#and this is really only touching upon design… but i do not wish to torture you

[electricmugs]

What's your favourite thing about Jack Spicer? :D

theres so many things i wanna talk about so i hope its not too wordy-

i want to touch upon his character design because really- simplicity works so much in his favour here. his design only really gets crowded around his heli-pack, and it keeps all of those simple colours that make up his design (black, red, yellow, white). i like the attention of detail that went into his design and even the way they drew robo-jack with a sharp edge.

i really enjoy how he’s very much so matching wuya in the process, but only her masked form. in a way it reminds me of how he’s left behind by her, as she moves on to different colours herself (black, red, green and purple).

his stupid little gnarled up tail of a trench coat, his family is obviously wealthy and he still choses to wear /that/.

his goggles are quite literally iconic.

i love how shapely his silhouette is .. have you seen this creature??? they accentuate his collar and make it stand out its wonderful..

hes kind of like a bug to me that i like to analyse, like theres so much going on with that guyyyy. his other costumes are iconic as well, and i love his big ole eyebrows + goofy over the top eye makeup. hes got so much working for him here!! the perfect specimen!!

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Uhmmm.... so I had a prompt idea. What if hero arrested villain, and handed him to the authorites, and he basically told her that he'd make her pay for it. Then hero goes to the prison for a different reason weeks later, where she sees villain, terrified, sick, and drugged. So, she reluctantly takes him home and cares for him. She is scared he will attack her when he's lucid, but when he does fully wake up, he's just terrified.

This is such a good idea! I saw your submission right before I went to bed and laid there thinking about it, so as you can see I was quite excited to write it.

Paying For It

Warnings: threats, horrible treatment by authorities, left to be sick, fever, blood, drugged, forced sedation, unconsciousness, nightmares, smoking mention, paralysis (due to sickness), sick animal analogy, delirium

~

"You will pay for this," he growled as the handcuffs clicked into place. "I will make you you pay for this and not by money, no-" a chuckle "- I will hurt you."

Hero shuddered as she walked down the icy path back to the same prison that she recently turned Villain into. Horrible thoughts of that said villain breaking out and torturing her flooded into her mind, making her already chilly veins even colder. She hugged her fleece tighter around her and adjusted her scarf, suddenly wishing she wore her winter coat.

Before she knew it, Hero was trotting up the steps towards the concrete building. It was, by design, barren yet strong.

She had some documents to bring to the office. There was a new supervillain in town, actually more like ten, but Hero only managed to get information about the one. They most likely moved in after the biggest threat around, Villain, was arrested.

She opened the door, closing it quietly, and walked up to the desk. The hero, a young boy, most likely a sidekick holding down the fort while his mentor went to do something else, sitting up there was lazily playing a video game on his phone.

Hero coughed to get his attention. The boy didn't respond.

"Hello?" Hero asked.

The boy startled, tossing his phone backwards. "I wasn't," he defended, "on my phone, I swear."

"Uh huh," Hero grunted, sliding the papers over to the boy. "Where's your boss?"

"Probably smoking or something," the boy chuckled, then stopped and looked at Hero with a nervously apologetic expression. "I shouldn't have- you weren't meant to know."

Hero shook her head and said, "I don't care about my colleagues personal habits, but can you get him for me?"

The boy nodded and rushed off, returning later with a stern looking man.

"Superhero," Hero acknowledged, nodding slightly. He smiled then looked at the papers on the desk.

"Are these about..." He looked up at Hero.

"The new villain, yes," Hero finished his sentence, crossing her arms.

"Good, very good," Superhero momentarily flipped through them. In that silence, a thought bubbled up in Hero's mind.

"How's Villain?" She asked. "It's been awhile."

Superhero's face paled, as his toe nervously tapped the floor. Hero raised an eyebrow.

"We've had some... issues, so Villain is spending sometime in detention," Superhero said. He coughed, then said in an overly joyful tone, "Thanks for this Hero, do you want me to escort you to your car?"

"I would actually like to see Villain. Maybe I can, you know, talk to him about his behavior," Hero declined the offer, stepping in front of the papers. Something isn't right...

"Well you see, that wouldn't be beneficial. If anything it would be detrimental towards Villain's... redemption," Superhero pointed out, unconsciously chewing at his lip.

"We aren't a redemption center, Superhero," Hero said quietly, almost a whisper. "Let me see Villain or-" Hero grabbed the papers and proceeded to rip them "- these aren't your's."

Superhero rushed forward, putting his hands on top of Hero's and slid the papers back towards him. He gave a tiny smile and consented to her request.

They walked down the corridor and then down a couple flight of stairs until they reached a steel door with three locks- all with different keys. Hero watched with a stoned expression, thinking about what would happen if one of those keys were unfortunately lost...

"He's in here," Superhero spoke, dancing on his feet.

Hero stepped into the dark room, recognizing the detention cell that she helped invent, and flipped on the lights.

In the corner of the capacious cell, was a huddled figure. His back was towards her, legs spread out. With a pang in her chest, Hero walked up to him.

"V-villain," Hero breathed and crouched next to the figure. Villain whimpered and pulled himself deeper into himself, but his legs didn't seem to be connected to his brain.

Hero gently rolled Villain's head up to face her and nearly gasped when she took in the sight. He looked like a sick, stray cat. Mucus drained out of his nose as vomit spewed out from the corner of his mouth. His half-lidded eyes were bloodshot and had deep eyebags underneath with dried blood coating his cheeks. He had multiple, nasty cold sores all around his lips- or were they infected cuts? Maybe both.

"Why is he in this state?" Hero asked, astounded. This violated so many regulations and rules- the prison could be shut down, many heroes arrested or fined.

Superhero didn't respond. Instead, he appeared at Hero's side and crouched down next to Villain. The villain who didn't even seem to be aware of their presences.

Hero grabbed one of the wrists that were so protectively cuddled next to Villain's chest. He whimpered, trying to resist Hero's touch.

"No," he mumbled. "No no no no. Don't give... m-more... that mm stop." Villain started to breath heavily, his already fast pulse speeding up. With a heavy heart, Hero knew without even looking that he was drugged badly.

"Superhero... why?" Hero squeaked, turning over a wrist to see them heavily bruised and still bleeding from his most recent dose.

Villain started thrashing, but his legs wouldn't move.

"Why can't he move?" Hero asked, running a hand along Villain's shoulder. "Why can't he move his legs?!"

Superhero inhaled deeply then said, "He's very sick, uh... he probably has some sort of infection that makes it hard for him to move his lower body. Maybe, I don't really know."

"You don't even know what's wrong with your prisoner," Hero scoffed in disbelief, dragging Villain's limp body into her lap. She tried not to notice the wetness seeping into her jeans. It would only infuriate her that such a sick person would be kept in a wet and cold cell on top of being drugged daily without any medicines to help kick his fever.

"He's sick."

Obviously.

"I'm taking him home," Hero said, and scooped his way too light form up. His legs dangled uselessly, head falling off towards the side.

"That's illegal," Superhero pointed out. "He is in our custody now."

"And where does our rules permit excessive use of sedatives," Hero said in the same, authoritive tone. "Minimal use only to relax a distressed prisoner and only when necessary. Also, never to the point of unconsciousness." Hero gestured with her head towards Villain's closed eyes.

"And where do they permit us heroes to contain a villain on private property?" Superhero tutted. "Set him down and let me do my job."

"I'll call the authorities," Hero threatened, "and take you to court."

Superhero groaned and threw his hands in the air. That was not a risk he could take.

"Fine," he growled, storming out of the room, leaving Hero in silence other than the slow dripping from a leaky pipe.

She quickly tore off her fleece and wrapped Villain's shivering body up. His eyes fluttered open and he mumbled something incoherently, but that was all as his eyelids slipped closed once again.

Then, she carried his ragdoll-like body out of the prison, down those steps, and into her car.

She laid Villain's limp form on one of the backseats, propping his lolling head against the window and buckled him in. His arms hung lifeless at his sides, legs completely devoid of strength.

With a nervous whimper, Hero sped home.

At home, Hero took a warm washcloth and wiped off the dried blood and mucus to reveal unevenly toned skin underneath. She delicately picked the dry crust off his eyelashes and eyebrows. It was rock hard and the warm water wouldn't loosen it, so she was forced to pull on the tiny hairs. At least he wasn't conscious for the pinpoints of pain.

Hero suddered, thinking about what would happen when he did wake up. Surely, he would keep to his word and hurt her, beating her up for imprisoning him and then of course this newfound dilemma.

She looked down at his sleeping form and sighed. She had him elevated to make sure his airways stayed clear, but his head kept falling to the side and onto the backrest of her daybed. His lips quivered, forming soundless words and pleas.

Hero gently touched his forehead, retreating at the burning heat. His eyes slowly blinked open at the contact, he moaned, and then they rolled back again and closed.

Hero sat next to him for rest of the day, worriedly anticipating his attitude upon awakening. However, as the hours went on and Villain didn't seem to be regaining consciousness too much, Hero realized that they would be in for a roughly long time.

Villain was probably drugged like that the moment he entered that building and judging by his health and state of his wrists, Hero also guessed that there was no care whatsoever during the admission or the aftercare.

Hero ran her fingers over Villain's pale cheeks. His mouth was parted open and he snored slightly from the congestion. Tears leaked from his eyes, irritating the tender skin below. Hero went and grabbed some lotion, smearing the white cream over the red rashes.

Villain jerked away suddenly, curling into himself and protectively guarding his arms. His heavy breathing went shallower and quicker as tiny noises escaped his mouth. Hero sighed and stopped touching him; he was likely trapped in a nightmare.

Hours turned into days, and only then was Villain awake enough to be aware of Hero's looming presence.

Though, his reaction was not what Hero was expecting.

He screamed, shoving himself and his weak form to a corner of the bed and gathering his leaden limbs into a huddled mass of burning skin. He shrieked and sobbed, and watched Hero with wide, exhausted eyes.

"Leave me alone!" He yelled, pulling up the covers in a bade to protect himself. "Please."

Hero never once in her life felt so utterly useless.

She was, like Villain promised she would, paying for her actions.

[aquillis-main]

Misery Tastes Chapter 11

I can go ahead and say this - I'm really excited to be writing this again.

I'm actually quite happy with the progress of my arm and whatnot, and I want to share that with the rest of you guys soon enough. But first, I got to post the chaptter. This is essentially the Moment before the first fight, and I want to make it clear that the fight scenes won't be comming in this chapter specifically. Eggman does get to torture my OC Ovi, though!

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13(1/2) | 14

Ovi found himself admitting he felt a bit nauseous, almost touching the clouds as they sailed over Obsidianna.

Eggman had not uttered a word of gloating from his Eggmobile since they started flying to the other side of Obsidianna - whether to prevent Ovi from snarking back, or because he was cooking something in his head, Ovi couldn’t tell. Metal dangled him over the buildings of Obsidianna, watching the mismatched architecture of the city. Modern buildings clashed with older, shorter designs -  Overtop a giant tower with stepping-stone-esque buildings beside it, Eggman paused over it. Hovering in place just long enough to make Ovi squirm. Eggman could and would order  Metal Sonic to drop Ovi if he so wished. So the time was spent in the awkward silence of humming engines.

Eventually, arriving at the seaside, which was just a vast amount of ocean underneath a concrete harbour. Eggman beelined towards one of the out of the way warehouses, its colours long since rotted away to a monotone gray. Anyone passing by would think it was slated for demolition.

Eggman pressed a button as he descended, causing the warehouse doors to open up before they got close to it. They went inside, Metal Sonic finally letting Ovi go to find something to restrain him. Ovi almost managed to bolt, only to find a gun pointed at Ovi’s temple to prevent him from escaping. 

“Brat, I will not be responsible for whatever my trigger finger decides to do.” Eggman growled out, his patience wearing thin. “You, on the other hand, will be responsible for the way my trigger finger acts if you so much as take one step to run off.” Eggman pulled the barrel away from the changeling’s head, gripping both of Ovi’s hands with one of his own.

Ovi sighed, and waited for Metal Sonic to clasp him in multiple chains and cuffs, preventing the sneaky rodent from escaping easily. Ovi looked around as he did so, finding the place lacking Eggman's usual flare. 

“Must be a temporary location, then”, Ovi thought, before hearing the cling cling of chains on him. Metal harshly tugged on one of the chains, making Ovi lurch as he was dragged towards the one thing that stood out from the rest of the warehouse as ‘Eggman’s base’ -

Which, actually, wasn’t there at all. Was Eggman becoming senile in his old age?

“Look upon my latest, greatest machine - redesigned to destroy your pathetic woodland friends!” Eggman roared, arms waving above him in triumph. Ovi couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that, knowing that everything made by Eggman was the ‘greatest’ to him. 

Ovi fell over as the area shook with soft rumbling, ending up being caught by Metal Sonic as it got more chaotic. Chains from above shook with finality, as if the place was resigned to come down. Boxes and crates were thrown/shoved aside as the ground broke apart, revealing the cause of the sudden earthquake.

Ovi blanched as a beast of a machine rose from the ground. It was the Egg Mole from before, only completely redesigned. It resembled the standard Grounder enemies, only without the ugly antennae hat and more mole-like. The red of the machine shone in the artificial light, a small bendy bit Ovi had sworn was for buses only keeping the top half and the bottom half together. The machine hissed as it fully emerged from the hole, opening up to showcase a compartment filled with empty rocket launchers, waiting to be filled.

“What once was one drill on each paw is now multiple, tiny drills! I fitted them with electric charges to prevent you from smacking them.” Eggman started, pointing at each part as he boasted. “The treads at the back had to be covered by a guard that contains spikes, making it harder for Sonic and your pathetic friends to traverse up the back.” Eggman coughed, before continuing, “ - which also sports electric prongs designed to shock those on the back when they spring out.” Eggman then motioned to the torso of the beast, grin encompassing his face. “As it trundles about, the top part of the machine will be able to twist and contort, allowing it to turn and give me a chance to see whoever’s climbing on its back.” Finally, Eggman motions to the back of the Egg Mole, smile broadening sinisterly. “That pales in comparison to the massive amount of missiles that I placed into the back of the machine, which I had to pop out to load them.” He finished, giving a bow as if he finished a presentation.

Ovi, despite his anger and frustration over everything, couldn’t help but be amazed how quick Eggman was able to redesign the Egg Mole.

That month was really worth Eggman’s time.

“Well,” Ovi thought, a sly smile coming to his face, “Time to be the brat Eggman thinks I am.”

“Well, it seems rather…” Ovi shrugged, gesturing to the lack of current paint job to the machine. Eggman, having just put down his favourite gun, sharply turned toward Ovi in seething anger.

“Ah ah ah! Did I ask for your opinion, brat?” Eggman waggled his finger as he spoke, before flicking Ovi’s nose. Ovi, getting irate and feeling bold, decided to go straight for the jugular.

“I’m going to say it anyway: It’s trash.” Ovi sneered, looking to Eggman’s ugly glasses and stupid sneering face. “Besides, all of your stupid, ugly little machines would never be as useful as even one of my friends!”

“Oh, Metal Sonic~” Eggman sang out, and Ovi could sense Metal’s hand lingering over his long-damaged shoulder, before digging into the spot where it broke with a grip comparable to a hydraulics machine in strength.

“Arrrgh!” Ovi screamed out, the pain causing him to topple to his knees. Even the pain of landing on the chains and cuffs wasn’t enough for his body to disregard the flaring sensation in his shoulder.  Metal Sonic let go at that point, looking to its master for praise.

Eggman didn’t bother to even acknowledge Metal Sonic’s look, picking Ovi up and throwing him into Metal. The robot caught the thrown changeling, head dipping in some attempt at emotion.

“Spare me the theratics, boy. You simply don’t have enough appreciation of the fine arts. Now stay silent for a bit, as I make the last few tweaks of my greatest invention!” Eggman ignored Ovi’s yelling, preferring to wax philosophical about what his Egg Mole would do to Sonic. He never acknowledged his trusted machine’s wordlessness as he went off on his tirade. “The one that’ll crush my archnemesis to smithereens-!”

Ovi rolled his eyes before he tuned Eggman out - he heard enough of Eggman’s mad ramblings for a lifetime. Instead he turned inward, thinking about how wrong he was for running off in the first place. If he'd known that was Eggman’s plan all along-

Stop that, Ovi.

“Great, the Chaos is talking to me again.” Ovi sighed, turning his head to the side and trying to think different thoughts. Suddenly, the memory of Sonic speaking about Metal Sonic came to mind:

“Metal Sonic’s not much of a talker. The last time he was, he ended up getting downgraded by Eggman…”

And Metal Sonic had been talking in its disguises…

“So, Metal Sonic, how did you -” In place of Metal Sonic was the kid that Metal Sonic had turned into, a smile wider than many anthronians taking most of its muzzle.

“My current model allows the usage of nanites to allow me to change shape and form…” Its face started to melt as it talked, causing Ovi to try and step back. But the amount of chains and cuffs prevented him from doing that, forcing him to watch Metal Sonic as it changed shape and disguise.

“Meaning -” It turned into Tails, after spinning around in place.

“I can -” Amy.

“Become -” Cream the Rabbit, and Ovi thought that was weird without Cheese hanging by.

“Whomever I want to be!” Hope. Ovi gulped at that.

“As long as -” Nebula.

“They’re in Eggman’s data banks -” Shadow.

“I can become your bestest friend!” Sonic, and it got really close to Ovi’s face then.

“Or your worst nightmare.” It melted into Harold’s face, making the feelings of nausea come back stronger than ever.

“As for my talking,” Metal morphed into the generic anthron’s face again, its smile back in place. “I’m only allowed to speak when in disguise. When idling, it would ruin my master’s work.” Metal then ‘sighed’, before looking eager; “Unless… you want to be my ‘friend’?” Ovi’s eyes bulged at the question, wondering where Metal got that idea from.

“I already have enough friends, thanks.” Ovi growled, not bothering to look when Metal Sonic’s ‘child’ disguise drooped at the answer. This was still a dangerous weapon he was talking to, bound only to its creator/master for its loyalty. No matter how it tried to act like his friend.

There’s no reasoning with something that’s not ‘alive’, after all.

“Oh ho ho, my boy. I didn't think you’d care about those lowlifes!” Eggman cawed, breaking Ovi out of reverie. “Why, they just happily let you run away from dear ol’ daddy Harold, right on cue for you to deliver the Chaos Emerald to me!”

“You liar! They would never do that!” Ovi squealed, his voice rising an octave higher than his usual amount. Eggman gleefully smiled at Ovi’s despair, glasses gleaming as he thought his next words.

“Oh, am I now?” Eggman said, taking on a gentler, almost grandfatherly voice. “Tell me, Ovi. Why are you here?”

“Wha-what? You brought me here!” Ovi yelled, not wanting to play Eggman’s games.

“And yet,” Eggman leaned closer, keeping the grandfather act despite creeping Ovi out, “You came on your own volition to me, boy.”

With that, Eggman left Ovi to think on what was said. The horror dawned on the brat’s face as Eggman went back to the finishing touches.

Meanwhile, with Sonic and the gang…

After Harold finally wrangled out of Terestri where he last saw Ovi, Sonic and the gang scoured the Kintobor Manor’s entire forest for any traces of Ovi. They had split up, tackling different parts of the woods. Nebula floated over the trees, keeping an eye out for movement as she scoured the tree tops. Tails was using his Miles Electric as a dowsing machine, hoping to find the trace signatures of Ovi and the Chaos Emerald.

Hope and Amy - as Harold refused to let his daughter out of someone’s sight - looked around inside the tree line, calling out Ovi’s name as they traversed carefully. Harold himself kept checking the ground for tracks, following the line of footprints as Sonic zipped and dashed by all of them, barely leaving an imprint before it was swept away again.

Eventually, the entire group converged to the point where Terestri had said he last saw Ovi, taking the steps to find the container the Chaos Emerald was kept in, along with the last of Ovi’s footprints in the grass. Right until Ovi’s signature bootprints stopped.

“It seems his trail ends here.” Harold stated, keeping a neutral mask as he surveyed the area. “Ovi seems to have picked up the habit of placing his signature onto his shoes.” Harold mused to himself, tracing a faint outline of Ovi’s name left in the ground. Sonic was the first to react to the news, stomping his foot in the ground.

“Damnit!” Sonic yelled, slamming his fist into a nearby tree. He regretted it right away, as he shook his hand to try and alleviate the bout of pain.

“That can’t be the end of it! Are there other paths he could have taken?” Nebula floated down, arms flailing as she gestured to the spot that Ovi’s last footprint was.

“No, it seems they just… flew off.” Harold bemusedly muttered, not understanding what happened.

“Flew off?” Amy’s eyes got wide. As soon as she and the others heard that, then looked at each other, a silent nod of understanding given between them. Apart from Harold and Helen, that is, who stared at the trio. “Do you know something I don’t?” Harold asked.

“Eggman probably got on his stupid Eggmobile to prevent anyone from tracking him…” Sonic’s voice had an edge to it as he swiped his nose. Helen looked at Sonic, expression blank with confusion.

“Eggmobile?” She asked, which Tails obliged.

“The Eggmobile is Eggman's own hover car. A nifty invention that allows him to take control of his robots quickly and efficiently! You see…” Tails and Helen kept talking about the mechanics of the Eggmobile, geeking out over its ability to levitate despite no known thrust…

Nebula decided to tune them out, and pick up the canister. There, her heightened senses picked up something that she couldn’t tell before - but remembered smelling when Ovi and Sonic had come up with Harold the previous day. Hesitantly, Nebula stuck her snout into the container’s opening, and - 

Sniff, sniff

“Hmm…” Nebula hummed out, looking through the canister to make sure. Yep - The strong, almost distorted taste/smell of the Chaos Emerald mixed with the canister itself, almost giving off an ethereal glow as she looked into it.

“Nebbie? What do you smell?” Amy asked, looking over to Nebula’s position as she regarded what they could do. 

“I smell the container that the Chaos Emerald was trapped in.” Nebula stated, licking the container for good measure. “It seems the Chaos Emerald stayed long enough for the canister to absorb most of its smell.” 

Harold, still looking at the footprint Ovi left longingly, immediately swiveled and glared at Nebula in disbelief.

“You can smell electronics?” Harold asked, surprise written in his features. He got up from where he was kneeling, walking over to Nebula to assess the cylinder.

“It was how we managed to find out your address - her smelling your microchip.” Tails stated, he and Hope coming towards Harold and Nebula.

“That… that should have exploded along with your tablet.” Harold’s brows knitted together as he ran things through his head. 

“It didn’t.” Tails stated, shaking his head in thoughtfulness. “The microchip had your address on it, so we used it to find your place.” Harold blinked, huffing a bit at being bested by faulty machinery.

 “Great, I'll have to let them know not to put my address onto these chips…” Harold growled to himself, thinking about the division in KintoborTech who thought it was a great idea to leave his address on the microchip. He’ll have to demote the person, now…

“Okay, enough already!” Everyone immediately looked to Sonic, happy for the interruption. “We need to get to Ovi, and fast. Who knows what he’s doing with Ovi?”

“Yes, it would be a problem if Eggman found Ovi to be worthless in this endeavor…” Harold muttered, his mind drifting to the possibility of his son dead.

“Right. Nebula, can you smell where Ovi went?” Sonic asked, mind frazzled and ready to bolt.

“Yes, I think he went that way!” Nebula bolted into the sky, floating off as she followed the scent without bothering to see if the others followed. Sonic immediately grabbed Harold’s hand, not bothering to check if he was okay with it as the hedgehog zoomed off after the dragoness.

Amy, Tails, and Helen looked at each other, before Tails grabbed Helen’s hand and darted off, flying in the air as he did so. Amy was not far behind them, her own training with keeping up with Sonic helping her catch up with the others.

“Nebula, wait!” Amy and Tails yelled, trailing after Sonic and Nebula.

Back with Ovi and Eggman…

Ovi sighed, left alone while Eggman had gone off to gather more scrap metal for his Egg Mole. Ovi had taken a nap in between pretending to listen to Eggman’s newest spiel and fighting off an existential crisis, trying to avoid thinking about it by getting Eggman irate. Fortunately, Eggman deemed Ovi ‘too useful alive’, as most of Ovi’s ‘punishments’ for back talking usually came to Metal Sonic roughly squeezing the breaks and fractures all over Ovi’s body - most of which were made from his careless attempts from the circus.

Now, without the ability to sass Eggman, Ovi was stuck, with only Metal Sonic for company. Currently, the robot was idling, unable to even provide Ovi any moment of entertainment, even if it was horrific.

 “Friends don’t allow rich brats like you out of their sights.”

“Why, they just happily let you run away from dear ol’ daddy Harold, right on cue for you to deliver the Chaos Emerald to me!”

“You came on your own volition to me, boy.”

“Damnit!” Ovi yelled out, bringing his hands over his head to massage the thoughts out. Tails was right - Eggman would go for your weaknesses in the moment you showed one. He needed to force them out…

How can you say that? You agree with him!

That… That was true. Ovi did agree with them. It didn’t matter how much he wanted them out - Ovi always believed that he was a monster, from the sharp incisors he had since birth, to his orange hair and red eyes that he got after nearly dying from trying the quadruple flip. A mix between human and anthron. Never belonging in either.

“You’ll always have a place with us.” Sonic had said to him, one time, but Ovi never really believed it. He still didn’t, despite how he and Sonic were close.

After all, if Tails, his somewhat equal in being weird… Well, there was no other way to put it - Tails hated him, didn’t he? Hated that Ovi took up most of Sonic’s time from the fox, hated how Ovi charmed Amy and Nebula so easily, while the little fox seethed in the corner…

Well, now he won, didn’t Tails? Managed to get Hope to like him, when Ovi couldn’t -

“No, don’t think like that.” Harold’s old words creeped into Ovi’s head, shattering his dark thoughts with a purpose. “Wallowing isn’t going to help you at this moment in time. Take a look around yourself - what’s available to you that’ll help you get out?”

Ovi immediately looked around the area, compartmentalizing his thoughts for another time. Around was mostly boxes, not much close to him that would work… Well, save for the screwdriver Eggman had used to tighten some stray wires earlier. It seemed Eggman had forgotten to place it with the rest of his tools before leaving.

Ovi, knowing that Metal Sonic would do nothing as long as he didn’t try to run away (Ovi had tried to run a few times before, Metal Sonic kept on dragging him back before he managed to get away), Ovi got a marvelous idea.

One that would probably help his pals in the upcoming fight.

Using the screwdriver to get himself out of the restraints, Ovi took a look around now that he was unbounded. Ovi didn’t know what the warehouse contained - well, besides Metal Sonic and the giant, obvious Egg Mole in the building - and he needed something that would work.

Eventually, his foot caught a spray paint can, causing it to roll away from Ovi. Taking a look to his right, he saw all the boxes of spray paint right beside him.

Ovi smiled cruelly, looking back to the Egg Mole.

Immediately taking a few paint cans, Ovi leapt onto the Egg Mole, and started spraying more colourful patterns over the dull red, black, and grey the design had. In addition to the machine’s new ‘makeover’, Ovi took a look at the potential weak spots, areas where Ovi knew Sonic could dispatch easily.

At least, up until Eggman returned from wherever he went.

“I am the EGGMAN, That’s what I am - What! My creation!” Eggman dropped the bag of scrap in his hand as he entered the building, looking at the ‘paint job’ that Ovi gave his new masterpiece. “You insolent little brat! How dare you paint over my masterpiece!” Eggman’s voice boomed throughout the warehouse as he stomped towards Ovi.

Ovi, having just enough time to hide his ‘additions’ as random additions, yelped and nearly fell off the Egg Mole. Catching himself on the edge where the Eggmobile would be inserted into, before hauling himself up and trying to relax carefully on its sides.

“It looked a little drab, so I painted it!” Ovi snarked eagerly, not mentioning the fall he had earlier. He was sure Eggman didn’t see it, but Ovi noticed that Eggman’s face was alight with glee. Ovi was so focused on his slip up, he didn’t notice the swift presence of another coming behind him.

“Bah, you absolutely have no understanding of colour coordination! You’ve got blues and greens over top my brilliant red, and left bright yellow on top of my perfect blacks and grays! Oh, and Metal? Our guest needs another lesson in manners.” Eggman sneered, offering his palm as if he were allowed to bring a lady down the stairs.

Instantly, Metal Sonic charged up its electricity, grabbing Ovi before the changeling could move. A shock resounded throughout Ovi’s body, causing his muscles to react erratically.

“AHHHHHH!” Ovi screamed, his throat going dry immediately as Metal Sonic dropped Ovi onto the ground. Who knows when Metal Sonic was moving Ovi to bow towards Eggman, as he was being electrocuted, but hey.

“No, don’t stop. I’d like to hear you cry out for daddy.” Eggman childishly snarked, making Ovi look up to the scientist, snarling his teeth at the comment.

“You… You bastard.” Ovi growled out, rasping out his breaths as he glared at his captor, body spasming from the residential electricity in his body. Eggman’s smile widened with a vengeance.

“You know, your dear old dad wanted you to be sent to me, didn’t you?” Eggman stated, causing Ovi’s eyes to widen in response. “After all, I know how to take care of petulant children.” He emphasized, seemingly in accordance with his rivalry to Sonic. Ovi chuckled without humor, making Eggman growl back at him.

“Please, as if he’d give me to you.” Ovi slurred out, yet trailed off as he thought of it - how it explained both Harold’s current and past behavior. He couldn’t tell anymore if what he stated was true. Had it been, once before?

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Eggman cut through most of Ovi’s cruel thoughts, lapping up the realization in Ovi’s eyes. In the corner of his glasses, Eggman saw his cameras sighting a rather intrepid gaggle of morons out on his front door. “Oh, here he is now.”

“Harry -?” Ovi whined - whined! - at that. Eggman soaked in all of the little pest’s fear.

“Yes, you brat.” Eggman then turned to Metal Sonic, pressing a button on his jacket before addressing the robot. “Now, you get to take a backseat while Metal Sonic greets your friends. Right, Metal?”

“You got it!” Ovi’s sharp, yet snark-filled voice reverberated in the warehouse, causing Ovi to turn around. There, in place of the robot Ovi hated to see, was himself.

Save for one detail…

“You do know that my friends will see right through this trick?” Ovi growled out, glaring at Eggman as he pointed at Metal’s Ovi eyes.

Metal Sonic’s disguise used white sclera, as opposed to the black sclera that Ovi had.

“Bah! Semantics. Besides, ” Eggman chuckled, waving at Metal “Ovi.” At once, “Ovi’s” sclera turned black, before returning to white.

“A master showman never starts with all of his tricks! You’ll get to see them not fall for it, then fall for it when it’s you!” Eggman lifted Ovi as Metal Sonic walked off to the entrance, getting ready to fight Sonic and the gang. Ovi stunned out of his mind, could only watch as Eggman threw him into the insides of the Egg Mole, his laugh haunting him as he fell into darkness.

“Ho, oh oh oh - hoh!”

[daydreaming-in-letters]

London Rain

Part 2

03/13/2021

Pairing: Henry Cavill x fem!reader (3rd person)

Word Count: 1,694

Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving)

Summary: The reader finds herself in a lucid dream about some morning shenanigans with her man - or doesn't she?

A/N: I’m still over the moon about your feedback for the first part. It seemed this boosted my motivation so much that I was able to finish part two earlier than expected. Enjoy!

Part 1

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms. 

Waking up without him was the worst. Or was it falling asleep without him? She wasn’t able to decide. Yet, the hours in between were the only moments of solace, the only time when she wasn’t conscious and didn’t feel his absence. But sometimes even sleep wouldn’t bring her peace but torture her with the most vivid dreams instead. Only in the narrow time frame between sleeping and waking she wasn’t at the mercy of her longing since she had found that it was then that she could influence her dreams. 

The moment she opened her eyes, she knew that she found herself in one of those lucid dreams again when she saw the familiar view of his smiling face right before her. The vision was so clear that it almost scared her, so detailed and rich in colour that she could even make out the sparkle of pure elation in his steel blue orbs.

Carefully her hand reached out for him, afraid he might vanish into thin air as soon as she touched his face. But wondrously, he didn’t and soon she could feel the gruff stubble underneath the palm of her hand as the tip of her thumb slowly drifted across his moustache.

“I can’t believe you kept that thing.”

A deep chuckle escaped his chest and rolled through the small space between them.

“I can shave it off right now if that’s what you want.”

She took a moment, weighing his offer in her mind. If she told him to do it now, he would leave the bed, probably making her wake up and lose him to the morning once again. So, since this was just her imagination on the loose, why not simply go with it? 

Feeling very bold all of a sudden, she locked eyes with him and by the way he glanced back at her, she was sure he could already sense what was about to come.

“Maybe later. There is one thing I need to find out first.” She shot the Henry vision a seductive smile, burying her fingers in the lush locks that covered his pecs.

“And what might that be?” 

This was too easy. Why couldn’t this be real life?

“I think you know exactly what that is, Henry.”

The lust in his eyes was unmistakable, that hungry flame dancing in his dilated pupils. For a second she could have sworn that he would engage her lips in a heated kiss when suddenly it felt as if someone had altered her script. She had already closed her eyes in anticipation, but all she heard was a deep, “Very well then,” before he was gone.

With a frustrated sigh she turned on her back, letting the cool morning breeze hit her bare chest, making her shiver in the process. She felt stupid for making herself believe that just this one time it might have worked. But it was always the same. At some point she lost control and was hurled back into reality so violently that it gave her whiplash. 

Sulking and angry with herself, she refused to open her eyes, unable to face yet another morning without him. Two more days, it was only two more days, the voice inside her head chanted. Get a grip. 

And to her surprise the self-motivation actually seemed to work when out of nowhere she could feel two strong hands grip her ankles. With a sure touch that she knew all too well, they unrelentingly made their way up her shins, pushing her wide open once they reached her knees, coaxing an audible gasp from her lips.

But they didn’t stop yet and she noticed them travelling higher and higher, getting closer to her aching core inch by inch. Even before he had reached his destination, she could feel the telltale wet heat flood her womanhood. A soft moan escaped her lips as she shamelessly imagined his hungry eyes taking in her folds that glistened promisingly in the morning light.

Heat was rising from her lower body, setting her whole body on fire and when his hot breath finally rolled over her slit, she couldn’t help her walls from clenching around thin air. Unintentionally she braced herself for the impact, every second without his mouth on her seeming like an eternity. She could feel the frustration rise again. Should her imagination choose to betray her once again, in this very moment, she would never forgive herself. 

Pulse racing, her hands clenched into tight fists when finally she could feel his lips on her, releasing the most obscene moan from deep within.

God, this felt good, so familiar yet also with an exquisite touch every time his whiskers scraped her soft flesh. Knowing her inside out, his tongue played her expertly, every lick, every stroke designed to pleasure her just the way she desired.

Perfect was the only word that came to mind to describe the way he tended to her needs, his whiskers the cherry on top, as they stung and prickled in the best way possible while they stimulated her bud in turn with his tongue.

It didn’t take long before he sent her senses into overdrive and she could feel the point of no return approaching. She needed to feel him, immediately, needed to feel his soft locks between her fingers. And before she even knew what she was doing, her fingers wandered down her body. Of course she knew that there would only be the warm sheets to fist her hand into, but as long as her mind imagined his mouth on her so vividly, she didn’t mind pretending that small detail as well.

Fully expecting to close her fingers around the cool cotton, she almost yelped when her fingers actually made contact with a silky tuft of hair. In an instant her eyes shot open and her delusional mind needed a few seconds to register that this was far from a dream after all. 

Right where she had so desperately wanted him to be, he was lying between her legs in flesh and blood, his mouth eagerly lapping at her folds. And then the memory struck her like lightning. He had come home last night. She thought she had dreamed that up as well, but it had been real. He was here, he was really here.

And while she still tried to figure out how that was even possible, she could suddenly feel two fingers pressing up against her entrance. Teasing her a little, he let them drive up and down agonisingly slowly, clearing her mind of all thoughts apart from how desperately she wished to be filled by him.

Before she knew what she was doing, her fingers fisted down in his hair on their own accord. With a slight pull, they drew a heady moan from his throat, the extra stimulation making her dizzy as the vibration rolled over her heated sex, while in the same moment, he let his fingers finally sink into her until they were buried to the hilt.

Fuck, she was so close already and now that he had finally given her something to clench down upon, she could feel her walls tighten around his digits, a violent moan falling from her lips at the sensation. 

Her mind began to cloud over, yet one thought remained clear as day, shining like a beacon through the foggy mess of her mind: she needed him, needed to feel his eyes on her before she could finally let go and let herself be consumed by her lust.

“Henry.” His name fell from her lips like a silent prayer and his senses immediately seemed to catch on to the desperation in her voice. In an instant his eyes shot up to hers, blue as the raging sea, possessed by a hunger that mimicked her own and as they met her gaze, she could finally feel herself fall.

In pulsing waves her orgasm washed over her, her head spinning from the unusually high amount of pleasure. She could feel it falling back into the pillow with a thud, while his fingers and mouth kept working her through her high with a sure touch.

Almost imperceptibly slowly she could feel the surge even out, before he gently retreated from her throbbing core. Instead his lips began to tend to the soft skin of her belly, unhurriedly working their way up, touching and tasting every inch of her sweat-covered skin. Still too blissed out to even move, she watched as he stopped at her breasts for a while, licking and sucking her pebbled nipples, at this point as much for her pleasure as for his own.

He must have felt her eyes on him because he suddenly looked up, catching her staring.

“I missed these two.” 

His cheeky smirk elicited a hoarse chuckle from her throat that made his eyes shine wildly before his mouth finally continued its trail up her body. With a growl he dove into the crook of her neck, his whiskers leaving behind the most wonderful tickling sensation while he began to tend to her sweet spot.

“You know, Hen, I’ve been thinking,” she tried to press out with a steady voice while his teeth bit down gently onto her pulse point, sending a bolt of lightning through her lower body in the process.

“About what?” he muttered into her skin, refusing to leave his favourite spot.

“Maybe the stache can stay for a while.”

Instantly his head shot up and before she even saw his face, she knew that it was covered in a shit eating grin.

“Then I’ll make it my personal duty to ensure you won’t regret that decision.”

And as if to enforce his promise, his hard length suddenly twitched vigorously against her mound, forcing a moan from her lips which he was quick to smother with a searing kiss. Urgently his tongue began to dance with hers, his strong arms pulling her into him and while he continued to worship her body with his lips and hands, it slowly dawned on her that they probably wouldn’t leave the bed for the rest of the day.

[along-came-atsushi]

Akutagawa – Dazai – Atsushi: An analysis about their relationship

And why Dazai treats them so differently.

.

The symbolism of Atsushi and Akutagawa:

From their outward appearance and their design alone, Atsushi and Akutagawa are meant as opposites, but they’re also a duality:

Both wear black and white clothes, but whereas Atsushi is mostly white with a streak of black, Akutagawa wears mostly black with a streak of white. It’s even represented in their hair colours.

Besides this, there are many other things that mark their oppositeness and their duality to each other:

Atsushi is a member of the ADA, while Akutagawa is a member of the PM. Atsushi’s ability colour is blue, Akutagawa’s ability colour is red. Being a member of the ADA makes Atsushi someone who works for the “light and day”, Akutagawa is someone who works for the “darkness and night.” Atsushi loves cats, Akutagawa hates dogs. Atsushi’s ability takes the form of a tiger, Akutagawa’s ability represents a dragon, both creatures are important elements in Asian mythology. Ultimately, Atsushi symbolizes life or is associated with life, while Akutagawa symbolizes death or is associated with death.

Considering this, the title Shin Soukoku (Double Black) isn’t even a fitting name for them, since they both aren’t simply a double, as both Mori and Fukuzawa or Dazai and Chuuya were.

[Beware: Spoilers starting from chapter 83]

.

Dazai’s mindset and his relationship with Akutagawa:

1.) One of the reasons why Dazai’s treatment towards Akutagawa as a mentor was so cruel and brutal, firstly lies in his overall negative mental state during his PM time. He was visibly unhappy, constantly surrounded by death and violence, and more than now struggled with his suicidal thoughts.

Is it an explanation for his treatment of Akutagawa? −Yes, it is.

Is it an excuse for his treatment of Akutagawa? −No, it isn’t.

2.) Another reason is that this is just how things are done in the Mafia. There is no sense in handling someone with kid gloves in the PM, a place where you get killed for disobeying orders, where you shouldn’t see your peers as friends or get to intimate with anyone:

“It’s an unwritten rule in the Mafia to not stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. One must never open the door to another’s heart and try to judge them for the darkness tucked within.” – Odasaku

If it wouldn’t have been Dazai who taught Akutagawa in such a cruel way, with high probability, it would’ve been someone else. Or as Dazai explained, a sign of weakness will get you killed in the PM:

And Dazai had the absolute chance to kill Akutagawa after he disobeyed orders and killed a person captured for interrogation. His ability can nullify all other abilities by mere touch. He could’ve simply touched Akutagawa, so that he wouldn’t have been able to use his ability to protect himself, and then shot him on the spot. But he didn’t do that, because:

“Akutagawa – he’s like a sword without a sheath.” Dazai grinned from ear to ear. “He’ll surely become the Mafia’s strongest skill user in the not-so-distant future. But for now he needs someone who can teach him how to put that sword away.”  [...]

“When I first saw him over in the slums, I was horrified. His talents are extraordinary, and his skill is extremely destructive. Plus, he’s stubborn. If I’d left him to his own devices, he would’ve ended up a slave to his own powers until he destroyed himself.” – Dazai to Odasaku

He already valued Akutagawa’s skill and saw the huge potential in him:

I was surprised. I had never heard Dazai openly speak so highly of one of his men like that before. [...]

Dazai didn’t freely make people work under him, period; much less a boy on the verge of starvation in the slums. But Dazai seemed to have his own reasons for doing it. – Odasaku about Dazai

.

Something which is also later confirmed by Atsushi:

“I believe Dazai-san has acknowledged you long ago.”

Why is it then that Dazai still treats Akutagawa so badly and doesn’t tell his approval right to his face? Something that becomes Akutagawa’s main purpose for a long time, even after Dazai left PM.

.

Dazai’s relationship with Odasaku and Ango:

Dazai’s behaviour and actions when he’s with Ango and Odasaku clearly shows that he can be different and doesn’t treat everyone with cruelty and coldness, if he wants to.

But what’s the difference between the two people he considers his friends and the people who are his subordinates?

-> Ango and Odasaku value and respect life.

.

The reason Dazai becomes and is attached to Odasaku and Ango is their viewpoint about death and life:

“I would become a novelist and write a story about why the man stopped killing. But to become a novelist, I needed to sincerely know what it meant to live. – Odasaku

.

“You’re quite the interesting fellow, Ango. Doing that isn’t going to make the boss happy. […]” “You’re making records of the lives of the deceased. Am I right?” […] “The line between human losses and those of money and equipment begin to blur. There is no individual, no soul, and no dignity to death. But you’re fighting back against that.” – Dazai to Ango

This is the reason why he values them so much that he considers them his friends. He’s not friends with them because he gains something from it, or because they have interesting abilities, or because they are on the same intellectual level as him (which they aren’t). Something that gets emphasized by Odasaku’s rank. He descended from an assassin (a high reputation in the PM) to a maid-of-all-work and an errand boy (a low reputation in the PM).

Dazai is attracted to and fascinated by people who value life – something you don’t find in the PM, and something he himself struggles to understand. Probably because there never was a person who taught him this. Like a curious child, he turns to people who he knows have a better understanding in this than him.

He even becomes very irritated when one of his subordinates questions his friendship with Odasaku:

“Dazai, sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but… I saw him [Odasaku] sweeping behind the office the other day. A man of his status isn’t qualified to be your friend, let alone with an enemy like this.” Dazai stared, flabbergasted, at his underling.

“Are you joking? Odasaku’s not qualified?” Dazai asked, thoroughly surprised. […] “You fools!” Dazai’s lips curled into a sneer in genuine disgust.

This respect doesn’t solely concern Odasaku and Ango. Hirotsu is also one of the very few people he respects for this reason. Even though Hirotsu may not value life in the same terms as Odasaku and Ango do, but he also doesn’t lightly throw away his subordinates lives either:

“…Ha-ha! Just kidding!” Dazai abruptly added in a cheery tone. Hirotsu stared back at him, confused. “The reason you have so many people following you is that you don’t turn your back on them. I’ll leave things in your hands. I won’t tell the boss.”

It’s only when Odasaku dies in Dazai’s arms and tells him to go protect the living, that he starts to change his behaviour and viewpoint.

.

Dazai and his many failed suicide attempts:

Why is it that Dazai − a genius, a manipulator, someone who exactly knows how the human psyche works, someone who’s predictions always come true and who has plans within plans – then always fails when he tries to kill himself?

Dazai has read the book “The Complete Suicide” so often that he can cite it in his sleep. He has engaged in torture and killed many people. He knew exactly how to involve Ango and himself in a car crash without them dying.

If he really wanted to, he could’ve already killed himself many times ago. He claims that “he doesn’t like pain and suffering”, which according to him is the reason why his suicide attempts fail. But there are ways how he could kill himself without just that. It’s just that he doesn’t WANT to die.

„I thought if all went well, I could die a heroic death on the battlefield. But the dozen or so armed guys who showed up were a real scrappy bunch. […] Thus, I unfortunately avoided death once again.”

He always tells that something inconvenient happened that kept him from dying. But sometimes people around him notice that there’s something wrong in his attempts:

“I was walking and reading a book called ‘How To Not Get Hurt Out Of The Blue’ and fell into a drainage ditch.” A surprisingly absurd reason. – Odasaku and Dazai

.

“I glance at his desk and see the blasphemous book he bought the other day, ‘The Complete Suicide’, opened to a page titled ‘Death by Poisoning Mushrooms.’ Next to the book lies a plate with a half-eaten mushroom on it. However, upon further inspection, it appears to be a slightly different color from the one in the book. – Kunikida about Dazai

.

“I thought you [Gide] were similar to Dazai at first, rushing into battle and wishing for death without even considering the value of your own life. But he’s different. […] And he’s just a child−a sobbing child abandoned in the darkness of a world far emptier than the one we’re seeing.” – Odasaku to Gide about Dazai.

Dazai is a person who actively seeks life and wants to be freed from his own philosophy. He’s struggling between seeking death, which he thinks is the only way to free him from his loneliness and suffering, and seeking life for the simple reason that he doesn’t want to die.

.

Dazai’s relationship with Atsushi:

Atsushi saved Dazai from drowning despite the fact that he himself was on the brink of starvation. The first thing Dazai got attached to Atsushi is his view on life. Despite the abuse he suffered, Atsushi seeks life and wants to live, makes it even his reason to fight and his life motto.

“The lives of those who can’t save anyone have no value”. In that moment an idea suddenly popped into my mind. […] If by any chance I can let the passengers return home save and sound does that prove that it’s okay for me to live?”

Throughout the story, Atsushi transfers his viewpoint and determination to characters who have a connection to death, darkness and/or suffering (e.g. Kyouka, Lucy).

The reason Atsushi values life, being the symbolical personification of it, is the reason why Dazai is able to treat him much better than Akutagawa.

.

Forming Shin Soukoku:

Dazai says that Akutagawa is a highly skilled student, but he needs someone to sharpen him. He instantly decides and plans to team him up with Atsushi, the moment he meets him. He knows that Atsushi, due to his view on life, is the only one who can teach Akutagawa to value life himself and to change as a person. In other words “the one who can teach him how to put that sword away”.

This is something Dazai in the past couldn’t and still can’t teach Akutagawa (or anyone at all for that matter). Because he himself needs and wants to be taught that, so he seeks people who are able to give him a different understanding in this (see Ango and Odasaku). Vice versa Akutagawa isn’t able to teach Dazai how to value life, because he himself represents death and has a strong connection to it. It’s one of the very first things he says when he gets introduced in the story:

“Fear death. Fear slaughter. Those who desire death have an equal desire to die.”

Even though Atsushi’s words may seem very harsh, but it IS one of the reasons why Dazai so abruptly abandoned Akutagawa. Is it an explanation? −Yes, it is. Is it an excuse? −No, it isn’t.

Another reason is that Dazai tries to flee from his responsibilities, his past and the terrible things he has done (including Akutagawa’s abuse), because he is not able to face them. Not now that is. He is still in need of guidance and of change, in order to be able to do this.

[Side note: Dazai and guilt is something that can be analysed in its very own meta. I’m not expanding on it further here].

Akutagawa’s connection to death gets emphasized by him even disobeying orders to not kill, for the sole reason that in his mind, killing is much simpler and more effective. He lashes out and tries to kill the people who are respected by Dazai and/or considered friends, even though he should know that an action like this will definitely not get him the approval he so wants.

He was willing to kill Atsushi, even though his mission was to capture him alive, ignoring the possible consequences this would have had for him.

But throughout the story Akutagawa changes his viewpoint. He thinks that the reason why Dazai acknowledges Atsushi and puts him above him, is because he is a better (better in the sense of physical and ability strength) subordinate than him. But he realizes that this can’t be the case and questions it more than once:

His former pure jealousy and grudge towards Atsushi (something which he also felt for Odasaku) slowly turns into questioning, trying to understand what differs them from each other. Dazai knows very well that Akutagawa is still obsessed with him and his approval. Therefore if necessary, he uses this to manipulate him, if it’s to either protect/help Atsushi or to get them both to work together:

Akutagawa starts to constantly challenge Atsushi, questioning him, and demanding him for an answer. It’s only when Akutagawa saves Yokohoma from the Moby Dick crash, that Dazai openly tells him “you did well”.

The reason why Dazai does this so hesitantly, shows that he is still in his own metamorphosis. He’s slowly changing as is Akutagawa. He is still afraid to face his responsibilities, but doesn’t treat his former subordinate cruel anymore.

This change in Akutagawa goes so far that Atsushi is able to ask him to not to kill anyone until they meet again. When told about, Dazai is visibly happy, as it is something that he as a mentor wasn’t able to do. He is reminded of Odasaku, comparing Akutagawa now to him:

Due to this, Dazai now has this much faith in Akutagawa that he puts the task to keep an eye on Atsushi and to protect him in his hands:

Mind the difference of his expressions when he talks with Akutagawa then and now:

Dazai doesn’t team Atsushi and Akutagawa up only for strength and fighting reasons. Or because their abilities are compatible in battle. But because Dazai knows that Akutagawa won’t unnecessarily kill anymore, because he is seeking answers through Atsushi and is changing through their interactions:

He keeps his promise, much to Atsushi’s surprise, but it’s out of the question that he is happy about this:

Akutagawa promising not to kill anyone, keeping his promise in the end and even going so far as to protect someone, in other words valuing life, is something which Dazai could’ve never taught him. And again, he still can’t. Dazai is not solely the teacher, but the student himself. And although Atsushi may be a teacher for both of them in his philosophy, he is a student of Akutagawa and Dazai in other things.

Because what Atsushi lacks is self-confidence and his own worth, faith in his own abilities and the mental strength to overcome his past abuse and trauma. Those are things he learns through Dazai and especially, through Akutagawa.

[monstersdownthepath]

A collection of weird magical items

Pulled from some really old posts of mine I found while dusting my old blogs.

There are no individual stats for these, they’re purely designed to be useless, funny, or plot hooks for a really, really weird session.

Blade of the Suc Rose: An intelligent shortsword resembling a stylized tongue that drains the sugar out of anything it touches... but it loathes the taste of blood unless it’s starving. So long as it’s powered by enormous amounts of sugar, its prowess is unmatched; it can swing with incredible speed, parry incoming attacks, and even knock arrows from the air, but it refuses to cut into anything with a flavor it doesn’t like. It’s also prone to dramatic sugar crashes that see it becoming utterly powerless for hours at a time.  

The Endless Blade of Arrothar: An elegantly crafted katana in an even more decorated sheath, this blade is endless to the point of uselessness. No matter how far it is drawn out from the sheath, it will simply extend endlessly until the sheath or hilt is released, at which point it will rapidly retract. The blade cannot even be used as an unorthodox weapon, as what appears to be metal bends and wobbles like rubber, useless for cutting anything but softened butter and resisting all attempts to cut it. The best one can do is beating people with the sheathed sword.

Lonely Left Shoe: A worn and beaten blue shoe eternally seeking its partner, it randomly teleports onto the left foot of nearby creatures, displacing whatever footwear was on in the first place to whatever space it used to be in. Who knows what will happen if it ever finds its partner?

Band of the Dormouse: An experimental attempt at going beyond already established magic items by creating a Headband of Vast Intelligence +10, it worked like a charm in the testing phase on mice... but it ended up only working on mice. Now any mouse or rat which wears this band (which resizes itself into a belt for them) becomes awakened and smart as an average human. It has, for now, been in the same family of rodents since its creation, passed on from parent to child as each generation of rats gains just a little more natural intelligence from residual magic.

Marble of the Aquatic Apocalypse: A small blue marble that, when placed into a container of any size, will transmute all the liquid inside into pure, clear, drinkable water. It is currently locked away and awaiting destruction because there is no limit to how much liquid it can affect at once, and it getting dropped into the ocean would have catastrophic consequences.

The Geeteetoff: A wool sweater that is unbearably, supernaturally itchy, capable of afflicting any creature that even casually touches it with an extreme itch that can’t be alleviated for several minutes. Actually wearing it is torturous, and while it’s as simple to remove as any normal garment, it will randomly teleport itself onto a nearby creature every so often, and will use this power to flee any attempt at destroying it.

The Forbidden Joke: This scroll contains the funniest joke that has ever been created. Unfurling it and reading it causes the user to burst into uncontrollable laughter that swiftly renders them breathless, then completely unconscious. Unfortunately, no creature that has ever read the joke can remain conscious for long, continuing to laugh until it eventually causes their demise. Only erasing knowledge of the joke allows them to live peacefully, but they always feel as though they’re missing out on something really, really funny.  Undead attempting to read the scroll explode upon reaching the punchline.

The Warhammer of Kor-Korram: A terrible weapon crafted by a demon at the behest of a warlord who wished for a weapon that would kill “even if it missed.” True to the specifications, the Warhammer of Kor-Korram ends the life of any creature it strikes, but if the wielder swings and misses, whatever creature is closest to the head of the hammer is immediately struck dead... including the wielder, if nothing else is closeby. The hammer also doesn’t discern between being swung with killing intent, being swung to break something, a practice swing, or even a soft testing strike against a harmless surface.

Golden Horseshoes of Incomparable Fortune: Once these golden shoes are pounded into the feet of any horse, the horse is destined to lead a full, happy, injury-free life. No horse that has ever worn these shoes has ever suffered even the smallest of misfortunes or inconveniences, but the same cannot be said for any creature attempting to ride the blessed equine, who often suffer horrifying, messy, easily-avoidable deaths within minutes of attempting to ride the wearer. In fact, the shoes seem to siphon the luck of any nearby creature, eventually bringing disaster onto any being that stays too close for too long. Thanks to the blessing of the shoes, they become impossible to remove once equipped.

Yor, the Living Grapple: A living, intelligent grappling hook with a mortal terror of heights, Yor screams piercingly at the top of its nonexistent lungs when thrown into the air, wheeling its metal limbs around madly as it flies. In spite of the loud screaming, Yor is an incredibly effective grapple, as it fearfully seeks out the best possible hold to desperately cling to “for dear life.” Despite its fears, Yor appears to be invincible.

Celestial Marbles: A rune-covered bag of marbles of many different sizes that, when dumped out, rearrange themselves to match the current position of whatever celestial body they most closely resemble in relation to one another. As the bag has a stylized sun on it, it serves as the center of the solar system if placed on the ground. Any marble left in the bag gains similar properties, matching the position of whatever planet, moon, meteor, or star it most closely resembles.

The Lamp of Mardi the Great: A djinni lamp created and inhabited by “Mardi the Great,” supposedly the most powerful djinni in the universe. If any wish is spoken within earshot of the lamp, an elegant, jewelry-coated hand will reach from its spout and slap the speaker with an amount of force proportionate to the selfishness of the wish (an especially selfish or cruel wish may earn a more severe punishment, such as a punch or strangulation). If a truly selfless wish is spoken, the hand will instead give an “OK” symbol or a thumbs up, but will do nothing else. If insulted, it will perform a rude gesture and teleport elsewhere.

Muck Boots: Armored boots that carry some incredibly powerful and attractive enchantment, these boots are fairly loyal but will vanish the instant the user would step into something unpleasant or stub their toe, reappearing elsewhere in the world to be claimed later.

The Broom of Bashing: An animated broom that keeps things neat and tidy, sweeping the floors of any building it’s in dutifully. However, if it encounters any creature less than 7 years of age, it will rush them and relentlessly beat them with its bristles and handle until they’re no longer on the premises. Unfortunately, it counts the ages of rodents and insects in its rules, and has little qualms in damaging property if it means removing these pests.

Mentholated Rag: A handkerchief that cleans and repairs itself when not in use. It is eternally cool to the touch, but using it to wipe one’s mouth or nose causes it to blast a startling but otherwise harmless cloud of mentholated vapor into the targeting orifice.

Greedless Coinpurse: A purse which generates 3 gold coins in it each day at noon. However, if anything else is inside it when these coins are created, they are scattered across the cosmos. This can include the hand of the owner, if they reach in at the wrong moment. 

maybe more to come later

[busymagpie]

(from @outofangband, thank you so much for your encouragement)

It’s not much but I wanted to try to write something about your beautiful post Angband piece. Obviously I write a lot of post Angband but I haven’t written Russigon in a long time so I hope this is ok! (referenced past torture, nothing graphic though)

His fingers brushed over his shoulder with somewhat less than the usual grace. Finno hesitated for the briefest instances in some places. It was as though he was avoiding tracing directly over the scars there. Maedhros forced himself to breathe normally. He knew Finno’s hands by now, he reminded himself. He knew which fingers retained the numbness of the ice (and had almost stopped feeling the swooping of guilt everytime he considered this) Finno had said he would stop at a single word. Maedhros’s mouth felt dry. His heart fluttered in his chest. Against his bare back he felt the other’s heart as well. He wished Finno would speak, understood why he didn’t.  (The fingers of another hand did trace over his shoulder, not over scars but freshly inflicted cuts) Maedhros jolted in the past but in the quiet bedroom remained almost frozen.  Finno’s gentle fingers touched lightly over the back of his neck as he shifted behind him. There was nothing else there now but more scarring, the bindings and iron long removed.  “Finno?” Maedhros finally murmurs and the hands in the present stopped, leaving only ghosts upon his skin.

Note: Prolonged torture like what Maedhros experienced has a profound impact on your response to distress or pain. Being in a situation where there is no way to limit distress or pain and where you can’t say anything to make it stop is extremely damaging.  (this is the kind of thing I can and have ramble on for paragraphs so I won’t inflict that on you but yeah I wanted to touch on that briefly)

And final note: your work is just stunningly beautiful, I really can't say enough strongly. Your designs for both Maedhros and Fingon (and many others in their family) are some of my absolute favorites. I love Maedhros's freckles and the way you draw his scars feels very poignant and realistic and you do it in a very humanizing way? I don't know if this makes sense. And I love how you draw clothing and jewelry. Again, I really can't say enough how gorgeous it is.

Ahhhh thank you so much @outofangband !! I've reread that a couple of times now and I get emotional every time, it's perfect. You wrote exactly what I'm just not able to convey in a picture. This is some lovely Russingon! How Fingon is so careful and loving and how Maedhros is trying his best to make this happen but he can't stop thinking and over-analyzing everything. Thank you!

Also thank you for your nice words! I'm sorry I'm not good with words and can't properly express my excitement for what you wrote nor for how happy your compliments and support makes me, but I hope you know nonetheless! 💕

[midearthwritings]

Tongues rip like razors

You should never go to sleep after a fight. But tonight, you will.

Words Count : 1,790

Pairing : Faramir & Reader

Warning : Angst

Author's Note : Again, I couldn't decide if this was going to be platonic or romantic so really it's up to you to decide.

When comes Winter, with it come the frustrated and angry complaints. Those who grumble about the snowflakes stuck in their eyelashes, and those who whine about their almost frozen toes. You never understood them. How could one not enjoy coming home to a warm fire after a long day of playing outside? Blue fingers were a small price to pay to see the big bright smiles painting the little children's faces.

But the winter mornings, when the Sun rises lazily to make the snow glimmer like thousands of diamonds, seem far away.

The sunlight feels heavy on your back. Under all your clothes, sweat covers every inch of your skin, droplets dripping down your neck to your chest. More than anything, you wish to rip the thick cape off of your body. You don't, for you are not a child anymore and don't want to appear as such.

And so you keep walking, the dead looking grass crunching with each step you take. Through your boots, you can feel all the dry earth's bumps and its sharp rocks. There are no trees, and no shadow to make the walk more bearable. What wouldn't you give for the wind to blow on your face, to cool down your skin a little. Sadly, the air is hot and suffocating.

Perhaps, it would make things easier if you were not all walking so close to each other. As you silently curse the man behind you that keeps stepping on your heels, your toes hit something and your body flies forward.

You shut your eyes tightly, waiting for your face to collide with the hard ground. Already planning to blame the weather for your fall, you are pulled back on your feet by a gentle hand.

"Careful, we do not want you getting hurt." He keeps his words low, soft. Never have you heard Faramir raise his voice. He never needed to, at least not with you. He knows you will hear him, that you are listening.

You look up to him, with a small smile. There is no annoyance in his eyes, no anger. Only a plain blue color, comforting, a bit like home. You allow yourself to look a bit longer. Under the burning summer Sun, as you long for the cold winter nights, he is like Spring. The perfect in-between.

"My apologies, Captain." You say, bowing your head slightly to him.

As the mechanical symphony of the group's steps rise again, you feel his eyes still on you. You dare not look, nor even think too much, afraid he might be able to read your thoughts. Heat spread in your cheeks and you cannot decide if it is because of the Sun, or because you feel naked under his piercing gaze.

"What is it that troubles your mind?" He does not ask if wether or not you are troubled. He knows you are. Turning to glance at him, you see his arm is not resting against his body. It is only then that you realize his hand still holds you. You smile again, and like a disease it infects him and he smiles back.

"Too much." You admit pensively. The warmth of his touch spread throughout your body. Unlike the Sun's assault, it is a very pleasant sensation. "The weather, mostly. I miss the snow greatly."

He nods, as if he understood. Perhaps he does. "We all do. Until winter comes. And then we wish for it to go away."

Some do. But you don't. And the puddle of sweat on your lower back, dampening your clothes in the most uncomfortable way, only confirms the thought.

Time passes too slowly to your taste, and your mouth is getting dry. Drier even than the dirt you're walking on. Looking behind you, careful not to fall again, you observe the men following the captain's steps. They do not look much better than you do, some of them fighting to simply keep their eyes open.

In the middle, you glance at your prisoners. Blindfolded and tied up like beasts ready to be slaughtered. They are so small. Never before had you seen such small creatures. And they aren't even wearing shoes. If your feet are in pain, you cannot bring yourself to think about theirs.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for your leader's arm tugging lightly at his sleeve.

"Faramir." The pleading tone makes him look at you fully. You almost get yourself lost in the ocean of his eyes again. With a movement of your head, you indicate the two little men's position. "Shouldn't we give them some water? If I feel as if I could melt, surely they do too."

When your question is met with a firm shake of his head, you frown. For the first time, you don't understand him. Does he want them to get dehydrated and pass out? Someone would have to carry them until your next stopping point. And under such heat, it would be torture to whoever would be designated.

"They will be provided with food and drink when they have answered my questions." The tone he uses is unusual and it sends shivers down your spine. Slowly, you feel the soft Spring breeze be replaced with a snow storm. And suddenly, you understand what he had meant earlier, for in this instant, you wish more than anything for the cold to go away.

"Faramir." You try again, more desperate. It is not your life that depends on him, but it is still a life. "It is not fair to have them keep going without a bit of water."

"Is this treason I hear?" His words are now hard and sharp enough to cut stone. But they cut through your heart, better and deeper than any blade could. "Defending possible Orc Spies and doubting my ways?"

You wish to talk back. Tell him you are simply acting as a proper human being. But reason tells you not to. You would get into unnecessary, and unwanted trouble.

"No, my apologies Captain." You whisper, shaking your head.

Hanging from the Halfling's pale neck, it shines in all its golden glory. The One Ring. How easy would it be to snatch it and keep it all to yourself. The power you would be granted would be feared by all, and they would look up to you with admiration and envy. You could press Faramir's sword deep into the Hobbit's throat and it would be yours.

You force yourself to look away, anywhere else. Inside your chest, your heart is racing. You know it is evil. It calls to the weak minds and possesses them, leads them to their ultimate death.

Standing close to Faramir, you hear him speak softly. He craves it, and you wonder if his mind feels fuzzy, like yours did. In his eyes, usually filled with tenderness, burns the fire of desire. His breath is short, erratic. Does he, too, think of murdering the poor ring bearer?

Standing on the tip of your toes, you bring your mouth close to his ear. Your fingers find their way around his arm, once again.

"Faramir." You see his head tilt slightly at your words, his golden locks tickling your face. "I must talk to you. Privately."

He is reluctant to follow, his feet planted firmly on the ground. And when he finally complies, his eyes linger on the piece of jewelry a bit longer.

You drag him further away, hidden from any curious ears. It is only when you can barely hear the others talk that you stop, satisfied with the distance between you and them.

You cannot bring yourself to face him. Partly because you are ashamed. So easily, you had let the Ring take over you, the most disgusting thoughts merging in your mind. Another part of you is terrified. Of the Ring's power or Faramir, you do not know.

"You wished to talk, so talk." He is right. You were the one to bring him here. But now, you doubt yourself.

Gathering your courage, you turn around. He is changed, as if you had not seen each other in years. He gazes upon you as if you were a stranger.

"You should release them. Let them leave." At your suggestion, rage fill his eyes. In less than a second, he is standing so close to you, invading your space. You don't look away. The urge to defy his authority makes your guts clench, and you feel nauseous.

"You have no idea what it is that you are implying." He spits the words in a manner that is not his. Yet, his voice remains low.

Like a vivid memory, you see your hands around his throat, strangling him to death. Your blood boils in your veins and you feel hotter than you ever did.

If you cannot convince him to free the halflings, you will go insane before morning comes. Best case scenario.

"Faramir, this ring was not called Isildur's Bane for no reason." You hiss. What is on his mind? Is he thinking of burrying his sword in your stomach? "Bring it to Gondor and it is death that awaits us all."

He does not understand, does not want to. Gone are the soft smiles and fingers brushing against your skin. They now dig into your shoulder, and it almost hurts. Almost. But the pain in your heart is greater, and so you barely flinch.

"It will give us great power, and strength. We will slay the enemy and earn everybody's respect."

Slowly, the pieces come together and you close your eyes.

"It is not the Ring that poisoned your mind." You whisper, and his thumb presses harder into your shoulder.

All his life, Faramir had to live in the shadow of his brother. Not one day passed without his father looking upon him with disdain. Given the chance to prove his worth, he would blindly take it.

He does not speak, but he does not step back either. His breath hits your face, hot, burning. Nothing like the perfect Spring.

"You seek the recognition of a man who could not care less about you." Another missed opportunity to keep your mouth shut.

The cold steel of his sword caress the skin of your throat menacingly. You know he will not act on the threat. But you think better than to provoke him again, and you remain silent.

"Careful with the words you speak." He warns. And maybe, it is of him that you are afraid. "We do not want you getting hurt."

The blade is gone as fast as it came. The sound of his steps as he walks away are barely audible. You stand there, paralyzed. When you reopen your eyes, you are alone.

[talkcloneshipstome]

This is not the proper one word format, but could I request Echo/Fives/Tup, maybe newly ARC!Tup being welcomed back from training? 💙

Almost surprisingly, writing this prompt took nowhere near as long as I had expected it to, especially given the fact that I just started it... Oh, an hour or less ago. If it feels rushed and weird, I apologize and blame it entirely upon that. But thank you for the prompt! I absolutely adore this ship, as you well know.

This takes place in an AU where Revenge of the Sith either doesn’t happen, happens much later than it does in canon, or happens differently. Fives didn’t die, Echo was rescued and rejoined the 501st, and they both got married to Tup at separate times through all this. If you have questions about specifics, because I think making the whole thing work is really fun, feel free to hit me up! I hope you like this <3

Ten minutes.

That’s hardly any time at all. Just ten more minutes, and he’ll be back. He’ll be off this ship and back where he belongs. With his legion, his company, his husbands. He’ll be home again.

Oh, Tup is so ready to be home. He’s been missing his brothers and riduur’e something fierce.

It’s been six weeks that he’s been away from them. Six weeks of what Tup can really only describe as Hell. No, it wasn’t all bad. But ARC training isn’t supposed to be easy. If it was easy, everyone would do it.

But they don’t. It’s not for just anyone. It’s for the best of them. The soldiers who’ve proven themselves, gone above and beyond. It’s the second most rewarding kind of torture that Tup has ever experienced, right after the long months in which he pined silently for the men who would become his husbands.

And yikes had that taken a while.

After six weeks away, one would think that Tup could handle another ten minutes. You’d think he wouldn’t be so keyed up and nervous. Six weeks away is an insane amount of time. Anything could have happened between then and now, and Tup wouldn’t know. Okay, maybe that’s not quite true. Tup would have heard about anything important. They weren’t completely cut off during ARC training. In fact, they were actively encouraged to talk to their squads and the vode they’d left behind as much as they could. Within reason, of course.

Truth be told, Tup hadn’t expected that. But after the first few days, he realized why it was encouraged. There wasn’t a lot of free time in when training to become an ARC, mostly because if you weren’t drilling, studying, eating, or being tested, you were probably sleeping. That’s about all the energy Tup had left in his downtime. He slept and when it finally felt as if he’d struck up a good balance of feeling rested without sleeping constantly, then he and the other candidates found their own ways to entertain themselves.

(Tup has played so many impromptu games of hide-and-seek and hidden in the smallest and strangest places, he’s pretty sure he could fit himself into the tiny duct in Torrent’s barracks and never be found.)

The point is, he found time to stay in contact with Fives, Echo, and Rex. It took a bit of time to get figured out, but it happened nonetheless. But he hadn’t had the energy or time to miss them in the past weeks, being as busy and exhausted as he as been. It was sort of nice, in a strange and painful kind of way. It felt less like the world might end at any given moment, despite the fact that he’s aware it wouldn’t have stopped, even if he was at ARC training.

So with only— five minutes left to go, Tup thinks he’s about to vibrate right out of his seat. There’s a buzzing under his skin that he can’t get rid of. No amount of pacing or fidgeting with calm the nerves he feels riling up in his stomach. Sure, he may be an ARC now with more muscle than he’d left with, but he’s still Tup.

Tup is confident, but he’s always been a little bit of a worrier. A nervous kid, as far as clones go. Not for himself, but for others. His batchmates, the members of his squad, his fellow troopers in Torrent company. He worries about his husbands. Yeah, Tup grins easily and plays pranks with the best of them, but he’s nervous, too.

Becoming an ARC didn’t train that out of him. Comes with the territory of having loved ones, Tup supposes.

He’s so lost in thought that he hardly even recognizes when the shuttle lands in the bay. His head jerks up and he shoots from his seat again, eager to get out of the small space. He doesn’t have to wait long. After a second, the door opens with a hiss, folding downwards and ramping to the durasteel floor of the main hangar.

Tup breathes a little easier, seeing Rex standing a few feet from the ramp, waiting for him. He’s not alone, but there’s a twinge of sorrow in his chest when none of the paint matches with the two people he wants to see the most.

Still, he grins seeing his captain and vode again. Tup strides confidently down the ramp, all too aware of the extra weight on his shoulders and hips that his brand new kama and pauldrons have added. His armor is all new and white, freshly painted with Torrent’s ever darkening shade of blue paint. He keeps his helmet tucked securely beneath his arm, even as he comes to a halt in front of Rex and salutes him.

“Captain,” he says, smirking a lopsided grin. Rex returns the look and salute.

“Welcome back, ARC trooper Tup,” the blond man says. It stirs something in Tup’s stomach to hear his captain address him like that. Tup swells with pride, puffing his chest out and titling his chin just slightly higher.

Tup returns to a more relaxed position after that. Torrent new has stood on very much ceremony.

Tup can’t resist turning his head side to side, looking for the two people he wants to see most.

“So how was it?” Rex asks.

“Hell,” Tup responds cheerfully. Rex chuckles.

“Yeah, I remember. Was it as bad as we all made it out to be?”

Tup catches Jesse’s smirk as he comes up and leans into Rex’s shoulder, proudly wearing his own kama.

“No, no,” Tup says with a wave of dismissal. “It was much worse.”

That gets everyone around them busting out in fits of laughter. Tup can’t help but join in, even through his disappointment as his partners not being there to welcome him home.

Finally, he plucks up the courage to ask what’s on his mind. A part of him is worried that he won’t like the answer. Worries that he’s come home to broken pieces that need to be picked up and glued back together again. Assuming there are any pieces left to mend.

“Where are Echo and Fives?” he asks, casting another curious eye around the hanger. They have not magically appeared.

Both Rex’s and Jesse’s faces turn downwards in odd facsimiles of sad frowns. Tup narrows his eyes at them. He doesn’t think they’re about to lie to him, but those aren’t the faces of two brothers with bad news. Those are the faces of two of his brothers who are up to something and trying to convince him that they’re not.

“They’re out on a mission, actually. It couldn’t be helped—”

Tup quirks a brow up at them, shifting his weight to the side and cocking his hip out, full of as much sass as he can muster.

Given the amusement that flashes through both their eyes, Tup isn’t sure if he’s succeeded or not.

“Really? Because I think—”

Two sets of boots clatter suddenly into motion behind him in the same moment two extremely familiar voices cry out in excited greeting. Tup finds himself swept off his feet by two pairs of strong arms hardly before he can even react. Which is slightly embarrassing, given how he has literally just gotten back from ARC training. You’d think he’d be ready and equipped for this!

But he wasn’t. His feet are no longer touching the floor, and he has to throw his arms around someone’s — Fives, he’s pretty sure — shoulders in the hopes of not finding himself on his ass in a few seconds. Echo crushes him between the two of them, squeezing the living daylights out of Tup in a giant bear hug.

Tup wishes he could say it hurts less than it used to when they were both stronger than him. It doesn’t they have perfected this ambush-hug of theirs so that it always takes him off guard. He’s not actually hurting, because neither would really hurt him, but they do knock the breath from his lungs for a second.

Both Fives and Echo are saying things at him, talking loud with cheer in their voices and bright smiles on their faces. They do set him down after a second, but the hug doesn’t end. Tup finds that he hopes it never ends. He’d happily just stay right here, squished in between his lovers for the rest of his life, if he was given the choice. Nowhere has he felt more loved, happy, or accepted than in their arms.

He can’t help the relieved, happy tears that gather in the corners of his eyes, threatening to wet his cheeks.

Six weeks since he’s seen them last. Six weeks since he kissed them. Six weeks since they hugged him.

Six weeks without either of his riduur’e.

It was unacceptable, and Tup hopes to never have to be separated from them for them long again, no matter how irrational that hope may be.

They notice his tears almost before Tup does himself. The hug gentles into something tender and grounding as they both coo praises and love and reassurances at them.

Tup absolutely thinks they’re both dicks for trying to make him think they wouldn’t be here to welcome him home, but that hardly matters. It doesn’t matter because even with their concern and through his tears, Echo gets him to laugh. The three giggle together, they wipe away Tup’s tears before they can spill over. His husbands take turns kissing him over and over again until he’s smiling at them and feeling a little boneless from the love seeping into him even through the plastoid of his armor.

And, okay, maybe he’s still tired, too.

“We missed you,” Echo promises into the back of Tup’s neck after a moment. His hands have found their way into Tup’s half-loose hair. It’s braided back in some not at all intricate design, but it’s still much fancier than when he throws it up into the tight bun he usually prefers.

“I missed you, too,” he says back. Fives smiles at him, brushing the pads of his thumbs over Tup’s cheekbones.

“Look at you,” he says. “Tup, our husband. An ARC trooper.”

“Bet you didn’t see this coming when I was just a shiny on Umbara,” Tup jokes, wiping at his own eyes. “I told you I could do it though.”

Fives’ eyes are so soft as he gazes lovingly at him. Tup feels himself melting just at the expression.

“I always knew you could.”

[esmealux]

How Chloe Decker Ruined The Greatest Slut of The Universe

Part: 1 / 1

Setting: Post s5, maybe post s6?

Word count: 2.2K

Rating: T

Summary: Lucifer’s thoughts on monogamy have changed over time. Or, how Chloe Decker ruined the Greatest Slut of the Universe. 

Author’s note: Thanks for the help on this one! If I’m still a little off canon in some places, I apologise. I tried my best. If it bugs you too much that it doesn’t 100% match what’s implied on the show, you can always consider it an AU.

Lucifer had never seen the point of monogamy. Why limit yourself to one sexual partner when you could have a thousand?

It wasn’t a matter of quantity over quality—Dad no. It was simply a matter of diversity. Variety. No matter how delectable the taste, you wouldn’t stick to one meal for the rest of your life. No matter how sweet the melody, you wouldn’t listen to one song and one song only. Even the most magnificently scored piece of music would eventually tire your ears if it were all you ever heard. So why on Earth would you tie yourself to one person?

He might have understood it if humans were designed to mate for life, like beavers and seahorses, but they weren’t. They were polygamous creatures. And yet so many of them spent every living second obsessing over finding the one. It was untrue to their nature—deviant, really. The saddest part was that once they thought they’d encountered this ‘other half’, they’d chain themselves to the person, restrain themselves. Suppress their innate desires.

Why, oh, why?

The question had struck his mind so many times, most often amid a particularly sinful orgy. Why would you ever abstain from the abundance of pleasure several lovers could give you in return for sporadic and ever-worsening missionary sex with the same person until your dying day? 

It had made absolutely no sense to him.

But then he’d met her.

Not that he’d turned monogamist by the mere sight of her (he wasn’t that weak). But it was her acquaintance, all the light and the dark that ensued, which ultimately had made him abandon his philandering. He’d wish he could say it was a conscious choice. It wasn’t. After she’d kissed him that first time (and probably even before that) he just simply hadn’t had the desire to engage in casual sex with strangers. Not that he hadn’t felt desire in any form—had practically been set ablaze with it the moment their lips had touched—but he’d burned for her, and no one else.

And then, before he could even act on this newfound, completely overshadowing, giddying want, the all-destructive revelation had been thrust in his face. That she was nothing but another pawn in his Father’s vexatious game. That she hadn’t kissed him of her own free will. That they weren’t real.

It had felt as if he’d crashed against the sulphurous ground of Hell once again. And his carnal desires had been pushed even further back. If he couldn’t have her—and he couldn’t, because she deserved a choice—he didn’t want anyone. Not even when he’d fled from reality to Sin City had he been tempted to pick up a bed mate or two. Nor had he felt the need to seduce Candy as he’d pretend-married her. No, that little arrangement had primarily, almost solely been to protect Chloe. To give her a choice.  

And he’d done just that, as they’d gone back to being friends. Just friends. (For some reason, it had not relieved the ache in his chest, but he’d tried not to dwell on that). And yet, despite their now defined platonic relationship, he still hadn’t resumed his libertine habits. Mainly because he’d been busy sending his mother into another universe, being abducted, cursing his reattached wings, and learning that the new lieutenant was Cain(!). It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to get back to his carefree debauchery. The feathery traitors on his back had just kept getting in the way and ruined the mood.

That, and he hadn’t had quite the same appetite as before. Or perhaps his sexscapades had just become less filling. Either way, the hunger roused by their kiss had still burned inside him—a hunger that couldn’t be sated by one-night stands and sex parties. Because, as reluctant as he’d been to admit it back then, all he’d wanted, all he’d desired, was her.

But she had been forbidden fruit, and for once, he’d refused to bite. For once, something—someone had mattered more to him than his own wants and needs. And so, after a couple of (by his standards) unsatisfying shags, and for the first time in history, he’d had sex with no one but himself. Only accompanied by the ever-fading memory of her mouth on his, and bittersweet fantasies of what could have been.

It’d been rather depressing.

At some point, she had, for some inexplicable reason, started dating Lieutenant Pierce, aka. the world’s first murderer. Consequently, Lucifer had put all his energy into proving to her just how much better than the Murderous Man Ham he was. In addition to providing her with her favourite snacks, buying her a car, and other small acts of kindness, he’d continued to stay abstinent, solo sessions aside. Sleeping around with half of LA didn’t exactly say ‘loyal and devoted’—not to Chloe, at least—and he hadn’t wanted to lose her over meaningless sex. Eventually, he had (with a little help from a friend) realised that it would take more than expensive gifts, decadent dinners, and celibacy to win her over. That he’d have to tell her how he felt about her, instead of telling her how to feel about Pierce. With hope dangerously blooming in his chest, he had gone to finally confess the feelings he’d tried to suppress for so long—only to have an inadequate diamond ring and a quite unexpected ‘yes’ get in the way.

In the throes of jealousy and heartbreak and so many other painful emotions he couldn’t name, he’d started bringing people into his bed again. He’d thought it would help him get over Chloe, or at least keep his mind off her and bring him in a better mood—none of which had been the case, of course. Because all he could think of, as he would lie there, thrusting with as much passion he could muster into his amour d’un jour, was that it wasn’t her. That she’d chosen Pierce—chosen Cain. That he’d had and would have her in ways Lucifer could only dream of.

(And oh, did he dream. To a pathetic degree.)

In spite of the sulky thoughts that had invaded his mind every time he’d been entertaining someone for the night, he had, as always, managed to make all participating parties, himself included, reach their climax—often more than twice. But while they had left his place smiling and satisfied like never before, he’d lied motionless in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling as empty and as starved as he had pre-sex. If not more.

He probably should have realised then that his days as a serial lover were over. Should probably have realised it long before that, actually—say, when an innocent kiss had changed something fundamental inside him. But he hadn’t realised anything. Not then. Not when rekindling his relationship Eve had made him feel oddly guilty. Not when their weekend-long orgies had done nothing to fill the void inside him. Not when he’d found himself alone in the shower, getting off to sappy daydreams rather than the luscious woman waiting in his bed. Not when he’d finally broken up with said woman, and his excessive need for polyphonic stimulation had vanished altogether.

Nor had he realised it any of the times he’d looked at Chloe—when the stars in her eyes and the purity of her soul had taken his breath away. Not when she so openly and without fright had accepted him in his true form. Not when she’d made him see that it wasn’t his true form after all. Not during any of their most tender moments—moments he could only have shared with her. Not when she had felt like home, more than Heaven, Hell or Earth ever had.

Maybe he had started realising it when she between sobs and pleas had declared her love for him. (It was, after all, in that moment he’d realised he loved her in return, and more than he could even begin to understand). But it wasn’t then, and it wasn’t there, it had finally dawned upon him—that Detective Chloe Decker had ruined the First and Greatest Slut of the Universe.

No, the ultimate epiphany had come to him far, far away from her soft lips and her warm heart. Had first come to him when he’d let himself fall and sat in the throne he’d never wanted. Tortured by her absence for millennia on end. For it was there, amongst ashes and demons and scum, in the blackness of the abyss, deprived of her light, that he’d felt it. An all-encompassing desire, a scorching, excruciating longing to be with her. And only her.

It had been the single saddest case of Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

And fonder it had grown. For each day he spent in Hell without her, each year, each century, it only became all the more clear—crystalline, eventually, glowing brightly in the black smog: He loved her. Exclusively, absolutely, and unconditionally. 

Still does.

And even more so now. Now that he knows the feeling of her skin against his, and that she always vacuum-cleans to Spice Girls. Knows just how loud she snores, and what her naked body looks like in the sunlight. Now that he knows she kisses (far) better than she cooks, but that she’s no stranger to fixing a leaking pipe. Knows that it takes four tequila shots to get her horny and two glasses of red wine to have her falling asleep on the couch. Knows how she’ll toss and turn in bed when there’s a killer on the loose, and the peace on her face when they’ve put one behind bars. Now that he knows what makes her gasp in pleasure and what makes her cry with laughter. What makes her roll her eyes, and what makes her stomp out of the room. Knows the sound of her ‘good morning, baby’, and her ‘sleep well, honey’. The sound of her ‘I love you’ murmured against his lips.

Now that he knows her—truly knows her—he can do nothing but love her more with each passing hour.

And the best part is, she seems to feel the same way about him.

What a lucky bastard that makes him.

Because it was luck that brought them together. Not Dad’s will. He knows that now. Yes, she would never have existed had it not been for his Father’s divine intervention, but He didn’t create her from his ribs or code her to love him. As opposed to what Lucifer had thought for so long, they’re not made for each other, not like that. The fact that she met Lucifer? Definitely Dad’s plan. But that she let him into her life? Into her heart? Now, that she can only blame herself for. 

Lucifer blames her too—has questioned her judgement many times over the years, but always with an impossible amount of gratitude. Despite… everything, she chose him. They chose each other. 

He still doesn’t understand the whole soulmate-thing humans are so keen on (why praise your free will only to romanticise the idea of a predetermined partner?), but he can’t deny that he sees it now, the point of monogamy. It’s not that you can’t live without the person, or that you feel obliged to be with them until death do you part. It’s not about containing desires.

No, it’s about not wanting to live without this someone.

And, much to his surprise, sex has very little to do with it. If he ever had to choose between having the best sex of his life every day or always being in Chloe’s company but never getting laid, his balls would be bluer than all smurfs combined. And he’d still be the happiest Devil alive.

Fortunately, he gets both her company and the best sex of his life. But it’s not the incredible orgasms that keep him higher than any party drug ever did. It’s merely being near her. The closeness. The trust. The love.

He wouldn’t trade that— wouldn’t trade her for anything. (Not even a ménage à trois with Aphrodite and Marilyn.)

Once he realised that, it had only taken him two years to act on it. First, he’d sat down and had a short but heartfelt conversation with Beatrice. When that went well, he’d visited his old sparkly friends in the sky, for the first time since he formed them, and carefully picked the tiniest bit off the Brightest of them all.

And now, he’s finally making his way up the coast to the beach—the beach—as a fragment of his dearest star twinkles brighter than ever inside the gold ring nestled against his fluttering heart.

For years, his innermost desire has been to spend every day with her and do his absolute best to make her happy. He not only knows but feels that there is no one else for him. That they are, in the most beautiful and incredible way possible, stuck with each other; they might as well make it official.

If she says yes, that is.

Edit: I have come to realise that I probably should have given @thewollfgang some credit for the idea about the ring. I am truly in love with their ‘Ring’-fic, and I’m not sure I would have gotten the idea of Lucifer putting a star in Chloe’s ring if I hadn’t read their fic. And now that I just read it again, I realise that the ring being in Lucifer’s breast pocket also is heavily inspired by the same fic. So, lots of credit to the absolutely amazing @thewollfgang on this one. 

[ambiguousdisorderken]

If you could introduce cas at any one time between s1-s3 where would you do it and why?

as much as i ADORE the dynamic between s1dean and cas, i’ll go with something different, and perhaps a bit sadder, but in my opinion all the more poignant and impactful for it: dean meets cas at the end of s2, see all hell breaks loose pt. ii, cemetery battle against azazel.

as designed by chuck, dean was supposed to be michael’s vessel once armageddon was set afoot, but the whole divine plan was jeopardized when sam died. neither faction (chuck’s machinations aside) expected dean to make a deal to bring his brother back to life, but he did. so we have hell rejoicing and we have heaven somewhat placated because their holy father’s scriptures remain true and the order has been restored, at least for the time being.

whatever happens from here until the first seal breaks is not heaven’s business, they’re above petty humanity, and after all, the winchesters are mere instruments to be used once the apocalypse comes.

castiel though, he’s got a crack on his chassis. he’s curious. there’s celebration in heaven but he wants to know the real cause for celebration, he wants to meet this human who saved god’s plan with an act his siblings deem stupid, but he considers rather noble. so he goes to earth, for the first time in many years. his vessel, jimmy novak, a devoted man whose faith came to him as naturally as breathing, accepted castiel willingly and without much questioning.

it’s cas who helps dean defeat azazel instead of john. after all, john is only a human soul, a very tortured one in hell, if alastair’s words from 4.16 can be taken as truthful. he would be in no shape to climb all the way out of hell, not that fast, and especially, he wouldn’t be able to restrain azazel or force him out of his vessel the way he did. also, i just dislike the idea of john “redeeming” himself, it was executed poorly and it is a bit too easy and convenient for him to show up and save the day. [¡¡¡also fuck john winchester!!!.]

so yes, it’s cas who, in his haste to meet thee dean winchester stumbles into the battle and overpowers azazel, giving dean the perfect opportunity to shoot the demon and killing him for good. 

of course dean would be apprehensive of cas, but literally all hell had just broke loose, and if there was a point in time angels -should they exist- would appear on earth, surely that would be one of them, right?

it takes him some time, all of them, to trust cas, who appears every other day, sometimes just once a week, sometimes he stays two whole days. he’s a low profile seraph these days and he’s always diligent. besides, he’s not the most social of angels, so if anybody notices his absence, they’re angelic enough about it not to care. as long as heaven runs smooth, all is well. chuck is entertained and much too comfortable lying low to bother about a rogue angel.

cas tells dean he’s been charged with helping them out, seeing as they helped shut the gates of hell, or any other excuse. he’s not very good lying, but dean buys it. he’s still hopeful , a stranger to the rack and the sulphur of the pit.

inevitably, dean falls in love with cas. it’s quick and unexpected, as if someone hit the back of his head with the full force of it, of cas. it’s also the easiest thing he’s ever done. castiel, this angel... cas... he’s everything dean knows he can’t have, he is all the good dean could never be, he’s touched by god while dean is tainted by the filth of demons, literally. 

he’s never regretted making that deal to save sammy, but he wishes the demon had given him more than a year. most people get 10. a lot could be done in ten years, and maybe cas, maybe he’d still be around. maybe dean would be able to call him his friend, maybe he’d be able to know cas better (because he doesn’t really say much about himself, and always seems so interested in learning more about dean, what he likes, how he feels, why he acts in certain ways, why he likes making cas laugh so much, why he blushes at odd times and why his smile falls when he seems the happiest). or maybe 10 years wouldn’t be enough to make an angel of the lord care about a poor sod like him anyway.

it’s a relationship filled with what ifs and insecurity and fear and passion, because dean is running out of time and he wants to make the most of it, but he’s only a sad excuse of a hunter, and he has to be a good brother and he’s got bobby whom he’s also made miserable with his decision. but there’s also cas... and that... he never, not in a million years, expected cas to appear into his life. he just wants a little more time with him, a little less guilt for wanting this, wanting what...it?, no, him. he’s living on borrowed time so labels, he doesn’t give a shit about. so he goes for it. he kisses cas, and cas kisses him back. and it comes to them just as natural and easy, and it pains dean even more knowing that he could have this, if only his ass wasn’t expected in hell in a few days time. 

but hell doesn’t forgive, and it comes to collect alright. 

cas knows he can’t intervene, he’s still a soldier, with a human weakness, yes. but a soldier nonetheless. still, when the hellhounds  come after dean he tries to save him, only to be stopped by other angels sent to maintain the order. he’s sent to prison during the same 40 years dean is sent to hell, but in heaven time moves even slower, so he ends up waiting longer than that, all the while tortured by his own inability to protect the one thing he cares about, to save dean from the worst of fates. needless to say he feels guity and conflicted.

it comes to him as a surprise when he’s called upon the ranks of the army who’ll retrieve the righteous man from hell. apparently previous campaigns have failed to even locate the asset, so castiel, rebellious as he’s proven to be in the past, is tasked with leading as commander. he knows dean’s soul thoroughly, if anyone can decipher the twists and folds of hell (more intricate version than og) it’s castiel. 

and that he does.

cas is the one to free dean from his agony, the one who throws away the bloody whip dean was flogging another poor soul with, the one who sees dean so broken and mangled, stripped from his kindness, forced into sin and depravity. he hold dean in his arms while the man thrashes, crying and screaming, so unlike himself and yet becoming dean. 

for the first time since he was created, castiel cries. he also kisses dean and the taste is salty, but it feels like paradise despite the brimstone and the howls of anguish that echo in their ears.

cas’ hold is so strong and dean is so raw, naked soul burning up, that the touch leaves a mark that later will show as his handprint seared on dean’s shoulder.

[lettrespromises]

╰┄───➤   LettresPromises informs you : you have one notification. ❜

╰──➤ Kuroo Tetsurou and you share a correspondence, would you like to read it? ❜

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 :

❝Can you keep a secret? Secret Letters, a inter-high program which delivers anonymous love letters to designated people, has recently gained quite the popular status until becoming the number one reference for confessions. But is it really possible to remain objective when you see that the person you set your eyes on wishes to send a letter to someone who isn’t you?❞

➤ 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 : 𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍.

And there you were, standing amongst the deafening silence and the agonizing solitude which had already infected the air. Stating that your body housed an uncontrollable amount of tension was an euphemism, truthfully, you were still wondering how you hadn’t succumbed to the pain created by your subconscious.

A bag of snack and diverse kinds of drinks were at your feet, and upon glancing at them, they seemed like they were the beholders of all the secrets in the world, all the hushed secrets you wished you once knew. They seemed worthy of holding your attention, or rather, you were unworthy of giving your attention to anything else but an animated object.

You hadn’t dared to touch your phone or even throw a glance at it ever since Kuroo replied to you, it was a short answer, you were convinced that it was quite acerbic, too. You feared that touching your phone would actually make your skin burn and redden due to the imaginary heat radiating off your phone, what caused the heat? Probably fear, you assumed.

You were so lost in the torments of your thoughts and pseudo hypothesis that you hadn’t heard the crashing footsteps belonging to the Scheming Captain, Kuroo Tetsurou, you only noticed his presence once the light emanating from the Sun died under his height, once the gleam in your orbs created by the rays of sunshine died at the same time.

Kuroo had already crossed his forelimbs to his chest whilst his facial structure gave you no clue whatsoever as to what he was thinking about, and for the first time in your life, you felt like his opponent, you felt like the prey of the Scheming Captain.

“I came earli-”

“You didn’t come this morning. Why?” He cut you off, his orbs bore into yours to anticipate whether or not you would choose to lie to his face.

“I didn’t wake up on time, and I totally forgot about morning practice. Kuroo, I’m so, so sorry, I swear it’s the last time this happens.” You stated in your defense, looking at him with pleading eyes through your lashes.

“It’s funny, you also said it was going to be the last time the time before, you know, where you also happened to be late. So, tell me, don’t you think it’s funny too?” Kuroo half-asked through a rhetorical question, acerbity dripping like a toxic nectar from his words as his facial expression remained unchanged.

“Kuroo, I promise you that this is the last time. It’s my fault, and I already apologized for it. Just-... What do you expect from me? I’ll make up to you and the team.” You pleaded in return as you played with your fingers to exude your stress (a detail he didn’t miss), the words leaving your lips like a plea trying to reach to his chained heart.

“I know you apologized and all, but I’m just wondering if you’re also going to apologize for feeding me this bullshit?” Kuroo continued, and you cursed yourself for even thinking that lying to the epitome of a human lie detector was worth the risk.

An angel passed. The movements of your fingers became more an more frenetic, as if they were trying to follow the frenzied rhythm of the fear coursing through your entire body. Another detail he didn’t miss. You kept on trying to exude the anguish consuming you, so you quit looking at him, thinking that laying your glance elsewhere could ease your nerves if Kuroo’s face wasn’t in your vision field anymore. You opened your mouth and robotically closed it as soon you noticed no sound was coming out of it, and your cheeks adopted a shameful rosy tone under the embarrassment of not being able to express yourself properly. Kuroo never missed each detail about you, truthfully, he made a mental note and mental associations of your gestures and linked them to your emotions.

You were looking elsewhere, your fingers were becoming martyrs, you couldn’t find anything to say— he concluded without any difficulty that you were tortured by your very own emotions. He couldn’t help but frown at the sight of your trembling form before his eyes, not because you couldn’t reply to him, but rather because he knew it was his fault. He knew that the toxins dripping down his words had poisoned you.

“It’s okay, Y/N, you don’t have to—” “The reason why I’ve been acting weird these past couple of days was because I was scared of losing you.” You cut him off this time, such acerbic poetry, “Ever since we talked about this Secret Letters thing, I felt like you were disappointed in me and even stopped trusting me” You continued, wiping away the pearls of salt gathering at the corner of your eyes,  “I know I shouldn’t have lied, I know I messed up so bad but I couldn’t find myself to sleep at night when all I could think about was whether or not you had decided to give up on me because you didn’t trust me anymore.” You eventually concluded, an unwanted sob punctuated the end of your sentence. Kuroo felt trapped at the bottom of a pit without any way to crawl back to the surface and admire the light radiating off your angelic self, and surely, he told himself he deserved to stay at the bottom of this pit. A sentiment of guilt was eating him alive and settled in his stomach where a huge knot had already been taking form and grew wider and wider until knocking the air out of his lungs. It was his fault.

Reflex kicked, his arms encircled your trembling frame and he caged you against his chest whilst the frenetic rhythm of his heart against your eardrums testified of the awakening of his biggest fear— losing you. He held onto you as if you were bound to fade away at any given moment, as if his fear had the power to make you disappear. But your hearts beat in unison, and although you were both consumed by guilt and fear, you both needed each other.

“Y/N, will you look at me? Could you do that for me, please?” This time, the pleas came from him, but you obliged and laid your orbs on him, he couldn’t help but turn his lips into a faded smile at the sight of your face. “Just remember one thing, you will never, and I mean never, lose me. Whether you want it or not, I’ll always be in your life, I’ll always be there, yeah? I’m sorry, too, for everything. I shouldn’t have told you these horrible things and even less tell you what you should do and not do. You don’t have to accept my apolog-” “You’re forgiven, Kuroo.” You replied in a whisper, a sentence which sounded so weak in comparison to its importance. You let out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding whilst Kuroo’s thumbs brushed away the last remaining tears cascading down your face, you were going to be okay. You stayed in each other’s embrace for a short while, and gave in to your hearts’ desires... Until Yamamoto came around, his eyes widened at the sight before him— how could Kuroo Tetsurou have the audacity, the nerve, the insolence to hold his precious manager in his arms? His mouth was set agape in anticipation for his future yelling session but Kuroo had already caught that and set you free from his embrace.

“I’ll go calm Yamamoto down for a few seconds, oh, and don’t worry about the bags, I’ll cary them inside. You can go change before practice starts, yeah?” He offered a smile as soon as the last words died on in his lips, a smile you reciprocated as a silent form of agreement. And as Kuroo left you to apply the dear rules of performative language and soothe the nerves of Yamamoto, you pulled out your phone from your back pocket and finally replied to a certain text now that you had no reason to back down from doing so.

➤𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @amoroushero, @washione, @volexis, @lelebells, @boosyboo9206, @mkkhaikyuu, @bokutosuwus, @cleopatera, @kukkeii

➤𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑.

bonus :

wanna know what song kuroo was listening to? check it out here and listen well to the lyrics, they might have a correlation with this chapter and the chapters to come.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Regret - Nik

I feel like I make the joke of “whoa who is this?? every time I post Nik.] 

CW: captivity, stress position, intimate whumper, noncon touch (non sexual), possessive language, brief suicidal ideation, death mention, blood, broken whumpee. 

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next 

A sound. It’s so sudden and unknown that Nik tenses. Was it real? There have been sounds creeping around his awareness lately, sounds and lights and shapes in the darkness of the blindfold. He whines slightly, testing to see if the sound responds.

Sometimes they do.

It’s worse when they do.

He swallows thickly, jaw throbbing with the ache of being held open for so long. How long as it even been, locked immobile in the darkness?  Nik’s internal clock had been destroyed long ago, smashed to bits by the fake sunrises and tauntingly inconsistent days.

“Feeling remorseful yet?”

A voice.  Real voice; he’s sure of it. This one is different, echoing off the stone walls.

The voices from his head can’t replicate that.

A frantic, begging whine. Yes, yes I am. Please, please just let me move. Let me go back to the vivarium. I’ll never disobey you again, I swear. Nik tries to nod, tries to show the Sorcerer that he’s sorry, but he can’t move. The metal around his forehead and neck keep him securely locked onto the wall.

How long has it been since he moved even an inch?

A hmm and Nik stills immediately. His heart is pounding in his throat, threatening to be the end of him he’s sure. He can feel his own trembling, but it’s vaguely distant, separate from him.

Footsteps, there are footsteps. Nik’s breath hitches as he feels tears pricking behind his eyes. Please, please I’ll do anything. I’ll never disobey again.

In one motion, all the cuffs disappear entirely, freeing him from the wall. Nik falls forward, unable to catch himself. Free, but still unable to move his locked joints and muscles. His skull cracks against the hard, stone floor, sending the darkness spinning. He groans brokenly, chest expanding farther than it has in, in… since the darkness. He can feel something warm bubbling up from underneath his skin and drip onto the floor.

The Sorcerer smiles down at him, reveling in the wrecked, thin body that he’s made Nik into. He crouches down, cupping the side of Nik’s neck. The creature shudders as he strokes his thumb across its jaw. He can feel its response, the curling tendrils of violation that course through its blood. He knows the pathetic little thing would try to flee if it could, but it can’t. It can’t – not only because it’s too weak, but because there’s another part of itself that craves the touch. Craves the comfort and stimulation that even this minuscule movement provides.

And wouldn’t it? It hadn’t felt anything in nearly a month.

The Sorcerer admires it for a moment more, before sending a blast of lightning through its body.

Nik screams behind the muzzle, muscles atrophied by stillness now forced to contract, to move by the electricity pumping through him. He can feel his joints creak at the sudden change, a body so frozen in one position now forced into movement.

Muscles tear and he screams.

Sobbing, Nik sprawls limply in a new position but still unable to move. His limbs throb, laying useless at his sides. He still wants to move, he wants to crawl away, to heave his body away from the man that he knows will only bring more pain, but he can’t. Even unrestrained, he can’t move.

“Did you really think I was going to let you off that easy, hm? Just a little time in the dark? Poor stupid thing; you’re not close to done.”

The man’s arms dig around him and lift him bodily from the floor. He can’t help but sob; couldn’t stop even if he tried. He’s aware of every inch of his body, the aches and hurts and deeper pains that radiate from them. His consciousness is a spinning, swirling, intangible thing that Nik couldn’t even hope to grasp. There’s nothing outside of this moment. No understanding that the pain will eventually end, no hope for comfort, no ideals of a better time. Only pain that radiates with each breath and the general motion of being dragged to another room.

To the workshop.

He’s dumped on the floor as the Sorcerer moves to gather the items he needs. Nik’s lungs are burning, his throat feels tight and pained. He tries to heave for another breath, tries to focus on the cold stone here. It’s familiar, having spent so long laying upon it, wishing for death.

His fingers twitch, and he nearly begins to cry a new. They twitched, he moved them. It’s the first inkling of movement, of control that he’s felt in so long. The slightest movement, maybe not even visible to the unknowing observer, has become the only glimmer of light he can even fathom.

Before he can try to move farther, a loop of rope is circled around his neck. It doesn’t cinch, but pulls upwards. He coughs, the rope pressing on his windpipe, and hands come to help guide him to his feet. He’s shocked that he can stand at all, considering the weariness and shaking of his legs. The rope around his neck stops rising, but keeps taunt. He either stands or chokes, and it feels like no matter what he does they will both happen.

After a moment to balance himself, his hands are grabbed and tied in front with yet more rope. They’re pulled down, the rope attaching to the ground and adding more strain around his neck. Breathing is difficult, standing is difficult, everything hurts and is too much - but also there is nothing surrounding him, nothing that he can recognize and use as an anchor.  It is too much and not enough, all at once.

The hand lights around his neck again and he whimpers.

”Do you know why I can do this to you? Because you’re mine.”

Nik shuddered. He could feel another hand roaming over his back as the other continues with the horrifically gentle motions on his jawline. No matter what he does, no matter what he tries, he can’t escape. He knows. Knows that there is nothing for him to do now but suffer.

A thought forms on the outside of his awareness, a fleeting bit of logic that tells him he’ll go back, he’ll be returned to the little sprite, that things will get better.

It’s gone before he can really believe it.

The hands retreat and he’s torn. He’s thankful, grateful that they’re no longer on his skin and touching him, but he misses them at the same time. They were grounding – real, when nothing else feels real right now.

The first lash across his shoulder blades shocks him, knees buckling with the surprise and sudden pain. A strangled keen fills the air, but it’s choked off by the loop as it presses into his throat. Hands reposition him, and something else. A clink against his wrist and a faint feeling. So very faint, but noticeable. Just a little more of his magic is accessible, just a fraction more. But it’s enough. It’s enough to give him back a bit of strength and stand.

To continue to be tormented and tortured.

The next lash mirrors the first. The third crosses them both. Another, then another, and another. Nik cries out for each one, but his voice is so broken and rough from unuse that it feels as if there’s glass in his throat. It burns and cuts like the whip, cutting him open.

When the whip does stop, he’s fighting for every breath. He needs the air desperately, but the shift of his back is unthinkable. He needs the air, but the cost is high.

“You’re mine, little forest creature. Only mine. Others may look, might even be allowed to touch, but you’re mine. Your tears are mine, your blood is mine. Your magic, your life is mine.”

Nik’s chin falls to his chest, unable to keep it up any longer. He’s waiting, waiting for the familiar feeling of buzzing under his skin. Of the emptiness that comes with his magic being drained away. The Sorcerer is predictable - is greedy. He wouldn’t leave this opportunity to get such misery tainted blood that he could use on his enemies.

So Nik waits. Wait for the relief that the numbness brings.

He waits, and waits, and breathes and regrets the motion it brings, and waits. But nothing. No relief, no emptiness to take the pain away; even for just a little bit.

“How long do your kind live, I wonder? I’m sure longer than us. Well, normally,” the man chuckles, cupping the boy’s cheek to lift his head. He admires the blood that stains the blindfold, the intricate looking sash that the boy had made. Cute designs.

“How long will you live? Kept in the dark away from your precious trees, your lifeblood being taken from you drip by drip?”

Nik shivered as the man tilted his head side to side. The touch was more invasive than the words. It was nearly impossible to focus, to grasp any information being presented to him. The words themselves didn’t sink in, but the air of possessiveness needed no words.

Nik got the message.

“I’m sure more than long enough. Besides, once I gain more control over these idiots who call themselves Kings I’ll find somewhere better for you. Just as secure, of course. Would you like that? To be kept outside someday?”

The man’s fingers traced the edges of the muzzle and Nik felt himself crumbling. Slowly falling apart; past what he ever thought he could be. Pieces ground into dust under the man’s shoes.

“Who knows; you might even outlive me. Doubtful, but possible. Fear not, little thing, I’d find someone to take you if that happened. There’s power in a weapon that no one else has. Power is using it to keep people in line and fight to get their own hands on it.”

He sighed. “You’ll prolong my life, this I’m sure of. Shame it’ll drain yours, but I’m sure you understand. There’s an order of class, of importance in life. Some things are just not quite as important.”

Nik was crying again. Please. Please take the pain go away. Just for a little bit; please. Please. Take it, take it I don’t want it anymore. Just let me fall asleep, let me escape this if only for a little bit.

The man took no notice of the way the boy in front of him trembled and shook, instead focused on carding through the dark hair. It was dry, graying slowly from the roots. Interesting. Worth getting a sample from later.

He reached back and undid the knot behind the boy’s head, drawing away the blindfold. Nik squeezed his eyes shut in fear. The Sorcerer brushed over his eyes with the pad of his thumb, wiping away the tears and crust that had formed after so long.

“Now, are you ready to behave again?”

Nik whined and nodded the best he could, trying to look up at the man. He didn’t want to see the smirk, the glint of possessiveness in the man’s eyes, but he very much wanted to see something. Anything. Anything at all.

The Sorcerer admired the eyes; a dull yellow instead of the shining, strong gold he saw that first day.

“Good. Then let’s put you back where you belong.”

~

tagging @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @as-a-matter-of-whump @thehopelessopus @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @pepperonyscience @insanitywishes @redstainedsocks @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @whump-me-all-night-long @susiequaz12 @mnmlover2002 @whumpeesblog

Plz let me know if you wish to be added or removed from the taglist! Also thanks for waiting lol. 

[murasaki-murasame]

Thoughts on Higurashi Gou Ep19

OK this episode was actually just fucking with me by having Rika at a Western-style preppy boarding school drinking tea in a parlor and having debates with people. This level of concentrated Umineko content bait is going to literally kill me at some point.

Thoughts under the cut. [Plus even more Umineko stuff, but honestly who can even blame me at this point, lmao]

I don’t think I commented on it last week, partly because I was hoping we’d get the actual visuals for it in this episode, but the new ED theme is extremely good. I think I like it a lot more than the first one, but they’re both really good. I’m kinda biased though, since the new ED feels extremely Umineko-y, but still, it’s really good.

I’m kinda surprised that we still haven’t gotten the visuals for it yet. And instead of just having the ED theme play over the final scene of the episode or something, it was another round of having the credits roll over a black screen for the duration of the ED, which makes the continued lack of visuals really noticeable. I guess it’s possible that they just haven’t completed the animation for it yet, but I’m hoping that they’re holding back on it because something about the visuals for it is a spoiler for something that’ll happen in the next episode or two. And that makes me really curious to see what it might show, since at this point there’s only a narrow list of things that could probably be ‘spoilers’ for upcoming stuff in this arc.

Realistically I doubt it’d be on the level of straight up showing Umineko characters, but I’m probably still gonna get my hopes up anyway, lol.

At the very least, with how this episode brings us to 1987, and we know that Rika dies as a teenager in 1988, we’re rapidly approaching the point where everything goes to shit, and we already know that Satoko apparently got contacted by Oyashiro-sama, so honestly it wouldn’t be that strange for some kind of witch character to show up, even if maybe they’ll be presented in a somewhat abstract and indirect way.

Anyway, this episode went a long way to show the path of trauma that leads Satoko to initiating the new loop, but I think there’s going to be more going on in the next episode or so that really pushes her over the edge. Obviously she’s already in a downwards spiral because of Rika drifting away from her, and her being socially isolated all over again, but I don’t think this alone would make her go as far as trapping Rika in an endless torture loop.

I wonder if maybe Satoko is going to start getting directly bullied by the other girls at the school, rather than just being ostracized by them. It’d suck to see it happen, but it’d be the sort of thing that’d make her situation even worse than it is now. 

From what we heard here about how the school runs, I don’t think they’d directly expel Satoko for having low grades, but if she winds up slipping into the Special Class, it’d probably make her feel more and more like everything could fall apart for her at any moment, which could also make her way more volatile.

I’m pretty sure we already know that Rika ends up getting killed in 1988, and that’s how she got thrown into the new loop, so I’m curious to see how that ends up panning out. Satoko might just end up snapping and straight up killing her out of anger, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s some kind of horrible accident. With what Satoko was saying in this episode about wishing she could just have fun setting up traps around the school, I could see her setting up a situation that ends up getting Rika killed.

Either way, it feels like we’re on the brink of disaster, and I’d be surprised if it takes more than one more episode to show how everything falls apart and the loops start.

Which is also making me wonder how the arc as a whole will be paced out. In spite of being the longest arc in the show, it feels like there’s still a LOT that needs to be covered. We still need at least one more episode to conclude this big flashback sequence, then we’ll probably get some sort of flashback to show how the Gou question arcs played out in the background to solve those mysteries, and then we still have to go back to the end of Nekodamashi to follow up on that whole cliffhanger, and get into whatever the true ending of the show will be.

I still doubt that we’ll get a full second season, but I’m just not sure if five more episodes will be enough to do everything it needs to do.

At the very least, I’ve basically given up hope on Gou doing more than the bare minimum to touch upon Rena or Shion’s backstories at this point, lol.

I’m also still wondering what the ending will be like in the first place. Ideally everything would just work out fine and Rika and Satoko will talk things out and resolve everything peacefully after we return to Nekodamashi, but I’m feeling more and more like this will have a darker ending than that. Mostly because it really feels like this is barreling straight towards the ‘Bern/Lambda origin story’ route, and that just makes me feel like the ending will be really depressing and make it more clear why Bern is so messed up in Umineko.

And on that note, on top of it just being really nice teasing, it’s actually kinda neat to see Rika entering this sort of Western-style ‘high society’ life, since it goes a long way to clarify why Bern’s entire personality and aesthetic is the way it is. They never really ‘explained’ it in Umineko, aside from it just matching more with Umineko’s more Western-style setting, and in a lot of ways it feels like this ‘explanation’ was thought up way after Umineko was written anyway, but even as a retroactive explanation it’s still nice to see them show why Rika ends up that way. They haven’t shown exactly why she’s so bitter in Umineko, but at least now we know why she’s the sort of person who likes stuff like this.

In a lot of ways, everything about this whole arc and the St. Lucia’s stuff kinda feels like Ryukishi’s sort of clumsy way of directly tying together these loose threads between Higurashi and Umineko, and showing us exactly why Bern ends up the way she does. I kinda agree with the criticisms I’ve seen that Rika apparently idolizing high society upper-class life and seeing St Lucia’s of all places as Heaven on earth feels really forced, and I think that has a lot to do with what I said about how Ryukishi probably just designed Bern as a Western-style goth lolita because that fit Umineko’s setting more, and he’s only just now trying to go back and give an in-universe explanation for it via Gou. So for better or worse it kinda has this vibe of retconning parts of her character in order to brute-force this connection between the two series.

Though I can’t help but be OK with it, at least for now, since it just makes it feel like he’d only be this overt about it if he was actually setting up for something better that justified making up all this new story stuff just to contextualize Bern’s whole character in Umineko. It might just be his way of tying things together and he’s not setting up for anything, but it’d feel like a waste at this point if he’s not, considering how many people are already feeling like he’s messing with Rika’s character retroactively to make it all tie into Umineko. So it’d at least feel more justified if it’s actually setting up for something along the lines of an Umineko anime remake, even if that’s still probably just wishful thinking. 

Anyway, I think this episode is gonna cause lots of discourse about how people feel about both Rika and Satoko’s choices in this episode, but my stance right now is just that they’re both understandable, while also both being in the wrong in their own ways. Ultimately this just boils down to them not communicating with each other properly. I can see what people mean by Rika’s whole attitude here feeling out of character, but I can understand why she’s genuinely enjoying her new life, and honestly she’s always had major issues with not talking to people about things and just going with the flow, so I get why she’s not doing more to reach out to Satoko, especially since doing so would mean rocking the boat with her new friends who clearly all look down on Satoko.

And on the other side of things, I think Satoko’s whole side of things makes total sense, even though she’s also in the wrong for continuing to respond to trauma by bottling it all up and rejecting any help or communication that people offer her. That at least feels like a totally natural extension of her personality, especially when you think about how the current timeline is one where Teppei never came back to the village, and so she never had to have her whole character arc where she learns how to open up about her trauma to people and seek help. Also the end of the episode makes it feel pretty likely that this is going in the direction of her re-developing HS, which would go a long way to explain why she’d go into a full on downwards spiral, mentally. I highly doubt that she actually got completely cured for good, even if Hanyuu’s absence changed how the virus works.

Which also reminds me that we still haven’t heard anything about what happened to Satoshi, despite them talking about the virus more or less going away. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s past the point of no return, and learning about his fate might be one of the things that fully pushes Satoko over the edge.

Either way, I get why a lot of people don’t really like where this is all going, but I’m at least enjoying it for what it is [even though I’ve had to really readjust my expectations for it, lol]. But tbh at this point a big chunk of this is just me being hype about the pipe dream of a new Umineko anime, and if this ends up not leading to that, I’ll probably be a lot harsher on Gou in hindsight after it ends.

[bailspogue]

𝐈 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐇 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌

( 𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑎ℎ 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑛 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 )

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦. ─── When Sarah Cameron has brought the life to the party once again — only to bring herself within your love life just as easily.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠. ─── swearing, drug use and underage drinking

𝐵𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛. ─── I met Sarah in the bathroom by awfultune

𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑. ─── no

              Summer nights like these brought all those from the Outer Banks towards the Boneyard regardless of their unwarranted hatred for one another — their sides would conjoin to the strict limits that had been reasonable however such a truce would not hold up throughout the night. There would always be such a profoundly established disdain for the other side bringing those nights that could have been so much more to their predestined violent ends.

You had always cherished the desire that one day those unnecessary Boneyard brawls would come to a much-anticipated end — however, how this very eccentric night would come to its end were grievings for another time. Ones you would rather not entertain your thoughts with any longer — while those fallacious thoughts obtaining your mind within its flighty state, the longing within your heart prolonged.

𝐴𝑙𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑢ℎ, 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦

    𝑆𝑜 𝐼 𝑚𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑎𝑡 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑦

              Holding onto your bottled beer loosely between the nonchalant grasp of your fingers seething along with the condensation that had brought a refreshing touch to them — you laughed along with your friends when their bottles rang clumsily against your own earning the vaguest of cheers from them drowning out ever so slightly while all you could hear was the upbeat song that had begun to play once more.

Delighted you had moved along amongst the many bodies swaying to the tunes — hands found themselves steadily holding those of your friends twirling within their charming embraces. Golden rays of sunlight had begun to wither away while the alluring coral glow of the sunset wallowed the shores in its warmth and those who stood within the scorching sand.

              Your adoring eyes had found themselves wandering amongst the many stood within the Boneyard — the laughter of those intoxicated by the bittersweet tastes of disaster that had become varnished upon their alcohol tainted lips brought a sense of unworldly bewilderment within your perception of reality.

𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙, 𝑢ℎ 𝑠ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑

    𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑡

     𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟? 

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠? 𝑦𝑒𝑎ℎ 𝑠ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡

When you stood there it all felt so unreal a world entirely different than the one you had left behind even just for a little while — all those intrigues that had devoured your conscience thawed those feelings of guilt that had held their aching grasp upon your heart. You had wished nothing more than to be yourself — unapologetically and truly you away from all those eyes that had wandered amongst your stringent stance, however, all they had seen was what you so feared to become.

              Perfect...

𝐺𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑢𝑝, 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠

     𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑎-𝑏𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑒

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠

Every sense of the word derived fear within your very being — to be the perfection your family so desired you to be cherishing an ideal to endeavour towards however unattainable. All that they had wanted you to become no longer mattered when those bittersweet tastes of alcohol mingled with the tarnished ashes falling from in between your lips — while the soot had ridden your continuous thoughts of all the guilt that had become manifested within your aching heart. The calming sense of smoke saturated your lunges — bringing that sense of clarity to you once more.

              However calm you had felt — her presence had brought that very intimate flutter within the depths of your stomach. The warmth of the alcohol brought you a familiar sense of sanctuary almost as if to secure your grasp upon the person you truly were who didn’t need all this sense of feigned perfection to find your own happiness. 

𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑆𝑎𝑟𝑎ℎ

Entranced you had leant against another one of your friends who had stood beside you arm securely wrapped around your shoulders — bringing a sudden sense of security while you awaited with an amused smile for her to reach you — you could only cherish a dream of being alike her. Nonetheless, when Sarah Cameron accosted towards your shivering form she was all that entertained your thoughts.

              She was breathtaking — in every sense of the word. 

𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑠ℎ𝑦

    𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙

              ❛ You look beautiful. ❜            Sarah had chatted — the reminiscences of a flirtatious smile curling those rosy edges of her lips when she stood beside you heels digging within the scorching sand however she remained her upright stance balancing easily to bring herself closer towards your own body.

❛ I uh — Not bad yourself. ❜            You laughed through the stumbling of your words that very same sense of adoration hidden within the depths of those dark eyes of Sarah Cameron — how you felt so beloved when those met your very own.

              ❛ Let me take you somewhere. ❜            Sarah whispered her voice a mere rustle within the howling laughter and loud music that had surrounded the pair of you — however, you hung to her lips and every word that had fallen from them. An uncertain laugh tumbled from your very own before you had nodded agreeing with the beautiful girl stood before you hands found your own bringing that very same fluttering of your heart to your conscience mind entertained with the mere thought of her being yours — truly and only yours.

❛ Everyone here is just so fucking boring. ❜            A sultry laugh had fallen from her lips intertwined with her blatant words — unashamed she had spoken the truth that had prevailed her thoughts before those eyes darkened by their vulnerability of the adoration that resided within them saught yours once more. 

                ❛ Everyone but you. ❜

You knew that you would go to the ends of the world for her and oh how you wished she would feel that very same love for you even just for a night. Tenderly those fingers of hers sought their consolation within the affectionate warmth of yours — intertwined amongst her loving embrace she dragged you along to follow her inside the lavishly decorated living room of some rich kids' vacation home, however, none of those luxuries could parallel to the beaming simper amongst the troublesome lips of Sarah Cameron.

𝑁𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤

    𝑆𝑎𝑟𝑎ℎ 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑚𝑒𝑡 𝑆𝑎𝑟𝑎ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚

              ❛ You know I really like hanging out with you. ❜            Sarah admitted — she had surrendered, merely fleeting thoughts away from giving into whatever young love would have felt like but she knew so certain that it was you he loved so desperately — It could only ever be you.

❛ I like hanging out with you too. ❜            Your heart fluttered along with your very own words — it all felt so serene to be stood before someone who you loved so immensely while all you wanted to do was just that, love her.

              Neither one of you had ever been in love — not the way you loved one another. The way movies portrayed those undying loves between two people paled in comparison to what felt alike the solitary adolescent romance that would ever be worth remembering when you grew to be old. She would always be your first love — The one you loved most.

❛ I think I really wanna kiss ya. ❜            Sarah had forced out truthfully — words would never be able to convey the thoughts of hers you had entertained so effortlessly neither would she ever be able to withdraw the words that would be to fall from between her tortured lips.

              ❛ Wait. ❜            You had hesitatingly sought an answer within those clouded eyes of hers — wishing for those words to be as truthful as she designated them to be.  ❛ Really? ❜

❛ Yeah — but I don't want to scare ya. ❜            Sarah confirmed awaiting for words to leave your lips. That sense of vulnerability she had brought out bringing an aching to her tender heart while your silence had outlasted that what she had anticipated — a gentle smile brought all those nerves to nonexistence once more before your hands had steadily found reassurance within her own a gentle grasp upon them when you had lowered your voice.

              ❛ Oh no, it's cool. ❜            You answered nonchalantly bringing her to reality once more her deep eyes wandering the many delicate features of your beautiful face — wishing to memorise every detail of it for when the day came that she would meet you again in all of your sobriety until she would dream of you once more that very same night — that she might never forget you.

𝑁𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙

    𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦

The coldness of those polished tiles against the bare skin of your back delivered an unforgiving bitterness brought forth the relentless shivers that spread across your skin like wildfire increasing its flames darting from blades to the petals scattered amongst a forest setting it all aflame where her fingertips ever so gently sauntered amongst the blemishes of your tanned skin.

              ❛ Are you sure? ❜            You questioned — the palms of your hands had found their loving hold amongst the heat of her flushed cheeks while you spoke with the brightest smile that had graced your fatigued features in a very long time the hapiness she brought you radiating them when her lips mirrored that very same smile of adoration.   ❛ This is kinda crazy. ❜

❛ I just really wanna go. ❜            Sarah answered — unashamed her words barely became a whisper while they fell from her troubled lips. All that guilt of those expectations imensly high, all those fleeting thoughts of perfection your family had so long sought after — submerged beneath within the love you felt for her while she kissed you so feverishly a sense of urgency pursuing behind the progression of her desperate lips against your own.

              ❛ I don't wanna take it slow. ❜

All sense of reality had become lost on you underneath her gentle touch. The smell of her sweetened perfume entrancing beyond reason, you had parted your lips absentmindedly feeling her so close — so intimately had drowned out everything else that had gone on around them. Those foreign sounds of music a mere memory brought to the back of your thoughts when she was all they wanted to entertain — every little detail heightened by her mere presence.

              Tenderly Sarah had sought some sense of consolation within the warmth of your fevered lips — your hands steadily found reassurance within the soothing hold they remained upon her cheeks while her fingertips sauntered amongst every single inch of your revealed skin. Seething touches where her skin met your own brought that very same fluttering feeling alive within the depths of your stomach — alike to the feelings that overtook the beautiful Sarah Cameron when she so hopelessly tried to bring you closer towards her own ardent form wishing for an intimate moment like this to last a lifetime.

Oh, how Sarah Cameron had fallen hard...

              Warmth arose from within you — all those uncertainties, all those nerves everything that had once been yourself set aflame within your very being merging with one another while you held onto her so desperately melting further within the kiss — the remains of an adoring smile edged upon those bruised lips when they had separated from hers momentarily.

The laughter of disbelief had fallen from your lips far before those of hers had found them struggling along for breath once more when the mere melancholic bittersweet taste of alcohol upon those tender lips transpired upon you very own once more — silencing all those thoughts that had tormented your mind aching to be freed.

𝑆𝑎𝑟𝑎ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚

    𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠

                             𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑛𝑜, 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑛𝑜...

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 9: Training

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Once again, all sound ceased as Rowan descended the stairwell and entered within view of the kitchens. Emrys’ soft singing and the mindless chatter from the young male – Luca, he remembered – cutting off abruptly. The girl was hunched over a washbasin, slowly scrubbing at a dish. Just the sight of her was enough to turn his slowly burning fury into a raging inferno.

Rowan hadn’t realized that he’d been hoping to find the girl suffering, moaning and groaning about doing such menial, servant work. But she just seemed to have been steadily laboring, quietly in the corner.

“Let’s go.” Rowan said, his voice hard.

As the princess moved to join him, Rowan caught Emrys looking at him with a new kind of fear in his eyes. A fear for others, for this girl.

Rowan clenched his teeth tightly, grinding them together. Something about Emrys’ worry on the behalf of this arrogant, insufferable, worthless princess was beyond aggravating. She did not deserve any pity, or affection.

Rowan led the girl through the small interior courtyard and out into the forest. It was now nearly midday, but the light and warmth of the sun’s rays couldn’t really pierce through the layers of mist shrouding the moss-covered oaks. It chilled Rowan’s bones, and he could hear the princess’ teeth chattering behind him. Good.

They slowly made their way up the rocky ridge and into the highest reaches of the forest, until the foothills were left far behind them and green fields stretched before them.

After the speed and surety of his flight that morning, treading along at a mortal pace was agonizing. The girl seemed to barely move, their snail’s pace making this short trip into an hour-long slog.

Luckily, the princess kept silent, and they both avoided throwing gasoline onto the flames simmering between them. But not for long.

Rowan was leading them to an old temple of the sun goddess, Mala. It was now a ruin, but he could still feel the warmth of the goddess’ power echoing in the stones below as he crossed over them and paid homage to the goddess who favored him.

Then the girl spoke up from behind him, her voice a crackling whip through the misty silence. “Do your worst.”

Rowan turned and gave her an obvious once-over, cataloguing her mist-soaked clothing, the bruises on her face and body, her loose muscles, the positions of her feet and arms... She wasn’t ready for a fight, and she knew it.

He breathed through the fury. This girl was going to be the death of him. “Wipe that smarmy, lying smile off your face,” he snarled. Rowan had no patience left for her ridiculous antics today, not after the morning he’d had.

She didn’t shift a muscle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If anything, the antagonism in her voice had only increased.

Rowan felt the muscles in his body stretch and expand, filling with a violent intent and a ravenous desire for action. He stepped forwards, his chest now less than a foot from her body, and flashed his canines at her.

“Here’s your first lesson, girl: cut the horseshit. I don’t feel like dealing with it, and I’m probably the only one who doesn’t give a damn about how angry and vicious and awful you are underneath.”

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t think you particularly want to see how angry and vicious and awful I am underneath.”

“Go ahead and be as nasty as you want, Princess, because I’ve been ten times as nasty, for ten times longer than you’ve been alive.”

Rowan’s words, or at least the aching, primal challenge within them, finally reached her. She pulled her lips back from her teeth in a feral grin. He snarled in response. “Better. Now shift.” Maybe if her pissed the girl off just enough, he could find a way around those iron bars in her mind.

Her voice was vicious. “It’s not something I can control.”

“If I wanted excuses, I’d ask for them. Shift.”

She didn’t even try, didn’t reach within herself. Instead she snarled right back at him. “I hope you brought snacks, because we’re going to be here a long, long while if today’s lesson is dependent upon my shifting.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re really going to make me enjoy training you.”

She plowed on, heedless of the violence promised by the set of his jaw and the shape of his body.  “I’ve already participated in a dozen versions of the master-disciple training saga, so why don’t we cut that horseshit, too?”

His fingers twitched, voice becoming quieter, more lethal. “Shut your smart-ass mouth and shift.”

She set her jaw, tensing her muscles. “No.”

And Rowan lunged.

Somehow, she dodged his first blow, sidestepping the fist he sent flying to her face. And then she twisted enough in the opposite direction to blindly avoid his second strike to her left side. But even with her years of training as an assassin, she wasn’t fast enough to evade his third blow, a swift kick to the backs of her legs.

She thudded to the ground gracelessly, slamming her already wrecked face onto the weather-beaten rock. The princess rolled to the side, groaning, her breathing ragged, as Rowan effortlessly pounced and straddled her chest, effectively rendering her motionless.

She tried to unseat him, but her movements were ineffective, fluttery things. They lacked strength, or any real conviction.

“Shift.” Rowan hissed, shoving all the menace, all the anger and hate and vitriol that he possessed into the command.

She just laughed at him, an emotionless, cold thing. Like a dead fish.

It was as if her every action, her every breath, was perfectly designed to piss him off. Rowan didn’t think it would have been possible for him to be more furious, more insanely angry than he had been when he hit her last night, but he had been dead wrong.

“Nice try,” she chuckled. “You think you can trick me into shifting by pissing me off?”

Rowan snarled viciously, his canines inches from her throat.

“Here’s an idea: I’m rich as hell. How about we pretend to do this training for a week or so, and then you tell Maeve I’m good and ready to enter her territory, and I’ll give you all the gods-damned gold you want.”

Rowan nearly exploded with rage. Bribery? The girl thought to placate him with her blood money?

For the first time in two centuries, Rowan was filled with the desire to hurt another being. To make her suffer. To make her feel pain.

“Here’s an idea,” The words escaped from deep within his throat, cracking his ice-covered heart with the fiery hate they were bathed in. “I don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing for ten years, other than flouncing around and calling yourself an assassin. But I think you’re used to getting your way. I think you have no control over yourself. No control, and no discipline—not the kind that counts, deep down. You are a child, and a spoiled one at that. And,” he paused, deliberating, finding the words that would hit her the hardest, “you are a coward.”

The word sank into her like that blade it was, and she struggled beneath him, her eyes alight with fury. He let out a low, malicious laugh.

Then Rowan took the blade and twisted.

“Don’t like that word?” He leaned closer still, now close enough to rip out her throat without barely moving. “Coward. You’re a coward who has run for ten years while innocent people were burned and butchered and tortured because of you. Because you fled, because you abandoned them – ”

Rowan’s voice cut off as he saw the utter, complete blankness in the girl’s eyes. It was like she was dead, like his vicious words had killed her and sent her to the Afterworld.

But her heart still beat and her chest still moved, so she wasn’t dead. She was hiding. Hiding away where the truth couldn’t touch her, where she didn’t have to deal with her reality, or face her fears.

Well, if anger couldn’t bring on the shift, perhaps fear would. The princess could do with a healthy dose of fear.

“Get up.” Rowan stood, setting the princess free. She didn’t move. “Get up.” He snarled more viciously. Slowly, the life returned to her eyes, but she still didn’t move a muscle.

Rowan’s nostrils flared. He reached down and pulled her up by her shoulders, her thin body light as a willow wand.

“Pathetic,” he spat, releasing her roughly. “Spineless and pathetic.”

The girl just looked back at him, her face blank and pale, as he turned and strode into the woods.

···

Rowan led the princess back down the wooded slope and through the oaks, but he was not taking her back to Mistward. No, he was angling towards the barrow field mounds, and the wights that nestled within them.

Rowan knew that this was a stupid, dangerous idea. He was just too furious to care.

He wanted the princess to get a taste of the creatures waiting out there, a taste of the wideness and depth of a world that she had barely seen a fraction of. He wouldn’t actually let them kill her, no matter how much he wanted her gone. He just needed her to get a taste of real fear, of the inescapable panic brought on by powerlessness. Maybe it would even force her around those iron bars. Force her to shift.

Rowan didn’t really care either way. He was so angry at this girl, this child, that he could barely see straight. Yet again, he had surprised himself, Rowan hadn’t wished death on another thinking being so desperately, so violently, since the years after the death of his mate. The years where he slowly took his revenge, and then aimlessly wandered the earth, purposeless.

There was no reason for him to hate the princess that much – no logical explanation for it. It didn’t make sense, but Rowan with still too furious to give a shit. He just wanted the girl to hurt. And to wipe that arrogant smirk off her face permanently.

The pair of them approached the barrows, Rowan drawing his sword and dagger cautiously, then he turned to the girl and spoke.

“I had planned to wait until you had some handle on your power – planned to make you come at night, when the barrow-wights are really something to behold, but consider this a favor, as there are few that will dare come out in the day. Walk through the mounds – face the wights and make it to the other side of the field, Aelin, and we can go to Doranelle whenever you wish.”

Her eyes were cold and hard as she regarded him. She had to know that this was a trap, that there was no way she could face the wights without control of her magic and still live. Had to know that Rowan was using her mortal impatience against her.

The scent of fear drifted from her on the wind’s back, while her posture spoke of a hesitant wariness.

The corners of Rowan’s lips curled into a smile as he noticed her eyeing his weapons. He shrugged his shoulders, “You can either wait to earn back your steel, or you can enter as you are now.”

A quick flash of temper. “My bare hands are weapon enough.”

Rowan’s smile widened as he turned and sauntered through the hills, leading the girl to the center of the field where he knew that a wight had been freed.

Each of the barrows were sealed with heavy, iron doors that were bolted into stone foundations, locking up the beasts within. There were dozens of them, ancient tombs of kings and princes long since passed. And they all breathed – the air around them moving in strange, twisting currents as the creatures within slept.

But as he and the princess walked past, the earth yawned, and the barrow mounds were filled with the rustling of awakening things. But still they walked on, the princess remaining close behind despite the fear steadily pumping its way through her blood and pulsing into the air around them. Her fear excited the wights, pulling them out of their niches and from within their lairs.

They reached the center – the oldest barrow in the field. It rested in the middle of a circle of dead grass, and the stones of its threshold had been broken – torn asunder by the tenacious fingers of tree roots and gnarled bushes. And the iron door was gone, nowhere in sight.

“I leave you here,” Rowan said, carefully keeping his feet outside the ring of dead grass. His smile was deadly. “I’ll meet you on the other side of the field.”

The girl looked like she was about to bolt. To run and run and run until she was as far away from him and this field as she could get. But instead of giving in to the impulse, the foolish girl steeled herself, inclined her head to Rowan, and walked into the dead grass.

She moved slowly, steadily, the way one does when they’re trying not to spook a predator. Not realizing it wouldn’t make any difference.

But for some reason, the wight didn’t attack. It remained hidden within its barrow, completely out of sight as the girl made her slow approach and turned to walk around to the other side of the mound. It was…afraid. But not of them. Wights were not afraid of the Fae, no matter how powerful.

Rowan took off, sprinting to the other side of the field. Could luck, blind, foolish luck get the girl out of this completely unharmed?

Frustration bubbled deep in Rowan’s gut as he reached the other side of the field, eyes searching intently for any sign of the girl or the wight. But when the central mound came into view, only darkness met his gaze.

Rowan stopped suddenly, his whole body tensing yet again. But it was a completely different kind of tension than he had just experienced in his brawl with the princess. Then, he had not actually felt any danger, any threat. The girl was only a mortal – a well-trained one, yes, but a mortal nonetheless. She posed no danger to him or any other Fae.

This however, was something different. Something wrong.

The blackness was not of the wights’ making. It was different. Entirely other. And the creatures were hiding from it.

The darkness cloaked the barrow-mounds like a black cloth, thicker and more impenetrable than smoke. It was like a brick wall of inky night had been erected in the middle of the field, and from within, Rowan could barely sense a thing.

He could just barely smell the princess’ terror and pain, but those scents were almost entirely masked by the overwhelming scent emanating from the dark wall itself.

It was of dust and carrion, and something else – something indescribable. It was almost like the scent that had obscured the body of the demi-Fae male, but different somehow. Shifted. The way scents varied between individuals. But still wholly wrong. Not human, not Fae, and not animal. Not even skinwalker or faerie or dragon. It wasn’t alive, had no pulse or emotion or essence the way all living beings did.

Rowan could just barely hear the girl gasping, “This is not real. This is not real.” Her voice was desperate and panicked, and Rowan was surprised to be feeling…fear. Though the emotion was barely a flicker, it was still there. He was afraid.

Rowan rallied, and considered his options. There weren’t many.

He could either wait for the princess to appear out of the darkness, for the black curtain to dissipate on its own, or he could enter into the black void and discover for himself what was within.

His entire being shied from that path. The darkness and whatever created it was wrong. Not of this earth. And…when he looked too long in its depths he could see things…hear Lyria’s screams…feel her body in his arms…

And then the princess was running, lurching and stumbling and falling over herself. Desperate to get away, to escape the blackness and whatever lay within it. Rowan moved forwards to meet her, to pull her away from the void, shoving that aching, screaming part of himself deep inside and locking it behind walls of ice.

A gasping, shrieking noise was leaking from somewhere deep in her chest. Her face was bone white, and her clothes were soiled, covered in vomit and piss and bodily fluids.

She stumbled and fell at his feet, still retching, though now only a small stream of bile trickled from her mouth, her stomach emptied.

Rowan gritted his teeth. No matter the ferocity of the darkness, or the strength of the malice it radiated, the girl should have more discipline, more self-control than she was currently demonstrating. The princess was weak, and self-indulgent. She had no control over her emotions whatsoever, and instead gave herself to them, letting them do what they would.

The terror and grief and pain coming from her was so strong, so intense that he could taste its metallic tang on his teeth. It coated his mouth like bile.

And then, finally, she began to shift – the fear so strong and all-consuming that she was forced through those iron bars and into her other form.

Maybe this had been worth it.

But there was only a flash of canines and pointed ears and then she groaned, returning to her mortal form – but there was another flash of light and the girl shifted back to immortal, her face contorting in agony.

The shifting was completely uncontrolled. Her flesh rippled like water as she flipped between her two forms, mortal and immortal, fast as the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. She was stuck in the place between, tangled up in those iron bars separating her from her power.

The girl’s magic surged around her, cradling her in its blanket of fire. But instead of relaxing into its embrace, she choked on it, gasping, screaming –

And then she passed out.

Rowan sighed in exasperation.

While he had been focusing on the princess writhing on the ground before him, the darkness had slowly dissipated, leaving behind no trace of its existence, or of what had created it.

The wind whispered to him of a fast-moving body, some kind of creature, whipping through the tree branches to the southwest.

Rowan longed to go after it, to track it back through the barrow mounds and into the forest beyond, to follow it back to its lair. But he couldn’t leave the girl at his feet on her own, alone and weak and vulnerable in the middle of a field of wights. Wights that were quickly recovering in the absence of the dark creature, and stirring once more in their hollows.

Rowan groaned his frustration, and then gingerly grasped the disgusting girl’s shoulders and dragged her into the safety of the forest at their backs.

He dumped her a few hundred feet into the safety of the canopy, then sprinted back towards the barrows, shifting midstride. He circled the fields and the surrounding woodlands, scanning for any sign of the darkness or anything that could possibly be the otherworldly creature that had created it. But there was nothing.

Nothing strange, nothing that stood out. And no trace of that awful, wretched stench.

Rowan curved back to return to where he’d left the princess, fuming. If only she had more self-control, if she could have run into the safety of the trees without completely losing it, he could have gone off and pursued the creature. Maybe even discovered what had killed the demi-Fae male, and removed a threat from Doranelle’s lands. Protected the fortress.

But the spineless princess had prevented him from doing so.

Rowan sat on a rock next to her prone form, waiting for her to return to consciousness. He idly threw a dagger as he stewed, his anger slowly bubbling and murmuring in his blood.

Eventually, the girl awoke, her eyes slowly sliding open, sore limbs stretching.

He didn’t wait for her to recover. “No discipline, no control, and no courage.” She turned to look at him, eyes glazed over. “You failed. You made it to the other side of the field, but I said to face the wights – not throw a magical tantrum.”

Her fury blazed to life, overwhelming the exhaustion and lingering fear. Rising to match his own writhing temper. “I will kill you. How dare – ”

“That was not a wight, Princess.” Rowan interrupted, his well of patience dangerously close to running dry. He definitely didn’t have enough left to listen to her go on another arrogant tirade. He barely had enough to speak at all.

Their eyes met, and he mentally shot towards her, That thing should not have been there.

Then what in hell was it, you stupid bastard? she shot back, without hesitation.

Rowan clenched his jaw. Even completely silent, the girl’s tone reeked of arrogant disdain. “I don’t know. We’ve had skinwalkers on the prowl for weeks, roaming down from the hills to search for human pelts, but this…this was something different. I have never encountered its like, not in these lands or any other. Thanks to having to drag you away, I don’t think I’ll learn anytime soon.” He looked pointedly at her deplorable state. “It was gone when I circled back. Tell me what happened. I saw only darkness, and when you emerged, you were – different.”

She looked down at herself, frowning in disgust. “No. And you can go to hell.”

He pressed. “Other lives might depend on it.”

“I want to go back to the fortress,” Her words came with a very great effort, her breaths shallow and labored. “Right now.”

Anger burned even higher within him, reaching to claw at his throat. Selfish brat. “You’re done when I say you’re done.”

“You can kill me or torture me or throw me off a cliff, but I am done for today. In that darkness, I saw things that no one should be able to see. It dragged me through my memories – and not the decent ones. Is that enough for you?”

The girl’s voice was different, altered by her encounter with the creature. This time, her ferocity didn’t come from arrogance, or aggression, or narcissism. Instead it was the sound of a desperate, small, trapped person. Someone who had run from pain for so long, that they no longer knew how to face it any other way.

Rowan spat out a sharp sound of frustration and anger. Nothing could excuse her refusal, her unwillingness to provide potentially crucial information. He was right, the girl was a coward – through and through.

Rowan stood, and led her through the woods and back to Mistward, completely failing to ignore the fury pounding its way through his limbs as he brooded.

The iron bars in her mind were made of fear. A terror so large and great that she allowed it to control her, to cripple her and prevent her from being herself. From accessing the other half of her identity – her Fae form.

The princess would have to overcome her own fear and cowardice in order to learn control. The question was – how to make a coward face their fears?

They arrived back at the fortress, the girl turning away from the entry guards as they passed, trying to hide the horrific state she was in. They noticed anyways, disgust and anger and fear wafting from them as they took in her rank stench and beaten body. And the sentiment was reflected by all of the many workers and soldiers they passed, though none voiced their worry or discomfort – all too intimidated by the force of Rowan’s presence, or by the girl’s own hostility.

He knew the reputation he already carried with the fortress residents, as well as the wider world. Knew that this would do nothing at all to endear them to him. Would maybe even make the girl a figure of sympathy.

He didn’t care. There was nothing to be done about it regardless.

Rowan was desperate to leave, but before he dumped her, he managed to say, “These are the female baths. Your room is a level up. Be in the kitchens at dawn tomorrow.”

And he strode down the corridor without a second glance – relieved to escape the fiery torrent of her presence and fall back into the waiting arms of his cool, icy indifference.

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