

Their expressions softened in their own ways. With a wide smile stretching on Tanjiro's face, Sumiko nodding her head in silence despite facing his back--that thin line her lips made loosening and quirking up a little, and Y/n's face growing lax.

 "Yeah, it was really good!" Tanjiro said, his voice giving away his ear-to-ear expression to the point that Urokodaki could perfectly depict what his face looked like without so much as glancing his way, "We haven't had a feast like that in ages!"

 "Growing boys and girls like yourselves with hearty appetites will surely get stronger and grow bigger the more they eat," Urokodaki said only to then follow up with, "But the same goes for demons," which has all three of their faces dropping and or hardening in unison.

 "Remember this. A demon is as strong as the number of humans they've devoured," He tells them to which Tanjiro immediately asks, "So, the more they eat, the stronger they get?"

 "That's right," And Urokodaki gets up, revealing the clothing folded at his feet—one top in particular bearing the cloudy patterns and light blue color that resembled Urokodaki's.

 "Tanjiro, when your sense of smell grows keener, you especially will be able to tell how many humans a demon's consumed," He walks past the clothes and up to the wooden wardrobe, sliding the top half open to reveal some masks laying flat. He grabs them, stacking two on top of each other before grabbing the last one and staring down at it. He then turns on his heel and walks up to Tanjiro and Y/n.

Starting with Tanjiro and ending with Sumiko, Urokodaki hands off each of their respective masks. All three masks were made from the same material and shaped the same to resemble a fox. Each mask, however, bore distinct features and varied in color to better match and take after their suitor. Tanjiro stared down at his mask, which was patterned in red and had a sun painted in the corner by the ear.

 "What's this?" Tanjiro was, again, the spokesperson for the three of them. Urokodaki didn't mind it, answering him, "These are warding mask. I've charged each of them with a spell to protect you from harm."

 "Warding masks, huh.. Thank you."

The next morning came with the sun just barely peeking over the mountains, causing it's intruding yellow tinge to mix with the retreating grayish blue that the moon had left in it's wake.

Tanjiro stood in the main room of the hut, hair now cut shorter and his torso covered in the familiar blue waves and cloud patterns as his mentor. As he finished tying it, the door to the room next to Nezuko's slid open, revealing his two sisters behind it. Unlike Tanjiro, the two were dressed in their own garbs. Both of which, however, adorned their masks just like him with Sumiko being the odd one out and having hers hanging on her hip instead of her head like her siblings.

They all share knowing glances and Tanjiro nods his head at them. Despite no words being exchanged, they walk up to the door of the room Nezuko resides in and slides it open..

The same sight greets them just as it has been these past two years; Nezuko is laid out, unmoving on that same futon with her eyes closed. Even now, she was still fast asleep with no sign of ever waking up.

Tanjiro is the first to enter the room, his eyes glued to his unconscious sister as he crouched down. He called her name in a low hum with so much love and care that one could possibly mistake him for a heartbroken poet, "Nezuko.."

He laced his rough fingers with her her softer ones before bringing his other hand to cup around the back of her hand. He then lifts it up to level with his forehead and bows his head, all while whispering, "We're coming back for you no matter what, all right?" At this point, Sumiko had long since sat by his side, her hands clasped together and her head bowed as she silently said her own prayers.

Y/n was the only one on her feet, standing by the door as she stared down at Nezuko with a distant look in her eyes. Her pupils swirled with emotion, none of which were caused by or directed at the sleeping demon. Her gaze shifted at some point to Tanjiro and Sumiko's backsides and never left that sight even when they said their goodbyes and stood to their feet. The reason behind her intense gaze was unknown to all but her and she kept that reason locked behind imaginary iron bars, never to escape..

Y/n stepped aside as Sumiko and Tanjiro turned to face her way, her eyes closed. She let Sumiko walk past her, but before Tanjiro could do the same, she grabbed him by the shoulder. He blinked, surprised, and turned his head to look at her for answers for the sudden grab.

Her gaze never met his. They didn't even look up to glance at his face and because of her hair—that stubbornly shielded the sides of her face like a curtain—he couldn't even begin to decipher her facial expression. The heartbreaking aroma of fear that clung to her gave him some idea, although every one that came to mind bothered him greatly.

 "Hey.." He was already frowning. Her voice is soft. Too soft. As if she feared raising her voice for whatever reason. Or, it was if she feared what she'd give away if she did, "Are you..really sure you want to go through with this? Are you sure you want to enter that kind of world and shatter what little happiness you have left?"

Tanjiro decided not to question why she excluded herself. He wants to, he's desperate to, wanting nothing more than to get so much as a glimpse into her world. Wanting nothing more than to see life through her eyes for even just a moment if it meant he'd be even a step closer to being able to truly understanding her. 

..But would asking her be the right move? He never knows the answer to that when it comes to her. Would throwing questions at her and putting a bit of pressure on her make her break and spill everything to him? No, Y/n has never been so fragile. It's more likely of her to simply not answer or throw whatever she can at him to throw him over the wrong edge so that there'd be a mountain of distance between them that would take him years to climb up..

But is even that true? That raises the question; what is true about her?

He'll ask. Not today, but one day, he will. Until then, he has to continue climbing and reaching out to her and grasping at thin ropes while praying they don't snap under his weight. He has to be slow and patient and take his time so that when the day finally comes, she'll reach out to him, grab his hand, and help him up the rest of the way.

 "I do," He finally answers her, "I have to. For Nezuko's sake."

 "Right," She whispers back. Tanjiro watches her let out a heavy sigh, "Forget I said anything then," And then, she gently kicks herself off the wall she was leaning on and Tanjiro moves out of her way so that she could walk through the door.

One day, he'll get her to grab his hand. For now though, he needs to focus on what's right in front of him; the Final Selection process.

 "Don't worry about your sister. I'll take good care of her," Urokodaki said. The three of them were outside with him now, ready to depart from the hut they've called home for the past two years. The hut that they're are all praying to return back to.

 "All right! Thank you so much! We'll be going, then!" With that smily thanks from Tanjiro, they all began running, "Bye, Mr. Urokodaki!" They're figures grow smaller in seconds with how fast they're running. Just as they get to the dip that signals the true starting point of their descent, Tanjiro stops and looks back. He raises his hand, making Urokodaki believe he was about to shout yet another goodbye. But instead, he shouts, "Give my thanks to Sabito and Makomo for me!"

Urokodaki pauses mid-wave, his hand froze in place in the air. Tanjiro's figure is swallowed as he finally runs down the trail to catch up with Y/n and Sumiko. Urokodaki continues staring, hand slowly lowering to chin level and still open as if he was about to raise it again and give another wave. His mask was the same angry expression as always which would make one possibly believe that in this moment, he was enraged. However, that wasn't the case. And, if Tanjiro was still here, he'd be able to tell by a simple whiff that his words had left his mentor in bewildered shock.

 "Tanjiro.. How do you know the names of those deceased children?" 

First Person, Tanjiro's Pov

By the time we reached the mountain and made our way to the top, the cresent moon was out and the sky was painted a dark, grayed blue and was filled with clouds that swirled around in a way that gave an almost ominous vibe. Looking up at it on the way up made me a little nervous, but then once I got to the top, that feeling blew away with the gentle breeze.

As we walked, it felt like we were entering a whole new world. Everywhere you looked, there were trees with twisting roots that led a trail up it's length to the wisteria that hung and showed off it's beauty in varying lengths of its own. There were so many, all so large and full of life that it completely covered the unwelcoming sky above and painted everything around us in this gorgeous light violet tint. As pleasant as it was, it was certainly a surprise. Kinda like walking outside expecting for rain to cool you off in a heatwave but instead getting snow.

 "Look at all of this," I said as I paused and reached my hand out to carress the petals of the tree closest to me, "Even though they're out of season, they all seem to be thriving just fine."

 "Mount Fujikasane grows these wisteria trees year-round. The same can't be said for the entire mountain, though. The higher we go, you'll eventually stop seeing them," I would've maybe expected that response from Y/n, but to hear Sumiko say that was surprising. I wasn't alone. I could tell Y/n was as caught off guard as I am by the way she stops walking and tilts her head to glance back at her. 

 "How do you know that?" She asked, but it sounded oddly aggressive. Or maybe it's just because I haven't heard her really speak in a while—with all three of us having done our own thing for the past year and all. In the end, I brushed it off and turned to look at Sumiko, waiting for her to answer Y/n's question.

She does, her voice gentle and speech as smooth as the petals in my grasp as she simply said, "I read about it."

I perk up at this, "So is that what you were reading about all this time?" I retract my hand, my smile growing even though all she gives me in the end is a silent nod.

In such a short amount of time, she's grown so much that it's hard to believe she couldn't walk or talk at all a few years ago. I'm relieved that she's seemed to have recovered so much.

 "We should just be glad that these flowers are here and that we won't have to worry about anything like a sudden attack just yet," Y/n said. It left me a little puzzled. Were these flowers more special than what I knew? Before I could ask, Y/n had already began walking again and making her way up to the large stone stairs that led up the mountain. Me and Sumiko had no choice but to follow after her.

As we reached the top, I found myself stopping to gawk at the sight before me before I even made it to the top of the steps. There were so many people, all of which had a sword on their hips—most of which baring hardened and dirtied faces caused by grueling training surely.

I began walking again, head turning to get a good look of everyone I walk past. Each had their own scent, all of which were impressive in their own right. Not only that, but their appearances spoke so much, each giving me a small insight of what they went through.

It's nothing like the village I grew up in.

 "Everyone," I pause, turning my head to the direction of the voices to see two little girls. They were identical in appearance aside from their hair which were different colors—the one on the left having black hair darker than the forest at night while the other has hair as white as a snow bunny.

 "We thank you for coming here tonight," They said in unison. Their voices blended together perfectly to the point it sounded like a singular, layered voice, "To the Demon Slayer Corps Final Selection."

The girl with the snow hair spoke alone, her voice sounding thin now without her twin to back her up, "There are demons imprisoned here on Mt. Fujikasane which have been captured alive by the Demon Slayer swordsmen. They are unable to leave."

Then her twin spoke, her voice sounding the same, "That is because wisteria, which demons hate so much, blooms year-round from the bottom to halfway up the mountain."

The white-haired girl spoke again, "However, there is no wisteria from this point on and so demons abound."

The black haired girl spoke, "You'll need to survive here for seven days to pass Final Selection," They then spoke in unison once again, "And now, be on your way," And they bowed their head at us.

It was finally time. The moment of truth. I was ready for anything, but apparently Y/n wasn't because she grabbed me by my shoulder, stopping me from walking.

People walked by us, but I gave her my full attention in that moment. I had to—lest I wanted to miss little details that could help me understand the true intentions behind whatever she says.

 "It's never too late to back down," She said, "And it won't make you a coward for prioritizing your life."

That when I felt it—the slight tremor in her palm. Her hand was trembling. And her scent..she's scared. Y/n, who took on a mother boar by herself once when we were younger after Shigeru accidentally angered it by touching it's baby, was scared. I could feel my heart clenching in my chest. It was odd, it hurt. Seeing her—who I grew up believing was the bravest girl in the world—so frightened felt like a jab in the chest. A jab that turned into a full blow stab when I realized I was the cause of it..

Brows knitted together, I reach up and grab her hand which still rested, shaking on my shoulder. I peel it off and hold it in my hand, turning my body in her direction as my other hand comes up to cup the other side of her hand. With both hands, I gave her hand a firm squeeze and looked her in her eyes.

 "I'm sorry, but I can't give up. Not until Nezuko's turned back into a human," I said to her, probably sounding like a broken record at this point, but it was necessary. She needed to know how important this was and I'm willing to say it as many times as I have to until she does.

She's probably noticed that she's shaking because she took her hand away from mine and balled it into a fist. Her eyes leave mine and I noticed it travel over to Sumiko, who stood beside us. They locked eyes, but it only last a few seconds before Y/n  broke eye contact with her and let out a sigh.

 "Guess I have no choice then as well.. Just..don't die, please," I couldn't help the surprised look that washed over me or the way my eyes widened to further show it. I've..never heard her sound like that. Sounding so..what would I even describe this as? Anxious? Hopeless? Desperate? None of those seem to exactly fit the bill, but it's the closest words I can think of to describe that cracked whisper that slipped from her lips.

 "I won't," I tell her, mustering up every bit of confidence in my body and continued, "I promise," I could see Sumiko nodding along in my peripheral vision, her silent agreement to do the same. It made any nerves that may have been bubbling inside me disappear.

 "..Let's go," I said, walking after the last couple of people who just passed us.

We will pass this Final Selection process no matter what's thrown at us. I'll show Y/n how capable I am and put her mind at ease. I'll become a Demon Slayer and find a cure for Nezuko. No matter what!

Third Person Pov

 "Survive for seven days.. That's all I'm going to think about," Tanjiro thought to himself, left hand firm on his sheath. As the three of them ran through the forest, the only sound filling his ears being the loud crunch of grass as it was trampled under their feet and the sound of his steady breathing.

 "First, we have to survive the night," They pause at a rock—Tanjiro in particular crouching against it—as they took a moment to look around, "Once the sun comes up, the demons won't be able to do anything so we can rest then."

 "Let's head east," He said, thinking, "We'll make our way to where the sunlight will hit first!" With a nod of their heads, Tanjiro stands to his feet and the three of them begin running once again.

A sharp, blood curdling scream echoes across the forest. Sumiko falters, so does Tanjiro which causes Y/n to ultimately come to a stop as well.

 "Don't get shaken up, we can't stay in one place for long," She said to them, "Let's— Hey!" Mid sentence, Sumiko had taken off in the direction of the scream to which her older brother shouted, "Sumiko!"

 "Don't split up, idiot!" Y/n screamed after her as her sister's figure grew smaller with every passing second, "Do you want to die that badly? Get your ass back here!"

As a curse was breathed through Y/n's clenched teeth, a thought crossed Tanjiro's mind, "Someone's in trouble. Even if this is a test, it'd be wrong to do nothing," He turns his head over to Y/n, saying, "We should follow her and help out."

And just as he began running, he forced his body to stop, his feet sliding against the pavement. His other hand immediately latched onto his sword's handle just as Y/n did the same.

 "This smell..a demon's nearby!" Tanjiro thought, his head darting left and right as did Y/n's.

The forest was eerily quiet. Their breaths hitched and stilled in their throat, scared to do as much as even breath in fear of missing any slight change or noise around them. Y/n's steps were careful and faint as she crept backwards, stopping when she felt the heat radiating off of Tanjiro's body. Silence filled the area again. Not so much as a breeze could be heard—or maybe that could be a result of their eardrums going numb from holding their breath for so long..

 "Where is it? Where's it coming from?" Tanjiro thought, a murky scent actively invading his nose from all directions, "I can't pinpoint the direction of the scent!"

 "Sense it! Sense it!" Y/n thoughts screamed at her as her narrowed gaze burned into everything she looked at, "Don't give it a chance to surprise you! Find and dispose of the threat quickly so that you can go and find Sumiko!" 

Then a sharp scent, and an even sharper presence, has them looking up in unison.

 "Above!" Y/n thought at the same time Tanjiro asked, "From above?"

In that instance, a demon emerged from the leaves of a tree, it's figure shrouded in darkness as it lept and came charging down from the sky at a rapid pace. The two went in opposite directions to dodge—Tanjiro barreling out of the way whilst Y/n takes a large jump backwards in the nick of time. A thick cloud of dust kicks up immediately upon the demon's rough landing and as the dust begins to clear, Tanjiro uses the time to regain his footing by rolling to his feet.

The dust clears, revealing the demon in all of it's monstrousness. It's in an awkward position, it's enlongated tongue sticking out and veins covering every inch of it's skin and leading up it's arms, which were disfigured and sharpened like a blade.

Then, a slightly different smell nicks Tanjiro's nose. He turns around just in time to see another demon above him, claws raised and ready to sink into his flesh. Tanjiro whips out his sword as the demon slashes down causing them to meet at a point and clash. There's barely a second of struggle before Tanjiro's forced away in one direction.

 "Damn you!" The longer, blue haired demon cursed before immediately charging at the shorter, brown haired demon that had just attacked Tanjiro—who had long slid to a stop after being flung.

 "Don't even try to grab my prey! I saw 'em first!" It said as it struggled against the brown-haired demon's claws.

 "Get off my turf damnit!" It replied back to which the blue haired one replied immediately, "The hell with you! Just beat it!"

The fact that they were fighting over him like a piece of meat was quickly smushed and pushed to the back of Tanjiro's mind. He needs to focus! Use the opportunity to kill them!

But can he? "Two of them from the get-go? Can I take them?" He found himself wondering as the demons had their back and forth in front of him.

 "That's my prey!" The blue-haired demon yelled.

 "Shut up!" The brown-haired one shouted back before charging forward, screaming, "It's first come, first served!"

He leaps into the air, forcing the other to follow suit. Ravaneous and out for blood, both demons come charging at Tanjiro with the intent on devouring any and every morsel of flesh and blood they can get their hands on.

Tanjiro gasps, moves hesitant as he brings his sword upwards to block. The brown haired demon's claws slide against his blade before colliding with the ground behind Tanjiro. The blue haired demon has the perfect opportunity to claim his prize, but he's immediately swatted back. The chance arose and the brown haired demon used it to kick at Tanjiro as he jumps back. He flies for a moment before his feet plant on the ground and he slides until he kills his momentum entirely, kicking up a bit of dust at his feet in the process.

Sweat beads all over Tanjiro's face and his mouth is open, taking in gulps of air at a time. His heart beats like a playing drum in his chest, causing his chest to feel uncomfortably light after the realization strikes him; he could've died just now.

 "I'm okay, no need to panic!" He tells himself in a quick attempt to calm his nerves. Now's not the time to have a panic attack after all, "Just need to calm down and watch their movements! Remember the training!"

The demon's charge at him once again, the brown-haired one saliviating—which is swept away by the wind produced from how fast he's speeding towards Tanjiro—as he screams, "It's been ages since I've had human flesh!"

It's final words.

 "Total Concentration! Water Breathing!" As Tanjiro sucks in a clear breath and allows it to slowly fill his chest, the scent of the thread hits his noise, calling from the demons' weaknesses. It tightens the instant it's in his line of sight and, in that moment, he jumps foward.

Like flowing water amongst a stream, Tanjiro's blade slices through the brown-haired demon's neck, "Fourth Form!" His blade moving as if encased in the very liquid he mimics as moves down then up in a flowing fashion, catching the blue-haired demon in it's steady rivulet and seperating his head from his body in an instant.

 "Striking Tide!"

As he found his feet planting on the ground once again, Tanjiro whips his head back. The demons, now in pieces, disintigrate. Their bodies just about completely burned to ash by the time they hit the ground.

 "I did it!" Tanjiro realized, his shoulders slumping just a tad from the adrenline being pushed out of his mouth in the form of transparent clouds of air, "I defeated demons! I've grown stronger!"

He looked at his hand, the hand that had a part in dealing the finishing blow that put those demons out of their misery. He balls it into a fist, his eyes closing to conceal the tears that had begun to fill them at the feeling of the warmth that had already begun to swell; that rewarding feeling that accompained his victory—a sense of self-satisfaction.

 "All that training wasn't for nothing! I actually mastered it!"

Tanjiro takes a moment to let the tears fall, feeling as if he deserved to allow himself that much, before their quickly wiped from his face. He approaches the demons' corpses—which seem to finally be on their last cinders—and watches as the rest of their remains finally disappear into ash and float away in the wind until even the ashes withered away.

Tanjiro takes a glance at the sword in his hand afterwords. His awe, for once, not written on his face, "If I slash a demon with this sword Mr. Urokodaki gave me, it seems that not even the bones are left behind.." 

Then, as if he had transversed back in time, a slice is heard by him, marking the beginning of the memory. He sees it clearly—Urokodaki lands a swift, clean diagonal slice to the browned, hay-looking shoot he had propped up moments ago..

 "A demon's weak spot is its neck!" He remembers him telling them one time during training after the demonstration, "But you can't kill it with a normal sword even if you slash its neck."

A question arose in Tanjiro's mind as he said this, so he asked, "Then how can we take it down?"

 "The swords wielded by the Demon Slayer Corps were forged with a special kind of steel," Urokodaki answered as he held up the sword now sheathed in its scabbard, "That's the only way to kill a demon."

 "They're called 'Nichirin Swords.'"

As the memory fades, Tanjiro snaps back to reality. As if he had done it a million times before, Tanjiro goes through the motion of putting his sword away. He flick his wrist, flinging away any blood residue that could rust the blade. With his other hand, he props the scabbard upright. He then slides the blade against the opening of the scabbard, and finally, inserts it inside once the tip of the blue-shining blade lines up with the hole, pushing the blade in until it completely disappears inside the metal scabbard and the guard hits it with a small clink.

He lets go of the handle, clasping his hand together as he bows his head in the direction of where the demons' corpses once laid. A small prayer is recited in his head as he muttered out, "Rest in peace."

As he raises his head, he looks around, "I only got a glimpse for a moment, but a few demons attacked Y/n as well. Did she.." He shakes his head, the grim image that popped in his mind being shook away in the process, "No, don't think like that. Y/n is a very skilled person, she's definitely fine!"

 "I should just focus on finding her. She couldn't have gotten far—" He stops, his face attempting to scrunch in on itself as he brought his hand up to pinch his nose—a desperate attempt to keep the disgusting odor that just hit him out of his nostrils.

 "What's that rotten smell?" He mutters, looking back just in time to catch a boy running away, his face contorted in fear.

 "No one ever told me about this! I didn't sign up for this!" The boy shouted.

Tanjiro leans his hand against a tree near him, the question raising in his head, "What's going on?" as he peers over to look. As soon as he does, his heart stills in his chest.

His teeth clench, his brows knit, and the world around him pauses for only a moment. He couldn't feel anything in that moment aside from the terror he felt at what he saw, and, as soon as he could feel the blood pumping in his limbs again, he immediately moved to hide behind the tree.

As if the fright was so bad that it evaporated all the air stored in his lungs, Tanjiro heaved through his opened mouth in a desperately fast rhythm. He finds the courage to finally peek again, his eyes zeroing in on the gigantic silhouette walking amongst the trees as he wonders..

 "What the hell is that thing?"

 "Hey, Sabito. Do you think Tanjiro can beat that demon?" The question was asked by the soft-tone, gentle-faced Makomo as she stared up at the pink haired male sat atop the boulder before her—the rope that's usually around it cut and on the ground, circled around the rock.

The answer sits in the air for a moment before it's answered, "I don't know," He says, wholly uncertain despite his tone, which could make one believe otherwise by how strong and unwavering it is.

 "No matter how hard you try, its never enough when it comes to that one," He said, "You know that well enough already though, don't you?"

Running as fast as his legs could carry him, the fright-filled boy is too late to notice the branch that bleeds into the ground and ends up tripping and falling. As if all his fear went straight to his legs as soon as he hit the ground, he doesn't move and instead looks back with dread written all over his expression.

 "What's this morphed demon doing here anyway? They should've warned us beforehand!"

The morphed demon in question treads towards him. Every step it takes shaking the ground beneath it's feet and leaving a permanent imprint in it's wake. It's steps boom, sounding more like stomping despite his movements saying otherwise..

It's a grotesque shade of green with large, horribly smelling and meaty arms caged around it's body, leaving it up to the imagination to figure out what could possibly be behind them—or, if there'd be anything behind them at all. From what it seems like, the demon is entirely made up of hands and arms.

As it walks, it holds it's snack in hand; a boy no older than Tanjiro. He was being held up by the neck and the lack of movement and the chillingly zoned out expression on his face made it clear that he had long since left the world in a unnervingly cracking way.

The demon suddenly raises the body higher into the air, causing the boy's legs to sway limply. The boy on the ground has to cup a hand over his mouth to keep from throwing up as he watched as the demon slowly threw his hand back, opening up a large, slimy, saliva-filled black hole between twisted arms that one can only assume was his mouth.

The demon lowers him in. His corpse gets covered in thick, gooey slob, making the blood that dried around the dead's mouth mix with it and run down his limp body as it disappeared into the demon's mouth. Once completely inside, the black hole slowly closed and a symphony of sickening cracks echo throughout the forest as bones are broken down between, what one could only imagine as, bloody teeth behind swamp-colored arms.

If Tanjiro wasn't so in shock by what he was witnessing, he'd be on the verge of, if not already, puking up this morning's breakfast and yesterday's dinner just like the boy on the ground.

What happened next would be hard to explain accurately to someone without growing sick on the stomach. After enjoying it's meal and savoring the thick, copper-tasting liquid by swishing it around in it's mouth—and coating it in deep crimson—the demon trembled as it grew in size. It's already bulky arms grew meatier, thicker—like a moldy meat patty, accentuating the thick veins in every hand all the more.

It's only then that the boy on the ground realizes he has functional legs it seems, because it's only then that he stumbles to his feet and attempts to run away. Behind him, the demon reaches out a hand, and then another, and another, and another. Multiple mold-colored hands reached out and forced themselves together into this gaint, beefy mess. It bubbles and grows until finally, they shoot out and separate, grabbing the boy by the ankle and snatching him into the air in an instant.

Tanjiro jaws falls and then locks in place, leaving him silently gasping. His roughened hands tremble as they hovered over the handle of the sword at his waist. He's scared, terrified, but he screams at himself in his head, "Don't wimp out!" and forces his fingers to squeeze the handle.

His legs shake, threatening to buckle and make him fall to the ground, but he tenses up—forcing them to stiffen as he screams at himself to save the boy. Save him!

 "Save him! Save him! Save him!"

 "You aren't powerless anymore, so move your feet! Move! Save him!"

Tanjiro leaps into the air, sword already whipped out and cocked back as he takes in a sharp breath, "Total Concentration! Water Breathing! Second Form!"

"Water wheel!" Like a hurdling, spinning basin of water, Tanjiro does a singular vertical slash in circulating motion, rotating like a water-made sun and slicing off the hand holding the boy's ankle captive in seconds time.

Tanjiro lands on the ground, watching as the boy follows suit, tumbling face first. While he's recovering, he quickly moves in front of him. Not taking the chance of glancing away from the monster before him in fear of the roles being reversed and him getting snatched up just like the boy did.

It's only now that his limb's been severed that the demon takes note of Tanjiro's presence. He glances down at him, taking in his form and pausing at the sight of the familiar hand-carved fox mask.

 "Another sweet little fox has come to me," He said, his eyes turning up with glee, "And so soon after the last one, today must be my lucky day."

 "Another?" Tanjiro parrots, hung up on every word he says and slowly absorbing it. His question is left unaswered by the demon as he moves on to ask his own question.

 "Tell me, little fox cub," He said, "What Meiji Emperor sits upon the throne?" The sudden ask strikes confusion in Tanjiro. "Meiji?" He repeated in his mind before replying to the demon.

 "The imperial family is Taisho right now!" He clarified only for the demon to mimic him slowly, "Taisho..?"

He mulls over his words as slowly as his uncomfortably large, yellow eyes roll. Taisho? Taisho. He's in the Taisho era? His pupils grow smaller every time he repeats those words to himself.

And like a bomb exploding, he suddenly roars out. His bellow is carried across the forest, surely alerting everyone of his unforseen anger. He stomps the hands he calls feet and kicks up dust in the process. His tomato nails dig into his own moldy, meaty flesh, ripping open gash after gash, and even then, he still scratches at the bloody openings he made.

 "You're saying I've been here so long that dynasties have risen and fallen?" He yells out, voice straining from his fury which only rises with every word he speaks, "Again and again! All while I've been held prisoner inside this flowery hell!"

 "Unforgivable! Unforgivable!" He repeats, his eyes beginning to roll into the back of his skull from how worked up he's getting, "Damn you, Urokodaki! Damn you!"

 "Damn you, Urokodaki!"

 "You know Mr. Urokodaki?" Tanjiro bravely asked him to which the hand demon so graciously answered this time, "I know him, all right! Urokodaki was the one who captured me!"

 "It's been forty-seven tortorous years!" He yelled, "Back then he was still hunting demons! It was the Edo Period during the Keio Era!"

Tanjiro couldn't wrap his head around it. Edo Period? But that was so long ago, how has he..

 "You're lying!" The boy shouted out from where he sat behind Tanjiro. It seemed he was in as much disbelief as him, if not more, "No demon has ever lived that long!"

 "The only demons that should be in here should be the ones who've eaten just two or three humans! They don't get the chance to live that long because they're killed during Final Selection!" He yelled, "Some even resort to cannibalism! Against those odds there's no way you could've stayed alive for that long!"

 "And yet here I am, more live than ever," The demon retorted in a simple tone of voice, "Inside this wisteria prison, I've eaten at least fifty of you brats!"

That's when Tanjiro spoke again, crying out, "That many?" Instead of answering his regurgitated question, the demon holds up four hands as he begins counting out of the blue.

 "Eleven.. Twelve.." He holds up a finger for every number he counts, "Thirteen.." With all four of those same hands, he points them all at Tanjiro as he says so gleefully says, "That makes you number fourteen!"

A chill ran down Tanjiro's spine, "What are you talking about?"

The demon holds his many hands up to the arm that covers the lower half of his face and giggles like schoogirl with a crush. It's unnerving to the ears, giving the same vibe as a little kid laughing at the sight of their family's remains scattered on the ground.

 "The number of Urokodaki's disciples I've eaten, that's what!" He giggles again, "I promised myself when I killed one of his first students that I'd kill every single one I happen across and I've been going strong ever since!"

Tanjiro could do nothing but gasp in horror as the hand demon continued, "You would've been number fifteen if that one hadn't managed to slip my grasp before I could devour her!"

 "Talk about silent fury! I couldn't even get everything I wanted to say out before she started slicing at these arms and hands of mine!" He holds up some of his jelly-like arms, "She was so quick on her feet! Agile to boot! She kept on hopping around every which way and no matter how much I tried, I just couldn't nab her!" He said, and from the tone he used, he'd most likely have a pout to go along with his sulking if his lips weren't covered by veiny arms. That sullen tone didn't last long, though, because he immediately goes back to giggling.

 "I was lucky enough that the boy I just ate came along when he did! Trying to play hero, he jumped to assist her and she faltered!" Another giggle sounds from the demon as a murky swamp of dread began to fill Tanjiro's stomach, "I'll admit that I grew a little frustrated with her and her attitude! When I reached out for the boy and she jumped to save him, I accidentally smacked her away with more force than intended and sent her flying across half the forest!"

As the demon sulked, Tanjiro slowly painted a picture in his head. A nimble girl with a bit of an attitude and who was around to fight this demon just before he got involved? That sounds familiar.. It can only be.. No..

 "..Is he talking about Y/n?" The realization sunk in like a boat sinking in the ocean, drowning out his senses—but not fast enough for him to miss the demon's next words.

 "She wasn't the only one who caught my eye. Let's see.. Ah, yes! The ones who really stood out to me were those two.."

 "I'll never forget.. That brat's hair was an unusual shade of pink," Tanjiro involuntarily cringes at the constant high-pitched spiking his voice did whenever he enuciated his p's and k's, "He was most powerful. 'Had a scar around his mouth."

 "The other one was a female brat in a flowery kimono. She was small, and unlike the girl I just fought, she was lacking in power but— Oh, was she awfully agile like her!"

It felt as if Tanjiro's world had turned grayer and slower. There was so much to take in, or maybe that was because he was becoming overwhelmed, "They're already dead? But how? I trained with them! And Y/n..did this demon really manage to kill her so easily?"

The demon goes to pointing again, this time with more hands, "I recognized you how I did all the others—the fox mask."

 "I know the texture of the masks Urokodaki carves because they're the same style of carving he used for his own goblin mask!"

 "He calls them warding masks, right?" The demon crack up all over again, veins bulging as his arms-for-shoulders shake under the velocity of his giggling, "It's funny to me. Everyone got eaten up because they wore those masks!" And his giggling turns into full blown laughter. As if what he said was the funniest thing in the world.

 "They're all in my belly!" Veins crack out of Tanjiro's skin and flex against it. Steadily, that sinking feeling of sadness and dread is wash away by an angry sea as the demon continued talking, "Urokodaki might as well have fed them to me!" The sea was hot, boiling even, and nothing can stop it from pooling over every nook and crany of his body with the more his ears are assualted by the demon's grating voice.

 "Hehe.." He snickered with that uneven, squeaky voice of his, "When I said that to that girl with the flowery kimono, she started crying and flew into a rage! Soon after that, her movements got shaky and she completely lost control of herself!"

 "I grabbed her, ripped her limb to limb and then—" Crack. Like a vase full of hot water breaking, Tanjiro's anger boiled over and he lunged forward, his eyes devoid of everything but the boiling resentment that swallowed every follicle of his brain and body.

Green arms shot out at a rapid speed, all of which were swiftly sliced away by Tanjiro as he passed them by while letting out a yell that bubbled up straight from the depths of his stomach.

Sabito watched from his spot on the boulder in the clearing of the forest where he and Tanjiro sparred on numerous occasions. His facial expression unknown due to his mask.

 "Calm down, Tanjiro. Your breathing's uneven," He said, "It's all right!. Never mind us! Just get a grip on yourself and focus before it's too late!"

A crack bounces up Tanjiro's ribcage as his body curves into the fist the demon had manage to dig painfully into his side. The dug into his side for a moment, departing only when he's successfully flung him into the trunk of a tree. The impact immediately renders Tanjiro unconscious and the momentum has him bouncing off the wood and falling face-first into the ground.

And as he collides with the cold, rocky ground, a huge crack forms in his masks. One, then two, then the third one has the cracks spreading instanteously before it finally breaks and falls apart into little pieces..

The demon takes slow stomps towards Tanjiro's unconscious form and as his back turns, the boy that was bravely saved by Tanjiro saw his opportunity. Not to help him, but to run as far away as possible from this mess.

 "I'm getting out of here while the demon's taking out that guy!" He thought.

As the demon treads closer, trampling dirt into the shape of the hands he uses as feet, he suddenly paused to take in the sight of Tanjiro laid out before him, giggling up a storm in the process.

 "Another one of Urokodaki's brats are dying by my hands!" He thought giddily, "I have to wonder.. How's he gonna feel when more of his kids fail to make it home? What kind of look will he have on his face?" His giggling morphs into cackling once again as one of his hands slowly forms to reach for Tanjiro, ready to devour him like he's done to all the others..

 "Oh man, I wish I could see it. I really do.." As the arms extend towards him, spelling out his doom with in the form of disgusting, green fingers, a faint voice calls out to Tanjiro. One familiar and that of a little boy's..

 "Big bro!" The voice called, "Big bro! Wake up!" And Tanjiro answers to that call, eyes shooting open as his body moves on its own, forcing himself to roll out of the way, much to the hand demon's suprise.

 "He dodged it? He can still move after that?" He thought before his eyes smiled and he shouted, "Great! That means I can have more fun!"

Flexing into an awakard, bird-winged position, the demon flexes and shoots out multiple hands. Tanjiro slashes them away and jumps back, but hand demon merely sucks them back in, heals them, and shoots them right back out to follow after him.

 "Damn! no matter how many arms I cut, they grow back in seconds!" Tanjiro thought as he ran, teeth clenched and bared. The stressed look on his face and fleeting form only proves to fill the hand demon's with even more glee.

 "You can't defeat me just by slashing off my arms," He said cockily, "Then again, even that pink-haired brat couldn't slice off my head!"

Tanjiro comes to a sudden halt, twisting his upper half so he can slice a hand that had managed to get uncomfortably close to him. His grip on his blade tightens and he runs at the hand demon once again.

Hand after hand gets seperate from their arms as Tanjiro makes quick work of slicing them up as he runs. He beguns to breathe in, but a sudden scent has him pausing, "A demon's scent from the ground?" Confused, he jumps into the air, and sure enough, it was an attempted surprise attack; arms sprout from the ground like bamboo shoots and follow after Tanjiro—who continued to soar high into the sky.

 "H- He jumped! Damnit, I missed him!" The demon thought to himself, taken back for a mere moment before his confidence returns, "No matter. Even if he managed to dodge that, there's no way he can dodge an attack mid-air!" With that in mind, green flesh turned gooey as it meshes together once again, forming a big cannon—and this time, shooting out as one hand big enough to completely crush Tanjiro's skull; the same move the hand demon made that brought the once powerful Sabito's life to a bloody end..

 "Do you think Tanjiro's going to lose, too? That demon's neck is really tough after all," Makomo said in that silent clearing. Unable to help the way her mind shrouds with doubt from the uncertainty of the situation.

 "He may lose, he may win," Sabito says vaguely before following up with, "Either way, there's one irrefutable fact.."

 "Tanjiro is the man who sliced the toughest, largest boulder of them all."

As the large hand comes flying at his head, Tanjiro throws his head back before hurling his whole body weight forward, causing him to flip over the hand just as it was beginning to close in on him. The hand demon's eyes widened. He couldn't believe it!

 "He deflected me!"

Running along the huge, disgusting arm, Tanjiro has a clear shot..or did. As soon as he began running towards the demon's neck, smaller arms popped out from the larger one and sped towards Tanjiro..

 "Total Concentration!" He sucks in a large breath as fast as the hands were coming at him, "Water Breathing!" As soon as they were even an inch in Tanjiro's vicinity, the limbs were roughly hacked off one by one at a quick speed. As they began reatreating, Tanjiro used the opportunity to leap forward and curl into himself, preparing his slash as he descended toward's the hand demon's neck..

 "He got too close to me!" The hand demon remarked, a surge of panic shooting through him before dissipating as he told himself, "Not to worry. My neck is tough! He can't slash it!" 

 "First Form!" 

 "As soon as he fails to cut my neck, I'm going to crush his head!"

Now that he's in range, it's now or never! Letting out a battle cry, Tanjiro grips his swords as tightly as he can and performs a singular swing..

..And in that instant it's over. Like a rushing current striking through a boulder, Tanjiro cleaves the hand demon's head off it's hands-for-a-body—finally putting an end to this stream of misfortune dealt by this monster's hands!

 "Water Surface Slash!"

Tanjiro Kamado | *Imitating himself* Water Surface Slash! *Hands on his hips* How was that? How cool am I?

Nezuko Kamado | Mhmp! Mhmp!

Tanjiro Kamado | *Upset & Shocked* What? Sabito was cooler than me? C- C'mon, Nezuko! 

Author Ari | *Smiles* I thought you were pretty amazing, Tanjiro! (*^_^*)

Tanjiro Kamado | *Smiles back, shoulders slouching* "Really? I'm glad at least you think so.. *Straightens up* But anyways, why are you here, Ms. Ari? Aren't you still sick?

Author Ari | *Pats back* Ahhh, don't worry! I took some meds before I wrote and edited this! I'm feeling fine right now! ('▽'ʃ♡ƪ)

Nezuko Kamado | *Tilts head* Hm?

Author Ari | Anywhoo, around this time Paradise should be hitting it's first milestone—one thousand reads! I'd like to thank you all for the support on this book! It really means a lot to me! I'll try my hardest to write and pop out these chapters and keep everyone entertained! q(≧▽≦q)

Tanjiro Kamado | Thank you everyone for a thousand reads! And please, keep supporting this book! I want you guys to be there every step of the way as me and the others continue looking for ways to turn Nezuko back!

Nezuko Kamado | *Claps* Mmmm!

Tanjiro Kamado | Now, onto the Taisho Era Secret! *Leans in and whispers* Apparently there's a blond boy named Zenitsu roaming somewhere around the mountain.. I heard he was brought here after he got slapped by his master for refusing to take the selection exam!

Author Ari | *Giggles* He sounds like a silly little guy. I hope I get the chance to meet him! ..Oh! Before I forget.. *Clears throat before holding up finger* Today, I brought with me the very first Author Note!

Author Ari | The first draft of this chapter was actually written a couple years ago! It was..a hot mess to say the least. Y/n completely took over Tanjiro's role in the Hand Demon's fight originally, but I scrapped it because I wanted to give Tanjiro the proper respect he deserved as well as stay true to the canon!

Tanjiro Kamado | I wish we could've seen Y/n fight a little this chapter. Sumiko too. Kinda feels like they were pushed aside because of me..

Author Ari | Don't think like that, Tanjiro! It's not that they were pushed aside, more like you had the most interesting fight between the three of you..and I didn't feel like hopping from persective to perspective just to show what everyone was doing at the time you were fighting..heh.. Uh-! Besides, they'll have plenty of time to shine in the future, trust! (❁'◡'❁)

Nezuko Kamado | *Nods* Mmmph!

Tanjiro Kamado | *Perks up a little* If you say so..

Author Ari | Well, that's all for today! Thank you again for reading this book! I hope you'll continue to do so! Next, chapter five, "My Own Steel"! See ya there, lovelies! <3

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[aoloquentazure]

(ASC - Shadow).

Squirrelflight points out that Nightheart didn't communicate his feelings as well as he should have until it was too late.

Initially, this was a post about how, yes, he didn't do that. Then I started rereading and...no, he did do that. He did it a few times. Not about leaving ThunderClan or even about Firestar, absolutely not, but he did talk about other things.

In essence, I kept alternating between writing this post, rereading the relevant Nightheart chapters, thinking "oh jeez, I was wrong about this", and finding bullshit plot holes.

There's more to this under the cut if you'd like to read my thoughts and opinions on this. It's longish. I feel obligated to mention that I again did this for fun and I felt like it.

---

I think it's at least worth saying that I don't at all think that "you should have told us about how you felt before" would have been guaranteed to magically solve all the problems here. 1) This is after the fact, and 2) even if it wasn't, this more often than not did not lead to any noticeable result (except for the first time where it did. It had a very big result in my opinion. I'll talk about these instances later.).

When I say "feelings", three come to mind at this point:

"Everyone compares me to Firestar and don't see me for who I am" - that's the primary idea being explored in ASC

"I don't feel appreciated in general" - that's a secondary idea that was maybe expressed explicitly anywhere from once to thrice (in relation to apprentice duties) and implied when his Clanmates casually joke about Nightheart as his expense in Sky

"I am not confident in myself"

Maybe there are more, or maybe those are it, but that's what my interpretation is.

In no particular order, this is my impression of how his family (the relevant ones) would react if he did indeed communicate these from the start:

Bayshine: 1, 2, and 3) Would probably try to comfort him now that he knows what it is exactly is bugging his friend. That's all he's been shown to do; Bayshine is a good friend, and even though it might have hurt his standing with him, I'm glad he told Squirrelflight about what Nightheart was planning to do. That's what a friend does!

Finchlight: 1) Probably wouldn't ice him out as much as she did after the name change (I want to talk about this later!). This has always read, to me, as something she did for Sparkpelt, given their bond, rather than for herself. That's not to say that her own opinions had nothing to do with how she acted towards him. Rather, it read to me that Sparkpelt's opinions took precedence.

In the following interaction in Sky, Finchlight speaks exactly twice. The first instance is implied to be about Nightheart and Sparkpelt rather than her own feelings:

The second instance is explicitly about Sparkpelt not wanting him to be there:

I doubt she would support him (as much as she would Sparkpelt), but she surely would understand his reasonings a bit more.

2 and 3) This one kind of ended up as a rant of sorts.

Given what I know, I don't think she would take him as seriously as everyone else on this list would.

(Let me clarify that I think that any personality that might have been created for her was completely butchered when the Erins decided that she should be mean to Nightheart, but I'm not going to create another Finchlight and then analyse that; that defeats the whole purpose. So, I'm sticking to my interpretations from the books.)

Take one of my least favourite interactions from her in River:

In my opinion, this is wrong thing to say if your brother let it slip that he felt that way (this is the second time he says anything to anyone about feelings 2/3). There were other ways of telling then-Flamepaw that he's not a failure. Finchlight chose the tactless way.

What I'd like to think is that she's trying to get him to stop whining, but she really messed up here.

Oddly enough, this interaction never becomes relevant. In fact, in his next chapter, the two of them are having a conversation as if it was never said. I don't want to linger on this one line too much, though.

I'll move on to this next interaction, also in River, with my impressions of what I read:

"I'm not going to pass this assessment."

"Of course you're going to pass this assessment!"

This is a reasonable thing for her to say. It's not the first or last time she encourages him, either.

"I feel pressured in ThunderClan because of its high standards and feel miserable as a result."

"You should be glad that ThunderClan has high standards, that's why we're the best Clan!"

Why did she focus on that? Why did she ignore the other part of what he just told her? Again, I think she's trying to get him to stop whining here, but she could have done anything else.

The one time where she doesn't do any of that and instead has a real conversation with him is about when she and Sparkpelt were exiled.

This is significantly better than what she did in the other two examples. Remember, though, that I'm talking specifically about how Finchlight didn't take Flamepaw's feelings about himself seriously. Though she tells him that Sparkpelt didn't want to abandon Flamepaw, Finchlight talks exclusively about his last sentence about Sparkpelt.

Another interaction, this time in Shadow:

She did NOT have to say anything past "she's very upset that you left". If she ended it there, Nightheart wouldn't have thought that Sparkpelt didn't care about him past warrior duties.

Obviously Sparkpelt cares about him, but wow is Finchlight bad at showing it. You can't tell me that his reaction is completely unreasonable.

One more thing: do you remember when I said I wanted to talk about how Finchlight acted towards Nightheart in Sky?

I think it's bullshit. She shouldn't have been written like that. None of that should have happened at all.

The following occurs when Flamepaw declared that he doesn't want "Flameheart" is a name:

She's obviously supporting him here. Not for the reason discussed here, but she's still supporting him. What's with the 180 in Sky?

All of this to say, the Erins don't know what the fuck they're doing with their own characters; they're nice one moment and mean the next. It's not surprising, but it's disappointing all the same.

Sorry for the unintentional rant about Finchlight, but I just don't think she was written consistently; does she ignore him or does she support him? The Erins need to pick one.

Sparkpelt: 1) I think this issue could be resolved through communication, more or less. Sparkpelt would try hard to not "compare him constantly" (she does this literally only twice; this is another reason why I think Nightheart's entire story is poorly written). She would still hold Firestar in high regard, of course, but she would probably try to not pressure Flamepaw as much if she knows how it affects him.

2 and 3) Same deal as Bayshine. She'd take him seriously there. In fact, she does already.

Squirrelflight: 1, 2, and 3) Same deal as Sparkpelt, but I think it would go a whole lot smoother. The way Sky read to me was that Squirrelflight was upset that he changed his name in the middle of the ceremony, and that he later went behind her back to ask Sunbeam about Tigerstar. This is reasonable. Squirrelflight has been nothing but civil and fair to Nightheart. It has little to do with Firestar.

Brambleclaw: I don't think Brambleclaw cares about Nightheart that much, not the way Squirrelflight does. I can't imagine talking about any of these concerns would go over well with him. Maybe I'm wrong about this, but that's just how their interactions read to me.

And that's it, that's the end of this post that took me way too long to write. Again I did this for fun, but I will admit that a lot of this had me surprised.

[weaselandfriends]

Editing Fargo

As I've mentioned in my last few posts, I'm currently editing Fargo. My goal is to create some sort of Fargo DX version for the 10th anniversary (May 4, 2025), which I would publish separately from the original. However, I also want to correct obvious errors in the original, and my current pass is geared around that (as well as refamiliarizing myself with the overall material to better inform more significant stylistic changes in the DX version).

This has led to the question: What constitutes an obvious error? How much should these errors actually be fixed?

It's not as easy a question to answer as it first appears. Today, I finished my pass of Arc 1. I'll share with you some of the changes I've flagged, and others I'm not so sure about, under the cut.

Error 1: Misquotes

As I mentioned in a previous post, the first chapter title is a misquote, which occurred due to my faulty memory. The correct title should be "Cherish the Ferris Wheel". However, after I brought this up last time, the majority of commenters suggested I should leave the title unchanged, with justifications ranging from the incorrect title sounding better, to the fact that the quote was incorrect being itself a subversive artistic statement. I will likely leave the title unchanged, even in the DX, because I do agree it sounds better. But it's an excellent introduction to the issues I'm encountering during this edit, as it indicates that being correct is not always the same as being right.

Error 2: Actual Typos

There are instances where I make actual typos; completely unintended errors. These usually take the form of duplicated words, missing words, or the use of an incorrect word. These are the biggest slam dunk changes, and ones I'm fully intending to fix.

Error 3: Eliding Words

This is a common error, something I frequently did intentionally when writing Fargo. Basically, I would often omit small words (usually prepositions) in common phrasings, simply for the sake of brevity or the sound of the sentence. The above example, which removes "up" from the phrase "setting up shop," occurs in dialogue, but I do this outside of dialogue, too:

Where the highlighted part should say "out of her." Because these omissions were almost always completely intentional, I'm split on whether I should change them or not, although in my opinion reading today they often sound more awkward than the opposite.

Error 4: Uncapitalized Proper Nouns

This is another "error" I know I did intentionally. I don't do it as often today, but ten years ago I really liked doing this McCarthy/Faulkner style deproperization of proper nouns when using them as an adjective, such as "buddhist" above, or "houdini" below:

My instinct is to keep these. I think they fit especially with Sloan's irreverence toward things and concepts (a similar justification fits for Z.'s use of the same trick in Modern Cannibals). However, there are some oddities, particularly where I DON'T do it:

This one's interesting because Richard Jordan Gatling as a proper noun person is far more obscure than, say, Harry Houdini; his name pretty much only persists in conjunction with the gun he created. This is perhaps an even more sensible decapitalization than the others, yet I capitalized it anyway. Does it make sense in the context of Sloan caring far more about her gun than most things?

Error 5: Malapropisms

This is another common error category, and one with a lot of variance in how clearly they can be singled out as errors. The instance above is pretty obvious; "pored" is simply correct and "poured" simply incorrect. There are others, though, with more ambiguity:

In this instance, I'm pretty sure I'm using "recouped" when the word I intended to use was "recuperated," though the inclusion of "herself" makes it a bit less cut-and-dry. "Recoup" is defined as "regain (something lost or expended)", and there is a sort of logical sense to the idea of Sloan recouping her expended "self" in the highly transactional nature of Magical Girl souls. While I could replace "recouped herself" with just "recuperated," which is probably what my mind was thinking when I wrote this, it's a less interesting word choice, when the one I settled on is not exactly wrong.

This is another good example. "Dredge up" is the common usage here, and probably what I meant to say, but "drudge" suggests menial work; for Delaney, who is defined by her dedication to "doing good deeds" despite having not emotional compunction to do so, this word feels somehow significant. I have it corrected, rather than flagged, above, but I'm really not sure I should change it.

There's also this example:

Nothing is wrong with cartwheeled. Sloan is perfectly within her rights to cartwheel out the window. The issue is that I remember myself writing this passage 10 years ago and know that in my head, I was imagining her somersaulting out the window, not cartwheeling. I just put the wrong word because I thought a cartwheel was synonymous with a somersault for some reason. So do I "fix" this word that is not wrong at all except in my head?

There are other instances that are definitely wrong, but I have questions about the best way to fix them, such as in this example:

I'm using "belied" in the opposite of its intended meaning. Belied means to fail to give a true notion or impression of something; in this sentence, though, the frenzy of static etc. is correctly giving the notion of inhumanity. In actually, I should say the frenzy etc. belied the otherwise humanoid appearance.

But what is the best way to fix this? Would it be to cut the words "the inhumanity of" and say "belied the otherwise humanoid appearance," or would it be to replace the word "belied" with something correct, such as "revealed" or "indicated"?

One last funny one that I probably won't change:

I am certain I was using the term "ovular" here because I thought that word meant "oval-shaped." It does not. What it actually means, though, is significantly more eye-catching and potent with meaning. (I do, however, also refer to Abraxas as ovular later; I'm not sure whether I should keep both uses, or only one.)

Error 6: The Date

This one's very interesting to me. When I started writing Fargo, I had no specific date in mind for when the story was taking place. However, Fargo eventually ends on Christmas day (December 25), 2013. This date is very specifically confirmed, as there is a significant scene in which the characters celebrate Christmas, and it's also essential for Chicago, which itself is set on specific dates that are relative to December 25, 2013.

The interesting part is that Fargo is a story without any ambiguous timeskips. Every day from the beginning to the end of the story is accounted for. This means it's possible to count backward from December 25, 2013, and determine the date every chapter is set on. Chapter 1 of Fargo is, by my reckoning, set on December 18, 2013.

So is the statement of it being "late autumn" wrong?

TECHNICALLY it isn't. The Winter Solstice is December 21, meaning winter does not start until that date. December 18 is, in fact, "late autumn." However, this is a very technical definition. In casual parlance, December is winter. "Late autumn" would be November.

So do I change this, even though it's technically correct, because it doesn't feel correct? Would Sloan call December 18 "late autumn"? She doesn't strike me as someone too punctilious about things like that. (Though there's a part later in Arc 1 where I suggest that her occasional use of elevated vocabulary words is a byproduct of Clair's influence rubbing off on her.)

Later in Arc 1, there's another curious reference to the date:

This one is strangely serendipitous; this chapter (12) is set on December 20, so it is in fact exact one day before winter. I'm certain that when I wrote this I still wasn't set on the exact date and made this statement poetically; the fact that it is literally exactly correct is a funny coincidence.

Error 7: Improperly Formatted Dialogue

In both Fargo and Modern Cannibals, I consistently make this error, where I capitalize the first word of the second half of a split line of dialogue. In actuality, you would not capitalize that word, unless there was a period instead of a comma after "Delaney". So far, this error hasn't come up as much as I expected; I don't often use dialogue like this in Fargo. I've corrected it every time I've seen it, though.

Error 8: Inconsistent Character Quirks

In most of her dialogue and POV scenes, Winnipeg uses the term "Puella Magi" instead of "Magical Girl," a tic that Sloan comments on as being pretentious. However, I don't consistently apply this quirk, mostly due to not having hashed it out entirely by the time I started writing the character. This example is one of Winnipeg's first lines of dialogue, one that she has clearly prepared and practiced. While there are some examples later on of Winnipeg using "Magical Girl" and it seeming like her facade is cracking, this isn't one of them; she should almost certainly be saying "Puella Magi" here. Of course, the fact that there could be ambiguity in how she employs this quirk itself makes "correcting" the quirk a value judgment...

This is another big one. Later on in Fargo, and I think consistently throughout Chicago, Kyubey will refer to girls exclusively as "Miss [Surname]". However, there are several instances early in Fargo where he doesn't adhere to this quirk. Though this is likely not too noticeable, I actually feel strongly I should correct it; not simply because Kyubey of all people would be very precise in what he does, but also because Kyubey referring to Omaha as "Omaha" and not his typical form of address was intended to be a clue about her identity.

Error 9: Miasmas Are Cell Phone Dead Zones

One chapter later...

This braindead mistake has long annoyed me. It has annoyed me so much I have started to steelman it in my mind. Delaney only uses her cell after purifying the motel room of the miasma, so she's technically not using it in the miasma. But she IS calling a place in the miasma, so shouldn't the issue still apply? Besides, the purified motel room is surrounded on all sides by miasma, so would cell signal penetrate? Does the fact that it's all magic and not science make it make sense? Did Delaney just lie about miasmas being dead zones, because she has a strange attachment to her paper map (something shown multiple times throughout Arc 1) and wanted any excuse to use it? Even if she lied, wouldn't Sloan and Winnipeg - experienced Magical Girls - know she was lying?

It becomes a huge headache. I really just want to change it to Delaney using the motel's landline phone to order the pizza.

Error 10: Delaney's "Stepfather"

When I came up with Delaney's backstory in Chapter 7, I had not yet come up with the idea that Delaney was actually a homunculus created alongside Clair as part of Kyubey's plot. This doesn't altogether contradict Delaney's backstory, but I wonder if it would make more sense to say "foster father" here instead of "stepfather," as that would imply her as adopted, similar to Clair, and make more sense given she was only actually created three years prior and given false memories of life before that. False memories can basically do anything, so again, the use of "stepfather" isn't wrong here, but I feel like foster father would fit a little more organically and also be foreshadowing that Delaney and Clair are the same once it's revealed that Clair was also adopted. Given there are only a couple very brief references to Delaney's stepfather, this change would be extremely unobtrusive, but I can imagine to the average reader it would look arbitrary (if they noticed it at all).

There are more errors, but they mostly fall into one of these categories, or else follow a similar ethos as one of them. (One big one is that the story seems unclear on whether Winnipeg is 12 years old or 13; the only one who definitively refers to her as 12 is Sloan, but in Winnipeg's POV scene she states she "contracted at 12," which suggests she is no longer 12. Sloan could very well just be dumb and wrong, though, because she's Sloan.) Hopefully this post was interesting, and shows how even "correct" changes might not, ultimately, be correct.

[ryttu3k]

Parliament of Knives, Lasombra Astarion edition! Inability to see his reflection? Check. Weird family dynamics? Check! This Astarion will be starting from a position of privilege (I'm basically playing him as the magistrate, not the beaten-down spawn), but it's still very much a position where he's been manipulated by his sire. What will it take to break free? Chapters 1-5!

"Shadows," "Traitors," "Turncoats;" you've heard all the slurs for your clan before. But in instances where the name Lasombra simply won't do, you prefer to think of yourself as a "Magister."

See?

Man I hate being a dick to Gerard but I definitely feel privileged Camarilla Astarion would be a dick to Gerard 😔

In life, before you were chosen by Corliss to join clan Lasombra, you were… …a politician who was the true power behind a high-profile elected official. (+composure, +manipulation, +charisma)

Yeah guess that'd be the best fit. He certainly wouldn't work as a Catholic priest or an athlete XD

Okay! Starting stats, as of the beginning of chapter 2 - MAN 2, COM 2, DEX 1, WIT 1, RES 1. Normally in VtM, these would all be 1 minimum, but CoG always handles things a bit differently. Definitely gonna work on that DEX, he can't be Astarion without good DEX XD

"You shouldn't underestimate the power of an elder Kindred to alter the nature of a young, malleable mind," Corliss says. "Especially that of a fledgling." You're not sure you like the way she said that.

:)

"There came a time where I required worthy childer. You may have heard of Nathaniel, my first. He was brash, utterly reckless, and by the end of his first year he'd announced his heritage to a small coterie of neonates with delusions of grandeur. Needless to say, Arundel and I were forced to destroy the lot of them. With Lucca, we would take no such chances. Arundel placed strategic blocks in her mind to ward off her access to Oblivion. He couldn't remove her abilities per se, but the mind cannot employ functions that it doesn't remember exist. She was raised as a Ventrue." Corliss can't be telling the truth… "Even Arundel can't have that kind of power," you say. "Surely such a thing is impossible!" "You'd be surprised what a powerful elder can do with repeated treatments as a fledgling grows into her powers."

:)

"Look," Qui says. "I'm not just a Sewer Rat - I'm also the Sheriff. Mortals shy away from me if I let them get too close, neonates know I could be ordered to destroy them at a moment's notice, and the elders just see me as a tool. So pardon me if I talk to my car."

Aw, Qui.

I'm not sure what choices I did to get to this point, but I'm getting an investigation I've never had before? Neat. I've done like six or seven different unique runs of this game and it's still got brand new stuff. I wonder if it's new from the DLC (I've only done one run with it, a Malk run) or if it's just… stuff I haven't got to?

A crestfallen young man has just been very publicly dumped by his girlfriend. Lending a sympathetic ear should get me close enough to feed. You approach the young man with a sympathetic smile and lead him over to the bar. Thankfully he's so distraught that he doesn't even bother to question your motivations. You buy him a beer and pretend to listen while he pours his heart and soul out to you in an endless babble of word soup that almost puts you off your appetite. Eventually you tune out and just nod at the appropriate intervals until he finally stops talking and swipes sweaty fingers through his long emo-bang.

Astarions gonna Astarion.

I explored the city along its rooftops, satisfying my curiosity through an economy of movement and grace, free of distraction as I looked down from above. (+dexterity, +resolve)

Astarions really gonna Astarion XD

Man I super do not like Basaras XD;; That said, all the Lasombra stuff is extremely interesting! I do happen to know what Basaras' deal is, but it'll be interesting seeing how it fits into the larger PoK plot.

You slip behind the desk closest to the back wall, where a casual passer-by would be least likely to notice anything out of place, and get to your knees, fumbling with the USB drive. It takes you at least three tries to orient it properly to fit in the slot—you swear that sometimes these USB drives exist in 4-D space.

Haha yeah.

[wildbeingwild]

LiveBlogging DunMeshi:

Ep 1 & 2 (anime)

So far i'm already so in love with everyone holy shit like, dang.

I'm probably affected because 1. i came in with a lot of expectations on it since there are people that recommended it to me and have talked very well about it and 2. i kinda sorta know some spoilers from things i've seen thru fanart and such so.

Anyways, I think i already have somewhat of a grasp in the main cast's personalities like.

(under the readmore cuz i'mma ramble about the characters for a hot second)

Laios is a practical guy that cares a lot about the team, he's an older brother thru and thru. You can see that in how he treats Marcille, trying to make the experience bearable to her despite her very vocally hating eating monsters, or how in chapter one one of the first things he does is tell them that he'll go alone and then, when they say they want to go in with him, he seriously asks them again to make sure.

From that second instance you can also see that he trusts them a lot, something that only gets reinforced during chapter 2 as he just passes his sword, arguably his most important tool in the deadly dungeon, to Chilchuck no questions asked.

And that scene after the mandrake with Marcille just outing herself and her insecurities and Laios comforting her and being understanding!!! I love Laios so much he's a cutiepie.

As with Marcille, she's so fucking cute too, her expressions are immaculate meme material (and that moment where she's hit in the forehead by her falling staff is gold) and, again with the same scene after the mandrake, she's so desperate to help her peers, she loves her team and it shows a lot, even before she outright said it (which would have been the catharsis of other animes' entire arcs or even premises).

(Also, maybe i'm biased because of how much Marcille x Falin i've seen in fanart, but i really love how she literally says "daisuki" lmao, in the manga translation i saw (i only read the first two chapters) she says "A mi también me gusta mucho Falin", which tled to eng would be "I also like Falin a lot" and just, them).

I was also pleasantly surprised by the carnivore plant scene, no pantyshots, no lewd angles, no nothing! That was cool (dang the bar is on the floor, but DunMeshi i think cleared it with a few metres spare).

And another thing, i'm so curious about how she mentions "Dying" a few times, same with the adventurers in ep2, but since the plot is about rescuing Falin i'll guess that second one is a mistl. So i'm really curious about what this means.

Chilchuk meanwhile i'm sure i haven't seen enough of, same with the others but especially with him (and Senshi obv) but so far my read on him is similar to the others, a very genuine person that takes a lot of pride in his specialty, especially because he's the only one standing between his party and deadly traps.

And Senshi, the one and only waifu of dunmeshi, if i were to sum him up i'd say "An older folk that's way too into monster cooking and is excited about others also taking interest" and, same as the rest, he's so very earnest and genuine about everything he does, and his moment with Chilchuck in ep2 is just *chef's kiss*

He's so far, together with Chilchuck, the one i'm most curious about, why has he studied dungeon cooking so much? We were told in ep1 that only criminals go down and eat monsters, so i wonder what's the deal with that? There's also a detail, a piece of dialogue i can't remember but that i was curious about...

Didn't think much of the worldbuilding, it's cool though, that the author went through and narrated the recipes almost in their entirety, it's very complete so far so i'm enjoying it a lot. I'm expecting it to get wilder though.

Also, love the name the translators put there "tragones y mazmorras", which tls to "gluttons and dungeons" and sounds so much like "dragones y mazmorras" which is "Dungeons and Dragons" in spanish, that's gold.

[batmanfruitloops]

So I noticed that with the Riddler bingo for this AU's Riddler specifically the "Arkham" space was left empty. So that leaves me wondering: what does the Bat do with all of his baddies after he apprehends them? Because as stated with Joker's backstory Arkham exists, but it seems it's not going to be used, so then where does Batman deposit all of his captured baddies at?

This is actually pretty important to a lot of plot points, so this is going to be kind of long!

Batman wants justice and dangerous things to stop plaguing Gotham, but Arkham isn't really going to help that. It kind of just makes people worse. Joker having been in there would also make Batman reluctant to send others there, because he'd be so distraught about the idea. He's been there for years. He knows the personal hell that that becomes.

There are many more circumstantial factors that lend to not sending the rogues to Arkham as well;

1

A big one is that Batman isn't actually able to capture a lot of them. For instance, the Riddler and Scarecrow never really get close to being caught. They're too capable and have such methods of evasion. The closest Bats has come to catching one of those two is when he and the Joker started working together. Before Eddie worked with Jo, he operated remotely from a hideout and broadcasted his crimes and riddles. Bats had already been working on finding this hideout, and he had finally located it right before the Joker joined his force. (That's all I'll say about that instance for now) But others like Ivy, Harley, and Polka Dot Man always slip away and are untraceable.

Also another little extra thing: Riddler is able to find a lot of information on bad Gothamites, especially the elite that Bats otherwise can't find anything to present fact about, so if he lets him get away, he can bring more people to him basically.

(The car they're driving is actually one I'm in the middle of designing, a souped up car Ed made just for heists that he named Elsa, after the bride of Frankenstein's monster - I know it doesn't look like a car, but I swear I tried T_T)

2

Bats also lets a decent amount of them get away because they aren't big enough threats. An example of this would be Music Meister. Is he a public nuisance? Yes, but is he really causing any problems? No. In this he's kind of just a silly guy who happens to be metahuman that still wants to use his natural gifts. He's pretty much a theater kid with too much power in his hands.

3

There is also a section of the rogue gallery whose issues are resolved before being sent to Arkham would be necessary. Clayface, Manbat, and Babydoll are some such rogues. Their roles in this au will boil down to maybe a chapter or so, depending. Their situations mostly require careful handing (and in Manbat's case being cured) to go back to living as best they possibly can. They're able to be reasoned with and get help, if that makes sense? I'm not sure that's the correct wording, but you'll see when we get there.

4

If the rogues have enough money, power, or influence, they themselves could get out of being sent there. This is how Penguin at least avoids ever being sent there, or charged with anything besides a warning, really.

5

Batman has also had the unfortunate opportunity of meeting Hugo Strange, the head doctor of Arkham Asylum, as Bruce Wayne. He got to witness firsthand just how demented and intelligent that man is and he'd rather not give Strange more victims to his madhouse.

- Sarsee

[braveclementine]

Chapter 17

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OCs: Ellie White along with her friends Allie, Abi, Malcolm, Reece, Anthony, Elijah, etc. I do not condone any copying of this

"I don't trust this guy." Loki stated flatly, playing with Selene on the floor with Ellie. 

"Loki!" Ellie whined. "You don't trust anyone!" 

"I trust you. Stephen. Rogers. Selene." Loki cooed to the baby, the little girl looking up at him, letting out a giggly squeal at her name. "And somewhat the archer, widow, and beast." 

"Loki!" Ellie scolded him at his moniker for Bruce. "Besides, you haven't even met him. Sam is sweet. You guys will get along just fine, I'm sure of it." 

"Are you going to make fried chicken and watermelon for him?" Loki asked curiously. 

Ellie looked at Loki in shock, "Loki! You can't say things like that?" 

"Why not?" Loki frowned, "That joke person on the TV said it many times. You were the one who made me watch the silly picture box show." 

"First off," Ellie started, "He's a comedian and what he was saying was a joke. Second off, he was also an African American comedian which makes it non-racist. You saying it makes it racist." 

Loki rolled his eyes, "How? I'm literally blue." 

Ellie shook her head, "Loki you're killing me. It's not socially appropriate here. Or anywhere really. It's offensive." 

Loki titled his head and then started to grin, "Can I at least ask if he likes Watermelon?" 

"NO!" Ellie groaned. "Loki! Now I just know you're pushing my buttons." 

Loki chuckled, watching her get up, heading into the kitchen. He loved riling her up and had known exactly what he was doing. "Your mommy is so funny when she gets teased." He whispered to Selene. "What should we do next?" 

Selene proceeded to knock the block tower they had been building over, the wooden blocks crumbling around them. 

"Hmmm, take over the world and completely annihilate it?" Loki teased, rolling over onto his back, lifting her above his head. "You're cute enough to be a partner in crime I think." 

Loki was just wondering how long Steve was going to be gone for when the door slammed open. "Daddys ho-" Loki cut off what he was saying to the girl, sitting up instead when he saw someone else running in. "Stephen?" 

"Where's Ellie?" Stephen asked, his face flushed as though he'd run here. Loki was on his feet in an instance, pulling the baby closer to his body. "ELLIE!" 

"Stephen what's going on?" Loki demanded immediately, grabbing his soulmates arm. "What happened?" 

"Turn on the TV." Stephen demanded, "Now! ELLIE!" 

"Stephen?" Ellie called back in confusion while Loki headed to the incessantly noisy picture box, turning it on just as she came into the room. Ellie put her hands to her mouth as they were immediately greeted with grim news casters and Steves photo up on the screen. 

"-the run now." The male newscaster said, stacking his papers. "Earlier today, S.H.I.E.L.D. President Alexander Pierce released that the once beloved Captain, a symbol of patriotic love for America, murdered the other head of S.H.I.E.L.D.- Nicholas Fury." 

"No!" Ellie cried out, "He wouldn't!" 

"Ellie. . ." Stephen turned towards her with worried eyes but Loki beat him to it. 

"We need to hide you." Loki stated. 

"What?" Ellie asked, "But Steve-" 

"There's no way Steven murdered Fury." Loki said sharply. "They're pinning it on him. They'll come after-" 

*BANG BANG BANG*

Ellie gasped and Loki grabbed Stephens' arm as his stupid, lovable doctor went to answer the door. "Stephen." His doctor looked back at him while Loki shook his head. "Trust me." Stephen nodded once, and Loki pulled them away into a corner just as the door was kicked down. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swarmed the house, guns out as though there was a threat here. Loki mentally counted them, knowing they were completely outnumbered, even if he wouldn't be the only one fighting. 

Ellie was hugging Selene to her chest while Loki kept an arm pressed against Stephens' chest to the wall, his other arm holding Ellie to him while he kept them invisible, along with a sound barrier so they could talk without them hearing. 

"We can't stay here forever." Stephen murmured. 

"Our house. . ." Ellie whispered, watching as they knocked over furniture. Ellie flinched as the wedding photo of her and Steve was knocked to the mantel. Brock Rumlow stepped into the living room, motioning for the others to move on, before connecting to some sort of communications device. 

"We're still searching the house for them Sir." Rumlow said sharply. "But it seems the woman and child aren't here." He paused and then said, "Understood Sir. I'll relay the message." 

He motioned to one of the other agents while they could hear doors being banged upstairs and the sound of basement steps being pounded on as the house continued to be searched. "Put out a missing report for Ellie Rogers and Selene Rogers." Rumlow ordered. "Flush her and the child out, make sure everyone knows that she's being looked for. I don't want her to be able to hide. Don't make her guilty. Make people care about her well being. When we get her hands on her and the child we use them to lure Rogers in." 

"Got it Sir." The lackey said, running off to perform his duties. Loki held Ellie tighter in his arm, feeling Stephens' heart beating faster against his shoulder. They were in danger and Loki wasn't sure he could protect all of them. 

Rumlow was standing in the living room by himself, looking at the photo of Ellie and Steve on the ground. He grinned as he picked it up, pulling the picture from it's frame. Loki could feel Ellie shaking. 

"I can't wait to see your face when you find out I've got your girl Cap." Rumlow grinned, putting the frame back on the mantel. "Oh the things I'm going to do to her. . ." Loki could feel the fear skyrocket in Ellie, but felt the disgust and anger rise up in Stephen. 

Loki would never be certain, but he would always believe that in that moment, Stephen could have killed Brock Rumlow. 

And he wouldn't have felt any guilt. 

｡ ★ • * ｡

Though Stephen wasn't happy about it, Loki convinced him to return to work a few hours later, and if anyone inquired after Ellie, to tell them that Loki was on Asgard and had been there for two weeks now. In the meantime, Loki kept Ellie, Selene, and himself disguised as a normal family, holding Ellies' hand tightly in his own as they hurried down the busy streets of New York. 

"Loki something is wrong." Ellie whispered, squeezing his hand. 

Loki knew it. People were streaming in the opposite direction that they were going- to a small house he'd bought off the grid for cases like this. There wasn't extreme worry, but there was an excited longing to go back to whatever was causing a scene. 

Loki turned them invisible to make it past the police barricades, hurrying Ellie along as fast as they could go without running, which would jostle Selene and wake her up. Loki could mute most sounds, but Selene had lungs on her. 

"Loki I feel something." Ellie gasped, looking up at him, "But. . . it can't be possible." 

"What?" Loki demanded. 

"I- I feel a warmth." Ellie whispered, looking around wildly. "But I only have three. . . Steve who accepted me, Tony rejected me, and Bucky is dead. . . how can I feel this?" 

"A relative of Sergeant Barnes?" Loki asked hesitantly. He jolted as Ellies' hand left his, heading off in a different direction, "ELLIE!" She was running now and he raced after her until they arrived to a street that was completely torn up. 

There was a bus on its side, bullet holes had ripped through it. There was a car hanging over a bridge and several fires had been set. And ahead of them on the street was Steve, fighting a masked man with long brown hair. 

Ellie stopped, staring at the scene with wide eyes. "That man fighting Steve. He's my soulmate- I can feel it. The warmth is to hot for him not to be. Maybe. . . maybe Bucky was never my soulmate?" Ellie turned to Loki, pushing Selene into his arms and Loki hurried to take her, biting his tongue as Ellie ran towards them. Loki groaned and then lifted the invisibility spell that hung around her. 

｡ ★ • * ｡

Steve sparred the man in front of him, wanting all of this to end so he could get back to Ellie and Selene. But so far, life wasn't giving him what he wanted. At least-

"STEVE!" 

What?

Steve went to duck the metal fist of the other man when he suddenly froze completely. Steve took advantage of this, kicking him in the stomach so that he skidded across the ground. "What the hell are you doing here Ellie?" Steve thundered, fear flooding through him. He was shocked when she placed herself between him and the other man. 

"Steve wait. This man, he's my soulmate." Ellie said, her eyes wide with pleading. 

What? That wasn't possible. Bucky was her other soulmate. . . wasn't he? 

"Ellie-" Steve started but Ellie had already turned around, looking down at the man. All they could see were blue eyes that stared up at her through the mask. 

"Um." Ellie stuttered. "I- who are you? And can you stop fighting my soulmate please?" 

"Is that actually going to work?" Natasha's voice intruded behind Steve, holding her hand against her bullet wound, "and how they hell is this guy her soulmate?" 

"I have no idea." Steve whispered. 

The masked man reached up slowly, pulling the mask off and Steve flinched back. "Bucky?" 

Bucky held his gaze for a second, sorrow, fear, anguish, terror, and recognition reigned prominently in his eyes. "Steve. . ." 

Sirens were sounding around them and the brunette leapt to his feet, backing away with Ellie, "You. . . you broke my mind control." 

Ellie hesitated and then said softly, "The soulmate bond can break mind control. It's happened before." 

"I know. . ." Bucky drifted off, looking past her, past Steve. "You did it before. In a hospital. But I got. . ." He frowned, "I don't remember now." 

"We need to go." Natasha warned, pointing at the S.H.I.E.L.D. trucks that were driving that way. Steve looked back at Bucky. 

"Bucky, come with us." Steve begged. 

"I-I can't." Bucky whispered, "Go. Before it's to late. I know you'll find me again." 

"Let's go." Lokis voice whispered in Ellie's ear. "They're not getting out of this and you need to be able to break him of his mind control again. If they get ahold of you, they'll force you to touch him, break the bond, and then put him back under." 

Ellie ran over to Steve without answering, kissing him. "Stay safe Steve, please." 

"Go. Protect Selene." Steve said as Brock Rumlow hoped out of the car. Bucky had melted away, somewhere none of them knew. Loki grabbed Ellie by the shoulder, the two of them disappearing and Brocks' eyes narrowed. 

"Spread out!" He ordered. "Find her now!" 

Steve closed his eyes as Rumlow forced him to his knees. Bucky was alive. Ellie had escaped. His daughter was with her. Tony was safe too. Once he got out of this. . . he'd get his entire family back. 

Whatever it took. 

｡ ★ • * ｡

Ellie paced the small hideaway cabin floors while Loki cooked in the kitchen. Everything was starting to come together now. 

Bucky had always been alive. How? No idea. Why had no one known? No clue. But he was. He was alive. Steves love and her third soulmate. 

"It makes so much sense now." She murmured out loud while Loki listened in silently, stirring the macaroni and cheese. "They said they've been tracking me since the hospital and here Steve and I were wondering if it was something in my family. But Bucky must've been in the hospital at the same time and sensed me. The soulmate bond is supposed to be strong at birth after all. So whoever he's working for. . . who is he working for? It can't possibly be S.H.I.E.L.D. right? Fury wouldn't keep him from me and Steve would he? Does that mean Fury was evil too. . . I don't want to believe that I thought he was a good man." 

She was silent for a moment, "Better than Pierce anyways." 

"Bunny you're going to stress yourself out." Loki said gently as he put the mac and cheese on the table. 

"Do you think Steve will be okay?" Ellie asked him. Loki watched the way she held herself tightly, how her throat swallowed harshly. Her eyes seemed strained like she was trying not to cry. 

Loki sighed, walking over to her, wrapping his arms around her like he would Stephen when his doctor was upset. "He is and you know he is." 

"I know he's not dead." Ellie whimpered, tears forming in her eyes. "I don't know what torture they're doing to him." 

"They wanted him to kill him." Loki reminded her, though he knew it wasn't a nice reminder. "Which means if he's not dead yet, he's escaped which is the more likely possibility, or they've suddenly realized they need him for something." 

"Me?" Ellie whispered, looking up at him while Loki pulled away. 

"They'll never touch you or Selene." Loki swore. 

Ellie was silent as she walked over to the small oak table that furnished the middle of the kitchen. "Loki. . . I think I need to go to Steve. Bucky will have to be hanging around him and I will need to trigger him again. So you need to stay here and take care of Selene." 

"I don't like that." Loki frowned. 

"You don't like anything." Ellie tried to tease, her lips quivering as she tried to smile. "Loki, trust me." 

Loki groaned. "Fine." 

｡ ★ • * ｡

"What was that soldat?" Rumlow sneered as Bucky stared dead past him, out of it completely while he was hooked up to the machine. 

His and Stevie's second soulmate. . . she was so beautiful. He had forgotten so many things but most prominently had been the feeling of being alive. He had forgotten that as he looked into her brown eyes. Her lovely long brown hair. That dress. Stevie had dolled her up good. Those hips. 

And Stevie. . . that still golden tousled hair and baby blue eyes. He looked like he hadn't aged a day and Bucky knew now that it had been years- decades. 

"You just stared at them soldat." Rumlow was furious. "And that girl-" 

"She kept saying I was 'her soulmate'." Bucky said, wanting to get himself out of trouble hoping that they wouldn't erase his mind again, hoping that it got Steve out of trouble wherever he was. Ellie would hopefully be seen as innocent, not knowing any better. "I don't know what that means, but I felt like I shouldn't hurt her." 

"You-!" Rumlow growled. 

"Rumlow." Pierce held up a hand from where he was leaning against the desk, surveying Bucky like he was just an object. Bucky hated these awareness moments more than anything. Playing along, playing stupid, just for a futile chance of escape on his next mission. 

It never worked. 

"Enough." Pierce sighed. "You and I both know the soulmate bond is a strong pull. I'm surprised it didn't completely bring him back, but they say it's stronger at birth and she was only a few minutes old at that time." 

"I've. . . met her before?" Bucky asked slowly. 'Get information, stay stupid.' 

"Oh yeah." Rumlow grinned, "And we've kept tabs on her ever since." Buckys' blood ran cold, imagining these people watching her grow up. "Every month of every year of her life." Rumlow leaned in further. "I think I even have some teen nudes." 

Bucky couldn't control himself, grabbing Rumlow around the throat, standing up at full force. "SHE'S MINE." Bucky snarled, slamming Rumlow down on the ground hard, his skull cracking against the concrete. Rumlow let out a grunt of pain while doctors pulled Bucky back, restraining him in the chair. "DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH HER!" 

Rumlow gripped his head as he stood up and Pierce stopped him from approaching Bucky to take a swing like Bucky knew Rumlow wanted. But Pierces' next words stopped Buckys' heart. 

"I think. . . we may have just found how to control our soldier." 

Rumlow grinned. 

[traegorn]

I'm backkkkkkkkk Chapter 4:

Not mia (well, maybe) it's Riley who had to work in the morning. Girl what were you thinking going to a bar last night?? and Then to see Vampire Lady? Please you're not 21 anymore all nighters are Not where it's at.

Hmmm. Carson. Yeah I already don't like him. I'm absolutely biased.

<insert "is this a pigeon" meme here> except it's my ace ass asking if this is what attraction is like. Fucking hell Riley, Not Him.

yes! Yes! What are you? a Teenager????? Sleep deprivation is a hell of a drug.

What sort of person invites a coworker to a work function as a first date? there have *got* to be better things to do for something like that.

Spooky boogieman in the bushes is less annoying than carson. Please get your shit together Riley, maybe take a nap or something, you know what? Hell. Just go to bed early. I'm sure they'll manage without you for a night.

Chapter 5:

Oh hey it's a new sigil. Hi Daniel, best of luck surviving whatever is chasing you. Where there are vampires there must also be vampire hunters, of course.

wait, Sarah? Huh. Someone's been busy. and you got a haircut.

Mia why are you here, how are you here, how did you end up tracking down this Exact vampire only to show up at the Exact moment when your ex was just about to murder his bones?

Chapter 6: If someone showed up to my home in (presumably) the middle of the night, I might consider getting a phone just so they could warn me ahead of time. No other reason. Whomst the fuck is such a valid question right now.

Masters is an exceptionally weird name for me to experience in the wild like this, unconnected to any other Masters i've ever crossed paths with irl. Reason #2 why I would probably hate Riley irl. That is Not Your Place to give that info to comparative strangers/outsiders etc.

Wow Lucy really just said "Get a Room you two" huh. Knowing Mia she's probably right.

Probably? Probably mia? *facepalm*

Yep sounds like an extremely healthy relationship

Dark swirls of coffee - but I thought she was having a latte? hmmmm

fanged frat boy, yup, that sure is a description. Watch Riley get murdered at the work party Mr Deep velvety voice is taking her to. Obviously not because like, Riley, but still.

Riley Whittaker thinks she's living in a Rom Com when it comes to dating. Look at book one, where the night she had a one night stand with Mia she was like "this woman is mysterious and cool" after going back to her place and not "this woman lives like a slob in a shoebox."

Riley is 30 I think in book 2? She's at that magical age where you feel fine doing the stupid late night stuff but your body suddenly deeply regrets it in the morning. We're now one year post-Jake, so she's been trying to make up for wasting half her twenties on him... but aging is starting to kick in.

And sadly I need to inform you that attraction really is like that for some of us.

First instance of the Sarah-sigil! That's on the back of one of Mia's hands. Mia was hunting a vampire too, and it just isn't that big of a town. Also there might be other reasons not revealed in this novel.

Lucy isn't used to working with other people. Her ideal life is being left alone at her house with her girlfriend and occasionally hitting the bars to seduce people into letting her feed off of them. She's helping out of a sense of responsibility, not because she wants to talk to any of these people once they're done. She was being super vague about Emma for a reason when Mia and Riley showed up.

A phone would make avoiding them harder.

(As for the dark swirls, I'm going to admit I forgot I changed Mia's coffee order during the edit and didn't fix that line. Just imagine that the barista is bad at their job I guess.)

[lilc77]

Just some random thoughts about married SephTi:

I had a revelation at 3am about married Sephiroth and Tifa (not sure where it came from) reading FanFiction about themselves. Sephiroth comes home to find Tifa engrossed in her phone. She acknowledges him and speaks to him but she is glued to her phone. He wonders how he should feel if he finds out that she's watching porn so he decided to ask trying to be funny.

Sephiroth: Hey, hon. Watching porn?

Tifa (responses without looking up): No, reading it.

Sephiroth: Pardon?

Tifa: I'm reading it.

Sephiroth: Reading it. Huh. Not sure how to respond to that. Is it any good?

Tifa: Totally. Especially how Genesis have you going speechless. Oh and Angeal eventually joins the fun

Sephiroth: Excuse me?! What kind of trash are you reading?

Sephiroth snatches her phone and reads the smutty yaoi fanfiction. His face scrunches and tosses the phone back to her. Tifa stifles a laugh.

Sephiroth: FanFiction. Should've known. Shouldn't be reading trash like that. Where did you find that?

Tifa: I heard a few talk about it and I was just curious.

Sephiroth: If you were so curious, you should've came straight to the source. I would've indulged my lovely wife. Besides, if you had such time for idleness, you can go to the training room with me. I'll be more than happy to give you a workout, Mrs. Lockhart. And stop hanging out with Zack and Genesis. They're corrupting you.

Tifa: Oh? Is that so, Mr. Lockhart.

Sephiroth approaches Tifa and kisses her before sitting down behind her on the couch.

Sephiroth: Who wrote that garbage anyway?

Tifa: Your devoted Fanclub members and a few underground students/cadets.

Sephiroth (sighs): Figures. Just so you know Mrs. Lockhart, there's a few out there about you too.

Tifa: Noo? What? Where?

Sephiroth grins widely. He takes her phone and types then hands it back to her. She reads and peruses a few FanArts.

Tifa: What? Oh my God? Wait, that's actually a really great picture of me. Hey! My boobs aren't that big?!

Sephiroth laughs.

Sephiroth: What's wrong, my dear? Didn't like what you found? Maybe you shouldn't have opened Pandora's box.

Tifa: How did you know about this?

Sephiroth: Not important. More importantly, if you're going to indulge in trash like that, you might as well read the good ones.

Tifa: What do you mean?

He asks for her phone again. She hands it to him. He types and hands it back to her. She reads a FanFiction about them.

Tifa: What is this?

Sephiroth: Apparently, we have a fan.

Tifa: What do you mean?

Sephiroth: Read their pen name.

It reads "Number1F@n".

Tifa: Do you know who it is?

Sephiroth: I do not. But apparently, they're someone close enough to get an inside scoop.

Tifa: What do you mean?

Sephiroth: Go to Volume 2, Chapter 23, 5th paragraph. The way the Hero proposed to the Heroine sounds very familiar don't you think? Sounds a little too close to home?

Tifa: The only ones who know are Angeal, Genesis, Zack, Barrett, and a select few who I know wouldn't say anything. I did tell Cissnei but she wouldn't dare write about it.

Sephiroth: Hmm. Anyway, you should give it a read. You have some catching up to do. There's already 3 Volumes. I'm currently on the 3rd.

Tifa: 3 Volumes?! How?! What?!

Sephiroth: Mmm-hmm. It's very good and very detailed. It even has our little tiffs in there. Oh and apparently you're cheating on me with Angeal.

Tifa (stifles laughter): What?!

Sephiroth: Yeah. Don't worry, I told him that I would castrate him and set Meteor down on him if he ever thinks about touching you. He said he wouldn't have expected any less. Though there are some scenes I would love to recreate with you, Mrs. Lockhart.

Tifa: Oh?

Sephiroth: Mmm-hmm. Let me know when you get to Chapter 18. You really should get to reading.

Tifa: When did you have time to read this?

Sephiroth: Only once in a blue moon.

Flashbacks to a few instances of Sephiroth reading on the train en route to a mission, in his office where he's thought to be reading mission reports, during Hojo's scientific ramblings, during Lazard's meeting, while hanging out with Genesis and Angeal, on the couch with Tifa asleep on him, etc.

In the meanwhile, on the other side of Shinra HQ:

Tseng types on his laptop. He's currently working on Volume 4 under his pen name "Number1F@n". Satisfied with the end of his chapter, he closes his laptop for the night and decides to call it a night.