#and i’m eternally grateful they responded this way

[kinokoshoujoart]

the sos awl development team really looked at rock and said “even if we could fix him (we can’t) he would never agree to it, carry on king”

[milkbobatyun]

a ghost of his past

pairing: dan heng x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: even in his dreams, his past haunts him.

word count: 630

a/n: which clown pulled for dan heng IL just because his design was really pretty? totally not me !! n e ways take this attempt at a dan heng fic.

the gentle, quiet melody of the CD was seeping into the sleeping quarters of the astral express. its inhabitants were deep in sleep. suddenly, with a horrid screech, it halts. an unnerving silence settled over the sleeping quarters. when the disk starts revolving again, a haunting xiaozhou melody sings from the player.

dan heng lies asleep in his bed, where he finds himself in his own dreamscape. a ghost of a figure haunts his, no, dan feng’s dreams.

they stare into his soul with lifeless eyes, silent in their approach.

even without the memories of his past lives, he knew who you were. his lover. or rather, dan feng’s. his gentle, beautiful lover, who offered him unconditional affection, who was always so understanding of him.

you, whose soft hands brushed at his tears when they fell, massaged away the headaches that accompanied the arduous role of being a high elder. 

your love story was spread far and wide in the xianzhou. many children and young couples aspired to have such a fantastical and romantic love. the two of you were the envies of all lovers. the citizens watched as their high elder, always so cold and judicial in his mannerisms, would soften and gaze at you with the warmest look in his eyes, how the fearsome dragon elder became but a mere puppy in your presence.

in danheng’s fragmented dreams, short films of your love played before him, reminding him of every tender moment. times where you were his sole supporter and believer. the seconds of eternity where you would sneak into his office, a boxed lunch, fresh from the stove, cradled in your hands.

the dreams were bright and warm, like the soft touch of spring, flowers booming in his chest.

the fragile flowers, their buds just beginning to bloom, are swallowed by the cold touch of frost, the lively blooms blackening and withering.

in danheng’s fragmented nightmares, he caught glimpses of your demise. your warped screams echo in his mind, bloody hands clawing at the hem of his coat. he hears your voice, begging for mercy.

the nightmares were cold and lonely, like ice seeping into his veins, cutting into his soul and heart.

as he dreams, blade’s voice echoes in his mind.

“you always knew the price better than any of us.” he hissed, his voice a serpent’s hiss, slithering in his thoughts. “that’s why you sacrificed her.”

“you killed her, for the sake of your planet.” blade taunted, his laugh grating in danheng’s ear. “YOU KILLED HER, WITH YOUR OWN TWO HANDS.”

dan heng squeezed his eyes shut, the blackness of his dreamscape pressing in on him, suffocating him. he covered his ears with his hands, tugging and clawing at his hair, to get your echoing screams out of his mind.

he felt a warm liquid running between his fingers. dan heng held his trembling hands in front of him, watching as blood stained his hands, the bloody spear gripped with shaking fingers.

kneeling by his feet was your lifeless body, a bloody hole where your heart should be.  your eyes are fixed ahead, mouth contorting into words that cut his heart deeper than any sword.

“dan feng. how could you.” you breathed, eyes swimming with hurt. “i thought you loved me.”

with a start, dan heng woke from his dreams. the xianzhou lullaby ceases.

drawing his knees up to his chest, dan heng presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“spare me, please,” dan heng pleads to the empty room. “let me forget my past.”

no one responds, but in the depths of his mind, he seems to hear a soft whisper.

“i’m sorry…please don’t forget me.”

the room was silent, but the weight of his past lay burdened on dan heng’s mind.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[moremaybank]

STAKE YOUR CLAIM — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!reader

summary jj isn’t happy when he finds out you’ve been sleeping with other people on the island, so he’s sure to set the record straight. you’re his, and his only.

warnings unprotected sex, possessive!jj, slapping, choking, spitting, degrading, bondage, breeding, marking, dacryphilia, semi-public sex, anal fingering

author’s note special thanks to @blueicequeen19 for this request. you pulled this out of me and i’m eternally grateful, babe ♡︎ i hope you like ittt

jj masterlist

The air is charged with tension as JJ’s hand closes around your wrist, his grip firm as he leads you away from the crowd of the party and into an unoccupied room. His jaw is set, and you can feel the anger simmering off his tan skin. 

“Damn it, J, let go of me,” you demand, trying to tug your wrist free from his grasp. 

JJ’s grip only tightens. He shoves you into the empty dining room and slams the door behind you, locking it shut. He turns to you, his eyes burning deep into your soul.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like this is all on me,” JJ snarls. “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? You can’t just let anyone touch you, Y/N.”

“Excuse me?” Your voice rose. “You don’t get to control who I see or what I do. We aren’t exclusive, JJ. I’m not yours.”

JJ’s jaw clenches, and his fists ball at his sides. He steps closer to you, and you back up until your back hits the large wooden table behind you. “Try again, sweetheart. You are. Don't make me knock you up to prove it to you.”

You scoff and try to shove past him so you can leave, but JJ doesn’t make it easy for you. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he states. His hands find their grip on your hips, and his index fingers dart out to tease the hem of your skirt. Goosebumps form on your skin at the contact, and you mentally curse yourself for always reacting to his touch that way. It’s like your body knows it needs him to feel alive. His eyes find yours once again. “You're such a whore, you'll let anyone inside that pussy, won't you? Kook. Pogue. Touron. Doesn't matter does it?” 

“Fuck you,” you spit. “Who I sleep with is none of your business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, baby.” He pulls your skirt and panties down with one harsh yank and lets them pool around your ankles on the floor. Then, he tugs your tube top down, revealing your bare tits. His fingers pinch your nipples fiercely, and you bite back a moan. “You’ll never need anyone else but me. You understand?”

You don’t respond. You can’t even look him in the eye. It’s crazy how far he can push you and still have you coming back for more each time. No one makes your heart race the way he does. No one gets you soaked and makes you scream the way he does. He’s animalistic and unforgiving with how he fucks you, and that’s just how you like him. He knows it, too, and he isn’t afraid to use that against you.

His hand curls around your throat, and your eyes unwillingly find his. “No one gets to touch you. No one but me.”

JJ lets go, and you watch as he undoes his belt and slides it out of the loops of his shorts. One hand draws your wrists in front of you, and the other works quickly as he loops the leather around them. He fastens it as tight as it can go. Then, in a swift motion, he has your back flat against the table, and your restrained wrists above your head. He mutters an order to keep them there, and he quickly moves to spread your legs. 

“‘M gonna get an apology from you whether you like it or not. You really shouldn’t be this greedy, baby.” You’re already wet, and JJ can feel it when he slaps your pussy. You mewl as the sensation tingles and stings at your core. He slaps it over and over again, relishing in the cries he’s already pulling from you while barely doing anything. You squirm, trying to move your hands to get him to hold off, but his free hand keeps them pressed to the wood. 

The more he continues, the more pitiful you become. You're crying out, and your cunt is all swollen and hot. You're pleading for more friction, more sensation, anything, but JJ's enjoying your sounds far too much to stop.

“That hurt, baby?” He asks, his tone condescending, completed with a sadistic smirk. You nod, and he lets out a taunting whine. “You sure? ‘Cause you're soaking my hand so much that it's dripping. Your pussy's giving you away, sweetheart.”

You feel insane. How could he have this much power over you? Turning you into a crying mess and making you look forward to his punishments like this? You must be brainwashed. Or maybe, JJ’s a sorcerer. Either way, his metaphorical and physical hold on you has you locked in for life. 

Once he deems that you’ve had enough, he smacks your ass harshly from the side, before using both hands to spread you open more. He ducks his head down and licks a stripe up your pussy, tasting your sweetness as it coats his tongue.

“God, I wanna ruin this pussy, baby. Ruin it for you, and for anyone that tries to compete with me. I want you to cum so much that it hurts, wanna see those pretty tears run down your cheeks. I'm gonna fuck you ‘til you pass out and then wake you back up with my cock buried inside you.” 

One hand frees his cock, and he gives you no warning as he slams inside of you. He’s so deep that you can feel his tight balls against you. He’s also stretching you so wide that you feel like he’s piercing you. His hips pick up a relentless pace, his hips snapping against yours so hard that the table shakes beneath you. 

“So fuckin’ tight, feels like you’re tryin’ to push me out, pretty girl,” he grits. His hand finds your throat again, squeezing as he fucks you into the hard surface. Your core is burning at how forcefully he’s rutting into you, but the ache is so addicting. Your legs are squirming, trying to find the strength to wrap around JJ’s midsection, but you can’t. JJ notices, and he laughs at the look on your face. “Learning your lesson, aren’t you?”

JJ’s right hand comes up as he slaps your cheek, not too hard but hard enough to make heat rise. “Tell daddy you’re sorry. Maybe I’ll take it easy on you.”

All you can manage is a whine, a strained mm leaving your lips as you screw your eyes shut. This only makes JJ worse. Your eyes shoot back open when he slaps you again. “Say it,” he commands. 

“‘M s-sorry, daddy.”

“No,” he tuts as he squeezes your throat harder and slightly cutting off your air. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry, daddy!”

He spits in your face and grins wickedly when he sees you lick up what you can. “Now beg me to let you cum.”

He pulls you up, his hand curling around the back of your neck while the other holds your leg around his waist, keeping you open. His pelvis smacks against your far-past-swollen clit. Tears well in your eyes, and your wrists begin to burn as the leather rubs them raw. You’re trying to free yourself so you can brace yourself on something. You’re unlucky and unable to do so, just as JJ planned. 

“P-please, daddy. Let me cum, it h-hurts,” you hiccup. Your doe eyes stare up at him as he fucks you with reckless abandon, unfazed by your pleas. 

“Aw, you wanna cum, sweet girl? Not yet. ‘M gonna make you wait.” The bastard becomes even more cocky if possible, and leers at you. “You wanna know why?” 

You whine, the tears starting to slip past your eyes as you try to keep your sanity intact. JJ inches closer to your face, gnawing on your bottom lip and drawing it out before releasing it with a snap. 

“‘Cause I love how pathetic and dumb you sound when you beg for me.”

JJ Maybank is evil. You’ve known it for a while, but his actions today only solidify it. You could be as good as you wanted for him, but the patronizing son of a bitch will never admit defeat. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, exactly how he wished to. 

By now, your entire body is convulsing, and you’re void of any energy. JJ knows this, of course. He loops your bound wrists around the back of his neck and scoops you up in his arms. He walks over to one of the walls surrounding you both, and he practically slams your back against it. His cock splits you in half with each hard thrust. His hands migrate to the back of your thighs, spreading you as he pounds you into the surface.

“I can’t hold it anymore, daddy. It hurts, n-need to cum so— so bad,” you plead. You can’t keep your eyes open anymore. You’re trying like hell, but it just isn’t happening.

“Too bad, baby. You aren’t cumming until I say so.”

Your head leans to one side as you begin to sob. The burn in your core is about to take you out. You can feel it. It’s fiery, and threatening to give out. It only worsens when JJ’s teeth come into contact with the sensitive skin of your neck. He sucks and nips at it harshly, pulling at it and leaving his mark anywhere he can manage. He feels you clamping down on him, smirking evilly when he pulls out of you abruptly. 

“‘M not gonna let you win that easy, baby.” 

He sets you down on the rug near the table, your knees digging into the fabric. Your arms stretch above your head once more. JJ kneels behind you, spreading your cheeks so he can spit onto your puckered hole. He pops a finger in, and pushes his cock into your pussy again. His hips move at warp speed, and you’re on the verge of being fucked brainless. He’s smacking your ass and finger-fucking your ass as he pummels into you. You’re screaming at this point, mascara tears running down your cheeks and soaking the carpet beneath you. 

“Beg me for my fucking cum. I know you want it,” he grits. 

“Oh, god! Please, daddy!”

“Again,” he demands. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Give me your cum. Give me your fucking cum. Pleasepleaseplease.” Your throat is sore, so so raw from the sobs and JJ’s grip on it earlier. You’re sure there’ll be some bruising when you’re done. “Need it, daddy, please.”

“Fuck. Those cries are too pretty, makin’ me so hard. Wanna keep hearin’ ‘em. Keep cryin’, princess.” 

He doesn’t really have to ask because they’ll pour out of you whether you control it or not. Your vision is going black, your entire body limp as you lie there and let him use you. 

“I’m gonna cum. Cum with me,” he says. He slams into you a few more times before his balls tighten, and before you know it, he’s spurting his seed into you with the most delicious groan you’ve ever heard. You finally cum, drunk from his cock and so far gone that you wonder if you’re even alive anymore. 

“You,” he pants, “need to piss me off more like that again.” He frees your hands, and lifts you, carrying you over to one of the chairs at the table. Your ass stings when you slump into your seat, and you hiss. JJ crouches down in front of you, wiping your tears and leaving soft kisses all over your body. The juxtaposition of his forceful demeanour to his now gentle one makes you dizzy. “You with me?”

You want to glare at him, slap his smug grin off his face even, but you can barely breathe. 

“You’re a fucking caveman.”

His dimple pops out, “And yet, you still let me fuck, didn’t you?” 

[sanemistar]

⋅˚₊‧ stuck in the middle

𝜗𝜚 starring: sanemi x fem!reader ft. genya 𝜗𝜚 genre: a mix of fluff and angst, slight swearing ﾉ wc: 1.k+ 𝜗𝜚 a/n: requested. sorry i took a lot of time writing this, but i hope you enjoy it !! 𝜗𝜚 back: kny m.list

𝜗𝜚 synopsis: knowing the shinazugawa brothers for a very long time, as sanemi’s girlfriend and an older sister figure to genya, you always find yourself stuck in the middle of their messy situation. trying to make ends meet in hopes of a reconciliation.

being sanemi’s longtime girlfriend, and an important older sister figure to genya, means that you’re always stuck in the middle of their messed up familial relationship trying to fix it. on one hand, there’s sanemi, who constantly pushes his little brother away from him while cruelly chasing him out of the demon slayer corps because he’s worried about him and wants him to live a happy normal life. although his ways aren’t the best, but his intentions are never malicious or bad. sanemi genuinely cares for genya, he just doesn’t know how to properly express himself.

“he should just fuckin’ quit being a slayer, this shit isn’t for him… he sucks ‘n can’t even use any breathing techniques! he clearly has no talent.” sanemi huffs in annoyance yet his face has worry written all over it, a contradictory expression to his harsh words. no matter how hard he tries, he can never hide that worried face.

“nemi, i know you’re trying to get genya out of harm’s way, but don’t you think you’re being too harsh on him? he just wants to make you proud.” you respond while placing a hand on top of his.

he knows that genya is doing all of this to get his recognition, but he doesn’t want him to risk his life for it. if one has to risk their life out of the two, it has to be sanemi. that’s what he thinks is best for both of them. he has never wanted genya to walk through such a dangerous path full of killing and death, he has never wanted his little brother to stain his hands with blood. he’s only sixteen, he has his whole life ahead of him. he should be living like any normal teenager his age.

“tch.. like the hell i’d care about a weakling like him.” he removes your hand and walks away. you sigh, knowing sanemi for so long, you know that it’s best to leave him alone to cool down at times like this.

you’re about to go outside when you hear the sound of footsteps heading towards you, and it’s sanemi.

“look i… i’m sorry for stormin’ on ya earlier, i let my anger get the best of me.” he grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. he uses his other hand to lift your chin up, your eyes meet his. you can see the regret in his lilac eyes. contrary to common belief, sanemi is quite easy to read if you get to know him well. his expressions tell everything his tongue can’t. your hand finds a home on his scarred cheek as it begins caressing his cheek softly.

“it’s okay, nemi. i know how hard you’re trying to control yourself, and i accept you as you are.” the moment sanemi hears your words, he pulls you close to him in a tight hug. he lets a few tears fall down his cheeks. he doesn’t deserve you, but he’s eternally grateful for you choosing him despite all his imperfections.

“thank you.. and i love you.” he whispers softly and kisses the top of your head before leaving once again.

meanwhile, you head outside for fresh air as your feet involuntarily drag you to the training ground. you spot genya who��s, on the other hand, striving to be stronger so he can get his older brother to recognize his abilities. he’s there training all by himself in the empty training ground, and you’re pretty sure he’s been overworking himself without getting any breaks. so you decide to go and stop him. you head over to him with a towel in your hand.

“that’s enough training for today, overdoing it will do you more harm than good.” you concerningly say as you throw the soft piece of cloth on the top of his head, which takes genya by surprise.

“nee-chan… but i–” you interrupt him and snatch the wooden sword from his hands and place it on the side.

“not taking any buts, come here.” you pat on the empty space next to you, inviting genya to come sit next to you. he slightly hesitates, but eventually listens to you and rests his sore body next to you.

“i’m fully aware of my lack of abilities, which is why i need to work even harder so i don’t end up being a burden to my brother.. he has enough burden on his plate already, i don’t wanna add up to it. i wanna be able to protect him too.” genya begins expressing his concern as you attentively listen to every word.

“and because i’m currently weak, my biggest fear is that i die before i get a chance to apologize to him for what i said to him on the day our mother died. i’ll never forgive myself if that happens.” his voice cracks up as he fights back tears. you feel bad for him, you genuinely care for genya as if he were your own brother. so seeing him in this state breaks your heart. you soothingly pat his back in an attempt to comfort him.

“i just know that sanemi never thought of you as a burden, nor have i sensed any anger from him towards you. your big brother is just worried about you and he’s showing it in his own way. and it’s never too late to apologize, i’m sure he’ll appreciate it even if he doesn’t show and tries to push you away.” you respond, and genya’s eyes light up as he finds hope and solace in your words.

“thanks for listening to me, nee-chan. and sorry for dragging you into our mess.” he says with an apologetic smile. you gently pat his head as the two of you sit there in comfortable silence.

despite their shaky relationship, one thing’s for certain is that sanemi and genya deeply love and care for one another. their misunderstanding is only a result of poor communication, none of them resents or hate the other. they still have a long way, but you pray that one day, they properly communicate and reconcile.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @sylusdoll @ayrastv @hanaeriin @spkyssn

[barelylivingscholar]

Arlecchino with a daughter tw: unhealthy family relationships, manipulation, and gore(?), suicidal thoughts, unstable/mentally ill daughter. Not for the faint of heart, heavy angst, a somewhat positive ending in the last part(?) (Do not read if uncomfortable)

An: I am backkkkk, second semester and last semester’s finals kept me busyyyyyy but I’m here again to post some stufffffff!! Not hsr related but like I also write for Genshin now, apparently… Will post a part two, I guess? “Father. When am I able to hang around with the others? I have done everything that you’ve asked for.” A young girl asked, to which “Father” responds with, “You need to focus on the task in hand. I still have many more missions for you to do before I set you free.” The girl sighed, knowing very well that she may as well never be able to be allowed to play with the other kids… For a moment, the girl had wished that she wasn’t the only one to deal with this kind of burden. The burden being, the “successor” of “Father.” She wanted to play with the other kids as well, but alas, her father does not permit her to do so. Instead, excuses are made, and the standard Fatui discipline is instilled in her mind, always have to act proper and professional, not allowed to shed a tear, or to feel strong feelings regardless of what the matters are. I hate it here. I do not wish to stay here any longer. Every day feels like I am only made to be the person that “Father” wishes me to be. I am never truly happy. I am sinking. Father was not  family. This whole thing is and always was, a lie. Do I ever get to be free? Perhaps I can set myself free. There is a way.  ̶T̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶q̶̶u̶̶e̶̶s̶̶t̶̶i̶̶o̶̶n̶ ̶i̶̶s̶, ̶a̶̶m̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶̶i̶̶l̶̶l̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶d̶̶o̶ ̶i̶̶t̶? --- After burning the corpse of their enemies, I return to the House of the Hearth, albeit bloody and face that is smudged of dirt, the smell of blood and gasoline lingers around me. With every passing servant, caretakers, and also children as well, unsettled and left shaken up at the sight of me. I stained the carpets red. I wonder if “Father” would notice as the carpet is in the same shade of the blood of her enemies…? Will she punish me and discipline me? Although words are exchanged, no form of physical harm done, I am still left isolated.  Like I am to be a monster kept away from people… I feel caged.

This time, I didn’t bother to clean up and went straight ahead to father’s office. Where I know I’ll be punished for such a careless mistake. “Father, I have returned.” I greet, looking to see her eyes staring straight at me. For once I don’t cower. I simply walk up to her and wait for her response. I have no reason to be scared, right? I don’t think I care anymore. Father’s eyes narrowed. The sight of blood that wasn’t mine, the smell of gasoline, in her eyes, I may as well be the filthiest child in the house. One that is simply, uncouth for the position of “successor.” “Why have you not followed protocol? Especially contingency 8? Have I not taught you well?” Her voice sharp, dissatisfied with my performance. It must be a surprise for her that her “successor” had become disobedient. What is she going to do to me, I wonder? Dispose of me? Or would she find someone else who is to succeed her as the “Father” of the House of the Hearth. “I… I have no other excuses.” I was unable to control my voice. It was shaky, wavering. I hate it. Father’s eyes seemed to had harden. I am interested with what is going to be the left of me once this is all over. I look forward to it. I want her to snap at me. Kill me. Foul words for a child like me, but this is what I planned. Maybe it is best that I sleep in eternal slumber instead rather than live a life full of misery. I have nothing to be grateful here. I am not thankful that I am still alive today. “…You are hereby stripped of the title “successor.” You are no longer worthy of the title. I am disappointed.” Is that it? No severe punishments? My mind raced; I was unable to comprehend why had she punished me in a way that is so… Little? Had she gone soft? I do not remember anything that made her want to punish me lightly. Don’t I deserve… More? My brows had furrowed. “Father” did not miss that. “Daughter… Are you, upset?” Her voice sounded confusing, to me. Why do you suddenly care? I don’t understand you at all. I do not feel safe at all. Are you really “family?” “…I’m fine.” I say, my voice a little tight. Unshed tears on my face, I am no fool. I do not need your love.

“You are now excused.” Never had I ever left her office so quickly after that. I had to get away…! I need to get out of here… I breathed heavily as I ran and ran… Until there is nowhere to go. The heavy snow had engulfed me. And soon… I was unconscious. I awoke to an unfamiliar place. This is not the House of the Hearth. I quickly got up, ignoring the sudden rush of blood shooting up due to how fast I went up. I ignore the throbbing pain on my forehead, I focused on my surroundings instead. Where am I? This place is… Different. I jolted as I felt a hand on my shoulder, immediately backing off and grabbing a hidden dagger in my boot. “Stay there! I will stab you!” I hissed. Glaring at the mysterious figure. They looked… Kind. I am not supposed to feel that way. There are no kind people in this world. Everyone I know will always lie to me, manipulate me for their gain. Just like “Father.” Just like them…

The stranger had knelt down and attempted to soothe me. I only responded with aggression and threats. They weren’t phased at all. “Who are you? I am no ordinary orphan! I am a murderer!” I shouted, clearly agitated. The man in a familiar coat had not reacted violently at all. I am confused. And angry. “I am Pantalone. “Regrator” from the Fatui. I assume you are one of the Knave’s lost children…” My eyes widened at the statement. He is no ordinary man… I should’ve known, I gritted my teeth and gripped my dagger tight. “I am not her orphan! I am no longer a part of that… I could care less if you are a part of the Fatui, I will die gladly in vain if I have to fight for my freedom!” I hissed. The man is amused. I can tell by the look in his eyes. “I have a better proposal for you, child.” “Regrator” inquired. I had not chosen to back down even at the prospect of an offer. “What makes you think I will take it?” I replied, gripping the dagger tight. “I will not surrender you to the Knave. Rather, I’ll take you in as my disciple.”

Disciple? Is this man sick in the head? Why would I agree to that? It seems “Regrator” had heard my thoughts, and so, he added, “Although, it is up to you if you would rather be surrendered back to the Knave… Or join me and I’ll give you a much better purpose, in life… Not that you have any choice on the matter if you decline my offer…” I had no sense of purpose to live for. I am merely an empty shell of what I was once. I have nothing to achieve… In the end, I don't have what it takes to truly end my life. So I will follow my new superior. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be easily obedient. I am rather mad.” And it was the start of something anew…  I had become, “Regrator’s disciple.” I wonder how “Knave” will react to such arrangements… An: Part two will include Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. There will be other characters who will be included as well but, part one's story was set before Lyney became the sucessor of the House of the Hearth. I am thinking of interesting ideas to write for this story and some alternate routes as well... We'll see once I whip up part two.

[hardly-an-escape]

Car trip ask -- Dreamling

Famous Dream and Hob being chased by paparazzi; it's not fun as such, but they're laughing and running hand and hand to get back to their hotel

They'd made it almost the whole morning wandering around the city without being recognized, so Hob supposed he should be grateful. A few hours of peace – of precious normality – were a gift, after all.

And then the first of the paps found them, as Hob was ushering Dream out through the door of a cramped little bookstore, and then the resulting hue and cry spread down the crowded sidewalk like a miniature tsunami wave, and there were not only cameras but members of the general populace shoving their way into Hob and Dream's space.

"Well, that's torn it," Hob said, and offered Dream his hand. "Run?"

"How undignified," Dream responded dryly. But he took Hob's hand, as he always did, and they hurried down the street together.

As they always did.

Together.

Hob hadn't thought he would find love like this, not again. Not in his late thirties, and certainly not with a man. A man who'd also been married to a woman, who had also lost his wife and child in sad circumstances; who had also been, by turns, perturbed and baffled and ultimately delighted by the unexpected connection the two had forged between takes on a film set two years before.

Coming out, at that point in their respective careers, had not been an easy road. There had been pushback – both from their own people and from the public. There had been scandalized op eds published in gossip rags. Hob had had to bite his tongue on more than one red carpet when an interviewer asked them something a little too off-color (Dream had simply looked cold and imperious and stern, which he was very good at, and which was probably a more apt response, all things considered).

But even now, dodging photographers and pedestrians on the streets of New York, Hob wouldn't change a thing. Not a single blessed thing, because he had Dream's hand in his, and they were together, and they always, always would be.

They finally shook the photographers by doubling back through a busy bus stop, dodging down an alley, and walking on opposite sides of the street for a block and a half, before reuniting right in front of their hotel and slipping inside under the watchful eye of an impressively broad doorman.

They walked hand in hand across the lobby to the elevator. The receptionist gave them a friendly and professional smile, and Hob nodded gratefully in return. It wasn't until the elevator doors closed behind them that he let out the breath he felt like he had been holding for the past twenty minutes.

He would have felt self-conscious about it, were it not for the way Dream was letting out a similar exhale and melting against him as the elevator whisked them away to their suite on one of the upper floors.

"Do you ever regret it?" asked Dream suddenly.

Hob knew exactly what he was asking, and was having exactly none of it. He turned toward Dream and crowded him against the mirrored wall of the elevator, framing his narrow, noble face between his hands.

"Never," he said firmly. "Never, ever, for one singular second, have I regretted going after you." He kissed Dream once, firmly, on the lips, and a second time, more gently, just on the corner of his mouth. "I would live forever, if it meant I could spend it with you. In fact," he declared, "I plan to."

"You're going to live forever?"

"Yes." He kissed Dream again. Felt him melt just a little more.

"An eternity of this? Of running?"

"If necessary. Everyone does it. In some form."

The corner of Dream's mouth lifted. "You are not a sensible creature, Hob Gadling."

Hob laughed, throwing his head back, warm and fond and in love.

"I may be a fool," he said, as the elevator carried them ever higher. "But I've made up my mind."

come and drop a prompt in my inbox and I'll write you a drabble while I’m being a passenger princess on this road trip <3

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey sex witch! I want to thank you for the response you gave to the 14yo too. Like that other anon, it’s so reassuring to read the kind of responses I’d have wanted to hear when I was a teen, and file them away for when I’ll be the one giving them. You’ve inspired me to read more about sex-positive language and start filling some of the gaps in my own understanding in a more intentional way.

Along that vein: Do you happen to know of any resources for learning how to respond sex- and body-positively to a (preschool age) child who has discovered masturbation? I’m very fearful of instilling shame about it but I don’t really have anyone I feel safe consulting about this in real life. She knows the names of her body parts, but why exactly she has to cover some of them up and not touch them in public is a wrinkle that’s turning out to be challenging to explain. I looked up that OWL program you mentioned but it looks like that’s for kids just a little older(?) and I haven’t really found anywhere near me with the program anyways. Thank you for any help you can give!

hi anon,

thanks for saying so; that's very kind!

this article is a bit old now (I encountered it while researching a paper for my undergrad nearly a decade ago) but I think holds up tremendously for the eternal issue of how to explain that masturbation is okay but masturbation in front of other people is generally frowned up:

OWL is a great program and I'm grateful for all the kids who have access to it, but you can also take our resources and run! we use books by an author named Robie H. Harris. her books are excellent and accessible for a variety of ages, but they're definitely not the only ones out there, and this article has a good compilation of body positive sex ed books for all ages, including your very young one:

[nemaliwrites]

“What can I do for you, Lady Graham de Vanily?” asks Fu. He takes a sip of his tea, and makes a pleased expression. Amélie bites down a smile.

Her tea is always something that she's done the best. Even her husband — late husband, she reminds herself — couldn't find anything to complain about.

Not for lack of trying, of course.

“Actually, Master Fu,” says Amélie, “I think there's something I can do for you.”

His eyebrows raise, betraying his interest. “You don't have to call me Master, you know,” he says. “I usually save that for a...certain group of people.”

“I’m aware,” says Amélie.

“Now, what is it you think you can do for me?”

Though he surely doesn't mean it like that, Amélie finds herself bristling at the skepticism in his voice. Yet another person that looks down on her. At this point, she should be used to it.

“There's something that you've lost, isn't there,” she says. “Something you're trying to find. What if I told you I knew where it was?”

Fu's teacup clatters on the saucer when he places it down. “Lady Graham de Vanily,” he begins softly.

“Amélie,” she corrects him, but isn't surprised when he doesn't listen.

“If you speak about what I think you speak about, then...there is only one way you could know that.”

“I know,” she replies, just as softly.

“Then are you admitting to it?”

“In a way,” she says. “What if I told you that...the thing that was stolen from you, it came to me much in the same way?”

“And what way is that?”

“Force,” says Amélie.

Fu's eyes cloud with knowledge. Not for the first time, Amélie wonders how old this man sitting in front of her is. What kinds of things he has seen in his lifetime.

Even in hers, she's seen things that she never once believed could be true, things that have shaken up her entire worldview. Was he the same way? Or were those things his worldview to begin with, and his life was only shaken up when they were taken from him?

She doesn't think she wants to know the answer.

“If that's true,” Master Fu begins slowly, “then that would make us allies, would it not?”

“Yes,” says Amélie, taking another sip of tea. “I quite agree.”

“But I must confess that I wouldn't make the best ally. After all, I have nothing to offer you.”

“Oh, I don't think that's true,” says Amélie. “You don't give yourself enough credit.” Or me, she thinks but does not say. “You have the power to return things to the way they were. To see justice doled out. And that's what you want? Isn't that its own reward?”

Fu does not respond.

“This person that has what I'm looking for,” he says finally, “would I be correct in assuming they are someone close to you?”

“In a way,” she admits. “But not anymore. I don't know who they are anymore. I don't know if I ever did.”

Fu hums, and he reaches across the table to lay his hand over hers. “This can't be easy for you,” he says, “but I hope you know that I am eternally grateful for what you're doing.”

She blinks, unexpectedly touched. “Thank you,” she says. She reaches to the table on the side, brings forth a magazine.

On the cover is her brother-in-law.

[lbibliophile-sw]

Communication lines

Also on AO3 [1,000 words] @212thappreciation - day 7: Umbara fix-it

People always seem to assume that Boil and Waxer are batchmates. They’re not, but the confusion is understandable. Ever since they first met at ARF training, they’ve just clicked.

When they fight together, they move like two bodies with one mind. They can coordinate plans with just eye contact and a few gestures. They can find each other even in the densest scrub most chaotic battlefield. And they always seem to know when the other is feeling down and what they need – whether a hug or a distraction or just quiet company.

Everything is just easier when they are together, and they are eternally grateful that the ARF trainers had seen sense and formally paired them.

___

Boil wishes Waxer were here now. He can feel that something is off – like watching an under-strength droid patrol while out scouting and wondering if the missing droid is coming up behind him – but he can’t put the pieces together. He wants to talk it through with Waxer, seek his keen insight, but for two problems.

The first, is the ankle he has propped awkwardly under his chair. Twisted when he found a pothole in the damnable Umbaran gloom. It will be fine with a bit of rest, but it’s enough to keep him in camp on light duty while Waxer is back out with their platoon on the latest scouting mission.

The second problem, and the more worrying one, is the comms blackout blocking any signals further than line-of-sight. It’s not uncommon for the Seppies – or in this case the Umbarans – to try to mess with their electronics, but it’s always a tense time being out of contact as they get things up and running again while also preparing for whatever attack that their enemy is trying to hide.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

Boil looks over at the kid seated at the terminal next to him, one of the scout shineys – Flick – similarly relegated to comms duty due to injury.

“The Umbarans stealing our armour? You’re telling me. Although if we hadn’t mostly been facing clankers, I’m sure someone would have had the bright idea already.”

“What? No. I mean, yeah that’s pretty karked too, but… look.”

Boil moves so he can read the screen, and runs his eyes over what appears to be a communications log. Including, he notes, several messages with 501st codes that the 212th shiney really shouldn’t have had access to. The timestamps on the messages abruptly cut off about an hour previously when the Umbarans managed to impose a comms blackout that they’re still trying to find a way around.

“What am I looking at?”

Flick highlights two messages towards the bottom of the list.

“I was going back through the logs, tracing the blackout, and saw these two. They’re almost exactly the same. Same timestamp, same file size, same encryption and authorisation codes. The only differences are the recipient and the sender; this first one, was sent from the 501st to the 212th, but then there’s this second one, to the 501st from the 212th. And that’s weird enough, except that neither of them are showing up in the respective outbound logs.”

Boil hums, reading through the scant details again. Looking at the timestamp of the message sent to the 212th, it seems likely that it was General Krell’s warning that the Umbarans had stolen trooper armour. But if that’s the case, then why is there a matching message in reverse? Could it just be coincidence?

Something about that thought niggles at his mind. Something about enemies hiding behind familiar disguises as the trap closes.

Suddenly he remembers another detail from the briefing he attended beside Waxer. The message didn’t just contain the warning, it also contained coordinates. The likely attack vector of the Umbarans. The same coordinates that Waxer and the rest of their platoon are currently investigating, expecting to find the enemy disguised in stolen armour.

What if the 501st did get the same message, apparently from the 212th? They would have responded in the same way, sent troopers to the coordinates to ambush figures creeping around in armour.

And the comms blackout. It's a trap. It has to be. Why would the Umbarans bother with taking and learning how to fight in stolen armour if they can just hack their comms and trick the 212th and 501st into slaughtering each other.

“Are…” He clears his throat and tries again. “Are the comms still down?”

“Short-range is stable, but it looks like anything further is still out. You’d have to check with the actual comms techs whether they can jury-rig something.”

He… has to tell the General. It’s a trap. Has to… He… Waxer. It’satrap. Waxer.

He wishes he knew how to pray.

___

Deep in the Umbaran jungle, Waxer shivers. He’s about ready to be off this planet already. It was bad enough with the eternal gloom and hostile flora and fauna, but now with the Umbarans stealing their armour…

Everything about this is so wrong. For all that they flaunt their individuality where they can, Waxer finds comfort in knowing that he is always surrounded by brothers; familiar history to go with familiar faces. To know that there are strangers lurking beneath the familiar armour; enemies where there should only ever be brothers…

He hesitates, an idea lodging itself in his mind. An urgent, irrational fear. His hands drift almost without thought towards the seals where his helmet meets his armour, unlatching it.

His training screams that it is reckless to remove his helmet when heading into a firefight, foolish to lose the advantages of his built-in sensors and comms. But another voice – Boil’s voice – is whispering that it is necessary, that he is about to be surrounded by combatants all wearing helmets of the same make, and they need to see his face.

Waxer removes his helmet and clips it to his belt. He has always trusted Boil before; he’s not going to stop now.

It’s a risk, yes, but he’d never forgive himself for any friendly-fire accidents.

[zoeysdamn]

Bloodied petals - Xavier Thorpe x reader | Part.7

Summary: Trying to get as much time with Xavier as you can, you’re getting worried when his nights seem to be as restless as yours. Wednesday’s surprise birthday party has to be cut short, but the evening she’s suggesting to make up for it can’t go wrong, right? Right? 

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, slight description of panic attack

A/N: the timeline is absolutely CHAOTIC, there’s a lot of fast forwards in here, you’ve been warned for the bullshit

[Masterlist] [Part.1] [Part.2] [Part.3] [Part.4] [Part.5] [Part.6]

Bend over the toilets, you were spurting flowers and blood for the past five minutes. Throat raw and burning with the flow of petals, you almost choked to death twice already. Tears escaped from your eyes and you tried your best to breathe through your nose but it felt like your whole body didn’t want to respond anymore, weakened by every gurgling. Even the hand rubbing soothing circles on your back couldn’t do much to help. Though you appreciated it. You gladly accepted the tissue handed to you at the last bloodied flower spit. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled weakly. 

“Are you okay?” asked the soft voice of a distraught Enid. “This was a pretty bad fit.” 

The only thing you could do was nod, while your roommate continued to rub your back while kneeling beside you. Classes had already started, but she would not leave you for the world; for that, you were eternally grateful.  

Telling Enid about your condition hadn’t been a pleasant discussion. Just after Wednesday’s father had been released from custody and the parents’ weekend had come to an end, you had asked Enid to find you in your room to talk about something important. As usual, your roommate had waltzed in with her characteristic gleeful smile; but as soon as she had caught sight of your solemn expression, she had known something was wrong. The moment the words “I’m sick” had left your mouth, Enid hadn’t been able to refrain her tears. You hadn’t told her the whole story, only about the flowers and the irreversible effects it had on your health. She already knew that you were in love with Xavier, if you had told her that those unreturned feelings were the cause of this, she would tear Xavier into shreds. 

Managing to get yourself up and to the sinks with the help of the blonde werewolf, you rinsed your mouth the best you could. Some of the sticky red liquid was still stuck in your throat and you gurgled on it. 

Enid’s anxiety beside you was practically palpable. “Do you want me to get Xavier here?” she offered, unsure of what to do to help you. 

You shook your head, whipping your mouth clean, “No…no need to call him, I-I’m think I’ll be good enough to go to class in like…10 minutes, okay?”

She winced but didn’t push it further, knowing that it would be useless. Given your condition, Principal Weems had granted you with an unexpected gift, one of her indulgence. She knew you needed support from your close ones, help even. Knowing your history with Xavier, and Enid being your roommate, she allowed them to quit their classes along with you when it was necessary. And if she knew about you slipping in Xavier’s room every night – which she probably did, – no one had told you anything. 

“There’s no rush okay,” assured Enid, linking her arm with yours for support, “I’m sure Mrs.Thornhill would understand.” 

Again you refused, “No, no I’m going…class will do me some good.”

In the same way she had granted Xavier and Enid some liberties to help you through this difficult times, Weems had relieved you of your obligation to attend classes. Given this was probably your last weeks alive, she said that she understood if you didn’t want to spare you now very limited time trapped in classrooms. But you didn’t use that privilege as much as Weems had thought. Truth is, being in class keeps your mind busy. You were always trying to keep your mind out of the plaguing thought of your upcoming death, no matter how much hope Xavier gave you. That’s why you casually asked Enid to talk about the secret birthday party she was planning for Wednesday on your way to your classes. 

“Oooh you’ll see it’s gonna be so great!” squealed Enid, glad to be able to alleviate your troubles doing what she did best – gossiping. “I got everything covered, cake, decorations, music - although not my usual playlist y’know. It’ll be awesome!!” 

At first Enid hadn’t been so sure on telling you about this surprise party. She had came up with that plan around the time you had told her about your disease; ever since she had been hesitant. Enid didn’t want to rub a joyous occasion - especially concerning Wednesday - on your face while you were dying. But she wasn’t as subtle as she wanted to be, and Ajax had a loud mouth; he may or may not have accidentally spilled the beans to you. You had reassured Enid, telling her that on the contrary, this party might lift your spirits and that you would be happy to be here. 

“Do you need me to do anything?” you asked. 

“No worries, the only thing you need to do is to come! Maybe some of your potions for hangovers might be nice though,” she giggled knowingly. “Yoko’s gonna mix some drinks!”

Her eternal optimistic personality made you laugh. 

Later that day, you were laying next to Xavier in his bed like you got used to for the past week. He was sleeping on his back, a hand always on your hair or on your hip while your smaller form was curled on his side. Even if your lungs still hurt, the nights with Xavier were usually calm, only with occasional nightmares or raw coughing fits. You still drank weed killer every night before going to sleep to prevent it; Xavier didn’t know about that, you knew he would beg you to stop drinking this poison otherwise. 

The night was calm, your breathing relaxed for once and hand next to your head on Xavier’s chest. He had one of his arms around your waist, tucking you closer. 

All of a sudden a shake rose you from your sleep; not instantly, it was more like a series of erratic movements tugged you from the limbo of sleep, grasping from the borders of consciousness. The more you awoke, the more you became aware of the whimpers coming with the tossing. Groggily opening your eyes, they widened when you realized what was the cause of all of this. Xavier was tossing and turning, gripping on the bedsheets for his dear life while whimpering incoherent words. Some of his hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, eyebrows furrowed in a silent expression of horror. Jumping to your knees you immediately reached for his hand, trying to give him some physical contact to hold on to within his current nightmare. 

“Xavier!” you called out, trying to get him out of his infernal trance, “Xav, can you hear me?”

He didn’t seem to hear you, still thrashing around, faintly pleading for whatever he was dreaming of to stop. His taunting looked so dreadful, panicked worry formed in your stomach. 

You cradled his face with both of your hands this time, calling him again. “Xav, it’s me please wake up. Xavier!” 

His eyes shot wide open at your last call, frantically searching for something in fear. You felt Xavier’s whole body trembling under you with his erratic breathing, sweating like he just had the fright of his life. You gave his face a light squeeze to help him focus on you. 

“Hey,” you called softly and he jumped a little to your voice, “hey it’s fine, it’s over okay?” 

Xavier pant, clumsily grabbing you hand cradling his face, like to make sure you were real. “Y/N…you’re here?...”

“Yes I’m here,” you soothed him, brushing away the few tears that had escaped from his eyes with your thumbs, “It was just a nightmare, you’re okay now.”

Even if his eyes were still slightly panicked, his ragged breathing gradually slowed down as he recognized where he was. His mind seemed to slowly reconnect and his body to calm down, but his hands were still shaking. Noticing it, you caressed his face in an attempt to calm him further. 

“You’re okay?” you whispered. 

Xavier gulped slowly, “I- yeah…yeah ‘t was just a nightmare…”

Nodding silently, you couldn’t help but feel like there was something else. “Wanna talk about it?” you offered, still whispering. 

At first, he shrugged, trying to brush it away. But then, his eyes were clouded by tears again, brought up by the overwhelming emotions his body couldn’t control. Xavier’s lower lip started to tremble. 

“It’s just- it’s just visions I’ve had for a while…”

“Visions?” you frowned slightly, “what about?” 

Letting out a small whine Xavier bit his lips, hesitant to tell you; or afraid to. 

“It’s…the monster that’s killing people, I- I think it’s what I see.”

Your eyes widened at his words, “The monster? You’re sure?”. He nodded weakly and you let out a ragged breath, “But why?”

“I don’t know,” he let out with a broken sob, “It’s been taunting me in those visions for days now, I-I-I can’t get it out of my mind!” 

Instinctively bending closer to him you squeezed his cheeks lightly to ground him and avoid another panic attack, “Shhh it’s okay, it’s okay you’re fine, you’re in your room, everything’s fine,” you soothed him. 

“It’s always here Y/N,” sobbed Xavier, “every time I close my eyes I see it…it’s plaguing my fucking mind.” 

His distress made your heart clench, even more, when you didn’t know what to do to help him. The only thing you could do was to keep caressing his face to keep him grounded and for him to know that you were with him. Xavier’s sobs gradually tuned down, and so did the fright from his visions. It gave you enough time to connect the dots; he hadn’t said much, but you knew him like the back of your hand. When visions became too insistent, even just for a day or two, Xavier let out of the pressure they had built within him by painting. He was always one to draw a lot, but those fixations could be borderline crazy, but they never last more than a couple of days. And before the eventful night of the Rave’n, he had spent a lot of time in his art shed. 

“Do you see something else in those visions?” you tried to push gently. 

He shook his head frantically, and you knew he wouldn’t say anything more. You had never seen Xavier in such an emotional wreck, not even after some of his toughest fights with his dad. And seeing him like that broke your heart even more than before. 

Feeling lost and helpless, you couldn’t think of any words that could somehow help him. So you did the only thing you could possibly think of; you leaned in slowly, and without really thinking about it you kissed Xavier. At first he didn’t react and you were afraid that he would reject you like last time. But as you were about to pull away with bitter regret, his lips moved back against yours and a weight lifted from your heart. 

The way he kissed you back made your head feel light, mouths pushing and moving again one another lazily like you had all the time in the world. One of Xavier’s calloused hands came on the back of your neck, caressing the base of your neck gently, pushing your mouth further down on his. You let out a small moan at this, opening your lips for him to slip his tongue in your mouth. The contact of his tongue around yours made you press your body flush against his, laying almost completely on top of him. Xavier let out a soft groan, muffled by your kiss as your hand came from his cheek to his shirt, gripping it tightly. When air came to miss eventually, you pulled away a few inches from his full lips; Xavier leaned his face up in the same motion, stealing one last peck on yours. 

Slowly opening your eyes, you met his glossy gaze. 

“Sorry I really wanted to do this,” you whispered. 

Xavier gave you a lazy smirk, “Don’t be, I kinda wanted to do this too. Definitely helped to ground me though.” 

You chuckled and hid your face in his shoulder to hide the blush on your cheeks. Your embarrassment made him laugh slightly and the sound made you feel lighter. Xavier wrapped his arms around you, holding you close which you absolutely didn’t complain to. The both of you needed each other, now more than ever. With that thought, you tried to feel more hopeful as you tried to sleep again. It could work, you were certain of it. 

Very much to Enid’s grief, the surprise party for Wednesday’s birthday was cut short. Everything had been planned perfectly though; Ajax, Xavier and you had managed to bring everything needed to the old crypt in the woods while Enid distracted your goth roommate. None of you knew what she could have told her to bring Wednesday to the place, but the surprise sure worked; the shadow of a smile might even have crept its way to her face. 

But then she had touched a wall and fell into a sort of vision trance; that certainly ruined the mood. 

The next day, you were on your way to your room, a small box in your hands. Even if you were spending more and more nights in Xavier’s room you slept at least once a week in your own room. Enid had whined about the failed birthday party all day long, frustrated by the turn it had taken. So you had made a detour to the school’s cooking workshops to bake three little cupcakes with black and white icing. Weakening powers or not, you still knew a thing or two about baking, and maybe you could still have a small birthday party for Wednesday. Ever since the hospital, your roommate seemed to soften a little to you – not that Wednesday would ever admit that. Her discretion about your condition was truly appreciated. Knowing her and her habit of unraveling truths, you would have thought that she would have spilled the beans to either Xavier or Enid, or even Weems. You were glad she didn’t and respected your wishes. 

Pushing the door open with your hip, you were welcomed by excited screams from Enid. 

“Y/N guess what!” she clapped excitedly, “Wednesday suggested we’d do a girls night out to make up for her birthday! Isn’t that cool?” 

You lift a surprised eyebrow to the Addams, who only slightly shrugged in response. 

“Well, we’re synchro today,” you grinned, holding the box up, “I’ve come bearing gifts.” 

Enid sneaked behind you to catch a glimpse of the mysterious box as you put in on Wednesday’s desk and motionned her to open it. 

“Oh my God, birthday cupcakes!” squealed Enid, “You’re the best!”

“They’re extra dark chocolate red velvet,” you said. At Wednesday’s surprised expression you explained, “I asked Thing for advice on your favorite flavor.” 

“That was very considerate of you,” she observed sharply, “I guess I should thank you then.”

You offered her a small smile in return and you all dug into the box to grab a cupcake. 

“Cheers!” smiled Enid before taking a bite, eliciting a moan from her, “Oh my god what do you put in these to taste so good?” 

Wednesday let out an appreciative humm, “They are highly acceptable.”

“Wow, that much?” you laughed. “That makes me think, I have something else for you…here, happy birthday,” you said, retrieving a small box wrapped in black paper. 

“Present time!” cheered Enid, jumping to her side of the room to grab hers. 

Wednesday meticulously unwrapped the paper, revealing five small bottles filled with dark purple liquid. 

“I hope this is poison,” she said flatly. 

“Nope,” you laughed slightly, “even better. This is the silencing spell I’ve been using to tune down Enid’s music all the time. Figured out how to synthesize it in a potion, so I thought you’d appreciate it.”

The faintest of smiles stretched Wednesday’s lips, “If I had the physical ability to experience romantic feelings, I’d ask you to marry me, witch.”

You scoffed, “Wednesday Addams, you sure know how to seduce someone. The potion will not make the sounds mute, but will have a deafening effect on you. You’ll be soundproofed for an hour.”

“Fantastic.” 

Enid waltzed to your pair, holding a colored package to Wednesday. 

“Here you go roomie! Happy birthday!” 

As she unveiled the package, Wednesday gradually frowned. “What is…that?” she asked perplexedly, holding up a black woolen scarf between her fingers.

“It’s a snood!” smiled Enid. “And look, we’ve got matching ones!” 

Enid pulled a colorful matching piece around her neck proudly. At the mortified look on Wednesday’s face you let out a snort. 

“Don’t worry Y/N, I made you a matching one!” she winked, handing you a similar one knitted in your favorite colors. “It’s a roommate’s thing now!”

The “snood” was horrendous but the sweet gesture touched you, so you took it wholeheartedly. 

“We can all wear it tonight in Jericho!” 

The werewolf’s words made you frown a little, “I, uh, I’m not sure I'm coming Enid.”

“Of course you are,” she insisted, “it’ll be good for you!”

“Look Enid, I’m glad you’re having this girls night-out for Wednesday’s birthday but I don’t think I’m in a good enough state to go with you,” you said in a sorry tone. 

“You should come,” quipped Wednesday in her usual flat tone, surprising both you and Enid, “you’ll be a great asset.”

If your eyebrows rose in surprise, Enid clapped in delight, “Aww, Wednesday wants all of us to be there! C’mon Y/N, for her birthday? If you’re not feeling well we’ll go easy okay?” 

You pondered her words for a moment. Sure, your condition wasn’t really improving, but it had no serious setbacks for the past two days thanks to the potions you drank and the relatively calm atmosphere. You still coughed a lot of petals, but you had seen worse. Plus, Xavier had mentioned to you that he needed to spend a few hours in his art shed tonight, given it was the day of the week you weren’t spending the night in his room; basically you had nothing better to do. 

“Fine,” you finally conceded, “but if it’s too much for me, I’m returning to Nevermore, okay?” 

Both of your roommates nodded their heads in agreement. This would be a fun night. 

Turned out half an hour later that it was definitely not a fun night. 

First, the Uber who was supposed to take you to Jericho turned out to be Tyler fucking Galpin and you almost aborted the mission on the spot at the sight of him. The sole face of this guy got under your skin and if it hadn’t been for the sake of Wednesday’s insistence you would have gone back to your room. When you all arrived at the creepy and very much abandoned house, you thought that maybe you should have. 

Tyler cursed loudly as he unsuccessfully tried to open the door. He and Enid started to bicker about this and you rolled your eyes at their antics. The faint shudder in your backpocket made you pull out your phone, checking your incoming text. 

Xav:  ur up? how r u feeling?

The way he worried about you and made sure to check on you even when you had different plans brought a smile on your face. You quickly texted him back that you were okay, while Enid tore the lock apart with her claws, allowing your lot to go in. 

“Y/N come on,” called out the werewolf as Wednesday lost no time hurrying inside. 

Lifting your head up you saw that you were far behind them, “Yeah, I’ll be here in a second.” 

Before catching up with the rest of the group, you quickly texted back Xavier, informing you of where you were. They could call you paranoid all they want, but something felt wrong with this place. 

“Tyler, Y/N, scout the ground floor,” ordered Wednesday, “Enid and I will cover the upper floor.”

“What are we supposed to look for anyway?” you asked, a flashlight previously handed to you in hand. 

“Anything looking suspicious about the Gates family.”

Enid scoffed, more terrified than amused, “This whole house is looking suspicious! Can’t we go now?”

Wednesday rolled her eyes and made her way to the stairs promptly, quickly followed by a whining Enid. An awkward silence took place and you could cut the uneasy tension emanating from Tyler. You rolled your eyes at him. 

“Let’s split up,” you said, scanning around your flashlight. 

“What?” he stuttered in panic, “but-but shouldn’t we stick together? Y’know, like…like in horror movies?!”

A long sigh left your lips and you turned sharply in Tyler’s direction, “Listen Galpin, I don’t like you, I don’t want to be here with you, I barely even tolerate you. So don’t become all whiny all at once, Wednesday might actually like that.”

He choked on his own breath, taken aback by your words, “Look I-I-I don’t know what I’ve ever done to you, but I’m sorry okay?”

You scoffed loudly, a bitter laugh escaping your throat, “You’re sorry? No, I can assure you that you’re not. You enjoyed every punch you gave to Xavier.”

“Thorpe?” he frowned, “wait it’s about him? Come on, it’s been like two years ago and–”

“And now you’re no longer a jerk?” you snapped at him bitterly. “Save it, your sorry face won’t change the fact that you’re a fucking bully. I’m not trusting you,” you spat. 

This time, it was his turn to scoff in disbelief, “I’ve paid for it okay? Why do you care anyway, you guys dating or something?”

The death glare you gave him was enough to make him shut up. 

“I’m taking the rooms on the left,” you groaned. “We rally in ten minutes.”

Before Tyler could add something, you hurried to the adjacent room. You didn’t know what you were looking for, you just wanted to put some distance between you and Tyler. The fucking nerve this guy had! Acting all innocent while he had beat up Xavier to a bloody pulp with his friends for fun. A fucking prick, that’s what he was! 

A sharp pain rose in your chest at the memory of the bloody face of Xavier, all bruised when he had come back from the Outreach day two years ago. Petals spilled out of your lips, coming out covered in blood. Harsh coughs rocked your body while you tried to tune them down and let flowers fall on the dusted floor. Light flickering from bookshelves to chests of drawers, you tried the hardest to ignore the dreadful clench on your heart squeezing your lungs. The taste of blood filled your mouth, as did flowers. Nothing looked useful in this room, so you went for the next one, apparently joining a kind of workshop room. 

Another cough rasped the column of your throat, racking its insides like the flowers fighting their way out of it were made of sandpaper. The stifling sensation made your head feel light and spinning. Bracing yourself against one of the walls for support, you paused a moment to catch your breath. In your discomfort, you failed to notice the gurgling sounds and racking of nails on the floor coming from behind you. Sinister hisses reached your ears a second too late. you whipped around to the dreadful noises, only to face a tall, menacing dark and bony figure with claws glistening in the moonlight. The flashlight you held lit its face for a second, revealing two globulous mad eyes and sharp teeths in a grotesque mouth. 

The gut-wrenching scream that escaped your flower-clattered lungs didn’t stop its claws to lunge in your direction. The moment after, everything went black. 

Panicked calls of your name and hands shaking your shoulder roused you from the depths of unconsciousness. Fluttering your eyes open came with a great pain crashing into you as your body seemed to remember where you were. A hot blazing pain erupted from your hips and upper thigh and you let out a strangled moan. 

“Y/N! Can you hear us, please say something!” 

Rolling your head on the side to see who was calling you, your eyes met the distressed faces of Xavier and a crying Enid. Between two coughs, croaked Xavier’s name. 

“I’m here sweetheart,” he soothed you, his hand gripping one of yours as he helped you to move to a seated position against the wall, “it’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Oh my god she’s bleeding,” whimpered Enid, pointing at your left side. 

You looked down to where she was referring to, still a bit groggy. The side of your hips and of your thigh was bleeding profusely, shreds of your jeans and shirt dandling covered in blood. A weak whine escaped your lips. 

Xavier examined your wounds carefully, eyebrows knitted and trying his best to not panic. 

“It doesn't look too deep,” he said trying to sound reassuring, but the tremor in his voice failed to hide his dread. “We’re going to help you stand, do you think you can handle that, love?” 

Mind fogged by the excruciating pain from your side and your chest, still aching, you nodded slowly. Enid came to your other side as Xavier carefully put one of your arms around his shoulders. They helped you get up clumsily, and the very moment your feet touched the ground and the weight of your left side was put on them you cursed loudly. 

“What the fuck happened?” you mumbled through gritted teeth. Your mind was less and less foggy but you still couldn’t remember a single thing after the horrendous face of the monster flashed before you. 

“We…we heard you scream,” sobbed Enid, “and then- then the monster came upstairs and we r-ran.” 

You looked up to Xavier, thinking about how he ended up here before remembering the text you had sent him earlier. He must have come here to check on you, and come across Enid or Wednesday. Speaking about your goth roommate, you finally managed to locate her in the room, kneeling next to Tyler. He too, seemed to have been injured judging by the claw marks on his chest. 

“Did any of you see the monster?” asked Wednesday, “Where did it go??”

Groaning in pain you slumped against Xavier, unable to stand on your own, “Briefly,” you mumbled, “I don’t remember much, must’ve passed out because of the flowers before he touched me, or else it’d be much worse.” 

Sensing you sagging more and more against his shoulder because of your weakened state, Xavier decided that this was enough. 

“We need to get out of here,” he said, looking around for the exit door. 

Enid started to panic, “What? With the monster out here? Are you crazy??”

You coughed roughly, more flowers coming out from your lungs. The high stress this whole mess put you under wasn’t good for your condition. “There’s no fucking way I’m staying here,” you rasped. 

On his spot Tyler slowly got up, wincing at every move of his injured chest. Between that, the insistent or pleading looks from Xavier and Enid, Wednesday sighed in resignation, “Alright. They both need medical attention, and the monster is probably long gone by now.”

“My home isn’t that far,” said Tyler with another wince, “let’s get there, it’s closer than Nevermore.” 

Despite none of you being really keen on the idea of going to the sheriff’s house, you were short on choices. So you all exited the abandoned house and followed Tyler in the night. 

A few minutes later, the odd lot of you found yourselves sitting in sheriff Galpin’s kitchen, a first-aid kit opened on the table. Enid was pacing nervously, biting her manicured nails while Wednesday attended to Tyler’s injury silently. You were sitting on the edge of a table the best you could without hurting yourself, waiting for Xavier to come back with the stitching kit Tyler had mentioned earlier. The room was filled with heavy silence, no one daring to address anything about the elephant in the room. Xavier came back, thread and surgical needle in hand; without giving any other a single glance, he came by your side and grabbed some compresses and dabbed them in alcohol. Glancing up to you, his soft doe eyes met yours. 

“I have to disinfect it,” he whispered softly, “is that okay if I…”

At his awkward motion at your shirt, you nodded slowly and rolled up the shredded hem of your shirt to your ribcage. At the same time Xavier carefully tugged down your jeans, just enough to expose your wound. On any other occasion this would have been a more sensual gesture, but the sharp outburst of pain it caused reminded you that it was definitely not. The red, angry and bloody flesh was definitely not a sexy sight. Xavier’s eyes flickered back to yours. 

“This gonna sting a little,” he excused in a hushed tone. 

Face paler than usual you nodded, “It’s okay,” you breathed weakly, “go on.” 

The first dabbing of the compress on your abused skin made you let out a sharp hiss that you immediately muffled with your hand. Xavier's unused hand grabbed your other one, thumb drawing soothing circles on your skin to try to ease the pain a little. As he continued to dab on your flesh, you gripped hard on his hand to try to not cry. The pain in your chest was almost more bearable. When Xavier finally finished disinfecting the injured area, you let out a ragged breath, glad this was over. Yet, you knew that the worse was to come.  

Xavier grabbed the tread and stitch-needle and maneuvered himself to get the most of the light on the wound, to have a clear spot on where he would have to work. Doing so he ended up standing in front of you between your legs, needle ready to stitch you up. 

There was no one except Xavier who would have been allowed to do so, even if it was to tend your wounds. Growing together also meant that you had to encounter wounds and injuries resulting from your mischiefs, this was definitely not the first time one of you had to tend to the other’s wounds. At some point, the maids of the Thorpe household had been so fed up with your pair coming asking for band aids and calls to the doctors they had taught you the basics to dress an injury. So even if his hands were slightly trembling, you trusted Xavier. 

His eyes flickered to yours, silently asking if you were ready; you nodded and inhaled sharply. When the needle pierced your skin you wailed on the fisted hand in your mouth. Xavier stopped momentarily, cradling your neck to gently bring you closer. You buried your face in his shoulder, gripping his shirt with your other hand. Xavier whispered shushing sounds in your ear, like it could ease the raging pain on your side. After a few seconds of rest he let go of your neck and got back to work. The quicker he’d start to stitch you up, the sooner it’d be over. The first stitches made you whine loudly, the sound muffled on his shoulder as he tried to work carefully. He continued on the remaining of the stitches in a dreadful silence, only broke occasionally by the weak whimpers you couldn’t hold back as your tears dampened his shirt. 

After what felt like an eternity, Xavier cut off the thread and circled his arm around your slumping shoulders. 

“It’s over,” he whispered, “it’s all done sweetheart you’ve been very brave.” 

The whole area of the wound felt numb now, but the faintest twitch of nerves would arouse the pain in the blink of an eye. Xavier pressed the softest kiss on your forehead. 

“You’re safe,” he reassured in a breath, “it’s okay now.” 

With ragged breath, you slowly let go of the grip you had on his shirt, “Thank you,” you mumbled, “for being here.”

You felt him smile against your forehead. “Always, sweetheart. I’ll always be here”

From her spot Wednesday rolled her eyes. 

“If we can cut off this unnecessary sickening display of affection, it’ll make the air more breathable.” 

Her words made Xavier whip around in her direction, the previous softness in his eyes replaced by a furious stare. 

“What the fuck was that Wednesday?” he spat angrily. “What did you expect to find in there, uh? Bringing all of them in that abandoned house and thinking that it was without danger?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, “Curious you speak about danger Xavier, when there was no evident sign of it in that house until you showed up.”

This time, it was Enid’s time to scoff loudly, “No evident sign?” she repeated almost hysterically, “this house was fucking creepy from the beginning, and Y/N and Tyler got injured!” 

“You put everyone at risk!” carried on Xavier ragefully, “and for what? To prove that you’re right?”

Feebly grasping his sleeve, you tried to calm him down. “Xav, please…”. You were so tired, you just wanted to go to sleep. But he ignored you and kept his angry gaze locked on an unimpressed Wednesday. 

She only shrugged, “I’ll make my point eventually. Thought it’s ironic of you to be the one to speak about foolishly putting someone’s life at stake.”

 Her words pulled the angering tension on hold, surprising everyone in the room. Xavier frowned deeply, not getting what she meant, while Enid and Tyler exchanged dumbfounded looks. You, on the other hand, started to slowly register the hidden meaning behind her words and your eyes widened. She couldn’t…she wouldn’t, right? 

“I’m not putting anyone’s life in danger,” seethed Xavier. 

“Really?” Wednesday scoffed, “why aren’t you asking the very person you’re threatening right now?”

“What?” said Enid, “that doesn’t make sense!”

“Wednesday don’t,” you whispered faintly, but you knew she had heard you. 

“You’re fucking delusional, I’m not a monster,” snapped Xavier angrily. 

“No?” said Wednesday, tilting her head to the side. “Yet how convenient it is for you to show up just after the monster’s attack tonight. I wonder how you knew where to find us.”

Xavier threw his hands in the air, exasperated by the Addams’ infuriating behavior.

“Because Y/N texted me where you were! I was worried so I came to check on her, okay?”

Wednesday’s eyebrow rose slightly, unimpressed. “So it was guilt, wasn't it?”

“Wednesday,” you warned a little bit louder. She ignored you again. 

“Another proof of your murderous dispositions.”

“For FUCK’S SAKE,” exploded Xavier, “I’m not a murderer!” 

Wednesday jumped on her feet, boring deep into Xavier’s brown one in defiance. 

“Then why is Y/N dying because of you?”

In an instant, the world froze around you. The whole room fell silent and in the blink of an eye, everything that you had ever built crumbled to ashes. Every pair of eyes in the room gradually from Wednesday, to Xavier, and eventually to you. The weight of their stares was nothing compared to the utter look of shock and betrayal, tainted in doubt, that Xavier gave you as he slowly turned to you. 

Wednesday was many things, and you were willing to call her a cold-hearted bitch. But she was no liar; and Xavier knew that. That’s why…that’s why even if he couldn’t believe what she said, it somehow was true. 

“What are you talking about?” mumbled Xavier, his anger fading away as the doubt sank into him. 

“You’re the reason why Y/N is in her current condition,” explained Wednesday flatly like she hadn’t realized she had just dropped a bomb, “It’s your fault if she’s sick.”

“Wednesday STOP,” you snapped. The sharpness of your tone couldn’t hide the tremors in your voice. 

As if on cue, a cough erupted in your throat and flowers escaped your lips, falling on the ground bloody and torn apart. The violent fit rocked your body and the pain emanating from your hips erupted under its pressure. You clamped a hand over your mouth, feeling blood starting to run down your lips. You started to feel lightheaded, when hands came to gently cradle your shoulders. Tentatively looking up with teary eyes from coughing, you met the worried gaze of Xavier. His eyes, so big and so soft, were filled with worry and fear. They searched for confirmation, or denial, anything. For an answer from you. 

“Is it true?” he whispered feebly. 

You shook your head, but deep down you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him again, “I didn’t want you to find out,” you whispered back, ignoring the other people in the room looking at the both of you in confusion. “I’m sorry.” 

A loud bang at the entrance cut him from saying anything back, and a very angry man tumbled into the room. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” roared Sheriff Galpin. 

As soon as you returned to Nevermore, Xavier led you to the infirmary. To say that the trip back to school was awkward was the statement of the year. None of you had talked, Enid walking on the front gripping her own arms wrapped around her. Xavier and you were behind her, walking at a slower pace due to your injury and your arm draped over Xavier’s shoulders for support. Far behind, Wednesday casually followed like nothing happened. None of you exchanged a word, not even once the school’s gates crossed. Secretly you were glad that you wouldn’t spend the night in the dorm; this night was definitely not done with heavy and awkward tension. And if you stayed another minute with Wednesday, you might actually murder her, no matter how ill you were. 

There was no one in the infirmary at this hour so Xavier had to rummage to the drawers for a little bit before managing to find clean bandages. Sitting on a bed with your head hanging low, you didn’t dare to look at him. How could you look at him when you had hid the truth to him all along? The dip of the mattress next to you didn’t make you react either. 

“Hey,” Xavier whispered softly, “we need to wrap your stitches. Are you okay with this?”

Unable to answer verbally, you nodded and presented your injured side to him, lifting your shirt. His calloused hands brushed over your skin delicately while wrapping the gauze around your lower stomach. As he dressed the wound, only the clicks of scissors and sounds of adhesive bandages being ripped filled the room. Once the dressing was done, Xavier put what was left of the supplies on a bed table. 

“Xav,” you gasped weakly, “I-”

Before you could continue, Xavier put a hand on your shoulder, gently laying you down on the bed, “Shhh,” he whispered, “you need to rest now.” 

Lips wobbling, you felt your eyes fill up with tears once again, “No I-...I really need to say something…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner” 

Xavier grabbed one of your hands, holding it tightly, “Tell me now,” he breathed out, “please.”

You gulped slowly, knowing there would be no turnbacks of this. “I- my sickness…it’s called Hanahaki disease…it’s a very old condition not many people know about…”

Xavier nodded in understanding, silently encouraging you to continue. Licking your lips, you went on, “It’s making flowers grow in my lungs,” you said even though he already knew about that part, “it’s triggered by…by the acknowledgement of…,” you gulped, “of one-sided love.”

Xavier’s grip on your hand faltered suddenly. Mouth hanging open he could only stare at you with wide eyes and tears at their corners. 

“You…you’re sick…you’re dying because of me?...” he stuttered, frozen in shock. 

Trying to shake your head to reassure him, only a raw cough answered him. His left hand immediately went to your cheek, caressing it in the hope of bringing you some comfort. 

“It’s not your fault,” you wheezed between coughs, “you couldn’t know.” 

“Of course I could have known! I should have known,” he said, his voice breaking into a sob. “It’s my fault if you’re laying here and coughing flowers, fuck.” 

His sobs made your heart crumble in your chest. How much were you going to destroy each other with your feelings? 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he pleaded in a whisper, hot tears falling down his cheeks.

Trying to form a sorry smile, you nuzzled your cheek closer to his palm. “Because you deserve to choose.” 

“What if I choose you?” he replied immediately in a whisper. 

Your eyes widened at his confession, heart swelling suddenly. 

“I don’t want you to force feelings down on you for my sake,” you begged in a tired voice.

Xavier choked on his own breath, horrified by your words. “You deserve everything Y/N,” he breathed shakily, “and- and I don’t have to force anything to love you.”

Throat tight with emotions, you blinked away a few tears. “You love me?” you whispered faintly. 

Despite his own tears, Xavier smiled softly at you. Petals and blood were still coating the corner of your lips, dark circles underlined your puffy eyes, but you were the most beautiful girl in the world in his eyes. Because right now, there was only you. 

“Yes sweetheart,” he whispered back, “I love you.”

His face lowered onto yours and gently, so very gently, your lips met. It was soft and sweet, and even with the salty taste of tears there wasn’t a place you’d rather be at that moment. This was it, this was right. It felt right. Your whole body felt lighter, like something got off your chest and you felt yourself smile into the kiss. 

Slightly pulling away, Xavier lazily smiled at you. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realize this,” he whispered softly. 

Brushing your hands on his cheeks you smiled faintly. “What made you realize that?”

He chuckled awkwardly, “I guess…it took a little longer than I thought to wrap my mind around the fact that I’ve loved you more than a friend…maybe I’ve never thought about you and me being in love before because I didn’t need to, you were already there for me.”

Pressing a loving kiss to your knuckles, a flash of regret came through his eyes, “It wasn’t fair of me to think that if denial was enough for me, it was for you too…I’m sorry I’ve ignored your feelings for all those years.” 

“Hey,” you called out softly, “it’s okay now. I wasn’t fair either, I…to be honest, I thought that you were faking your feelings as a last wish for poor little me.” 

He shook his head, leaning closer to you again. “Never,” he breathed against your lips, “I love you Y/N, and that’s the truest thing I’m sure of right now.”

Once again, his lips found yours in the utter sweetness. The delicious feeling lasted for blissful seconds, until a sharp pain erupted from your lungs, making you choke on the kiss in a dreadful way. Before you could even think about pulling away from Xavier’s lips, petals escaped from yours with a gurgling sound. Xavier immediately broke the kiss, allowing the bloodied petals to spurt free in droplets of blood. 

“Y/N!” he called in horror, “Y/N, what’s happening?”

More flowers escaped your burning throat and you clawed at it desperately, pathetically trying to get some air. Realizing what you were trying to do, Xavier hurriedly rolled you on your good side and patted your back, helping you to spit out the remaining flowers. When he heard your loud gasp, he put you on your back once again. Breathing heavily, you brought your fingers to your nose, gasping at the blood coating them when you glanced again. 

“Why…why am I still sick?” you mumbled in disbelief. 

Xavier’s face showed equal worry, “Maybe it’s just the flowers getting out once and for all?”

Shaking your head negatively you retorted, “No…I can still feel them in my chest…fuck.”

And then you broke into tears. Xavier loved you, he had confessed his true, pure feelings so…why did the disease not disappear? Unable to know what to say to comfort you, Xavier immediately gathered you in his arms into a tight hug. Little did you know, tears gathered in the corner of his eyes, too. This time, you truly felt helpless. Maybe Xavier’s love wasn’t enough, like aunt Cordelia had predicted? Suddenly, it clicked in your mind. 

“The visions,” you breathed out. 

“What?” he mumbled. 

Pulling away from the hug you looked at Xavier, gripping on his arms. 

“It’s because of the visions,” you said with a trembling voice, “the ones you have about the monster, that plagues your sleep.” 

A veil of uneasiness draped over his face, “What of them?”

Licking your lips, you carefully continued, “You told me they’re plaguing your mind, and- and tormenting you to the point you can’t get it out of your mind, right?”

He nodded silently. 

“I’ve seen the monster,” you let out with a ragged breath, “I’ve seen the darkness it held…if you’re seeing it every day…Xav I think it’s plaguing your mind too.”

Xavier frowned lightly, “So you think I’m the monster too?”

“No!” you said hurriedly, “no, never. But I think those twisted visions are obscuring your heart…and it doesn’t leave enough space for me.”

“What?” he exclaimed in a whisper, “No, no I love you, you know that!”

You tried to smile at him, but didn’t succeed in the slightest, “I know,” you sobbed, “but the disease has spread too far now…I don’t think it’s enough to cure me…”

Tears spilling from his eyes, Xavier looked like a broken man. 

“So what can we do? I can’t- I can’t lose you Y/N.”

“I know,” you said, this time being the one to hug him, “the only thing we can do now is to hope that the monster’s identity will be discovered…and that it’ll be taken down quickly to free you of those visions.” 

In lack of a better explanation, Xavier could only nod, heart feeling heavy. He would do anything to try to stop or at least contain those visions if that could save you. While laying down with you in his arms on the infirmary’s bed that night, he only prayed that he wouldn’t lose his mind before he could achieve that. 

For the next two days, you were assigned to the infirmary bed to give enough time for your wound on the hip to heal. You had a visit from Enid, who had bitterly explained how she had fled out from the room to avoid Wednesday, staying at Yoko’s instead. She had enough of the Addams’ dangerous antics, and the outing at the Gates mansion had been the last straw. Even if seeing her this upset saddened you, you couldn’t deny that you were furious against Wednesday too. Spilling out the beans like that had led Xavier to confess, but she still had no right to spill your secret like that. 

Speaking of Xavier he spent all of his time with you, completely ignoring his classes. Sometimes when you felt strong enough he helped you walk to the quad to get some fresh air and see some of your friends. Enid and him had swore they hadn’t told a soul about the true nature of your condition, but everyone could see that you were sick – badly sick. The pity wasn’t necessary, but it felt good to see those you cared about the most you could. 

At the end of the third day you were allowed to move out of the infirmary to go back to your room. There was no way you’d live with Wednesday again so you had decided that you would stay at Xavier’s. You practically lived here now, anyway. Putting on the last strap of adhesive over your fresh gauze, you waited for him to arrive; he had promised that he would come get you in the evening to go back to his room together. 

As you were about to text him that you were ready, End barged into the infirmary, hair wild and eyes wide. 

“Y/N!” she screamed in horror, “You need to come, quick!!” 

“What? Why, what happened?” you asked, panicked by her frantic behavior. 

Swallowing up a harsh sob, the werewolf looked at you with her big eyes full of tears. 

“It’s Xavier,” she sobbed, “The police just arrested him.”

[Part.8] 

A/N: you can hate me later for this cliffanger uhuhuh, I have good news! The next chapter will most likely be the last! (maybe I’ll write an epilogue, it’ll depend on how I write the last chapter), so the excrutiating wait will soon be over my lovelies :DD

And no, I won’t ever forgive Tyler for being a bully; I hate bullies, I don’t care of ‘young and stupid’ they were, those fuckers destroy lives believe me I’ve been there

Same as for being stitched up, I know from experience this isn’t pleasant blblblbl (and I had a sedative, poor reader had NONE)

Thanks everyone for your incredible support, I hope you enjoyed this part ♥ Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

Taglist:  (no need to ask at every chapter, you're added once, and you're added for the whole fic :D)

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[itstheoneshot]

Kinktober Day 13

Breeding/Lactation - Minho

!dom Minho

Your husband had become rabid the first time that you got pregnant. He had always dreamt of being a father, that may have been why he loved when you called him Daddy, so when it finally happened, he was over the moon. So attentive to every one of your needs throughout the nine months, even more so than he already was, and a thousand times more once your little girl arrived. Obsessed with you, obsessed with her, he held your family together and for that you were eternally grateful.

When your daughter was 18 months old, you fell pregnant again. This time you were terrified, still breastfeeding your first, you had no idea if you were ready. Yet, Minho assured you in both his words and actions that he would be just as supportive, and happy to take on additional responsibility to make sure that you were okay.

You were blessed again with an easy pregnancy, no morning sickness, no painful symptoms, but you didn’t take this for granted, having seen your friends go through awful terms, you counted your lucky stars that you were able to function as normal, albeit growing another addition to your already perfect family inside you. Your daughter was too young to understand that she would have a sibling, only learning to string a few words together, but she would understand more by the time your baby came along. 

Six months along, you are resting in your bed as Minho puts your daughter to sleep in her room. Reading a book, you barely notice your husband as he enters, it is only when you feel the weight shift on the mattress that you look up at him with a soft smile.

“Thank you,” You mumble, “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help tonight.”

Minho settles next to you, splaying his large hand over your stomach, and he lifts his head to stare at you with those beautiful doe eyes of his, “Nae sarang,” He shakes his head, “You do more than I ever could, growing and feeding our girl, and this one too, you don’t need to do anything else… That's why I’m here.”

He treats you like a princess, kissing you softly while his hand presses a little firmer to feel your baby kicking. They love their Daddy, and you love him too, cupping his cheeks with your hands as his kisses become more charged, forceful, he is fired up, and you would never say no. Your stomach is inconveniently in the way, though his desire for you is so persistent that you have learnt the right positions to avoid that, on your side, his body so much larger than yours it is easy for him to fit between your legs.

“You’re so beautiful.” He purrs, grinding into you, fuck, is he hard already?

“No, no,” You shake your head cheekily, “Daddy, what do you want?”

Minho growls, the name setting him off, “I want you, my love,” He responds, “I need to be inside you, knocking you up again.”

You moan into his mouth as you spread your legs further apart, begging for him with your body, wearing no panties under his shirt that you wear to sleep. He is only in loose basketball shirts and a t-shirt, it is easy to feel how hard he is, did that happen the second he walked into the room?

“Take me,” You urge him, “I need it, get me pregnant again.”

It’s crazy, and you both know it, but his desires are so intense, and you have grown to love them too. You are so much more sensitive when you are pregnant, it makes all of this so much better. You sit up so that he can pull your shirt up over your head, exposing your naked body to him and he quickly moves to kiss your neck, a hand on one of your breasts, massaging it as he kisses further down to reach the other, not wanting to leave it bare. His tongue swipes over your nipple, and he moans around it as you begin to leak, slightly engorged from your daughter missing a feed, and your body preparing for another baby, it’s no surprise that the slightest stimulation has your milk dripping out.

“Please,” You beg him, “Fuck me, please.”

Minho really didn’t need to be asked, his hand moving away from your breast to your core instead, already wet for him it takes no time to prepare you, soon replacing three fingers with his cock, hard and leaking as he thrusts in all the way. Your milk spills down your stomach as he fucks into you, both overwhelmed and obsessed and turned on and fucking crazy for each other. He fills you effortlessly, moaning loudly in sync with your own, fingers on your clit to pull you closer to release in time with his own. You have this all figured out, perfect positioning to not hurt your baby, but still to be close enough to kiss you, to feel the way that your body shakes with every thrust, falling apart on his fingers and his cock.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” He warns you, “You want that, don’t you? I’ll keep you pregnant forever.” 

You arch your back the best that you can as you fall over the edge, cumming on his cock which pushes him into orgasm too, filling you to overflow, though his fingers hold you round the edge to stop you from leaking as he fucks you until he is dry. Slowing down he breathes heavily, coming down from his high as you descend from yours too. He kisses you softly, pulling out of you while you whine in sensitivity and from the loss, Minho helps you sit, making sure that you are steady before he guides you to the bathroom to help clean you up. He changes the bedsheets while you rinse off in the tub, and soon you are again curled up in his arms to sleep.

-

kinktober masterlist

[robininthelabyrinth]

for the fanfic prompts: au where wwx comes from the old and respected yiling wei sect and jc and jyl are the children of rogue cultivators (or maybe madam yu ran away with rogue jfm?), taken in by sect leader wei

ao3

"I'm going to strangle Jiang Cheng when I find him," Wei Wuxian announced. "No, don't try to talk me out of it. My decision on this is final."

"Mm," Lan Wangji said. He didn't sound especially convinced, but Wei Wuxian supposed he could understand and forgive that - after all, Wei Wuxian had been waffling for quite a while on what he was going to do to Jiang Cheng once he found him.

Because he was going to find him. That part was non-negotiable.

Wei Wuxian was going to find his stupid little shidi who'd never had a kind word in his poisonous little mouth, but whose heart was as soft as his tone was hard. His shidi who had always been so painfully grateful for the way Wei Wuxian's parents had taken him and his sister into their sect after his own parents had died so unwisely on a night hunt - Jiang Yanli had been visiting with them anyway, her chronic weakness having flared up, but Jiang Cheng had been who-knows-where with them at the time. He never talked about what had happened back then, and neither did he talk about what he'd endured the following year when no one had been able to find him as he slowly made his determined way back to Yiling, terrified down to his bones that Jiang Yanli had been thrown out as soon as the news had spread. He'd only been eight, and all alone, but he hadn't let anything stop him.

Really, Wei Wuxian should have realized long ago that Jiang Cheng would be inclined to do some completely insane if it was for the sake of Yiling Wei. Jiang Cheng's family motto had been attempt the impossible, far more ambitious than Yiling Wei's live true to yourself, and Jiang Cheng persisted in thinking that he owed them his life. And Jiang Cheng always paid back his debts, whether real or imagined.

Wei Wuxian was going to strangle him.

And then he was going to hug him and never let him go ever again. He was going to keep Jiang Cheng safe this time, and he was never going to have to see his stubborn shidi turning his back on him again, turning back to the burning mountain that needed someone with the key to the defensive array to hold down long enough to deceive the invading Wen sect into thinking Yiling Wei was still there. He was never going to have to lie there on that horrible talisman-powered boat, paralyzed by whatever poisonous concoction Jiang Cheng had slipped into their drinks at dinner as they'd debated escape versus staying to fight a suicidal battle, unable to do anything as Jiang Cheng saved his entire family at the cost of his own life...

No, that wasn't right. Jiang Cheng hadn't given up his life for theirs - he hadn’t. He'd been captured by the Wen sect, yes, and then he'd been taken away to who-knows-where, but there wasn't any proof he was actually dead. 

Wei Wuxian was going to find him. 

He was going to find him, and he was going to strangle him, and then he was going to bring him home where he belonged.

“You can strangle him too if you like, if you promise not to use that ridiculous arm strength of yours,” Wei Wuxian offered to Lan Wangji, who rolled his eyes at him. “I’m serious! It doesn’t have to be strangling. You can kick him instead…well, I don’t know. Do you Lan have ridiculous leg strength, too?”

Lan Wangji didn’t dignify that with any response.

Typical, really.

Luckily, Wei Wuxian’s mother had given him good advice – very good, since Wei Wuxian took after his eternally oblivious father in regards to romance – and so he just waited patiently to see if Lan Wangji was actually deliberately ignoring him or if he just needed some time to gather his thoughts.

(Or, you know, be shamed by his fine-tuned etiquette skills into responding anyway. This was apparently a strategy that worked really well on members of the Lan sect in particular, or at least on Lan Wangji’s uncle – and everyone always said that a nephew most resembled their uncles…)

“…I brought rope,” Lan Wangji said after a while.

Wei Wuxian blinked. Rope? Well, of course Lan Wangji had brought rope – they didn’t know where Jiang Cheng was, after all, and there were always situations where rope might be useful for climbing or marking a path or –

“To tie him up.”

Or that.

Wei Wuxian once again congratulated himself on having excellent taste in romantic partners, even if it had taken him his mother (and, more embarrassingly, his father) pointing out to him that what he was feeling was romantic attraction and not just, as he’d believed, an overwhelming desire to get Lan Wangji’s undivided attention and torment him into friendship.

(Wei Wuxian still couldn’t believe his father had dared to say something about him not getting it. That rotten hypocrite had asked his own wife on the eve of their wedding if she actually liked him like that! He didn’t get to judge other people for being a little slow on the uptake!)

Once Wei Wuxian had realized, of course, naturally he’d dragged Jiang Cheng all the way back to the Cloud Recesses with him to try to spend more time with Lan Wangji. Never mind his own initial obliviousness, once he was set on a course of action, no one could stymie him – he’d been sure he’d be able to win the icy Lan-er-gongzi’s heart, and sure enough, he’d been right! Even if exactly how he’d managed to do it remained mystifyingly unclear, the main point was, he’d done it!

It hadn’t occurred to him at the time that it was in any way odd to take Jiang Cheng with him.

It was Jiang Cheng! They went everywhere together, did everything together – they’d even been born only a few days apart, Wei Wuxian leading and Jiang Cheng following, just the way it ought to be, just the way it always was. Sure, Jiang Cheng grumbled and complained, but that was just how he was; Wei Wuxian would even bet that he’d left the womb grumbling rather than crying.  If he’d really objected to something, he would have just shut himself up like a turtle, refusing to engage, and there would be no force in the heavens and earth that could get him to come out, so, really, the fact that he came along meant that he didn’t mind, no matter his complaining that it was wrong to bring a third party on a date.

Wei Wuxian, for his part, had just felt that it would be even more wrong to leave him out.

That had been all that it was or so he thought. At the time, anyway.

He really was just – very oblivious.

And then there’d been that one beautiful summer afternoon when he’d finally cornered Lan Wangji all on his own and they’d ended up kissing for half a shi before Wei Wuxian had, rather unconsciously, said, “I can’t wait to see what Jiang Cheng thinks of this! …where is he, anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to come on this hunt with us?”

Lan Wangji had hummed and nodded. “He made a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“Mm. He thought we wanted privacy.”

Wei Wuxian hadn’t been able to resist a wicked smirk – they had, hadn’t they? Only…he wanted privacy from the rest of the world, sure; no one else was allowed to see Lan Wangji all red-eared and flustered, kissed until his lips were pink. But the rest of the world didn’t include Jiang Cheng, who had to see it: he would probably have the funniest comments to say about it, and if he didn’t see it, how would he make them?

“A mistake,” Lan Wangji had said again, and this time he sounded far more serious, serious and solemn. “He thought he was unwelcome, but he is not. By…either of us.”

That had been the first time Wei Wuxian had congratulated himself on his exquisite taste.

Truly, Lan Wangji was his soulmate. How else would he understand so well what Wei Wuxian had only just begun to realize for himself? That he didn’t just want Jiang Cheng by his side as his future right hand, but by his side, forever, in all things, even this?

Lan Wangji even had the good taste to want Jiang Cheng for himself as well. He was perfect.

They both were.

They were both perfect, and they were both necessary, neither one any less than the other, and once Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji found Jiang Cheng, they were going to beat that fact into his rotten head once and for all. And then tie him up and take him home and never, ever, ever let him go.

As soon as they found him.

Because they were going to find him, no matter where the Wen might have taken him. Even if he was in the depths of the Fire Palace or the depths of the Yunmeng ghost marsh, that stinking pit so full of drowned souls that even the fish couldn’t make it in, they were going to find him and bring him home.

Because Jiang Cheng was theirs.

[gozzer]

So, I'm probably never going to finish this series of related art works nor the fic connected to them. But here's what I got lol

Fic is under the cut

This was Hell. The literal embodiment of punishment and eternal damnation. It twisted and twined dark vines around the limbs and suffocated one with sulfur and smoke. Anguish and pain on constant replay. Suffering on repeat in the ears, digging into one’s mind to make a home that nothing could pull it from. Ever consuming but never being full. Reliving moments of one’s life before death in never ending torment. Limbs moving on their own, words being spoken without input, actions committed against others by an unresponsive body. He could only watch it happen. Watch the blood stain his too many hands, feel the sick pleasure of taking what he wanted, revel in the control and power that burrowed in his bones. It all went on, over and over in a way that he could never gain enough autonomy to change.

Guilt ate his soul away. Grated on the edges and disintegrated the blackened center. Rage burned shredded parts to ash. So much hatred spilled useless blood from a body that no longer responded to him. He wanted it to be over. To have enough control of the limbs that were stained red to force himself out of this hellish loop. By whatever means necessary. But when he managed to wrestle any semblance of conscious autonomy back he was gagged and bound by the brimstone and hellfire magic burning in his infernal blood. Chained by actions he could never take back.

Voices screamed and cried and pleaded on repeat. Desperate hands, claws, talons, paws, hooves, all fighting against a type of power and will that he twisted away from others to consume for his own. An illusion of stability. It circled around his limbs, binding and chaining him to the version of himself that he was no longer in control of. Too big for his crumbling being to contain but with nowhere to go. A constant overspill of magic, rolling in red smoke and dripping in venom. Always used to force a will more dominating than the one it was being used against. To be put upon another even as their fighting and begging played in a loop. That overwhelming presence was impossible to escape from no matter how hard they tried.

And he would claw and scrape and struggle his way to the surface of the hellfire and brimstone cage. To the beginning of the loop with hands wrapping around the door in the hopes of yanking it open only to find his skin burned and the darkness dragging him back to this endless Hell. He cried out for the light in the unreached distance but never could lift a hand to reach for it. Bound, gagged, and chained, he remained in the same punishment.

|

“You wanna know the trick to this place?” Husk’s surprisingly sober voice had Angel lifting his head off his crossed arms on the bartop. The cat demon was cleaning his last glass with black and yellow eyes watching him.

“What trick to what place?” He asked, too hungover and too doped up at the same time to understand.

“The trick to Hell.” A clean glass was set in front of him and filled with clear water. Angel blinked at the demon, unsure if he was hearing things from this off-high or if Husk was simply speaking nonsense. “It’s all in our heads.” There was a paw reached out and a padded finger tapped on his forehead. “We continue to punish ourselves because of our guilt and shame.”

“It’s Hell,” Angel sighed heavily, head feeling too heavy, “it’s s’posed to be punishment.”

“We’re as much at fault as the environment,” Husk said, running a rag over the counter behind the bar. “Hell is a loop, baby, and we’re all running the same wheel over and over again.” The glass was pushed closer to him but Angel couldn’t muster enough control to pick it up. “Our actions and choices remain the same until we come to terms with ourselves. You either embrace your worst qualities or you put in the work to overcome them.”

“I don’ feel much like I’m repeating things.” No high was the same. No drunken night. No act of violence done at his pimp’s hand.

A warm paw tilted his chin up, making him realize that he’d dropped his head. “That’s ‘cause you’ve chosen the ‘embrace’ path.” Lovely soft eyes stared through him. “You and almost everyone else in this place. Controlling your own actions but only to the point of what your sins demand.”

“What’d yous choose?” Angel could hear the slur of his own voice, the exhausted edge.

“Embraced it at first,” Husk said, near wistfully. “Gambled to the heart’s content until I managed to make overlord. That’s how most of ‘em do it. Weaponizing our sins and vices.” Padded fingers rubbed the fur on his chin. “Then I lost it all and took another path. I was a gamblin’ man when I was alive and threw my life away for it. It was that guilt that kept me chained.” Red feathered eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. “You have to learn to forgive yourself, to recognize where your faults lie and where you need to begin to get better.”

“Wha’ if I don’ wanna get better?”

“Then you’ll stay in the same self-destruction as every other poor sap in this shithole.”

“I can’t change,” Angel mumbled, leaning into the warm hand holding his face. “No soul to control no more.”

There was a far more complicated expression on the cat’s face than his addled brain could decipher. “Valentino, right?” Angel gave a small nod to the question. Husk sighed. “You can change even with your soul in someone’s hold. My own isn’t fully mine anymore and I can almost proudly say that I’m only a drunk now, not a gambler.”

“He won’ let me.” Angel tried to shake his head but found it to be too much effort.

“I knew him once,” Husk said, still gently holding his face. Like he was precious instead of broken. “Before he was an overlord. He was one of those many that embraced this place to its fullest extent.” Warm eyes grew sorrowful in a way Angel wasn’t sure if he was reading correctly. “Gambled, drank, and fucked his way into being an overlord’s pet. Became the prettiest whore this side of the city.” That had to be fondness, he didn’t think he was that doped up to not see it clearly. “Out of everyone I had ever met, he took to the ways of Hell like a fish to water. Rose to such great heights.”

“You…” What he wanted to ask, he wasn’t sure. It was something important but he couldn’t hold the thought long enough for his tongue to cooperate.

“Valentino was one of my souls, yes,” the cat demon said, maybe answering that unformed question. “‘Til he played for the right of his soul back and won. He was a smooth bastard about it too.” A soft sigh left Husk that Angel felt on his face. “But for how high he had gotten in the ranks of overlords, he wasn’t cut out for it. Once he got his soul back, he had that change of path like I did when I lost mine.”

“But he’s not, he’s awful.”

Husk gave him a sad look that he wanted to be sober enough to understand properly. “It ain’t easy for all of us to be forgiving,” he said. “He’d gotten too far, too powerful, to change. I used to watch that shit tear him apart before I lost my overlord status.” Angel didn’t know what the cat was talking about even if he tried to. “Overlords don’t last this long by taking that second path and your boss is stuck in a loop the same as you are, baby.”

Angel didn’t have much more of a mental capacity to hold this conversation for any longer. He closed his eyes and leaned into Husk’s hands. There was a soft purr as the cat pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Maybe he would have the energy to try this conversation again in the morning.

|

“Our boy is doing it again,” Velvette said the moment Vox answered the call. “He’s going to fuck our image if you don’t get him under control.”

“Doing what?” Vox sipped his coffee without looking away from the monitors. “He does a lot of things.”

“That thing.”

The emphasis had him sighing. That thing. He set aside his coffee while ending the call with Velvette. It was becoming more frequent in the last decade than it had in the forty years that he’d known the moth. There was going to be a point that he could longer contain this issue and that was going to be a nightmare of epic proportions.

Vox paused outside the doors into the penthouse to get his bearings before facing down what was beyond them. No charming smiles or gentle words ever helped here. The struggle of having one of the most powerful beings in Hell as a business partner was keeping him controlled so he didn’t ruin everything they had worked towards. He pulled open the doors with a thankful prayer that he didn’t have a nose. Red smoke, shimmering scales, and thick shadows swirled through the doorway as he stepped into the living room. It used to be impossible to see through until he upgraded his software. Now he could easily pick out the lanky form of his partner in a heap on the floor near the balcony doors.

Every door and window in the penthouse had to have airtight seals that engaged when these incidents happened. The ones for the double doors were easy to hear sealing behind him when they closed. If Valentino’s magic escaped as it was there was no telling the effect it would have over the city and Vox did not want to deal with putting out those fires. It was safer and easier to contain it in the single space until it could be safely dispersed.

“Val.” Vox called out to the moth overlord without moving closer than the couch. A tantrum was simple to calm and the true rages easy to manipulate even the occasional depressive episode could be cared for with little fuss. These situations were harder to navigate and he had been trying to find the correct course of action for decades. There was only one being in Hell that had been able to deal with this efficiently but that bastard had been out of the public eye for nearly eleven years now. Not that Vox would stoop so low as to ask him for help with his partner. “Valentino.”

An air trembling growl came from the pile of wings and shadows. Massive claw marks carved through the marble floor around him with spots of bright pink venom. There was no true form to the moth. Nothing that Vox’s vision could conceivably call a body was within the twisting red shadows, smoke, and scales. White fluff was a wavering haze with wide open eyes where the hearts used to be. Unblinking and artificial. It was the same with the pattern on the shining brilliance of red wings that fluttered and scattered in smokes and shadows. Staring without sight to scare off anyone’s approach. As if anyone could be stupid enough to get closer than necessary when he was like this.

“Get a hold of yourself,” Vox said, hands clenching at his sides. “This is becoming far too frequent and we can’t have that.” The image of the Vees would be ruined if Val lost his shit in front of someone that couldn’t be shut up like their staff could be. “You’re better than this shit.”

There was a roll of unnatural wings in an obvious threat. Vox took several steps back out of range of the too rigid edges and not solid enough structure. Wisps of black and white fluff floated in the air with the rise of swirling shadows. While he had never been hurt during one of these breakdowns the possibility of it was always higher than when Valentino was in control of himself. At least when he was in control his anger was a weapon to use on others. In this unstable state it was impossible to know what the moth was going to do at any given moment. And the thought of that was more unsettling than anything else.

“Val, please, just…” He hated the way he didn’t have a foolproof way of dealing with the moth like this. A firm hand might work one day but backfire the next. The one thing he could cling to was that Valentino never responded to his charm. “What caused it this time?”

Rarely would he get an answer if he asked a direct question. Most of what came from the moth like this were growls or squeaks. Aggressive responses. The quiet gasping cry from the red cloud wasn’t a sound he had ever heard. Heaving sobs that finally translated through the impossible to decipher rumbling. Vox froze in his instinctual reaction to reach out and touch. Hand raised with cyan claws outstretched towards the tumbling and twisting formless being of his partner.

“Valentino?” Vox took a small step towards the trembling shadows. Wings closed in around the center, shuttering the multiple eyes back into shapeless spaces of color. “Baby, what…?” He had never seen or heard Valentino cry. Not a single tear or whimper in the forty years that he’s known him. “Talk to me, please, what’s this about?”

“‘M tired…” The cracked and empty whisper was almost louder than the distressing squeaks or shaky breaths. Vox was quick to close the distance between them and, uncaring if he could get hurt, put his hands into the swirling smoke and scales. Around the space where he knew the moth’s body was in an intimate way not many could do anymore. Shadows circled around him as a weight of arms clung to him. Claws digging into his clothes with Valentino coming back through the darkness to cry into his shoulder. “It’s too much, Vox.”

“What’s too much?” He asked, mind racing with ideas on what could be bothering his partner. It had to be something he could help with. Val had breakdowns but they never came to tears. They came to rage and fury, to displays of power and control, to broken furniture and cracked floors. It was never this.

“I don’t…want to be this anymore.” His moth surrounded them both in his normal wings, fully in his lap with long legs on either of him. Vox ran a hand down Valentino’s back under his wings with a confused frown. What did he not want to be anymore? Out of everyone he had ever met, Val had always been the truest to form. Embracing and welcoming of his place in Hell. Nothing about him or his actions suggested that he wanted anything to be different. What caused such a drastic change?

“Val, baby, where’s this coming from?” Vox needed to know if this was something he should be giving proper thought. If Valentino wanted to change then there were going to be serious repercussions that he would need to plan for.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Valentino mumbled, exhausted and slumping in his arms.

“Val?” He pushed down the bubble of worry to lightly jostle the moth. The near immediate unconscious state that Valentino tended to go into after these breakdowns had never come on so fast. Usually these things lasted for hours. “Oh, baby, what am I going to do with you?”

Vox only struggled a little bit to get to his feet with the moth in his arms. It was more awkward than anything considering how fucking tall Valentino was. His weight had never matched. The living room was starting to clear of his magic as he carried him towards the moth’s bedroom. Normally they all slept in Velvette’s room but the fashionista would have his head if Valentino got her sheets dirty with his scales again. He settled the porn king on his ridiculous heart-shaped bed before sitting on the edge next to him.

What had Valentino been thinking? No one in Hell changed. It was pretty much impossible in a place like this. Vox had tried once when he first died but decided early on that embracing who was in Hell was easier. Valentino had never shown signs of hating who he was or wanting to be different. If there was anyone that had fully embraced the best and worst parts of themselves then it was the moth. Every instance of his existence that Vox had seen was him embracing himself to the utter fullest extent that one could. Self-indulgent and self-destructive at the same time. It was everything all the time with Valentino. What had caused such an idea to spark in that pretty head of his? Out of everyone in Hell, his moth was the least likely individual to seek out personal growth or change.

It was a distracting sentence that Vox couldn’t get out of his head. He left the moth to sleep and returned to his media room in the basement of the tower with a message to Velvette that Valentino was taken care of. Those words kept cycling through as he worked. Seeking to take all of his attention and send his own views into a tailspin. How serious was Valentino about changing? And if he was completely and utterly going to throw himself into this then would he and Velvette be left behind? Would he be able to walk that path with Valentino? Would Velvette?

There were too many possibilities to consider and too many questions that needed to be answered. Vox shut everything down early to seek out the moth. He needed to know. But when he entered the penthouse with those questions on his tongue he faltered. Valentino had one of his many whores in his lap, tongue down their throat and hands seeking to take off their slutty shorts. Like the entire breakdown hadn’t happened.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Vox asked, emotions swinging from burning hunger for answers to seething jealousy and anger. “How many times do Vel and I have to tell you to keep this shit to your studio?”

“You could just join,” Valentino said, leaning his head back to look at him while the horned sinner licked down his neck. “Instead of being a wet blanket with your jealous nature.”

“No.” He shook his head with a humorless laugh burning his throat. “We’re not doing this right now.” Carelessly, Vox crossed the living room to pick up the nearly half his size sinner from Valentino’s lap and dropped them on their feet. “Get out,” he snapped at them, eyes pinned on the furious moth.

“What is your fucking problem?” The pink fangs bared at him had never been intimidating before and they weren’t now.

“We need to talk about what happened this morning.”

Vox watched honest bewilderment cut through Valentino’s anger. “What about this morning?” He asked, voice still clinging to the snarling edge. There wasn’t a sign of recognition on his face and it made him realize that they had never spoken about the moth’s breakdowns. They were always shoved into a dark corner to be forgotten about until one happened again.

“You don’t remember.” The statement came out quieter than he intended. It had Valentino narrowing his red eyes and pulling a cigarette out from under his wings. “Jesus Christ.” Vox sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of the moth, hands linking together over his mouth as he stared at him. It had never seemed suspicious or weird when Valentino woke up after his breakdowns and gone about his day like nothing happened. He would never have known the pimp didn’t know about them if he hadn’t been consumed by the questions sparked.

“What?” Valentino snapped around his cigarette holder. “I got a late start this morning, it fucking happens.”

“Val, that’s not…” How the fuck did he approach this subject? Vox dug his thumbs underneath his screen as he tried to find the words to explain this to him. “You don’t have a single recollection of what happened this morning?”

“I overslept.”

Wisps of smoke trailed towards the ceiling from the burning cigarette. “You didn’t,” Vox said, lowering his hands to rest them between his knees. Valentino glared at him. “Fuck, how do I even begin to explain this to you?” He groaned and dropped his head. “You black out sometimes, though Vel and I didn’t know they were black outs until now.” There was a low growl from the moth. “It’s really hard to explain what happens to you or even what it is that you do. Have you never wondered about the broken shit in the penthouse?”

“I have shit vision, Vox, what the fuck do you expect me to see?” Valentino asked, clearly annoyed with him.

“Just…come here.”

Vox grabbed one of the moth’s hands to drag him up off the couch. There was a grumble as Valentino allowed himself to be pulled towards the balcony. The gouges in the marble floor were still there but Kitty must have cleaned the dried venom around them. It wasn’t hard to get his partner to kneel next to them so he could see them up close. Vox watched him place one of his hands at the edge of the cracked stone. A frustrated frown fell on his face as those black claws fit perfectly into the long marks.

“That’s from this morning,” he said, gently pulling Valentino back up to his feet. He tugged him towards the wall with his cabinet of guns and stopped next to one of the large windows. “This,” he removed the wooden panel between the windows, “had to be put in three months ago when you tore down almost the entire fucking wall.” That had been the first actual time the structure of the penthouse had been put to the test against the moth’s destruction. Behind the panel was a live circuit that could be easily activated to turn the entire penthouse into a shock cage, steady yellow light to show that it had power. “We haven’t had to use it yet but it’s a precaution that needs to exist.”

“This is ridiculous,” Valentino laughed, sharp and only a little unhinged. “I would at least remember what led to one of these black outs.”

“Apparently you don’t.” Vox replaced the panel and went to take a set of the moth’s hands only to have him back away. “It didn’t used to be a frequent thing,” he said, softer than he intended, “but over the last decade they’ve increased. And…I think I might know what’s causing it.”

“Well fucking spit it out!”

“You said you were tired of who you are this morning.” Vox wasn’t entirely sure if this was the reason for his breakdowns but it seemed the most likely. “That you didn’t want to be, well, you anymore.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” Valentino snapped, arms crossing with his cigarette burning away, “I would never say something like that.”

And the Valentino in front of him probably never would, but the one from this morning had been almost completely different. Vox didn’t know which one was true and which one was false. It was impossible to know. In front of him was the same moth he had known since 1981, the same frivolous and sex addicted man that stepped on others to get where he wanted in Hell. The exact same. Down to his fucking leather boots and fishnets. Nothing had changed in forty years except for the increase in revealing clothes and souls under his heels.

It wasn’t uncommon in Hell. Most overlords stayed overlords by sticking to their vices and sins. But it was only in Valentino that Vox could see a repeated cycle of power and lust and violence that never paused. Everything about him now was the same as it was so long ago. The moth he saw in those breakdowns was not the same. Maybe he wasn’t even a different version but simply who Valentino was underneath.

“Do you want to change?” Vox asked in earnest. Heterochromatic eyes searching for any sign of the moth from this morning.

“What kind of question is that?” Valentino recoiled from him with a nasty baring of his fangs. “No. I like who I am, thank you very fucking much.” Not a single twitch to betray what might be underneath. “Can we just drop this whole black out business?” The only change in him was the sudden flirty smirk as he leaned in. “You interrupted a very hot make-out session and I want a different kind of attention, Voxxy.”

Angel had been turning over what Husk told him for days. It floated up from the back of his mind every time he picked up a drink or turned over a pill in his hand. Could he really learn to forgive himself? Things had been hard enough in Charlie’s hotel learning to trust others and open himself up. The idea of self-reflection had always terrified him and knowing that it was the first step to breaking the cycle made it seem all that more daunting.

Arms uncrossed to let hands paw at his chest. Vox wanted to push the conversation but he knew if he tried it would only send Valentino into a fit. With a sigh, he plucked the cigarette holder out of one of his hands to set it in the ashtray in the windowsill next to them. Valentino made a soft purring noise in satisfaction as he grabbed the moth by his silk belt to pull him in. He would get down to the bottom of this mystery at some point but for now he needed to show this manwhore who exactly he belonged to.

|

It was truly watching Husk continuously battle with his alcoholism that had him deciding to give his path a shot. Long hours were spent in his room hugging Fat Nuggets as he trudged the sludge of his memories, searching for a place to start that would be easier than his drug addiction. But maybe that’s where he had to begin, at the hardest point. To jump that hurdle and find that everything else would seem easier. Angel wanted to be a better person, to love himself, to find true happiness within.

The hardest part of all of this was facing Valentino. There had never been someone more than him that made Angel feel like such shit. Knowing where the moth started in Hell didn’t make it any easier. In fact, it seemed to make things sharpen into a terrible sense of clarity. He could see exactly what Husk had been talking about in every interaction. That low, dirty beginning through the slow climb to power, embracing every part of Hell to find stability. It was exactly what he had done when signing over his soul. But where he didn’t have the power of an overlord to contend with, his boss did. He could dig deep enough and find that fragile center that wanted to be forgiven where Valentino would have to tear down an entire empire.

And he couldn’t help pitying him. Valentino had built this cage around himself and now couldn’t back out. It was a little pathetic if he thought too long about it. Angel could see the internal struggle in those red eyes every time a hand was raised to hurt someone. This bastard had fucked his way to the top and could no longer step down. Knowing that didn’t change how he wanted the moth to suffer. Forgiveness for himself was much easier to find than that for the poor son of bitch that made his afterlife a living Hell.

Having Husk coming to walk him back to the hotel after work had Angel almost mess up in putting on his clothes in his dressing room after the last shoot of the night. The cat had made it clear that he was coming to the studio but he didn’t want to keep him waiting. Not when Valentino was still nearby. Maybe if he was fast enough he could meet Husk in the tower lobby and keep those two from coming face to face. It likely wouldn’t end well.

Angel was halfway out of the doorway when he heard Husk call out to him. A cringe ran through him as he watched a familiar shadow appear on the floor and a looming presence came up at his back. “Bringing more friends, baby?” Valentino asked, voice in his ear as a hand curled around his shoulder. “You’re lucky the work day’s over.”

“I didn’t ask him to come into the studio,” he replied quietly.

“Oh, don’t worry,” the moth purred, “let’s go greet this guest of ours, hm?”

A shove pushed him through the doorway into the last set. Most of the lights had been shut off but there were still enough on to see everything clearly. Husk was looking at everything from one of the doors leading into the entrance hall with his arms crossed and a disinterested expression. Behind him, Valentino hummed in surprise. The hand on his shoulder disappeared but that relief barely had a chance to settle when the moth moved around him.

“If this isn’t a pleasant surprise,” Valentino said, sounding almost genuine, “it’s been quite some time, old friend.”

“Yeah,” Husk drawled lazily, “I’m not here for you.”

“Are you sure?” The pimp leaned in to lift Husk’s chin with a sultry smirk. “I can make it worth your while again.” A hand ran down the cat demon’s chest in a way that had anger burning bright in Angel’s veins. “My Angelcakes here could join if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“No.” The refusal had Angel tensing in preparation. “I’m taking Angel home.”

A rumbling growl filled the air. Angel hated everything that ever came with that sound. The hands on Husk curled in and he could only watch as Valentino’s claws pierced through the cat’s fur. As blood started to come up, he shoved himself forward out of his fear to get between the two. He grabbed the moth’s arms to pull him away from Husk but was effortlessly batted away. The impact with the floor was jarring but not nearly as much as lifting himself up to see red shadows starting to flicker around Valentino.

Smoke rolled off the moth in waves, too heavy to lift off the ground as it spread through the studio. Angel scrambled to his feet to avoid getting a face full of the pheromones. There was a crash as Valentino pushed himself back from Husk with a chitter that hurt his ears. Bits of the moth started to drift. Horror froze him in place as he could only watch wings unfurl in swirling shadows and shimmering scales. They twisted in a red cloudy haze around the pimp, making it near impossible to see him. Patterned hearts shifted and curled into unblinking eyes within the storm.

“Val!” A crackle of electricity snapped Angel’s attention to where Vox appeared from one of the many cameras; no doubt having been watching them. “Christ, not here. Your studio’s not equipped for this.”

“What’s he doing?” Angel heard himself ask even as his sole focus returned to the swirling red, white, and black mass of smoke, shadows, and scales.

“Remember when I told you he had that change?” Husk asked, staring at Valentino like he was. “This,” a hand was held out to the mess, “is as far as he gets. He ain’t cut out for all this bullshit.”

“Don’t be so fucking high and mighty, Husker,” Vox snarled, any semblance of that polite and charming businessman gone. Angel shot the overlord a sharp look. Knowing objectively that Husk was an overlord and would know the other overlords and being faced with it were two different things. Especially when Valentino was doing that because he wanted to be different but had too much power to change. “Fix him. You’re the only goddamn bastard that can reach him like this.”

The jagged anger and jealousy in the TV demon’s voice had Angel re-sorting how the Vees operated in his mind. They were definitely dating. No one got that upset about someone else being able to help their business partner when they couldn’t. It probably didn’t help that Husk used to own Valentino’s soul. Angel actually didn’t know how he would react if the cat demon was going through something that he couldn’t help with but Alastor could. Actually, it was probably worse for Vox because Valentino used to be Husk’s casino whore.

“You’re just a pussy, Vox.” Husk rolled his eyes and stepped towards the red storm. “You’re too scared of him hurting you like this to yank his ass back.”

“Wait-” Angel didn’t want to see Husk get hurt but found himself cut off.

“That’s not the issue,” Vox snapped. “He doesn’t respond to me.” Burning red and blue eyes glared at the cat demon. “Not when he’s been your fucking pet and heels like a goddamn dog at the sound of your voice.”

“It’s because I owed his soul for half of his years in Hell.” Angel cringed as Husk reached elbow deep into the squeaking and growling cloud that was somehow Valentino. “Ain’t no getting rid of that connection completely. Even if it is only psychological.” There was a low grunt from the cat and flare of his wings. “Pull yourself together,” Husk grumbled, “you’re starting to fuck with our rational thought, you selfish prick.”

The coalescing of shadows, smoke, and scales had Angel lifting a hand to shield his eyes. It only took him a moment to notice the sudden loss of the sweet scent that had filled the air; it came on too slowly to be recognizable. He blinked a little sleepily as his thoughts lost the red haze. Fucking Hell, how had he not noticed how much of Valentino’s magic had curled around him? In front of him the moth appeared once more. Down on his knees with his wings draped behind him and his arms held in Husk’s hands, making it clear that was how he had dragged him back.

“‘M sorry.” The quiet apology had Angel jerking back in surprise. Valentino never apologized for anything. “Husky, I…I can’t do it. I’ve tried.”

“It ain’t easy,” Husk said, voice rough but somehow too gentle. “I told you it was gonna be hard.”

“It hurts,” the moth seemed to cry. Angel jerked back from the sound and frowned at the way Husk softened. At his side there was a crackle from Vox. “You said…you said we’d do it together. That you’d help me.” There was a sway to Valentino that put him closer to the cat demon in front of him.

“I know.” Husk’s quiet whisper could almost be lost if not for the silence in the studio. He adjusted his hold on Valentino with such gentleness that Angel didn’t think he’d ever be able to find in himself when it comes to the moth. “I fucked up, Lucky,” he admitted, wings drooping and tail pooling on the floor. “You needed help and I got inta some shit I couldn’t get out of.” This whole scene was making Angel realize that there had been more between the former overlord and the current one than the ownership of a soul.

“I’m sorry,” Valentino pressed his face against Husk in a way that had a loud crackle coming from Vox, “I don’t…don’t leave me again. Please, I can-I’m trying to change.”

“I’m not making that promise.” The way saying that seemed to twist up the cat demon made Angel frown. He didn’t know what was starting to burn in his belly but he loathed for it to be jealousy. “I just can’t.”

A flutter of moth wings had Vox disappearing from his side to reach Valentino’s. Swept the suddenly unconscious overlord up into his arms with a dark look pinned on Husk. Cyan claws curled protectively around Valentino. Angel hesitantly joined the cat demon’s side and put a hand on his arm; maybe offering comfort or maybe not, he wasn’t sure. One of his paws reached out to take his hand with a reassuring squeeze.

“I think we should go,” he said, softly tugging on Husk’s hand. He didn’t want to be in this charged atmosphere any longer.

“You should,” Vox agreed.

“No.” Husk gave a firm shake of his head to both of them. “Something needs to finally be done about him.” The shark-toothed snarl from Vox did nothing against the cat’s resolve. “Where does he keep the contracts?”

“I’m not telling you that,” the TV overlord said, red eyes narrowed.

“The penthouse,” Angel answered with both hope and dread curling in his chest. Could Husk really be trying to do what he thought he was?

Before Husk could move, Vox made a threatening static crackle. “I can’t let you fuck up Val’s work,” he said, “what kind of business partner would I be if I let that slide?” Some of the slick charm was back in his voice, making Angel wish it stayed gone.

“A good one,” the cat replied, “but what kind of lover would you be if you continue to let him go on like this?” Husk held the overlord’s gaze with an unwavering one of his own. It wasn’t often that Angel got to glimpse the gambling man and knowing the truth behind it, he was grateful. “For once, Vox, do what he needs and not what he wants.”

“What the fuck would you know about what Val needs?” Vox asked, charm gone once more to be replaced with snarling jealousy.

“It’s only gonna get worse.” Husk glanced at the unconscious moth in the TV demon’s arms with a complicated expression on his furred face. “He’s not gonna get better without you takin’ that first step to help him. This shit ain’t easy to do alone.”

Vox’s screen glitched as he turned away from them. Angel gripped Husk’s hand tighter, only just beginning to understand how hard it truly was to change. “Fine,” the TV overlord sighed, not looking at them, “but the only contract you’re taking is Angel’s. I’ll worry about the others.” A soft rush of static came from the demon before he started walking towards the open doors. “You better be quiet about it, Velvette’s sleeping.”

[tommonikercomics]

So!

I am humbled & eternally grateful for all the positive reception I’ve received in the past few months: thank you so much to each & every person who has reblogged, liked, commented, & sent in asks.

I love drawing people’s requests, & so I want to keep doing it in a way that’s both sustainable for me & my followers. Because of that, I’m going to try & set up more of a schedule for myself.

As always, please feel free to send stuff to my asks/inbox! I do see all of them & some of the requests & ideas genuinely get me so excited. These requests can include:

- short prompts

- characters/ character interactions

- AU illustrations

- Just the cool little fandom ideas you guys keep feeding me!

If you've sent any of these in my inbox, please rest assured that I'll get to them eventually! Instead of trying to grind through requests & not give them the proper TLC they each deserve, I’m going to try & post 2 requests every week on a Saturday (however, I will still try to post regularly throughout the week, posting other little doodles & responding to non-request asks).

This way, I will have more time to work on bigger projects, including that Newsies fancomic I spoke about! (As well as my original graphic novel: you guys may have to put up with seeing more of my original characters in the near future haha).

However, if you want:

- Longer prompts/ written works illustrated

- A series of sequential images/pages

- More personal things you may not want posted to my account, like original ideas or portrait illustrations

- Something specific that you’d like to give revisions about

Then may I point you towards my Ko-Fi! I have time dedicated to commissions that is separate from my other illustrations so that I can get the works to you in a timely manner & communicate with you throughout to get it just how you want it.

If you can’t donate or order a commission, please know that your support is still so amazing! I’m genuinely so grateful for all the interaction & excitement. I just “insert spiel about starving artists needing to eat”.

Again, thank you guys. Happy doodling & seize the day! 😁

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Finally we’ve got the new beginnings! Just met and just married! So much potential ahead of them!

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️ (they be honeymooning! Bring on that newlywed bliss! I mean they’re basically always like that for each other but now they’ve got an excuse and by god are they gonna use it!)

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖 (buck so would be a librarian in another live. Him being all nerdy and helpful and amazing with kids - especially christopher - watch out eddie! You’re gonna fall in love before you know it!)

I’m obsessed with your work and eternally grateful that you share it - but you already knew this :p hope you have fun writing these!

- PCA <3

Oh love this theme!!!!! You are so kind, PCA. I always look forward to your asks.

63 for ⚡️ (Yesssss more honeymoon phase!)

---

Eddie finishes saying goodbye to Adriana and Ravi, says a final goodbye to Christopher, and then puts Buck out of his misery at last by joining him in the truck. 

“We are four minutes behind schedule,” Buck chides as Eddie buckles his seatbelt. 

“Tragic,” Eddie smirks. 

“It will be when we don’t stop for coffee,” Buck warns.

Starting off their honeymoon with a very serious threat. Interesting tactic. Height of romance, really.

“Buck,” Eddie complains. “It’s only an hour and twenty minutes of driving. Surely we can spare a coffee run.”

Buck smirks. “Fine. But I’ll find a way to get my four minutes back at some point.”

Oh, Eddie is sure. He knows who he married.

“Just don’t take it out on the coffee.”

🗲🗲🗲

The rental in San Clemente is literally perfect. 

They’d discussed going further away. Mexico, maybe. But between the wedding, the house, and planning for another kid, they decided not to spend more than necessary. Plus, they already live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. They didn’t need to go very far. 

The moment they walk into the little condo, Buck knows they made the right choice. It’s a tidy one bedroom with a full kitchen, a king sized bed, a big shower, a private ocean-view balcony, and a walk down to the beach. 

“This is incredible,” Eddie grins, walking out onto the balcony. 

“We are going to enjoy this balcony,” Buck agrees. 

Eddie shoots him a look. “Buck…”

“Honeymoon rules apply here, Eddie,” Buck tells him.

“Honeymoon rules?” Eddie asks skeptically. “What are those?”

“Making them up as I go along,” Buck informs him.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. 

Yeah. They’re definitely going to enjoy the balcony. 

☆☆☆

Neither of them has had a honeymoon before. Neither of them is particularly accustomed to vacations, either. Though, perhaps Buck has some of the old Peruvian resort lifestyle living in him somewhere. Needless to say, it takes them both a minute to figure out what to do with literally nothing they need to do. Buck unpacks the groceries. Eddie searches the cupboards for glassware and pours them wine in nice, big blue-tinted glasses. They manage to relax on the balcony for, like, an hour, before they both get a bit twitchy.

“We aren’t sit and stare at the sea people, are we?” Eddie asks.  

“No, I don’t think we are.” Buck agrees. 

“What do honeymoon rules say about swimming while slightly intoxicated?” Eddie posits. 

A little ill-advised. But it’s not like they’re shit faced. And, well, Eddie doesn’t have a lot of ill-advised fun stories. 

“Oh, let me review with the board,” Buck teases. “Hmm. Apparently it’s fine if we conveniently forget we’re first responders.”

“And parents?” Eddie suggests.

“Oh, yeah. Good call.”

“Then maybe we can have some fun?” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows.

“I like the sound of that.”

---

51 for 📖 (YEAH EDDIE WILL):

---

No one is home. 

As he drives away, he just hopes the gesture will be appreciated and not seen as totally creepy. 

viii. 

It’s a long time before Buck hears back about the gift. Which is good in that, he doesn’t get in trouble for abusing the library cardholder database. He spends two weeks nervous he’s going to hear about that every shift.

When he does hear back about it, it’s the fall. School starts up again, and Christopher is enrolled in the aftercare programs. Buck is relieved when he sees his name on the lists.  Like it’s a sign that perhaps things are okay.

He sees Christopher again before he sees Eddie. Right away during the first week of school. 

“Chris!” Buck exclaims happily when he sees him come through the library doors. “How are you, pal? It’s been a while.”

“I’m good,” Christopher answers happily. Then, he walks over, and gives Buck a quick hug. “Thank you for my books, Buck. They made me smile.”

Buck ends the hug quickly. It’s kind of a discouraged behavior. Though a gray area when the kid initiates. But he’s touched. Happy the gift had an impact, and that Chris remembers. Even after a few months. 

“You’re welcome,” Buck replies. “I’m really glad to see you back, kiddo.”

Chris smiles. “Thanks, Buck.”

It’s a few more days until he sees Eddie. When he does, he’s sort of concerned. It’s not exactly the Eddie he remembers. His hair is shorn. His eyes are tired. There’s a strange pattern of bruises on his forearms. He looks rough. If they were actually friends, Buck would ask him about it. But all he can do is quietly observe.

“It’s good to see you again,” Buck smiles as Eddie approaches the front desk before picking Chris up. “We missed Chris around here.”

Eddie nods. “I, uh… I wanted to thank you. Your gift was really appreciated. Sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“Hey, that’s not why I sent it. Just wanted you both to know… Well, that I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says. “That’s kind.”

There’s a hollowness in his voice. Like he’s accepted a lot of condolences lately. 

[dainesanddaffodils]

FFXIV WRITE 2024 DAY 30: TWO HEADS ARE BETTER THAN ONE

Estinien overhears a conversation in Dravania | HW | Rated G | 800 words

It’s a somber walk to the eyrie. None of the party are particularly talkative but since leaving Iceheart behind to grapple with what she had learned, what little conversation there would have been with her is noticeably and uncomfortably absent.

Estinien keeps to the back, scanning the skies lest Nidhogg take a more direct approach to halting their plans. Ahead of him, Cimorene walks with Alphinaud, giving him her silent presence as comfort. For not the first time, and certainly not the last, Estinien considers that he really is just a kid.

When Alphinaud does break the silence the words are clearly for the Warrior of Light alone and so he makes no move to close the distance between them - but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear.

“-feels like the Braves again,” the boy is saying, his voice the smallest Estinien has ever heard it. None of his usual airs of confidence and maturity.

There is a beat of silence. “Oh, Alphinaud. No, this isn’t like that.”

“Isn’t it? I- I was naive again. Assumed I knew best for everyone again. And I was wrong. Again.” Cimorene makes a noise like she’s about to speak and he waves her off. “And now I must again have you clean up my mess.”

“Alphinaud,” Cimorene says again, her tone just a little harder. Estinien has noted it’s the closest she gets to yelling and Alphinaud reacts accordingly, ducking his head and falling silent.

“We all agreed to this, all right?” She continues. “It may have been your idea but that does not make it your failure. Remember, the goal was to halt the Dravanian attack before it began; we are still doing that, even if it is not the way we wanted.”

“By continuing the cycle of violence?”

Cimorene shakes her head. “Ishgard needs to change; they will need to know what their forefathers began and that their history has been built on a lie. And that will take time - the kind of time they won’t have if they have Nidhogg forever tormenting them. Hraesvelgr made it very clear that he doesn’t want Ishgard to repent, he wants them to suffer, eternally. Naught else will stop him or this war, paradoxical as it may seem.”

Estinien nearly stops walking. It’s the most he has ever heard her speak at once, he thinks, and what’s more… it is the exact argument he would have given had he been speaking to the young lord, almost word for word. It’s not the first time he’s felt as though she knows his mind, but often that mutual understanding has been as silent as she is. It is something else to hear her speak it aloud.

The boy nods. “I know, I know. I just… I had such hope…”

“I did, too. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not happy that this is how we must end this and-” She lowers her voice. “I don’t think he is either.”

Now he does freeze - part in surprise and part in order to get out of the hearing distance the Warrior of Light clearly doesn’t think he is in. Still, he doesn’t want them separating from him while they’re in a hostile environment. He shakes himself and takes a couple long strides to bring back at least the original distance between them.

He misses what Alphinaud has said, but he is still clearly the subject as Cimorene responds, “- was a surprise. I’m glad he was with us and… I am glad we will be facing Nidhogg together.”

The edge from her voice is gone again, leaving it soft and sweet and warm - even when she is speaking of facing a Great Wyrm. She’s a very fascinating contradiction.

“You do work well, I’ve seen,” Alphinaud observes, sounding also a little more like himself. Estinien is grateful for anything that makes him less dejected - even if that is… him, apparently. “I wonder if… never mind.”

Cimorene makes a questing noise but Alphinaud doesn’t say more, instead looking over his shoulder at Estinien and raises his voice. “Ah, you are still with us; you were so quiet I thought we might have lost you.”

He huffs. “Funny. Someone has to keep an eye on the sky. We are far from safe out here.”

Cimorene, having followed Alphinaud’s backward glance, says nothing at first, regarding him with a small smile. In that look alone he knows she knows that he has listened to the entire conversation. She places a hand over mouth to smooth it back down and turns away again.

“He’s right - we should pick up the pace.”

Without another word she takes her own advice, continuing briskly on their path. Alphinaud makes a startled noise and quickly lengthens his strides to catch up.

Estinien hesitates a second longer, then shakes his head and follows.