#and this side blog? fifty followers flat

[dylawas-reblogs]

So we all still agree that someone coming into your inbox with a GoFundMe is probably a scam right. Or did I miss a memo somewhere that those are legit now

[james-is-here]

(late) Halloween post bitches 😎✌🏼

Had to remake this but luckily I was just making the header and adding tags so I didn't lose too much 😁 and I'm proud that I posted a holiday fic 😌 I believe this fic shows how creative I am.

Spider divider by @adornedwithlight

Is there a pairing in this? I don't know, read and find out 😏

Special tag for @succubus-hansol 😁 I've had this in my docs for a few months now. 9k+ words 😲 Long but worth the read.

Blogs: @forever-atiny @lemon--shark @victorbutnotreally @leezanetheofficial @belladonna6-6-6 @heartbinn @yongbokkk @dontwannaexsist @tomorrowxtogather 

Tags: Vampires, Blood, fighting, abuse, fluff then angst then fluff, Vampire Mirror logic what's that?, should be implied that the boys are all together

Lmk if I forgot a tag or you want to be added to taglist :)

The sky was sparkling and the night was cool as the fluttering of wings flapped above an 18th century, two-floor house, a black roof and grey exterior walls, and a patio that wraps around to the left side. A courtyard with a fountain in the middle has a cobblestone path circling it, leading to the patio stairs in front of the front door. A fence with a gate around the whole lot.

The house resides on the outskirts of the town of humans. It's on a shallow hill, often used for dares. ‘Fifty bucks for the first one to reach the gate without backing out.’ 'I dare you to stand at the Shadowborne gate for five minutes without one of them noticing you.'

Shadowborne, that's the species that lived in the house, but it wasn't the entire species obviously. One clan resided in the house, the Stravian Kin Clan, and the human folk knew what they were, a couple of humans once tried to venture further than the gate one night which resulted in the law within the town that prohibited any residents from going into the forest after the clan leader left the trespassers worse for wear.

That never stopped the occasional rebellious teens from slipping through the fence to fulfill their bet or dare.

One night though, no humans trespassed or disturbed the land as a few bats flew and played around above the house, sometimes landing on the roof to settle down. Still, the playfulness continued with sneaky crawling before nipping at the victim and chirping happily at the reaction.

Two small bats were flying around while a slightly larger one sat on the roof when a fourth bat showed up, seemingly out of the clouds and the two smaller ones stopped flipping in the air to watch the new arrival above them before its wings stilled and it began to fall to the ground.

They watched as it fell to the ground before turning to the one on the roof. He chirped, flapping his wings to head for the balcony at the back right of the house on the second floor that leads to a large round room with bookshelves and pillows strewn about on a large cushion-like rug, covering the floor of the whole room.

The bats fly over to the balcony before three clouds of two deep red swirls twist around and up as full bodies are revealed before it dissipates and the now human-like forms take off in a run out of the room. They push through the doors and run to the right before coming to the wide opening of the stairs, dashing down the first staircase, turning on a flat section before coming to the last staircase and taking two at a time.

The taller one became impatient and grabbed the railing at the flat part before jumping over and landing on the first floor as the other two followed the stairs and continued the rest of the way, a few steps behind the taller one.

“Hyung!!” The one who jumped the stairs called out before he went to the front window and looked into the courtyard. “Hyung!!” One of the others, a blonde, ran to the right through the living room to the study as the other, a brunette, ran left towards the kitchen.

The “Hyung” in question appeared a second later, opening the study doors and the blonde collided with his chest with a ‘oof’. “Sorry! There's a bat! Th-They flew from the clouds before going limp and falling. Th-Their flight pattern was slow and staggered slightly, I think they're hurt.” “Did you recognize them?” “Uh…” If the blonde could blush, he would cause then he says with a chuckle, “Um, no. The…The moon was behind him…”

The older one huffed a smile before both were turning to the male at the window. “I can see him!” He yelled. “Him?” “Yeah! He's next to the fountain, he just reformed in a cloud of rust.” “Rust?” “Yeah, it was like a rust color.”

“Hyunjin, away from the window.” The tall vampire, Hyunjin, slouched away from the window and sat back on his shins with a small pout as he watched the older vampire open the door and walk out to the edge of the front deck.

He listened closely, watching the figure before he spun around when he heard another boot hit the wood porch. “No, back inside.” He scolds the blonde like a dog and he backs up before going over to Hyunjin and peaking through the curtain with him.

Chan slowly steps off the patio into the gravel. He slowly stalks forward, straining his enhanced hearing to the edges to listen to the figure as he circled the fountain. His inner protector senses the figure as a threat as he stalks forward and one more step has the figure turning his head before he's upright, trying to drag himself away from the taller, intimidating, clear leader of the territory he crashed into.

“I-I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry! P-Please have mercy…m-mercy, please. I-I w-won't bother y-you, sir, I-I’ll leave j-just please, I-I need-” He yelps and stops scooting back away from the other vampire when a twig from a dying bush from the garden surrounding the path stab into the wound on his side. He cries out painfully, falling onto his back with his eyes squeezed shut to not cry, to not be weak as he pushes the twig away from him and gripping his side.

“Why are you here, Emberborne?” Is all the leader says.

Emberborne. Like Shadowborne’s, their bat forms are a reddish-orange, living West of where Shadowborne’s inhabit. So why and how is one all the way East and by itself?

“I-I don't…I d-don't mean…harm...” The boy is panting heavily, eyes trained on the night sky and almost hyperventilating before he huffs out heavily a couple of times, his eyes fluttering shut while his hand lets go of his side and his head slowly falls to the side, unconscious.

The Shadowborne, Chan, steps closer until he crouches down next to the boys left side and gently moves his hand to look at the wounds on his side and stomach. The loose-fit shirt, frilly with large sleeve cuffs, typically what older generation vampires wore, was torn and bloody. On the boy's side were two large open wounds, but not as deep as a gash, almost like something grazed him and took the top layer on skin but when Chan grazed lightly over the middle wound on the side of the boys stomach to move the shirt, he hissed as his fingers suddenly stung slightly.

Moving the shirt out of the way, he sees a silver bullet. He moves to the right side of the Emberborne quickly, picking him up with an arm under his knees and his upper back then turning back to the house.

Hyunjin and the blonde were at the front door the moment Chan had stood up with the boy. “Go get Minho.” “Chan Hyung, he’s with Changbin to get the supplies from the forest border.” Hyunjin reminds him as Chan gently puts the boy on the couch so his wounded side is facing him.

Groaning, he sighs while removing the boy's top. “Okay. Hyunjin, in the study behind the desk, is an old black bag. Can you get it? Felix, go get one of Innie’s shirts and prepare a room. Where’s Jisung?” “He went to the kitchen to, I assume, look for you.” “Get him along with some blood packs.”

Hyunjin returned with the black bag as Felix went off. Opening it and digging around, Chan pulls out a small pair of medical tongs and a small glass jar. “Hyung, who is this?” “Don’t know. He’s an Emberborne and…” He drags out as he carefully uses the tongs to grab the silver bullet and carefully extract it, placing it in the small jar and then putting the lid back on. “...He must've been attacked. Eh, Don't touch that.” Though it was in a glass jar, it was still a silver bullet, so he quickly slapped Hyunjin’s hand away when he reached out to look at what Chan had just removed.

He pulls out gauze along with a bandage. “Come here, Jin.” He guides the young vampire to sit on the back of the couch while holding the unknown boy up so he can place the gauze and cotton along the wounds before wrapping the bandage around his torso. “His healing is gonna be slow until he wakes up and he can feed,” Chan explains when he sees the confusion on Hyunjin’s face as he sits on the couch with the boys head on his lap.

“What could an Emberborne even be doing here?” Hyunjin asked. “Ran away? Outcasted? Lost his clan? Who knows. We’ll just have to wait until he wakes up.” Chan mutters as he puts everything back in the back except the tongs and the jar.

Felix returns with Jisung and two other seemingly younger vampires behind him. “Okay, gotta get some of this into his system,” Chan mutters as he takes the pack of blood from Jisung and the shirt from Felix. From the front door, two vampires walk in as their reforming smoke dissipates behind them and they're carrying large bags on their shoulders. “Hey, We’re- Woah.” The last two clan members stop at the sight of the others surrounding what they think is a human on the couch.

At the sign of Minho about to hiss as he glared at the boy, Chan handed the bag that was dripping blood into the boy's mouth to Hyunjin, who continued the steady dripping, before standing up. “It's not a human, it's a vampire.” “How do you know?” “Well, his fangs, the slight burn marks on his wounds from a silver bullet-” “The fact that he was a bat and almost crashed into us.” Jisung cuts him off as he points between him and Felix then Hyunjin speaks up without looking away from feeding the unconscious vampire. “He reformed in a cloud of rust.”

“Okay, I got it.” Minho relaxed as Chan took the bag from him. “Oh, I tidied up the room next to the library for him.” “Thank you, Felix. Wanna take him up?” Felix nods before taking the half dripped pouch from Hyunjin and picking the boy up in a princess carry and taking him through the large foyer and up the stairs to the room he made up.

It's the size of a master bedroom, all of them are, and in the center against the right wall is a queen bed covered with a dark green quilt and matching canopy hanging from wooden posts.

Felix gently places the boy on the bed where he folded the blanket and sheet out of the way. As he tucks the boy in, he goes to walk away but stops and gently moving his hair away from his eyes. “You look so young.” He mutters to himself before taking his hand from under the blanket, looking at where an existing pulse point would've been.

Felix’s brows furrow before placing it back next to him and took his other wrist. “No mark?” “Emberborne’s aren’t like us, Lixie.” Felix jumps, turning to see Chan walk in and walk over to him to sit on the edge of the bed. “Right. I wasn't really taught about Emberborne’s…Before I found you, my old clan literally obliterated everything about Emberborne's.”

“Shadowborne's have been marking their offspring with their clan sigils for eternity, even in today’s evolved age. It's for protection and safety and forms when we grow into our vampire side. Unfortunately, with Emberborne's, they still have old ideations like us but believe they need to grow up and survive on their own, that they don't need protection of their family. They don't get any marks until they make their own family. An emberborne once lived to be three hundred and six before they got a sigil, finding their partner. They were the last of their birth family to get their own family sigil.” “Wow.”

Felix began to absentmindedly rub his thumb back and forth on the boy's knuckles, looking away from Chan to look down at his peaceful face. “What got him?” “I assume Hunters. Pulled a silver bullet out of one of the wounds.” “What? That's not cool.” “No, it's not. Oh…” Chan pulled something out of his pocket and moved to sit on the other side of the boy. “I noticed sun burn welts as you were bringing him up here.”

He gently moved the blanket away and moved the top part of his shirt. “Oh no.” Felix sat on the bed, watching Chan rub an ointment over red patches on the boy's chest. “Attacked during the day? He must've been chased out of wherever he was hiding.” Felix says as he hovers a finger over one of the burns. “There's no signs that show how old he is. Do they age slowly like us?” “They do. He may look the human age of nineteen but he may be one of our ages.” “Well, Hyunjin looks nineteen but he's like two hundred.” Chan snickers as he caps the ointment.

“You're really invested in this boy.” “I’m just worried about him and he looks interesting. You know me, I cried when we found Seungmin and he said a wolf got him.” “You do know that when he's awake and healed, we’ll have to send him off…right?” “Wha- But Hyung-” “We can't keep an Emberborne. Ember and Shadow don't mix.” “But…But you brought him in. You bandaged him up, you care about him.” “Felix!” Chan bared his fangs and his eyes flashed before closing his eyes the moment he saw Felix flinch and took a deep breath while looking away.

“I did what I did because I couldn't leave him with the bullet. Plus he begged for mercy, I couldn't-” He's silent for a moment. “Couldn't just leave him...” “Hyung…” Felix says softly as he watches Chan get off the bed and walk towards the door. “Come on. Let him rest.” Chan mutters as he stares at the floor, hand on the door.

Felix walked over to him, glancing back to the boy then to Chan. “Go.” Chan says firmly, tilting his head out the door to get Felix to walk out. Felix sighs, looking down at his hands and walking to the left to the library, probably to curl up in his corner Chan predicts.

Chan sighs, looking back at the boy on the bed before walking out.

Chan and his clan had long been asleep before the sun began to rise. He's buried under his dark red bedding with one of his younger vampires tucked in his arms who snuck in shortly after he fell asleep so he’s not sure who it is.

It had only been two hours, behind the thick curtains the sunrise peaked behind the clouds and lit the outside of the house with the new daylight but Chan suddenly jerks awake, looking around the dark room to figure out what was wrong.

Looking down, he notices the body in his arms was Felix. He's glad he didn't completely put off Felix from earlier.

Unwrapping his arms from the blonde, he slips out of bed, going to check the house just in case. Maybe his senses were detecting one of his vampires out of bed, possibly Changbin trying to sneak one of his pouches. Changbin was banned from the fridge during the day, their night time, after the last time he took one a day early and ended up having to wait an entire day before they could get their next month's supply. His feeding schedule was shit after that and they had to bribe their supplier for an extra pouch.

Their supplier being at the human towns hospital, an older doctor that they made a deal with after the human trespassing law was made. No humans in their forest for a month's worth of blood packs. The town didn't want anymore deaths so some of the residents donate blood simply for the vampires.

When Chan left his room, he was on the other side of the house from the library, he walked to the left towards the stairs, pausing at the other doors he passed by to hear the breathing of one or two of his clan, only passing the rooms who's doors were open.

Changbin’s door was closed with two sets of breathing, so that rules out Changbin sneaking blood and explains Hyunjin’s door being open as Hyunjin usually slept with Changbin. Seungmin’s door was closed but Jeongin’s was open and with Minho’s being closed and Jisung’s being open, and Felix with him, the two baby vamps were together and Ji was with Min or one baby was with Ji and the other with Min.

So what woke him up?

That's when a thought entered his head and he walked to the library. When he gets there, he freezes, lowering his body as he slowly stalks to the open bedroom. Peaking in, the blankets on the bed are thrown away and there's no longer a body, the blood pack Felix left behind now on the floor, empty. His thoughts are on overdrive as he dashes over to the rope hanging at the end of the hall and pulls, it was an old design feature that came with the house that triggers small bells that are in each room.

He hears a yelp near the stairs and runs over to it, finding the boy from before. “Wait, Don't move!” The boy looks up to the second floor balcony and Chan can see and hear his rapid breaths along with noticing the blooming red staining the shirt which means his bandages were soaked as well before the boy takes off in the direction of the living room. “Wait!” By that time, the others are out of bed, alert but mostly grumpy at being woken up so early into their sleep.

The sun just rose for crying out loud.

“Corner him, I think he's trying to leave.” He calls out when he can feel the others growing closer as he jumps over the railing and follows the boy.

He follows him through the living room and into the study. He runs behind the desk, cowering against the decommissioned fireplace behind it before glancing at the side door that leads to a passageway to the kitchen.

Chan lowers his height, hands outstretched to stop him. “Hold on, wait, it's okay, you're okay.” “I-I’m sorry, I don't-” “It's okay, calm down, we won't hurt you. What’s your name, fledgling?” The boy pants, glancing at the door then back to the person in front of him. “Don't, please. It's okay.” Chan slowly steps forward, crouching down lower to look less intimidating which shocks him himself but he chalks it up to just not wanting the boy to aggravate his wounds and dressings.

He barely gets another step when the boy takes off, pushing open the cracked door and running to the kitchen with Chan following.

In the kitchen, Changbin and Felix are waiting, listening, until Changbin is turning when he hears the running in the study’s hallway.

The boy was looking behind him, watching out over his shoulder for Chan before turning and stopping with a squeak when he noticed Changbin. He swerves, diverting the other way but is stopped by Felix and he runs back the other way, dropping to his knee and sliding past Changbin before standing back up, staggering and holding a hand to his side as he looks back at the other three before running again and Chan follows, Changbin and Felix joining as well shortly after.

The boy runs back to the foyer, through the empty room that used to be a dining room and to the stairs. Running up the stairs, he runs in the direction of the room he first left but Minho and Seungmin block him. He skids to a stop, going to run the other way but Jisung, Hyunjin, and Jeongin block him.

Breathing heavily, fear and panic washed over his face as he looked at each of the split groups, from the two on his left then the three on his right, then the three below him.

A window catches his eye, poised above the flat level of the stairs that conjoin the first level and second level staircase. A slight billow of the curtain pinned to the wall to still keep light out giving away that the window was open. “Wait! Wait! Don't do it!” Chan exclaims, noticing the boy glance at the window.

He shrinks back to the wall, looking to his left and right again to see the other strangers have gotten closer. “Stop him!” Chan yells at the two groups but the boy is already running the moment Minho dashes forward to grab him.

His transformation is quick, rust smoke envelopes his body and dissipates as a bat emerges and he’s trying to fly up to the window but with a weak chirp and pained squeak, his flying falters and he falls. “No!” Chan runs forward and catches the weakened Vampire in his hands.

The bat squeaks and chirps, flapping in Chan’s hands as the groups on the second floor have converged and looked over the railing the moment the bat began to fall.

“Shh, Shh, it's okay little fledgling, we won't hurt you. Settle down, it's okay.” Chan says in a hushed tone, a hand moving from underneath the bat to rest over his back and using his thumb to pet his head. “It's okay. You have to calm down little one. You almost got yourself burned.” Still panting and breathing heavily, the flapping has stopped, wings draped over Chan’s hand as he looks up at the male holding him. “It's daytime. You would've made your condition worse.”

Chan continued to pet his head as Felix and Changbin walked up next to him while the others still watched from above. “Are you calm enough? Wanna reform?” He watches the bat heave a few more breaths before his head falls flat on Chan’s palm like a dog draped over the arm of a chair, looking up at him and making Chan huff a small laugh. “Want me to set you down or do you need a toss?” He flicks his wings and Chan steps back towards the stairs, the other two walking back from him to give him space.

Chan tosses the bat gently in front of him before rust smoke is swirling around and the boy reforms then promptly falls to the floor, legs folded underneath as his hands hold him up on the floor. “I-I’m sorry..” He breathes out with an exhale, voice soft and gentle as he tries to catch his breath. “I-I didn't mean to…I’m sorry.” He whimpers and Chan carefully steps forward.

“It's okay. What’s your name?” “M-Mn…a-and I’m not a fledgling…I’m two hundred and fifteen.” “Sorry, I did that out of habit. You look young like Hyunjin.” You look up and back, eyes jumping from one vampire to the other before dropping your head back down. “I didn't mean to invade your territory…I-I was f-fleeing from hunters and they found me…I-I was so scared, I started running without reforming or thinking. Th-They chased me till dusk, one got me with his bullets. The trees barely covered me.”

Your right hand moved from the floor to absentmindedly touch your burns before a hand takes yours and you flinch. “Sorry, didn't want you to touch the ointment or the burn itself.” You gasp suddenly and your hand leaves his to go to your side. “The bullet. Where-” “I extracted it. Put it in a jar, might take it to the human town authorities so they could do something with it.”

You fall back, slowly scooting away. “H-Humans? Do you interact with humans?” Chan’s hand gently rests on your ankle. “No, we just have an alliance with them. The most interaction we do is with our blood supplier at the hospital. That's it.” “How…How do they trust you so easily?” “They made a law awhile back after I mauled two humans when they trespassed. Humans stay away from our property and we stay away from their town. Even our supplier stays away, just drops the bags at the edge of the forest.”

Your eyes water, glassy as you look up at Chan. “N-No humans?” “Yeah. Hey, don't cry. Are you hurt? Do you need anything?” “Wh-Why are you being so nice to me?” Chan hesitates, glancing at Felix next to him then back to the boy. “You begged for mercy…and I couldn't leave you with a silver bullet slowly killing you.” It's quiet for a moment other than the others moving to the second floor of the stairs and sitting along the banister. “The…Uh, the bullet is also blessed…M-Might want to take it to a priest as well…if the town has one.” You stare down at your fingers where the older vampire notices your burnt fingertips. “You tried to remove them.” “Yeah…the first two were painful and easy but the third one was too far.”

Shaking his head, he awkwardly looked around then back to the floor. “I, um, I’m sorry. I-I’ll be out tonight, I promise.” “You can stay until the silver effects wear out and you're replenished.” Looking at the grandfather clock next to the front door, it's eight in the morning and Chan giggles softly as he glances back at the others.

“Late night snack anyone?” “Me!” Changbin says first and gets up, already halfway to the kitchen and the others laugh and stand as well. “Come on. Let’s get some blood in you, might help get you closer to restoring your quick healing.” Chan helps you stand, supporting you as you stumble slightly then look over at Felix. “Hi…” “Hi.” Felix smiles. “Sorry I almost crashed into you and your friend.” “It's okay. Come on, let's go feed.” Felix gently holds your shoulder and helps guide you to the kitchen.

The others have already started to walk away before you and Felix except Minho who stands next to Chan, watching the two of you walk away. “What happened to Shadows not liking Embers?” “He's injured.” Chan shrugs, looking down at his hands. “Wouldn't be right, especially since...well y’know.” “Yeah, Yeah, begged for mercy.” “Silver doesn't take long to leave us so he should actually be good to leave tonight. Then he’ll be on his way.”

Minho scans Chan’s stance and listens to his tone of voice. “Why does it sound like you don't want him to leave?” “It's just the leader in me or something, feels wrong for him to be alone with no protection.” His thumb finds the mark on his left wrist, grazing over his Clan sigil, on his right wrist is his birth clan sigil. Minho takes his hand, replacing his thumb with his own. “He’ll get protection one day. That's how his species live. Now come on, Changbin might eat the whole stock.” That brings a small smile to Chan’s face, his fangs peaking through and Minho pokes his cheek while moving to take Chan's hand, lacing their fingers together. “Cute.” Chan swats him away, letting go of Minho’s hand then heads to the kitchen. “Chan! I’m just teasing!”

Chan was right when he said Mn would be okay by night. The remaining effects of the silver gone and plenty of blood had his quick healing restored as he slept. After everyone who wanted a pouch had one, everyone promptly went back to bed for the rest of the day.

Mn woke up first the moment he could hear the grandfather clock strike. Walking over to the window, Mn opened the curtain and watch the sky, the sun out of the way and leaving behind a beautiful night sky.

Mn sighs when he knows he’ll have to leave and go off flying again. He might as well leave now, Mn told them he'll be gone at night so he’ll be gone.

Wearing the youngest vampire’s shirt he was given, his boots in hand so as to not cause noise, he tiptoed his way next door, carefully opening the door then closing it and padding his way over to the balcony. He ties the curtain out of the way before carefully opening the window doors and walking out onto the patio.

Mn slipped on his boots and tie them before standing up, looking back into the house that he's felt the safest in ever before walking over to the stone railing and climbing up, jumping off before reforming and flying up. He hovers, taking one last look at the house before taking off into the clouds and away from the Shadowborne’s.

When Felix went to check on Mn when he woke, his whole body deflated at the open door before going to the library, deflating even more at the open terrace then going back to his room.

“Good evening, Felix.” Hyunjin greets with a yawn while rubbing his eyes, walking into his room and flopping on the bed next to him. “Mn’s gone.” Hyunjin drops his hand next to him and looks up at the male who's balled up on himself, arms wrapped around his knees as he stares at his blanket. “Well, of course he is. His quick healing must've kicked in while he was sleeping so he left like he said he would.” “Yeah, well…Kinda wanted him to stay around.” Felix mutters, turning away to bury half his face into his elbow. “He's an emberborne, Felix. The only reason he was here was to recover.” “I know…”

It was quiet for a while, Hyunjin rubbing his back before he shifts. “Um, I kinda want to be alone for a while. If you need me I’ll be on the living room ceiling.” “Oh…Okay Lixie.” The blonde reforms, swirl of deep red covering him before dissipating and Hyunjin watches the bat fly away towards the living room. “Oh Lix…” He says sadly as he gets up and leaves the boys room.

Walking downstairs, he looks up to find the boy curled up and huddled in the darkest corner of the ceiling, away from lights and candles. “Hyun?” He stood at the end of the living room in front of the study to look at Felix properly. “Whatcha looking at?” Chan asks, legs moving off the top of the desk as he puts his book down and joins the other. “A Felix.” Looking up as well, Chan spots him.

“Aw, why’s he in his corner?” “Mn’s gone.” Hyunjin answers simply and Chan sighs. “Sorry Lix.” The only reply he got was a small chirp before he looked down. “Good to know he's all better now.” He tells Hyunjin as he moves to the couch. “Yeah.” Hyunjin joins him, leaning into him.

“Hyung, I get that he begged for mercy and he was injured…but you seemed extra caring towards him. Even more than usual, as if he was a part of the clan like us.” “It was just the clan leader in me. He doesn't have his own family so he doesn't have a protective sigil.” “He doesn't? I knew they had to fend for themselves but they don't even have family sigils?” “Nope.” Chan took Hyunjin’s right hand to graze his thumb over his family mark. “They only get one, while we get a family…” he then reaches for Hyunjin’s other hand. “and clan marks, they only get family marks and only when they've found their partner.” “Like the three hundred year old Ember?” “Yeah.” “So…it could be even longer than that until an Ember finds it’s family? They go unprotected for that long?” Hyunjin’s voice was filled with concern, not exactly enjoying Emberborne traditions. “They do.”

They look up at the fluttering of wings to see Felix gently flutter his way down before landing on Chan who scoops him up and pets his head with his thumb, comforting his little bat. “We never asked why he was all the way over here. He's from the other side of the world.” “Yeah…but he’ll be fine on whatever journey he's on.” Chan replies and lifts Felix up as he tucks his wings to his sides. The older male gently kisses the top of Felix’s head and he chirps, relaxing in Chan’s hold.

The rest of the night, the others carried Felix around. When he's down he prefers to be small, to be coddled, and to be held. When he's small, they can hold him and he won't be in the way unlike his full form.

He was resting with his eyes closed on Chan’s shoulder, the older vampire walking around trying to find something to do when there was a knock on the front door.

“Jeez, what stupid humans decided to trespass this time. Gotta give it to them though, they've never gotten to the front door.” Chan mutters, mostly to himself but also for Felix to hear if he's awake.

Chan went into the empty dining room, which Jisung has been trying to convince everyone to make into a second living room, to peek out the window. When he sees an old style of suit, lace cuffs showing from under an old, seemingly Victorian suit coat, he shuts the curtain and walks over to the door to open it and finds an old face to fit the old fashion.

“Are you the leader of the Stravian Kin clan?” “Yes? What's this about? We don't normally get other vampiric guests.” He can feel Felix shift on his shoulder and nuzzle into his neck. “As a fairly recently formed clan, you and your brethren or consorts must attend the gathering of clans to form or reestablish alliances with other clans along with checking in with your family and friends.” The male hands Chan a rolled up scroll. “It’d also be best if you wear…less human clothes lest you stand out or draw attention.” Chan glances down at his boots, jeans, and t-shirt before looking up and nodding. “Yes, of course sir.” “and if you are a clan that has integrated into the more modern world, the shiny devices are prohibited.” “We aren't, that won't be a problem.”

The gentleman glances at Felix on Chan’s shoulder and smiles softly. “Do you mind?” He lifts his hand a little and Chan looks down at Felix who has been awake, now just flopped on the older male’s shoulder. Felix chirps and the man reaches up to gently pet his head. “My kin use to do this with me whenever I’m in my natural form. Not as much anymore due to them finding their own clans.” He pulls his hand away and Felix trills happily before snuggling back into Chan’s neck. “The gathering is…” He trails off before sighing. “Do you per chance have a clock?” “Yeah.” Chan steps back and looks towards the grandfather clock.

“It's eleven thirty five, sir.” “Thank you. The gathering is at two, in your scroll is a sigil. Simply run your fingers over it and your clan will be transported, saving you the long flight to Vesper Sanctum.” “Thank you, sir.” “Of course. Have a nice rest of your evening.”

Chan bows as the man turns around and leaves, shutting the door and sighing. “Great.”

“Do we really have to wear this?” Changbin complains. “Unfortunately.” “But I thought we wanted to be different and stick out?” Seungmin asks on the back of the couch, pulling at his collar.

Chan had to fly around the attic to find the old dress wear they used to wear before changing to more modern clothes. “Well, any other time, yes, but since we're a new clan and this is our first time doing something like this, I kinda don't want to make any bad impressions to future allying clans.” “About that, I think it's dumb. Why ask for alliance with some unknown clan of Shadowborne's when we're perfectly fine on our own. We have a deal with the human town, we're comfortable living here, why do all this?”

Chan sighs, moving from fixing Seungmin’s collar to standing in front of a frowning Minho to fix his shirt. “Protection, resources, friends? We're not the only new clan going, I’m sure. Plus every clan will be there, it's also a family reunion.”

“Will emberborne's be there?” Felix, having been coaxed out of his bat form by Jisung, asks quietly, voice soft and quiet as he fiddles with his frilly sleeves. “You didn't ask that man and he didn't mention it either.” Chan is silent for a moment then moves again to Felix who stands behind the couch. “I’m not sure.” He gently takes Felix’s hand to tuck the shirt sleeve into the coat sleeve. “But if they are…you can't run off.” Chan could feel it, feel Felix’s hope while also being able to see it in his eyes. Felix goes to protest, to explain why he's asking but he knows Chan knows why he's asking.

“Okay. I won't run off, but if…if he is there, and he comes over to us…what do we do?” Chan finishes tucking his sleeves, holding his hands gently yet tight. “Don't greet him like a friend. Greet him like any other clan associate.” Felix nods and Chan lets go of his hands, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sure he's okay, Felix.” “He just left though…he's probably not going to be there.” “We may be different but we're equally fast. And if you're right then I’ll hold your mopey little bat butt for as long as you need.” Chan says, hoping to make the younger laugh and it works, Felix pulling away with a light laugh and smile. “Thank you, Hyung.” “Always. Now let's get going, Bin looks like he's about to rip the lace.” “It's itchy.” The aforementioned male whines as the others laugh.

They gather around Chan as he opens the scroll to see his own sigil. Tracing the lines, it glows red and deep red smoke swirls around them from the ground and when it reaches their head and dissipates, they're stood in front of a castle, multiple clans walking through the front door and inside.

The scroll disappears in Chan's hand at the same time they hear hissing, looking up to see two women baring their fangs at each other. “Hyung, look.” Jeongin holds on to Chan’s arm and points to the ground.

Leading into the castle were two carpets, black on the left and red on the right. The two women stand in the middle where the carpets meet before two men split them apart and pull them inside. “I guess it's literally every clan.” Hyunjin mutters from behind Chan.

Taking a deep breath, he nods his head slightly then glances at the boys. “Come on.” He walks over to the black carpet with the others in tow, Jeongin still holding on to his arm as his gaze lingers along the red carpet they're walking away from.

When inside the large ballroom, Felix and Jeongin are immediately bombarded by their siblings from their family clan, hugs so tight both of the boys look like they're gonna suffocate if they weren’t already dead and didn't breath like normal humans.

Changbin’s sister soon appeared and eventually it was just him and the boys that didn't have siblings. He couldn't spot his family yet but when he did, he didn't leave Minho and Hyunjin behind.

Eventually they all returned back to Chan and he looked around to notice all the clans gathering together. He moves his to the wall out of the way of the others and as to not be in the center, too much attention for them.

A moment later, clans start walking around to other clans to begin mingling. “I think this is the alliance making part.” Minho whispers and Chan sighs. “Yeah…” “You okay?” “I honestly wanted to go home the moment after I saw my family.” Chan mutters, looking at the clans around him. “Now I’m tired.”

Minho takes his hand in one of his, patting it gently with the other before clasping it over their conjoined hands. “It's okay. Just focus on us for now.” He looks around to see his own clan talking to one another and smiles as he leans against the wall behind them. “Okay.”

They stood there for who knows how long, just in their own world in the back of the castle before Felix notices the edge of a dress in the corner of his eye and looks up. Emberborne's have begun mingling with some of the Shadowborne’s and the dress of one catches his eye. “You idiot, you trying to make the whole of this species hate us?” The woman screeched quietly as she drags another vampire by the ear next to them, a couple steps away.

“I meant what I said. Your idea of an arranged marriage to the opposite species of a clan I don't even care about is wrong.” The woman slaps him, an angry scowl on her face as the male clutches his cheek. “Mom-” “No. This is why you’ll never get a protection mark. You should be grateful we're even helping you get protection, you weakling. Couldn't even escape some hunters during your punishment. Should've just left the bullet in, save us the hassle.”

Suddenly a man is stomping over, moving the woman out of the way just to slap the male again. “You just lost us an eternity's worth of alliance with the oldest Shadowborne clan here. You're gonna go back over to them and agree to marry their daughter, you're gonna fix all of this.” “I don't even like their daughter.” Another slap, at this point, Felix is watching instead of listening, his silence drawing Seungmin’s attention as well as Jisung’s to the same sight.

“You're marrying her no matter what. You’ll be getting protection while also fixing the alliance you broke.” “No! I’m not gonna do it!” Chan and the others are now watching when they finally hear the fight not so far away from them.

“Don't make us force you to fly another world wide trip to learn your lesson. Maybe this time the sun will get you.” Chan’s hand tightens in Minho’s. He doesn't know who the kin is but just the sound of parents forcing their kin to fly across the world just to learn a lesson made him extremely angry.

“Do you want me to fix an alliance or do you want me dead, make up your fucking minds!” Another slap and now more clan’s have gathered to watch and listen, the Shadowborne’s looking worried while the Emberborne’s watch like the kin deserves whatever he's getting. Emberborne’s are so cruel to their unprotected kin, Chan thinks.

“You don't get to speak out like that.” The man finally moves, the woman and her dress originally blocking the vampire but now they could get a look at the abused vampire.

“MN!” Felix calls out before he can catch himself and he's shrinking in on himself as everyone turns to him and Chan steps forward, standing next to the blonde protectively. “How does he know your name?” The man, presumably Mn’s father, asks darkly, glaring at the boy. “They helped me after the hunters got me. They didn't leave me for dead with a blessed silver bullet stuck inside me. Cause I begged for mercy.” “They should've ignored it and let you die.” “Hey!”

They turn to Chan who stands in front of the others. “Just because you have different traditions doesn't mean you wish for your kin to be dead. And he has a point, you're making these comments about wanting him dead but you also want to force him to fix an alliance?” “Chan, don't-” His dad slapped him again, causing him to fall to the floor.

Chan doesn't know what came over him but in that moment all he wanted to do was protect. He dangerously bared his fangs to the Emberborne who turned towards him at the sound of Chan's low hiss. “N-No, Chan, please- Ah!” Mn’s mother kicked his side when he tried to get up, kicking him back to the floor as his father chuckled darkly. “You dare challenge me?” The older vampire smirks darkly, showing one of his fangs.

“Ch-Chan…don't do it…” Mn pleads softly from his spot on the floor, leaning on an elbow and looking up at the male and the others behind him.

“You want to challenge me, fine. Let's go outside.” Mn’s dad walks away and Mn tries to get up to follow them out but his mother steps on his back. “Dear, let him go. Since he’s the problem, he’ll be the prize.”

Mn’s mother lifts him up by the back of his coat, shoving him over to his father who grabs his jacket like the woman did and brings him outside. He throws Mn to the side as Chan stands on one side and he stands closer to the castle. They're a few feet apart, snarling at each other as they circle around.

“You win, you get Mn. I win, I get him and you’ll never see him again.” Mn’s dad declares before disappearing with speed to end up behind Chan and kick his back, knocking him down but he gets up and uses his speed as well, to try and knock his ankles out from under him but the other dodges and transforms in a rust cloud before flying away from Chan and reforming. No rules were established, Chan notes before transforming and darting out from his red cloud so fast that no one notices his small black form disappearing and curving to the right, reappearing at the other vampires left and reforming to kick him, destabilizing him and giving him the chance to swipe his foot and knock the other over before stepping back.

“Impressive.” The man complimented as he got up, gaze not leaving Chan. “But not enough.” He reforms again, flying to his left to circle Chan who watches, focusing on the bat circling him, spinning to his other side to continue following but there was no bat on his other side. He had tricked him but he couldn't turn fast enough before he was kicked to the ground again.

“Dad, please…” Chan hears Mn’s voice, looking up to see Mn’s mother holding him down, preventing him from intervening.

Suddenly, wave of energy crashed over Chan as his briefly red eyes meet Mn’s gold. Gasps and whispers start around them and it appears that Mn’s parents didn't notice what just happened.

Chan hasn't felt this since he first started his clan, since he first found his brethren before they became his consorts and their eyes quickly flash red.

Chan just bonded with an Emberborne.

He's got to win this, He's gotta beat Mn’s dad, He has to get to him. Who knows what title he’ll be given when he will claim Mn but he has to, has to take him from his wretched abusing family.

He pushes up, standing on his feet and turning to Mn’s dad who stands confidently in front of him with a cocky smirk. He reforms again, darting out of his smoke before it dissipates completely and he flies along the edge of the crowd before flying out and knocking his wing into Mn’s mother and disappears again.

“That little twerp.” The woman shouts as she looks around and Chan flies by her again and she yells in annoyance, trying to swat at him but Chan is already making another round and finally she does what he wanted her to do.

She stumbles back from stepping on Mn who’s quick to reform and fly away, blinding his mother with his smoke before it disappears and she's looking around for her son. “MN!”

Mn’s father looks around for Chan and his son, listening as best as he could for flapping wings before he's turning to the front of the castle. In front of the stone railing to the entrance stairs was Chan and Mn. “Can I bite you?” “What?” “Can I bite you? I can take you from your family, you can be with us.” “But I’m-” “Which Shadowborne would you prefer? Me or some random woman.” Mn gasps softly and Chan can see his eyes shine in the moonlight and the few flame lamps surrounding the yard. “Yes. Yes, you can, please, my family fucking sucks, please.”

“Stop this nonsense! No one has won, Mn move out of the way!” He turns to his father who's beginning to storm over to him. Chan stands behind him, his left hand grabbing and ripping the fabric of Mn’s suit out of the way as his right holds Mn’s waist and he leans down. “What are you doing!” “Winning my fight.” He smirks before leaning down and sinking his teeth into Mn’s exposed skin. Mn yelps out at the initial pain and intrusion before he groans, hand reaching up to Chan’s that rests on his shoulder.

The crowd gasps at Chan's actions, astonished that he matched and claimed an Ember so quickly and easily. Behind them, they could hear the rest of the clan cheer excitedly, especially Felix.

Chan was immensely comfortable where he was but still forced himself to pull back, pulling out his fangs as Mn moved his hand so they could both watch the Stravian Kin sigil almost burn into his skin but it really shows up as if someone was invisible and tattooing his wrist. It shined gold once it finished and Mn smiled.

They look away from the mark to Mn’s father who stares at them, practically gobsmacked. Chan smirks, leaning down and licking the blood off Mn’s shoulder without looking away from the older Vampire. “I win.”

Mn’s father huffs angrily, fisting his lapels and tugging them down, straightening his coat before transforming and flying away with Mn’s mother following shortly after.

Chan stands straight, watching them fly off and when he looks down, Mn is already looking at him. “You really want me in your clan?” “Well I can't take it back.” He lifts a hand and wipes a trail of blood off with his finger before licking it off. “And Felix probably won't let you leave again. Since you left, he was in his bat form until we had to get ready for this.” Before Mn could ask where he was, he saw someone jump over the railing next to them and turned in order to catch a blonde vampire.

“Mn! Are you okay? How are you? How’d you get here so fast? Did you miss us? I might've missed you. You paired with Hyung! How do you-” “Felix! Hey, calm down, I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore.” Felix removes himself from Mn and looks up at him before gasping. “Gold is really pretty on you.” Mn laughs and pulls Felix back into a hug before flinching and giggling as he pushes Felix away. “Okay, warn me before you lick me, please.” “Warning.” Chan cheekily mutters before cleaning the rest of his bite, Mn yelping at his voice suddenly being next to his ear. “Th-That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Chan Hyung! Can we go home? I’m tired.” Changbin asks as he pulls at his collar. Chan looks around before spotting the man that invited him to this place. “Do we have to fly back?” “No, where's your sigil?” “It disappeared when we got here.” “Oh, that's not meant to happen. Here.” He walks back into the castle before emerging with another scroll and handing it to Chan. “Here's a new one.” “Thank you.” “Of course.”

Chan turns back to his clan and watches Mn look at the other boys with flashes of gold. Smiling, he walks over to them. “Let’s go home.” Felix holds Mn’s hand as smoke envelops all of them and they're all back in the living room.

“Finally!” Changbin cheers before quickly running off to his room to change. “Come on, Mn.” Felix gently tugs Mn’s arm and pulls him towards the stairs.

Mn goes to walk to the room he was put in before but Felix stops him, pulling him towards his room. “The others had to deal with my bat butt for most of the night before the gathering, it's only fair for you to do your part.” Mn laughs, letting him lead him the other way to his room.

Felix had dark blue blankets and a match canopy. On the wall across from the bed was a vanity with a mirror. “Oh shoot.” Felix quickly went over to the large window and pulled his curtains closed, tying and tucking them to block out any light. Mn goes to walk over to Felix as he goes into the closet but the mirror catches his eye.

Tilting his head more to bare his neck, he reaches up to the still visible teeth marks from Chan, his fingers gently touching the area around it as he smiles, straightening his neck as he looks down at the vanity surface, shy of his own reflection.

“My mom always said I’d never mark or be marked…” He speaks aloud, knowing Felix will hear him. “I feel so…happy to see this after constantly being told I don't deserve a mark, that I deserve to be alone and unprotected.”

Felix had slowed down on the knot he was tying on his curtains, looking over to Mn. He stares at the male for a moment, thinking something over before walking over to him. “Can…Can I show you something?” Mn looks up at Felix and nods. “Um, your- Our…sigil is on you but there's another part to it.” “What do you mean?” Felix hesitates. Should he really be first? Chan was the first for all of them but since he connected to Mn at the castle he's been wanting to kiss Mn. “I-I assume it was gold when it appeared?” “Yeah.” “Do…Do you trust me?” Felix whispered, stepping closer to Mn, so close that Mn gasps softly as his breath hitched. “Y-Yeah. I-I do.”

Felix admires Mn’s rusty eye color for a moment before speaking again. “Close your eyes.” He whispers and Mn listens. Felix hesitates again before gently pressing his lips to Mn’s. Mn gasped but didn't pull away. They were both hesitant and cautious but eventually they moved in sync. Felix carefully cradled Mn’s face, parting his lips to drag his fangs over Mn’s bottom lip. Mn automatically parted his own lips and did the same before Felix dragged his tongue over Mn’s fangs.

Felix’s arms moved around Mn’s neck when his hands finally found Felix’s waist. Felix’s fangs pierced Mn’s lip slightly and he proceeds to lick up the blood and Mn hisses before pulling back and looking down at his wrist, the sigil glowing a bright red and it stung slightly. “What…” Mn whispered in awe and confusion. Felix was about to tell him what he just did before an echo of a voice sounded from the first floor by the stairs.

“Felix, I know you didn't just do what I think you did!!” Mn looks out the open door then over to Felix, brows furrowing in deeper confusion and they walk out the room and down the hall to look over the banister to see Chan looking up with his hands on his hip. “What do you mean?” Felix played innocent and Mn looked between the two.

“You binded with him.” “Binded with me?” Mn asked, still confused but Chan spoke over him. “Felix, I can smell your arousal from the study, I’m not dumb.” “Sorry, Chan. Technically speaking you were the first to Bloodbind and bite him so all I’m really doing is going next before the others.” Watching Felix defend himself was adorable to Mn. He leans in, kissing Felix’s cheek and he stops mid sentence. “Can someone explain what Bloodbinding is?” “Y-You-” Felix blinked and shook his head. “Uh, Your parents didn't tell you? That's one of the things all vampires have in common.” “Felix, my parents didn't believe I’d ever find my own clan.” “Right, uh…”

He looks back down to Chan, the older vampire crossing his arms as he watches them, then back to Mn. “I’m gonna go see, Hyunjin, for a moment then I can-” “Felix, it's coming from him too.” Chan interrupted Felix, who's become flustered. “Well, I wasn't sure if- It's his first time doing this I didn't think-” Mn eventually understood what was going on and turned Felix towards him with a finger under his chin and pecked his lips. “I-I don't mind helping…” Mn muttered shyly and Felix stared at him with wide eyes before shakily nodding. “Y-Yeah, Yeah, okay.”

Chan shakes his head, a warm smile playing at the corners of his lips, as they step away from the banister and make their way back to Felix's room. He finds it both amusing and heartening that Felix is already captivated by Mn, almost as if the two were destined to connect. The ease with which Mn has also woven himself into the dynamics of their clan fills Chan with a sense of relief, knowing that this new bond has formed so effortlessly in their unique clan.

[daryascurse]

Chainsmoking His Love 15B: The Fifteenth, Shared Cigarette

Zeke Jaeger x Reader // follow #CHLZeke for updates // nsfw mdni

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: threesome; fingring; teasing; nippIe pinching/ play; mild praise / begging; fem. oraI rec.; male oraI rec.; thigh fucking; swallowing Chapter length: 6.4k

“Would you like to kiss it?” Pieck tilts her head, her black hair silver in the low light as the sheen of it cascades over her shoulder. Your hands clench on your knees and you nod. Zeke’s eyes burn as he makes his way down to the glowing end of his cigarette. Smoke curls from his nostrils and pours from his mouth like some beast. “Open your mouth,” she says, and the softness in her voice has turned steel. “I’m going to teach you how."

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The basement bar is one alley over, and then Zeke takes a turn to the left. You look down the street, and your footsteps falter for a moment. But he’s still walking, without even calling back to bark at you a command to follow, and you scuttle to match his stride.

Where he stops a few blocks away is a low building with a flat roof and tightly fastened curtains in every window. A lantern hangs under the porch, where some doorman of sorts springs from the shadows enshrouded in an oversized cloak. He eyes the two of you up and down and holds his hand out to Zeke. He’s leering still in silent response to the coins Zeke drops in his hand, and you shiver as he opens the door and slam it shut behind you.

Sound jumps in a sudden, suffocating din, and you draw closer to Zeke as if to use his back as a shield. The hallway is a cramped labyrinth of weaving corridors, some rooms open, others closed. You glance to your right and see a woman, howling on her knees, as a man paints her lips with gleaming white taken from his open pants to her mouth. Ahead of Zeke, several further doors down, one flings open as another woman beats a man in the chest with furious fists, and he roars as he scurries out, not even pausing to scoop the shirt and boots she flings after him.

“Fucker! You’re fifty short!”

You shrink as he barrels past you for the front door, where that lurking man stands vigil in the night. You cross your arms low at your waist.

Zeke looks down his nose at you, the lens of his glasses momentarily hidden in the dim light. “Jumpy?”

You lean, shrugging one shoulder as you keep yourself tight. Zeke looks over your head and nods, his eyes glazing over the peeling walls and cracked doors where adults wail in ecstasy.

“I’m not bringing you here to sell you, you know,” he says dryly.

“I didn’t think that,” you say.

Zeke’s nose twitches, and he raises a hand to scratch his moustache. He’s hiding amusement at his joke and you want to roll your eyes at the profound lack of humor. “I know this isn’t the… usual place I’d take you. But I wanted more privacy.”

“More?”

“More discrete,” he says.

You bite the corner of your lip, trying to banish away the thought – of how he knows how discrete a place this is…

“It’s been a sort of rite of passage,” Zeke says, as if he can hear your worried thoughts, “to bring your protégé’s here, from Warriors to candidates. When the time is appropriate.”

“Here?”

There’s a crescendo of sound behind the door behind you, and when you take another turn, you almost turn down a set of stairs into some dark cellar with flickering candlelight below. Zeke keeps walking once more, and you draw your skirts away in hasty fists from the crooked stairs.

“When appropriate,” Zeke repeats. He rubs the side of his nose.

“You’ve – then I guess, you’ve taken Colt here?” The banished thought is slowly crawling back with a face threatening to take the form of retroactive jealousy.

“I have,” he says. “Once he was old enough, once I knew he would bear my mantle and walk the same steps I have. Or, similar enough.”

You don’t want to ask for a more concrete timeline, and you twist your hands in your skirt to drive away the strange almost-envy before it can fully form.

“Warriors never know what we’ll see of the world,” Zeke says. His voice is thin, far-away for a moment. “Or how long we’ll be in it. I mean- the tombstone is half-engraved, really. Waiting. Many of us understand that we should live as much of it as we can.”

There’s a familiarity now to the sentiment behind these words. You can’t see his face as he leads down the hall, but you have a strange desire to snatch at his hand and hold it tight.

He stops suddenly, as if the door in front of him beckons. Or if he recognizes it. And instead of pushing it opens, he knocks twice, sharply, with his knuckles against the stained wood.

Knocks?

It opens at his push of the handle, and Zeke steps in first before you can see who stands beyond. “How long have you been waiting?” he asks someone.

You duck around him. Curled at the foot of the low, wide bed, a red cigarette holder between her dirty fingers, is Pieck.

“Pieck!”

She gives you a slow, wide, smile, like a cat.

“Not long.”

“Did Martin give you trouble at the front?” Zeke asks, and his hands dance at your neck. You raise them in response before realizing he’s unfastened your cloak, and you let him slide it from your arms. He tosses it unceremoniously to a chair in the corner instead of hanging it on the tarnished hook besides the dark brown one that must be Pieck’s.

“I didn’t come through that way,” she says elusively. She turns her head to the side and inhales a drag. Lazy rings float through the dim candlelight when she blows, light that comes scattered on the floor, on a drawer-less dresser, on the windowsill. This one is painted fully black, with no light or peering eyes able to glean in or out. “I see no reason to pay him some sudden increase.”

Zeke locks the door behind you. “Pay me half the room fee, then.”

Pieck makes a noncommittal hum, as if to say, we shall see.

The delighted surprise you felt at seeing Pieck is beginning to give way to perplexity. You haven’t spoken since before they went to the Mid-East; hadn’t seen her since their arrival back at the train station a few days ago. You look at her long eyelashes, then back to Zeke, who is digging into his coat pocket. “Pieck,” you say again, slowly and turning to her, “what are you doing here?”

Her eyes roll up, past you, to Zeke, and you feel frustratingly, embarrassingly, like a child whose ears a parent would cover to share some secret too young to know. “You didn’t tell her?” she says in a stern voice; the burning shame magnifies.

“I did.”

“This isn’t what happened with Porco again, is it?”

You look back at Zeke again. His face is down, furiously busy in lighting his cigarette, and there’s some devious delight at the thought of Pieck lecturing him about the fight at the dance club on their dawn train to the Mid-East. You wonder if he told her he wrote a letter to extend an olive, if he told her you’d accepted the apology in it and made up.

“No,” he says with legitimate irritation, stung by her accusation, and suddenly you understand why Pieck is here.

“Oh,” you say. Zeke, not looking at you as he puts the matches back in his pocket and raises his eyebrows. “No, yes, we did talk about this.”

Pieck’s laugh is throaty. She stretches, flicks her wrist as she extends the end of her holder to an overflowing ashtray on the dresser.

“I thought,” you say, and hope you don’t sound uninviting, “you didn’t want to be involved.”

“I’m not involved,” she says. She looks between the two of you and says nothing more.

Zeke’s hand is on your waist, his touch familiar and warm. “Like I said, discretion,” he says.

“That’s the agreement,” Pieck says. “From every Warrior to another. The understanding that this is a sacred place.”

Your hand finds Zeke’s, reaching back, and he laces his fingers towards yours with a sudden firmness against your hip. A sacred place. For the absurdity the overly-solemn words themselves hold in these thin rotted walls, Pieck’s tone is deathly serious. And you swallow, thinking again of the Mid-East war, and the other battles generations of Warriors have been sent to over the years and years past. It’s a world that you will never know – Zeke’s made it abundantly clear. But it strikes you that he is welcoming you to it, showing you the rules by which they live, as much as he can. And you understand in the same breath, without the twisting threat of jealousy, why then that it’s Pieck here and not any of the other women renting their rooms out down the hall.

The clarity gives way to a humming anticipation.

“But,” she says, “I expect you to show me first why I should help you. What I’m going to get out of doing this favor for you two.”

“Naturally,” Zeke says, and almost sounds bored.

She turns her hand towards you, beckoning with a finger. “Now, come over here.”

Zeke’s fingers withdraw from the hold.

Your breath is thin in your lungs, your heart pounding in your ears with every step. She sits up, her hands planted on the bed, her legs still curled beneath her. You sit on the edge of the bed next to her. Zeke stays standing there at the side of the bed, between it and the door, his hand in his elbow as he continues smoking.

Pieck’s expression is ever-unreadable, but her sunken eyes have some glimmer in the dim room. She turns her face to you. The scent of her herbal cigarette wafts cleanly – ginseng, rose petals, and traces of something else that tastes almost like earthy petrol on your nose and down to your tongue. You inhale the perfume. She reaches out to you, still hunched over, her weight pushed into the other hand that props her up. Her hand is cool to the touch and brings goosebumps to your skin as she touches your neck, cups your head behind the ear, her thumb still dancing on your jaw. You have a sudden urge to nuzzle into her.

She kisses you, and you gasp into her mouth. The rich taste of ginseng coats her tongue and sends your head spinning. Heat throbs into your blood. You’re kissing her back without thought, without even thinking of the silent statue of Zeke standing by.

It’s strange to kiss lips that aren’t his, to have another’s tongue opening your mouth. You part for Pieck easily, though; and the curve of her kisses are pleasant. Soft, smooth, a chin that comes to a slender point against yours and a cheek that rubs like silk on your skin, instead of like wool. Her lips are fuller than Zeke’s. Her herbal taste is musky, but without the traces of stale nicotine.

Her weight has shifted on the bed, and there’s a fumbling at your vest, the buttons of your shirt. You begin to automatically move to assist, but Pieck is nimble, sliding her hand through the open fabric to squeeze. Your lip pulses, caught momentarily in a gentle grip of her teeth, and she pinches in that second between thumb and forefinger.

“Oh -”

Wetness has come swiftly between your legs with a weight that you can feel. So heavy it is that you shift into the groaning springs of the mattress, knees pressed together. Pieck cups her hand tighter, coaxing flesh and jumping nerves between her fingers, and you moan again, hearing yourself this time. Your nipple hardens under her hand and you quiver into her touch.

Again, the difference is notable. The hand isn’t Zeke’s, the fingers slender if just as strong.

Her thumb caresses your cheek still as she pulls away. You look up at her through your eyelashes, and, then unconsciously turn to Zeke. He’s taking off his coat as well, dropping it to the floor.

Pieck cups your face in her hands, returning your gaze to her.

“Do you want this to continue?” she asks, so quietly that it’s a question for your ears only. You nod, and she kisses you again on the mouth.

“Then get on your knees,” Pieck says.

Does she command in battle like this, you wonder, as you slid off the bed and sink between her own moving feet coming down on either side of you, with gentle irresistibility? Pieck tosses her hair, and Zeke’s moving too, slowly coming to the other side of the bed like a caged, prowling lion. He watches you.

She lifts her skirts higher, past her calves, the muscular bands of her thighs. She’s abandoned any panties or stockings beneath.

“Would you like to kiss it?”

Pieck tilts her head, her black hair silver in the low light as the sheen of it cascades over her shoulder. Your hands clench on your knees and you nod.

Zeke’s eyes burn as he makes his way down to the glowing end of his cigarette. Smoke curls from his nostrils and pours from his mouth like some beast.

“Open your mouth,” she says, and the softness in her voice has turned steel. “I’m going to teach you how to lick a pussy.”

For her composure, for her control, Pieck’s body cannot pretend to not be wanting and ready. Her folds are swollen and glistening, her clit is a red pomegranate seed. You hesitate for a moment.

“Are you thinking of what he does?” Pieck asks, and you look at Zeke again. His expression is unreadable, but his lips turn in a scoff at that.

“I’ve shown her well,” he says. He begins unbuttoning his shirt.

“I think so,” you say, and his sneer turns into a deep, genuine grin.

“Well, I don’t want his lips,” Pieck says, commanding your attention again. “We’re going to have our fun. I’ll tell you what I want. And I want you to kiss me there now.”

Your fingertips balance on her thighs and you spread her hesitantly, as if she could break beneath your touch when the opposite was likely more possible. And you do what she requests – you offer her a kiss.

“There,” she says with a rich satisfaction, and you kiss her again. She tastes clean, a taste wholly different from Zeke or any cock to suck on. You begin to part your mouth even without direction.

“Yes – now your tongue,” she says. “Stick your tongue out.”

You let your tongue roll from your lips and instinctively move down. Long, slow, strokes, over her folds.

“Good,” Pieck breathes, and the word is enough to pull a whine from your throat and put more fervor in the muscles of your mouth. Your tongue moves away and then repeats, a little harder, a little more force. It splits her like an unfurling flower, the richer taste of the fruit coming beneath. Slowly, up and down, away, and back.

“Good… faster…”

Her hand is down, fingers splaying against your moving nose and opening herself for you. She sighs luxuriously. You try to follow, your tongue flickering over her faster and faster; you linger at the top and close your lips again for another kiss there where her clit rolls under your touch.

“Yes, yes.”

You follow the curve of her body, tongue running down to where she opens. The way Pieck’s voice opens into a moan is intoxicating itself. She’s jelly, sugar on your tongue, flowing rich where your touch is pulling it from her like weaving candy floss. You want to keep making her feel this good, to keep earning those words of praise. The roughness in her voice is lush, stripping away any detached façade you’ve observed from her in the past; she thrusts her hips into your face without shame.

Heat begins to creep through your own body.

“Fingers,” Pieck says, or it could be Zeke, brassy baritone and alto notes floating through the muffled symphony of neighboring rooms around you.

You break your face away and lean back a moment. Your mouth is sweet with her taste, your hips splayed and pressing into the floor without any thought. You look at her, and then at Zeke. He leans over her shoulder on the bed, reaching for the ashtray to flick the stub of his cigarette. He stares at you, eyes unreadable behind the lenses.

You shake.

“Take them in your mouth,” she says clearly now, and you do; sucking on two fingers before sliding them into Pieck without needing further command. The sound is wet and you clench in response, realizing that the slick familiarity of the noise never comes with you feeling so empty as you do now.

“Dip them,” Pieck says, and you turn your wrist to follow her instruction. “Yes – yes, relax, now, now, faster.”

Zeke’s eyes are fixed on you as he watches from the bed aside her with his shirt billowed open, but what’s more intoxicating in this moment is the way Pieck’s sternum swells and her breasts rise with the air pushing higher and higher. You curl your fingers, trying to keep the joints relaxed as you touch at the softness of her wall. The sounds she makes, the breathiness coming more and more to her sighs, is a delightfully familiar sound, and you understand the wolfish grins Zeke gives when he lies between your thighs. You understand the power to make another sing; and the beauty of her voice in it.

Pieck shakes and you realize, the place you’ve found is one more sensitive than others. You realize in the same moment how hard your anchored hand is pushing on her inner thigh, spreading her apart, leaving a red handprint in her pale skin. You’ve marked a Warrior, you think in a moment of delirium.

“Come for her,” Zeke says, and even though you think Pieck would have actually slapped him for that in any other moment, she only laughs. But it sounds strained, interrupted.

“No,” she pants, and Zeke almost looks angry in turn. Pieck laughs again, and you slowly pull away from her as she sits up. “No, no. But that was an excellent start”

She reaches out to catch your hand, and leans her face forward. “Thank you,” she says, and as you join them on the bed she kisses you with a chaste affection. She takes her taste from your mouth and even licks her lips as she turns the heavy curtain of her hair back to Zeke. “I don’t know if she learned any of that from you. Better than I thought, really, with you being her bedfellow these days.”

Zeke’s face clouds, and Pieck sighs, clearly not perturbed by any temper of his. You push down any unease at the implications of those words that you just really don’t want to think about, not now.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and looks back at you, and repeats, as if she can tell she’s accidentally come close to spoiling the mood. “Give him a kiss, make him feel better.”

You don’t know when you’ve become their plaything but you follow her lazy command, crawling across the spread of mattress to where Zeke sits, waiting. He’s resting a leg down on the floor, the other sprawled out to make a space for you, and he tilts his head in quiet observation as you draw closer. He says nothing but leans forward to take your mouth in a quick kiss. You clutch at his shirt and he relents his stung pride; opening his mouth and kissing you deeper with a hand at the side of your head, thumb stroking at your cheek and fingers tight at the back of your head.

The kiss breaks and you turn to nestle into him. Pieck has come off the bed for a moment. Zeke handles you in his lap as Pieck sheds her clothes. He unbuttons the fabric she left gaping and tugs your skirt with ease. You lift your hips and he casts his shirt off behind you. When you’re fully naked, his hands cup your chest, running a finger in a circle around a nipple until it puckers, then drawing a light line across your skin to the other where he circles and pinches again. You squirm at his touch, his breath hot at the back of your neck, his skin warm at your back.

Pieck crawls back onto the mattress, leaning forward to caress you again. Her fingers drum behind your ear, sweeping forward as her thumb moves over your mouth. She pulls your bottom lip back gently and then releases it. You squirm into Zeke, trapped between the two of them.

“She’s not your toy,” Zeke says, and he sounds unamused.

“I thought she was for tonight,” Pieck murmurs, but she settles back on her thighs. Still in Zeke’s arms you watch her, the taut curve of hip bone and swell of breast, her pearlescent cunt and thighs glistening slightly still with what you’ve pulled from her. “Anyway, you’ve unwrapped her.”

“Not a gift, either,” Zeke says.

“I thought you wanted to share,” Pieck says in the same tone – that despite the banter, it’s no matter to her.

“I thought I was meant to feel good,” you whisper, turning back and craning your head to pass the word to Zeke’s ear alone. He hushes you with another kiss of apology.

“You are,” Pieck says, hearing regardless. “Forgive me the selfish overture.”

You look back at her, her eyes violet depths of an unknown storm. She leans forward again, running her long fingers up your legs. You lift your knees slightly in reflex, drawing yourself closer to Zeke but more open for her.

“Let me,” she says, and she lowers herself to elbows, forearms, to place her lips on you just as you had.

But not just, and not just the same as Zeke, either. Her very tongue has a deftness to it that Zeke just never captured; that feels reminiscent of no shadows from your past. She opens you and makes your thighs shake within seconds at the velvet press of warmth against warmth. And then she drops her head for a moment, lifts her hand, and spits on her fingers before playing them into you, so pliant now for her to curl two, then three fingers up and right into your walls.

You yelp without indignancy or malice. You sink your hands through Pieck’s hair and clutch her with your thighs.

“I’ll show you some more,” Pieck says. She coos like a dove. “And then you can show me again what you learned.”

You nod feverishly, agreeing to anything in this moment.

“Her fingers,” Zeke says in your ear. His voice is thick with jealousy, and his hands clamp hard on your arms. “She curls, she hits your sweet spot, but can she fill you up with just her hand?”

You moan, your brain buzzing and senseless, and nod with a rolling head. Right now, it feels like she can.

“I know it feels good,” he says. “I want you to feel good.”

I do, he promises with a tightening of his fingers.

You crane your neck back at him, pleading with your eyes for more, more, the promised more, and he kisses your mouth with a gentleness. His hands release their binding and slide between your arms and ribs. He squeezes you, harder than Pieck’s touch, and you shiver against the warmth of his chest. You melt into them, hips shallowly trying to thrust between Pieck’s mouth and Zeke’s bulge, still clad in trousers and straining against the fabric. Your blood feels thick and hot like honey, his touch and then hers each gently pulling the attention of your sensations in different directions. You whine into his kiss.

Another kiss comes to you. Pieck lowers her face and her mouth works at you as her fingers continue to push, faster, faster. Her tongue is back on you, lips closing on your clit in a sucking way that makes your hips jerk up. It’s more passion, pushes from you more than a mere kiss. Your shoulder blades straighten, away from Zeke when his fingers tug at your nipples in a white hot flash of pain that immediately mellows out.

“It’s -”

“It’s good?”

Zeke pinches again. You groan and nod. Your feet strain, knees jerking, at each electric shock she coaxes from you, and that he urges in turn.

“I like this,” Pieck says, and she lifts her gleaming face from you. Her eyes gleam too. Wicked. “I like having her strung out.”

“But -” you begin to protest mildly.

Zeke cups you, rests his chin on your shoulder. “I agree,” he says, and pays to mind to the moans from your throat as his fingers continue to tease your nipples. Your hips jerk out, empty, as Pieck strokes her fingers down and away. “I want to make you feel good,” he says to you. “Why rush through it?”

“No,” Pieck says. “But I want to see something, actually. I want to see how good you make her feel.”

It sounds almost like a challenge, if there were strength enough in her voice for that. She keeps her matter-of-fact tone, but Zeke’s pride is too much for it. He lets go of you and runs his fingers down to your rib cage. “Stand up,” he breathes into your ear, and you haul off the bed.

Pieck curls up and props her head on her hand, leaning on her elbow. Her lean body is lounging casually, but her glittering eyes are sharp.

You stand, unsteady, and feel the heat leaking between your thighs. Zeke sheds his trousers quickly and stands behind you. You sway as he kisses your cheek, your neck, one hand gently coming back to cup you without the tease or tug of before. You fall back into him, turning your head to accept the offerings of his kisses.

His cock is hard between your legs and he chuckles in his throat at the way you whimper. He slides it between your thighs, teasing with his other hand.

“What do you want?” Pieck asks you.

You swallow.

“You want him to fuck you now?”

“Yes,” you say thickly, your knees shaking with desire. His cock pushes up, hot against your folds, and the word chokes out of you at the feeling of the warm wetness out of you rubbing slick against him.

Zeke sucks in a breath.

“Mmm,” Pieck says, and she slides off the bed. She’s on her knees before you now, and you stare down at her, unable to help it. Her finger pushes at you again, as if to arrange you over the tease of his cock.

“Well, we have to be fair,” she says, speaking as neutrally as if she were deciding seating arrangements at a dinner party. “Shouldn’t he get the chance to feel good, too?”

You nod fervently, as Zeke pushes his cock further between your thighs. Pieck opens her mouth. She licks at you again, at your clit, and as you shudder back into Zeke, he fucks his cock forward between the plush of your legs and Pieck catches his tip in your mouth.

“Oh -” you gasp, and Zeke clasps his hand over you. He groans, loud, and you feel his other hand lean back and away to stabilize himself against the bed.

He fucks your thighs and your body yearns for it, to grind down on his shaft, but he fucks into Pieck’s mouth. She presses her face to you, her nose at the mound of your cunt and her mouth wide. You stare wildly at her, your mouth open without realizing it as heavy breath and panting whines come from you.

“Oh fuck, fuck...”

You reach around Zeke’s shoulders to grab his back, then, the side of his head, for balance of your own. Pieck sucks the tip of Zeke’s cock and her mouth includes you in gentle teasing touch, an agony doubled by the tastes of friction just barely fed to your starving, waiting body. Zeke pants in your ear and you can’t even look at him, can’t tear your gaze away.

She slurps, sucks, works her lips on you. She lets go of his cock and focuses her tongue on your clit. As soon as you let out a wail, she drops her jaw and takes him in again, and you feel him let out a breath against your back.

Your other hand comes up to meet Zeke’s, pressing him close to you, to feel the tempest of your heart howl beneath his hand and his ministrations. He groans and pushes his hips against you. The feeling is so familiar but you have never, never, felt these ways and yet felt so empty.

You whine and pull at his hair, hard enough to make him hiss.

“Please,” you cry, with the freedom in these dark rooms to be careless about volume.

Zeke turns his nose into you and you finally turn your face to him. He kisses you, pulling you back against him, his elbow threatening to buckle back into the bed. You feel Pieck’s fingers at you, the smoothness of his cock round and hard at your thigh until her knuckles interrupt again to fist him between your thigh. She gives you another kiss there and you shake.

“I – I can’t,” you gasp. The hollowness, the hunger, is overwhelming, and you clutch at Zeke’s hair again. “Please – please.”

“You want him to fuck you?” Pieck asks.

“I want to – please – I want to feel good.”

“This doesn’t?” she asks, pouting in mock disappointment.

“More,” you beg into Zeke’s mouth.

He thrusts his hips back between you with another kiss and lets go of your body. He’s leaning back with both hands against the bed now, fucking between your thighs, and you clutch your hands together helplessly in the absence.

“I like you pleading like that,” Pieck muses. Her voice is rich. She leans back on her heels, and finally Zeke pulls back.

You could sob at the sudden, total emptiness.

“Please,” you say again, clearly to her now.

Pieck smiles widely. “Zeke, how do you feel?”

He just makes a choking sound in his throat.

She rises and kisses you gently on the mouth, her tongue full of flavor. “Now I want you to taste me again,” she says, and strokes the side of your cheek.

Pieck returns to the bed, propping up against the pillows and ignoring Zeke’s shuddering pants. His fingers are forming a clumsy fist around his cock. You crawl between her thighs, as she had to you, and spread your fingers across her to open. She’s still glistening in welcome smoothness.

“Go on,” it’s her, or it’s him, or it’s a sharp echo from a neighboring room.

You don’t wait for instruction or direction and let your mouth on hers with instinct. You let her breathing, the twitch of her hands as they settle on your face, your shoulder, guide you. And she makes sounds of satisfaction, purring in her throat.

“Oh -”

Then Zeke slides into you, his hands on your hips to urge you back on him. It divides your attention and you lift your face, moaning.

“Yes,” Pieck murmurs, and her eyes begin to close. “Keep – going.”

But Zeke makes it difficult to. He’s finally, finally in you, and you mewl at the sensation. Oh, worth the wait, oh so very worth the wait – and you return your face to Pieck to kiss her cunt, to worship her body in gratitude for making you wait so long so that it felt so good at last.

Zeke groans.

“Yes,” Pieck moans, and you shake and flush at the thought of being what makes both of them feel so wonderful now. “More…more…”

And maybe Zeke thinks it’s from you, or he takes it as a suggestion in turn, and as you extend your finger to push into Pieck again, he begins fucking you hard. Hard. Your body shakes with the force of it and you have to gasp, to clutch at Pieck’s thigh, to take a moment before you can keep pleasing her.

He’s grabbing your hips and panting, the sound of it making your own breath go shallow and quick. He pulls you up, a higher angle that you can’t help but lean back on, pushing your hips in an attempt to fuck him back even as you fuck Pieck with your fingers. She pushes her hips down in irritation and you moan, licking her again as your face meets her cunt. Something deeper begins to come in her flavor, something sweeter and richer, and a shiver goes through you.

“Oh,” you moan, and as Zeke fucks you, the moans and your voice are what go through Pieck too. You turn your head, in fever at his force, and also in desperation to keep your tongue moving on Pieck where your fingers are busy elsewhere.

She had said she didn’t want to see what Zeke did, but you can’t help but imagine him, remembering the times he’s laid between your thighs and put both his mouth and his hands to work. And without thought you’re mimicking the motion, the ability to multitask – but it’s harder, harder than you could have thought, and more difficult, isn’t it, with someone pushing pleasure into you in tandem?

Pieck moans, and again, you recognize this sort of moan. She rolls slightly on the pillows, lifting her back.

You moan in turn, and it brings a tightness to your inner muscles that even Zeke’s fucking cannot release in this moment. He feels it, and he spanks you once, sharply.

“Ah -”

The moan is coming from you now. You shudder back onto him, almost unable to bear it.

“Oh- yes – fuck!” Pieck screams, loud, louder than you’ve ever heard, and you keep fucking your fingers into her as much as you can focus on her. Zeke’s hands are hard on your hips but you are determined to tighten that fluttering squeezing you can feel. And then she does, and Pieck is coming with her voice that of an angel, her body straightening below you and her muscles tightening on your fingers. You start to pull out then, but she grabs your wrist, her hips slowing, but she doesn’t release her grip until they have stilled.

And there you have scooped on your fingers sweet shining pearls. You put them to your lips to taste without thinking, sugar on your tongue, and your eyes must widen – you practically moan around your fingers – to taste something like the simple syrup poured into decadent cocktails and sweetened coffees. Jelly, sugar pouring rich. Eating her out had been sweet, a better taste than you’d imagined, but this – these strands, your tongue could smack forever to chase this flavor and lick it clean from any surface.

Zeke makes a breathy sound almost like a laugh through the force of his thrust. You moan, pushing your fingers down your throat to get all of Pieck.

“You taste even sweeter when you come,” Zeke whispers in your ear, and your thighs shake. “Show me, show me.”

Pieck’s face is blissful, and as you push back on Zeke with hips only focusing on him now, she crawls forward. Her face glows with the aftershock of her orgasm. She cradles your head in her hands and kisses you with an aggressive, grateful tongue, whimpering into you.

Zeke groans, and Pieck presses her face into your shoulder to hold you through it. His hips are snapping tight, tighter, skin slapping on skin in a friction that almost hurts through the layers of sweat. You moan, one hand clutching at the blanket, the other finding Pieck and squeezing her arm tight.

She reaches down between the crouch your body is taking form into, and begins to rub at your swollen clit.

“That’s it, good girl, good girl,” and the melody could come from them both.

The twitching comes within you to a rapid crescendo. The speed of blood, of spasm, comes so fast it leaves you dizzy and you grab at Pieck again. She kisses you, your shoulder, your forehead, your cheek, and your mouth when you lift your face and your wide, gleaming gaze to her eyes. You come on her fingers and on Zeke’s cock and you hear him practically bellow, roaring with the freedom of this disgusting little room, this blessed little room. She takes her fingers from you and kisses them.

The sweat is beading on your brow and your orgasm is still beating out of you when he comes, a mere minute or so later. You almost cry and reach back with a hand for him, and he grabs it; lets it go, and hunches over you to hold your body tight against his, Pieck hunched in front of you in a solo mimicry.

“Oh, oh, oh…”

It trails into the air as uneven breaths go ragged.

“Let me taste her,” Pieck rasps.

You cry when Zeke pulls out of you, and he lies back against the pillows. You turn your head under the cradle of your arm and watch his face, vibrant, and then twisted with pleasured anguish as Pieck leans over you to suck his cock again.

He’s soft in her mouth and she only bobs her head once before coming away, wiping her lips with her fingers.

“Yes,” she says, her voice rich and satisfied. “Oh, so sweet.”

You drop your head to your knees, exhausted, unable to move from the fetal position.

Zeke reaches out and grabs your hand, his fingers thick and rubbing slowly against yours. The mattress shifts, and Pieck must climb off the bed.

“Thanks,” you hear Zeke say quietly.

Pieck makes a smacking sound with her tongue. “Well worth it,” she says. “I’d say that was the best favor I’ve ever owed you.”

Zeke sighs heavily. His hand keeps stroking yours. “What, do I owe you one now?”

“No, no,” she says. There’s a rustle of fabric. “You paid the room fee. Let’s call it even and done with.”

He makes an unsatisfied grumble about her weaseling her way out of fair payment.

“But. If you want to split her again. Let me know.”

Zeke laughs once, hoarsely.

When you look up, the strength finally returned, his arms outstretch. He pulls you up into him, cradling your spent body against his chest with one arm, reaching for a cigarette on the side table with the other. And when you turn to say something to Pieck, the door is closing and she’s gone without another word.

[chapter 15 homepage]

chapter 16 tbc

[comfy-whumpee]

Glimmer

Back again! Last piece: Equinox.

Beloved taglist: @bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @rosesareviolentlyread, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @burtlederp, @starnight-whump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

-

Rozen knocked on the door, and Joe opened it. He looked surprised, and then made a sheepish glance over his shoulder. Siobhan was visible in the kitchen.

“We were invited over,” he explained half-heartedly. “Nic said they had to go out, so we came.”

Rozen had received a message from them an hour ago, but they’d been asleep. It was only Ellis’s messages that were set to ping loudly 24/7. That was a mistake they would have to rectify.

“I was also invited over,” they told him. Ellis got his height from his father, and they had to look up to stare him down. “By Ellis.”

“Oh.” He stepped aside to let them in, looking uncertainly towards the kitchen. He took a step towards it. “I’ll let Siobhan know. Would you – like a drink?”

“No, thank you,” they said, tone flat. It wasn’t even his house. They glanced at Siobhan, who seemed to be ignoring them, working at a frying pan. They sighed, and climbed the stairs.

Ellis was sitting in the middle of the mattress, visible the moment they reached the landing. They paused in the open doorway, not willing to intrude unless they had to. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. They hadn’t either. “Take your time,” they said by way of greeting. “I’m here.”

The relief on his face was stark, and he sighed, covering his face for a moment. Rozen waited patiently.

“Nic called them,” he explained after a moment, voice hushed so they couldn’t hear. “I was asleep.”

Rozen’s lips thinned. It wasn’t like Nic to do something like that. They had followed Ellis’s lead every step of the way until now. They’d jumped the gun. It must have been a bad day for them, and they had always taken too much onto themself.

“They went, with – Felicity. So I woke up and…” He shook his head.

They took a breath. They stepped into the room. “You didn’t agree to this and it shouldn’t have happened before you were ready.”

“I should be ready,” he whispered from behind his hands. He was always all too aware of what he should be.

“Not important. This is your recovery and you have the final say. If you want them to leave, we will make them leave.”

He peeked between his fingers, and then seemed to get self-conscious of it and put his hands into his lap. “It’s okay. They… They’re trying to help.” His tone was unconvinced, even as he tried to persuade himself.

“I’m glad to hear it, but that doesn’t change your authority, on these small things especially. They’ll survive being at home for another week or two. You were working,” their voice firms, “on getting better on your own terms, and the last thing you need is a reminder of their expectations of you.”

His ears burned. He stared at his fingers, twisting together. “They, I can’t let them see. I can’t let them see me now.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” they interrupted, keeping their voice gentle. “The choice is yours. If you would rather it be me and you, until Nic comes back, then it can be. No parents until you’re ready.”

His shoulders hunched. He tried to keep the explanation in, but it was difficult, they could see. His lips were pressed together tightly. He felt guilty. But Rozen had spent enough time working with his parents that they had a good picture of their shortcomings, as all parents were domed to have.

Siobhan and Joe were overprotective and over-permissive. Their intentions were always good. They wanted to see their son. They worried about him. They wanted to support him. They would offer him unconditional love. How could they understand that he was used to conditionals now?

He’d been away for so long that it didn’t matter if he was five or fifty, he’d be treated like a glass statue, and that was far too similar to how Engels had treated him.

“I can’t make them leave,” he decided. The pressure was too much for him to push back. “And I did… I did miss them.”

A decision is a decision. They pivot. “Alright. Then we do damage control.”

-

His mum always made pancakes like crepes. They were piled four-high on a dinner plate with sugar and chocolate spread set out alongside it. There were premade, toaster-ready scotch pancakes in the cupboard. He wondered if she’d not noticed, or if she’d dismissed them as not good enough.

Somehow, the weirdness of Rozen’s presence at the table made it less weird overall. Mum, dad, son, and hired detective. Ellis was the only one with a plate, though his dad had made himself a coffee.

He bit his tongue as he caught the smell of it. It was Nic’s favourite. One of their fancy ones. And his dad had just helped himself. Didn’t ask Ellis for permission. Ellis would have said yes, but he didn’t ask.

That wasn’t fair, though, was it? It was just coffee.

He really didn’t want to eat with both of them staring at him. He wished he’d let Rozen kick them out. They were more than willing to be the bad guy.

Maybe they knew what he was thinking, because when he didn’t move, they spoke. “I advised you not to come until he was ready.”

The bluntness threw his parents off. Both of them looked away from him.

“Nic invited us,” Mum said.

“Nic doesn’t get to decide. Only Ellis can. He did not invite you.”

Ellis stole a bite of crepe. He was still chewing when Mum looks back to him. “Do you not want us here?”

He dropped his gaze. The food suddenly lost its taste.

Rozen had his back. “That’s not the point,” they interjected, tone still level. “Asking for forgiveness is not the same as asking for permission. Ellis hasn’t had control over his own space and who he gets to see for a long time. It’s hard for him to express his boundaries.”

This was what they had discussed upstairs. Rozen had told him to speak for himself, but that they would if he didn’t.

It wasn’t the right thing to say, though. Mum turned her head away. “He was going to be left alone. You told us he can’t be left alone, after that – the cupboard.”

It felt wrong, that she knew about the cupboard. He didn’t expect her to bring it up. Nic wouldn’t talk about details like that out of nowhere, and Felicity and Iz didn’t know about them. But now that they were in the conversation, it felt… It felt like exposure of just how messed up he was. Can’t be left alone.

He had to speak. He had to be part of this. He opened his mouth.

“And you can’t blame us for wanting to come,” Dad put in. He sounded less argumentative than Mum, but just as stubborn. “Even if he had told us to go when we got here. It would have been worth it to come.”

“It’s fine,” Ellis broke in before Rozen could retort. “It’s fine, you can stay.”

Their relief was instantly palpable. It turned his stomach. He shouldn’t have this much power.

They clearly thought the conversation is over, but Rozen was cuing him for the other thing he wanted to say. “That’s your choice,” they said firmly. “Do you have any ground rules?”

He took a breath. It had been a long time since he had to do this. The last time he’d stood up to them, the last time they went too far in their protectiveness… It was for Nic.

This time, for himself.

“This is my house,” he said. His voice dipped to quiet, but they listened. They did always listen. “It’s, this is – my space. So you have to ask me for things. Not get them, take them yourselves.” He looked at his dad’s coffee mug. “It’s Nic’s house too.”

“Of course, sweetie,” his mum agreed. They would listen, if he told them, when he told them.

“And don’t,” he took a breath, “don’t assume what I want. I’m not a kid. You have to ask, and if I say no, you can’t – you can’t say anything back. Because I won’t be able to argue. I’m… not there yet.”

He saw the twinge of pain in Mum’s eyes, and his dad turning his down to the table. They understood, a little.

They listened.

“I didn’t want you to come because I wasn’t ready but it’s too late now,” he finished, all at once. “So just be patient and don’t – just try to do things your way. I need to choose.”

His heart was pounding as he stopped, and he waited in the silence that followed, tensed for the pushback, the shutdown, the dismissive, cutting looks and comments and are you done making demands?

It he was just a pet, and pets didn’t get to do this, didn’t get to say these things, if he would be in trouble…

“Okay,” his mum agreed. “I know I’m not good at that so I’ll try and you can tell me off.” She didn’t look away from him. “Thank you for telling me.”

His dad nodded. “We just want to help. However we can.”

“I think there was one other thing,” Rozen prompted gently.

Ellis sucked in another breath. Of course.

“Call me my name,” he requested. “Don’t say, um… Darling. Or sweetheart. Those things.” He couldn’t meet their eyes, his face warm. “That’s what he called me.”

He didn’t want to see the tears. He didn’t want to see the pain. He had to look after his own.

“Okay,” his dad replied, hushed.

He glanced up in the following silence. His dad wasn’t really the one he needed to change, but his mum…

“What about gingersnap?”

He blinked at her. She was smiling, the brave kind of smile that he recognised from himself.

They hadn’t called him that since he was little. His eyes filled with tears and he forced them down. Crying was too tiring.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, that’s… Yeah.” He smiled back.

After his pancakes, he messaged Nic.

Hope you are getting good sleep. I’m okay. Love you.

[iceicewifey]

                                    @𝗶𝗰𝗲𝗶𝗰𝗲𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲𝘆'𝘀

I don’t have any big fancy speech or anything like that, but it’s just so surreal to me that there’s over two hundred of you that like me for whatever reason. (/lh)   I've made some amazing friends over the years of having this account, and I'm glad so many of you have stuck by me for so long. 💗 Because we hit two-fucking-fifty, I wanted to do a little something fun to celebrate in the form of an art raffle!

      𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗲?

This raffle will be open to all followers⸺both old and new.  I don't mind if you follow me just for this event, but keep in mind that I will be checking!

      𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗲𝘀 + 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗲.

All you need to do to participate is simply reblog this post!  However, make sure to read over the rules and directions listed below, because failure to comply may result in disqualification. 💗   You must be following me to participate.  If you reblog to a side blog, please add a tag such as "following from main" or something similar.  You don't need to post your main blog's url in your reblog, but I will ask for it to verify if you are a raffle winner. 💗   Reblog this post once. Multiple reblogs will not count towards multiple entries.  Using multiple blogs to increase your chance of winning is not allowed. 💗   I'm not opposed to new followers for this event, but fellow yumes and OC shippers please be mindful of my F/O related boundaries, found in my carrd. 💗   Reblogs from completely blank blogs will not be counted.  You must have at least an icon, post history or some indication that you are actually human to participate. Additionally, this event is open to ALL fandoms, as I don't want to exclude my multi-fandom friends!

      𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗲𝘀.

There will be three winners drawn at random, with one 'first place' and two 'second place' winners. FIRST PLACE one winner  │  a half body cleaned sketch of your OC, insert  or  ship with flat color⸺I'd love to do a full piece, but I just don't have the energy this time. SECOND PLACE two winners  │  a Pitter Patter Pop style edit of your OC, insert  or  ship. Winners will receive more details in DMs after the raffle ends!

      𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲.

This raffle will run for one month from time of posting;  from September 15th  until  October 15th. After that point, reblogs will be disabled to cap entries and winners will be drawn either later that day or the next day, depending on how my schedule plays out. Raffle winners will be announced in a post and can expect to receive a DM from me shortly after!

[jawritter]

The Sounds Of Someday

Summary: Some things are worth holding on to longer than you probably should, all in hopes that someday he will come home...

Created for: @spndarkbingo

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons! Thanks love! <3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Square Field: Vacancy

Word Count: 1301

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Angst, Past breakup, heartbreak, language. 

A/N: This fic is inspired by the song Sounds Of Someday, by Jensen Ackles. Lyrics are in Bold, and flashback is in Italics! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one!

MASTERLIST    ~    BECOME A PATREON

All gone is here today

Finding room to breathe

Go on beyond your way

And see

There was no sound as loud as silence. You were convinced of it. There was nothing so final, so empty, hollow, or vacant as the echoes of footsteps through walls of dust and decay. 

It had been years since anyone had bothered to visit this old place. There was no reason to anymore. Square stains on the walls once held pictures of family and friends, now nothing shows of the mark of what had forever gone.  

If you closed your eyes, you could still hear the sound  of the old TV set that sat in the corner as ghosts from the past crept around you in dark places; watching, waiting for you to get too close so that they could take hold of you. 

You shouldn’t have come here, you knew you shouldn’t have, but you just had too. There was a door that needed to be forever closed, and you needed answers. 

And though the sounds of someday may be home. 

And though the sounds of someday may be home. 

Your feet carried you through the memories of the past as dust swirled in front of the flashlight you held tightly out in front of you, through the living room and the kitchen, down the hallway, and to your location.The master bedroom.The place it all happened. 

You closed your eyes, and sucked in a deep breath. The stagnated air seemed to be thick with the loneliness that destroyed a place that was once your home. Your safe space. Now? Now it was nothing but an empty hole that once held your life. So much for a happy ending? 

With gritted teeth, you pushed the door open. The creek of the wood seemed to send a shiver through your bones, down deep into what was left of your soul. His words echoed loud in your head, but still not as loud as the silence that surrounded you. 

“Dean, please, don’t give me that shit! If you want to leave me, then do it. I can’t stop you, but dammit I’m not going to let you use that same old line I’ve heard you use with countless other women over the years! You promised me, Dean! You swore to me that you’d give us a chance!”

Your words seemed to fall on empty ears as he roughly zipped up a duffle bag on the bed, and threw it over his shoulder, his eyes looking anywhere but at you, until he stood face to face with you in your shared room of your home. 

“Y/N, you know I have to do this, he’s family.”

Shaking your head, you stood your ground. Determined to not give up without a fight, even if it was a weak one. 

“Dean, this is suicide! If Sam and Cas want to go up against God, then that’s their fight! You promised me this was over! Now they call after years of ignoring you after  Jack died, and you just jump and run! That’s bullshit! What about me?! What about us?! I can’t live without you!”

Dean swallowed hard, before leaning down with wet eyes of his own, kissing you quick and hard before leaning his forehead against you. 

“I love you, Y/N, and if there’s a way out of this I’d find it. But right now, I have to go finish the fight I started.”

That was the last time you saw Dean Winchester. The last time you felt his lips on you, his hands on your skin, and when he walked out of the door it was the last time your heart beated wholly. 

You searched for him high and low, never getting there, always getting close, but not close enough. You had given up all hope of finding him now, because Dean wasn’t going to be found unless he wanted to be . He was the best damn hunter that ever lived. So what chance did you stand against that? 

You were almost convinced he was dead at this point. It had been years since had gotten a fresh trail.

Still, something inside you wouldn’t let this go, so you drove fifty miles out of your way to your old home. For what? You didn’t know.

Even the fires on the road

Trying to get away

And all the stars seem on a roll

Out of control today

The old carpet that was once in the room was damp and flat from years of rain pouring in through the busted window. The sheets on the bed were moth eaten. The entire room smelt of decay and abandonment. It was fitting in a way. It was how you had felt for years now. 

Scanning the flashlight around the room, everything looked to be virtually the same as it was the night you left it, running from memories you couldn’t escape, running from an old ghost that haunted you in painful glimpses and whispers of what once was, and now will never be. 

A roll of thunder sounded overhead, so deep it felt like it came from the belly of hell itself, and a sharp crack of lightning followed, illuminating the room through busted glass and tattered curtains. 

The rain was getting heavier, and you knew you should go and leave this place behind forever, but you couldn’t do it. You’d never be able to really let him go. 

The light catches a piece of paper flapping underneath the lamp on your side of the bed that you don’t remember ever being there on any of your other trips down here. 

Pulling free the 9mm you carried in the back of your jeans  in one pull, your heart pounds as you slowly make your way towards the paper. Your skin crawled and every hunter sense you ever had was on high alert. 

This place was burned permanently into your memory. You knew what was there, and what had always been there. This note means someone, or something, was here and they could still be. 

When you got close enough you swore you could almost smell him. The cologne he used to wear was something else that was permanently ground into your memory, and your breath caught in your throat at the small, untidy scrawl scratched on the paper. 

Tears burned your vision, and you blinked them away furiously as you took a seat on the old, mold ridden bed, your legs unable to hold you up any longer. 

For years you had wondered, hoped, that he was still alive, and he was here. He was just here, you had barely missed him. You could still smell his cologne in the air. He was here maybe fifteen minutes before you at most, so close, yet still always out of reach. 

The note was simple. Dean was always a man of few words, it simply said, “I still love you, and someday, I hope to be able to come home to you again, but for now Y/N, let me go.”

You choked on thick sobs that fell from your chest. You weren’t sure  if it was relief, or more shattering heartbreak of him not coming home to you. Either way, he was alive, and you’d take that for now. He still loved you, and was hoping to come home one day. There was no way you were ever gonna let him go, but someday, hopefully, he would come home to you...you were still his home.

Though the sounds of someday

May be home

And though the sounds of someday

May be home, yeah

Though the sounds of someday

May be home

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @deanmonandnegansbitch @hayleeharling   @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​

[emachinescat]

The Casket of the Armadillos (by Edgar Allan Nope)

A Psych Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 9 - buried alive

Summary:  When Shawn confronts a grad student turned murderer, he learns a very important lesson a very hard way: Don’t piss off English nerds - especially the homicidal ones. 

Characters: Shawn, Gus, Juliet, Lassiter, Henry

Words: 5,924

TW: panic attacks, buried alive, claustrophobia

Note: If you liked this classic lit-inspired Psych fic, you can always check out this one I wrote, inspired by To Kill a Mockingbird: The Finch and the Mockingbird 

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up.  Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones.  For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them.  In pace requiescat!

- Edgar Allan Poe, “The Cask of Amontillado”

Her name was Olivia Hale, she was a twenty-three-year-old grad student at UCSB, and she was working on her doctorate in American lit.  She was attractive in a cute librarian sort of way - short and petite, with long, curly auburn hair she kept in a bun and oversized glasses with thick lenses, and a smattering of freckles across her slightly upturned nose.  She knew a little bit about everything when it came to literature as a whole, a rather impressive amount about American literature, and absolutely everything there was to know about the life and works of one Edgar Allan Poe.

She was also batshit crazy and currently pointing a .22 pistol directly at Shawn’s head.

“Don’t move,” she growled, disengaging the safety.  

Shawn did a cursory glance around the empty classroom, looking for anything at all he could use to his advantage, to distract her or attack her with or - worst case scenario - to use as a shield.  But Olivia had found him snooping around on the tiny fourth floor study room that she’d been given to use by the department chair as her thesis headquarters.  She’d really made herself at home here, piling books and journals and what seemed like hundreds of loose sheets of paper on every available surface.  

But he was stranded in the middle of the room, with nothing close enough to use as a weapon, and so Shawn used the most powerful tool he had, one that had saved his life and many others, wooed women all over the country, and ordered more chili cheese dogs than he could count.  

He started talking.

“Look, Olivia, I get it,” he said soothingly.  Slowly, in the most non-threatening  manner possible, he lowered his hands.  Olivia gripped the pistol tighter but didn’t shoot.  “I know what happened.  You didn’t mean to kill him.”

Her eyes were wide and fierce, her lips pursed into a thin line.  “No,” she admitted.  “It was an accident.  But he was going to--”

“Yeees,” drawled Shawn, slowly raising his left hand and putting it to his temple, very well aware that he was probably pushing the limit with all of this movement after she had expressly ordered, at gunpoint, for him to stay still.  “I see it.  Dr. Graves was feeling guilty, wasn’t he?  A fifty-five-year-old professor with a fancy PhD and tenure, and a devoted wife and three kids and two grandkids, to boot.  The perfect life.  But oooh, it wasn’t enough for him, was it?”  

Shawn immediately answered his own question, something that he had become exceptionally good at over the years since he was usually the only one who could keep up with himself.  “Of course not!  What’s the perfect job and family when you’ve got a smokin’ hot, super smart student in her mid-twenties who thinks you’re the most impressive man on the planet?”

She sneered, and Shawn noticed with some trepidation that the hand holding the gun trembled just the tiniest bit.  When she spoke, her voice warbled with rage.  “My age and appearance had nothing to do with it - and even if it did, there was nothing wrong with our relationship!  We were perfect for each other, intellectual equals.  We were on each other’s levels - he was my soulmate!  So don’t you dare belittle what we had like that!”  

Ah.  So he had hit a nerve.  This could now go either one of two ways, in Shawn’s extensive experience in being held hostage: Either she would get fed up and send a bullet screaming through his body, Garth Longmore style, or she would let her emotions distract her, and cause her to make a stupid mistake.  Obviously, Shawn hoped for the latter.  

Now Shawn had to make a choice, because he could proceed in one of two ways: Either he could back off and try from another angle, or he could further antagonize her into (hopefully) making a mistake.  Naturally, Shawn went with the latter.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed airily.  “Older men and younger women do it all the time.  But to say there was nothing wrong with your relationship?  The man was married, and you were his student.  I’m not the headmaster here -”

“Dean,” she corrected sharply, and this further proved that Shawn had pegged her correctly as a know-it-all literature wunderkind who had to be right one thousand percent of the time.  “This isn’t Hogwarts.”

Shawn gave a tiny shrug.  “To be honest, all big schools look like Hogwarts to me.”

“Because you have the mind of a child.”  The words were accusatory and patronizing, but Shawn flashed a dazzling smile.

“Thank you,” he said.  Before she could respond, he continued his earlier thoughts, “Even though you were the ‘perfect couple,’ you were furious with him for even suggesting that you stop seeing one another.  The affair was too risky, and he missed his wife.  He wanted to tell her the truth, fix things.”

“It would have ruined everything!” Olivia hissed, and the sound of her voice sent shivers down Shawn’s spine.  There was an unhinged quality to it, something raw and dangerous that he hadn’t sensed before.  He fought the sudden urge to backpedal as far away from her as possible.  “We were perfect together!  And if he told his wife and she let it slip, I would be kicked out!  All my research, all my time and work here, everything would be gone!  He had no right to make that decision for me, to take away my future!”

“Maybe,” said Shawn, and it was like he was watching from outside his body, because he knew that what he was about to say was a big mistake, but he was helpless to stop the words from tumbling from his lips, “you should have thought more about your future before you pursued your married Shakespeare teacher.”

Fury etched itself into every feature of her face, turning her from a beautiful librarian to a feral monster, but her voice was slow and measured as if it was taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to shoot him where he stood.  “He taught Southern. Gothic. Masterpieces.”

Shawn tried to backtrack, to undo whatever damage had been done by his unpredictably big mouth.  “But,” he pressed.  “Killing him was an accident.  You didn’t mean to push him down four flights of stairs.”

She considered this.  “No, I didn’t mean to kill him,” she reaffirmed, and then an odd calm smoothed out the angry crevices between her eyebrows - the peace, perhaps, of having come to an important decision that she knew was absolutely right.  Shawn recognized the look because he’d seen it on others’ faces before (very rarely, if ever, had he seen it upon his own).  “And I don’t think I will kill you, either.”

Whatever Shawn had been expecting, this wasn’t it.  Everything about this woman screamed insane and vengeful.  If Shawn lived, he would turn her into the police, and she would go to jail for a very long time.  She was incredibly intelligent - surely she knew this!

And then she clarified, and the world started to make sense again - though Shawn would have honestly been perfectly content in this alternate reality where the bad guy suddenly has a miraculous change of heart.  “Well,” she amended, “I won’t kill you directly.  I’ve never shot anyone before - I only have this little guy here because I’m a young, pretty girl on a big college campus, and I have two night classes.  Besides, your death shouldn’t be so easy.”

Shawn swallowed.  “Olivia, you don’t have to do this.  You haven’t intentionally killed anyone yet.  If you turn yourself in now and cooperate, your sentence will be a lot shorter than if you kill me - directly or not.  Because make no mistake, even if you kill me, you will still get caught.  The SBPD has some damn good detectives, and they’ll bring you down even if I don’t.”

She didn’t respond to him directly.  Instead, her expression was flat save for the dark gleam in her eyes, and she intoned words that in and of themselves had no meaning to Shawn, but that still managed to strike a chord of fear deep inside of his soul.  “‘The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.’”  Shawn was utterly unnerved by this point; it was like she had been taken over by something both sinister and incredibly well-spoken.

And indeed, in many ways she had, as Shawn soon found out, she was quoting the beginning of a story by Edgar Allan Poe.

Presently, however, Shawn had no context for her strange words or sudden shift of demeanor.  His skin crawled and his heart pumped with more get-up-and-go than he’d ever been able to muster in his whole body before.  “Uh, Olivia…”

“Move,” she ordered.  

This time, though it was contrary to his nature, Shawn did what she said without arguing.  This side of the student, with stolen words sliding evilly from her mouth, was a million times scarier than the enraged Olivia who had very nearly shot him between the eyes.

She marched him out of the room and down the three flights of stairs to the main lobby of the English building.  It was dark outside, nearing midnight, and Shawn kicked himself for thinking he was clever for coming to investigate this late.  He’d thought she’d be at home sleeping.  He should have realized that as a grad student, sleeping was the one thing she wouldn’t have time for!  And now he was in very deep trouble, alone, and no one knew where he was.  He should have waited until morning, until the building wasn’t deserted, should have at least called Gus and told him what he was doing.  But it was a college campus, and she was a tiny little literature nerd - it should have been safe!

As she forced him down one flight of stairs, then two, then three, and finally, into a stairwell off the beaten path that had to be unlocked with a key card - which she had - she continued to encant, her voice slowly losing its flatness and growing into something twisted and sing-songy with every word.

“‘You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat.  At length I would be avenged; this was a point, definitely, settled - but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.’”

“Olivia--”

It was as if she hadn’t heard him as she shoved him into the basement, and now her voice stilled from a chant to a slow, measured whisper..  “‘I must not only punish but punish with impunity.’”   

Shawn wasn’t sure what impunity was, but it sure as hell didn’t sound good.

Their final destination ended up being a small, partially finished storage room near the back of the basement.  Dusty boxes and rusted cabinets and archaic old computer monitors lined the walls and cluttered most of the walking space.  Shawn was reminded grimly of a school supply graveyard.  

Olivia stopped him when they came to a brick wall that had been busted through to fix some issue with the pipes - Shawn saw the water stains on the concrete floor near the break in the wall, and there was a brand new water pipe joined to an old, yellowed one at about eye-level in the small open space between the bricks and the drywall beyond.  Shawn also noticed that the new bricks had been neatly piled up near a sealed bucket that almost certainly contained mortar, right outside of the hole.  Someone was in the process of walling this section back up.

“Nice wall,” Shawn joked, relieved that Olivia had finally stopped her creepy recitation and desperately trying to lighten the mood and bring things back to some sort of normal - honestly, he’d take being threatened with the gun again to the horror movie stuff he’d just witnessed.  “I bet all the other walls are jealous of it.”

It was a lame joke, but her eerie dramatics had him all kinds of messed up.  He expected her to tell him to shut up, or to threaten to shoot him again, or to actually shoot him, but instead she asked him a question in that same cold, calm voice as before.  “Have you ever read ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Shawn?”

Shawn blinked.  “I make it a point not to read anything that’s not a magazine from the 80s or WikiHow articles on ‘How to Escape from Dangerous Forest Animals.’”

The corner of her lips lifted in a mockery of a satisfied smile.  “Good.  Then you’ll get to experience it for yourself, first hand.  Just wait until you get to the ending!  You’re going to love it.”

Somehow, Shawn doubted that very much.

Still holding the gun on him with one hand, she reached her free hand into the cross-body bag she wore and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.  Shawn groaned.

“Come on!  What college student just carries handcuffs in their school bag?”  Then he remembered that this particular student had until recently been having a passionate affair with her teacher.  “Wait - never mind.  It makes perfect sense.”

She laughed, even though what he said wasn’t even remotely funny.  The sound of it was strange and discordant - light and tinkly with a threatening undertone that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  Then she gestured at the hole in the wall and ordered, “In.”

Shawn had known it was coming, but had tried to shove that knowledge into the corner of his mind - something that was quite difficult to do for someone with a photographic and eidetic memory - in an effort to convince himself that even she wasn’t that cruel.  He tried to appeal to her one last time: “Olivia, it’s not too late to stop this.  I mean, are you really going to do this to another human being - seriously, look at this place - it’s dusty and moldy and I’m almost certain there’s no room service!  If you’re going to chain me to a pipe, why not do it in a five star hotel?”  When she nudged him with the gun, eyes gleaming with something dark and triumphant, he reluctantly stepped into the small space and implored, “I’ll even settle for a seedy motel off a poorly lit backroad.  I’m not too picky.”

She didn’t answer him as she stood on her tiptoes and handcuffed Shawn’s wrists around the pipe, cinching them so tight that the metal dug into his skin and he doubted that even his dad’s lessons on escaping handcuffs wouldn’t be much help here.  Already he could feel his fingers going numb, and his shoulders and back had started to ache from the hunched position he was forced to take due to the height of the pipe and the awkward angle of his arms.  

Well, Shawn thought glumly as she smiled at her handiwork and carefully backed out of the small space, maybe all wasn’t lost.  Surely someone would come down here and find him. This place was dusty, but it couldn’t be abandoned - work still needed to be done down here, after all.  And he could always yell for help once he was sure Olivia was gone.  She was booksmart, but maybe she wasn’t criminally minded.  He might be in for an uncomfortable night, but in the morning someone would find him and he could have his vision and the cute little psychopath would go to jail for a very long time.

He waited for her to leave, but instead, she used a crowbar to pry the lid off the bucket of mortar, and the pit in Shawn’s stomach became a whole-ass trench.  He should have seen this coming - his heart pounded madly against his rib cage as if trying to free itself, with or without him.  He couldn’t blame it.  “Olivia, please,” he said, and this time, there was no joke, his voice imploring and terrified.  “You don’t have -”

Again, she cut him off.  “How would you like to hear a story before you die, Shawn?” she asked in a tone so casual that she could have been asking him if he wanted to grab a taco.

“How about you tell me a story and then I don’t die?” Shawn bargained weakly.

“Mmmm… If you stay alive, my whole life will be ruined,” Olivia reasoned.  “And I have worked far too hard to allow that to happen.  So.  You just stand there - quietly - and I’ll tell you the story of Poe’s most beloved tale of revenge.  I won’t tell you word for word, of course - we don’t have time for that - but for posterity, I do have it memorized.”  She sounded grotesquely proud of that fact.  “It’s my favorite of his stories, after all.”

And so, as she slowly began to brick up the hole in the wall, with Shawn trapped, helpless and in a dissociative state of panic, she told him the story of two men with really stupid names that Shawn somehow managed, despite his raging fear, to file away for later as possible nicknames for Gus.

“Our story starts in Italy, during the carnival, and our narrator is a man named Montresor, who has a grudge against his once-friend, now-foe, Fortunato…”

The story was an interesting one, even to Shawn, who preferred watching over reading and especially over listening any day.  And as it turned out, Olivia was a really good storyteller.  If he had been in any other position, Shawn might have actually enjoyed the suspenseful tale of revenge.  

But as he stooped there and was forced to listen, all he could think about was about how terrified this Fortunato guy must have been, and then he started wondering how long it had been before the man hadn’t been able to hold his bladder or… other things… anymore, and then about what had happened when he was too tired and dizzy to stand up, if the manacles on his wrists had pulled so hard against his flesh that they cut into him, and if lack of water or oxygen killed him first, all the while he knew that he wasn’t asking these questions for the sake of the fictional character.  He was asking them for himself.  Olivia had made it exceedingly clear - for a literature scholar, she was surprisingly un-subtle about any underlying meanings or motives - that Fortunato’s story was now to be his story.

It wasn’t until she had begun discussing with rapture the brilliance of Poe’s use of the Italian carnival as the setting of a story about murder (because of its abandonment of social order, whatever that meant) and had built up all but the last two bricks, leaving a hole around Shawn’s eye level, that came to the most horrifying realization yet.   He’d been so focused on his own thoughts and fears with Olivia’s words washing over him like an acid bath that he’d barely registered that the dim light in the hole had been darkening incrementally with each new brick placed.  Now he came to the bone-chilling understanding that once she placed those last two bricks, he would be completely in the dark.

He was going to die, alone, terrified, and in utter darkness with fear as his only friend.  He thought in that moment that he might die of a heart attack before he could even think about dehydrating or suffocating.  Honestly, it sounded like an easier way to go.

“Well,” said Olivia finally.  “I can’t say that it’s been a pleasure to meet you in any way, Shawn, but I suppose I should thank you.  Ever since I found out about this unfinished wall down here, I’ve had this unscratchable itch to recreate the titular scene from my favorite Poe story.  You gave me the means and justification to do it!”

Shawn was so overcome by the surging sea of fear and early-onset claustrophobia that he couldn’t even muster up the gumption to make a joke about the word titular.  Instead, as Olivia knelt down next to her bag, rooting around for something, he jerked madly against the handcuffs, desperately searching for any give in the metal or the pipe he was handcuffed to (or even his wrists, at this point he wasn’t picky).  But the pipe was new, and it was sturdy, and so was the fitting that connected it to the old one, which itself didn’t seem too keen on budging, either.

A sick grin teased at Olivia’s parted lips.  “Oh, Fortunato tried that too.  But then he stopped crying and struggling and chose to die with a shred of dignity.  But I highly doubt dignity is something you’re capable of.”  

And then, with the finality of fitting a lid to a coffin, she slapped a piece of fluorescent pink duct tape over his mouth and a fresh wave of panic ravaged Shawn’s everything.  He didn’t remember this happening in her retelling of the story!  Then again, the Fortunato guy had been sealed into catacombs deep underground.  Shawn was in the basement of a heavily trafficked university building.  Someone would actually hear him if he called for help, so she took his voice away from him too.  He couldn’t even sing “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” to pass his time or distract him from the inevitable.  As if it wasn’t bad enough that he would die in the dark, he would die in the quiet too - and silence was, as his incessant need for chatter plainly proved, Shawn’s worst enemy.

“Goodbye, Shawn,” Olivia said, and she added one brick, layered on the mortar, and then gave her captive one last satisfied glance before adding the last brick and leaving Shawn in total, impenetrable darkness.  He would never forget that last, terrible look in her eyes before his world went black - she was no longer human; she had elevated herself to the level of the storytelling gods and she relished in the twisted power she held over the life of another human.

As her footsteps clipped away, her voice, obscenely gleeful, called out, “In pace requiescat!”

***

The next ten hours were the worst of Shawn’s life, and they consisted of five main elements all bundled together into a nightmare that would stalk him for the rest of his life.

Cold.  It was the middle of January, and though it couldn’t have been less than forty-five degrees outside, the basement - especially behind the walls - was chilly, and with the musty smell and the dust and the pitch black, Shawn was reminded far too much of a grave and knew that he might as well be in one, because this was going to be his.  It was the kind of cold that bit deeper than the skin and wormed its way into the very core and dug its icy fangs in and refused to let go - the chill of death, an open invitation from the dead to join them in their home beneath the ground.  He shivered a lot, but he couldn’t be sure if it was the cold, or the panic.  It was probably a little of both.

Dark.  The darkness that surrounded him had an unreal nature that could easily trick the eyes into thinking that they were already closed.  It was oppressive and thick, pressing in from all sides, inky black water dredged from the depths of the sea.

Shawn had never been a fan of the dark, but neither did he exactly fear it.  That changed the second that the last brick was put into place and he found himself in a darkness so severe that were in not for the feeling of floor beneath his feet he could have been suspended in the depths of space so remote that not even stars could reach.  The darkness swarmed his senses - it had a physical presence, and it didn’t lessen, never permitted Shawn’s eyes to adjust to it in the slightest.  It just hung there, surrounded him, assaulted his mind with its infinite arsenal of nightmares.

After experiencing true darkness, Shawn would never sleep without a nightlight again (which unfortunately meant he couldn’t judge Gus anymore for using one, either).

Pain.  At first it was just the pull of his shoulders, the ache in his back.  Then, about five minutes after he’d been sealed up, he realized his wrists were screaming with agony - he must have torn them badly when he fought to get away, but the adrenaline staved off the pain until now.  He vaguely wondered how deeply the cuffs had cut - it felt like the skin on his wrists had been flayed - but quickly remembered that it didn’t matter where he was going.  

Then there were the hunger pangs, and they mingled with the cramps from holding his bladder longer than he ever had before, and at some point muscle spasms in his arms and chest and legs joined the choir of suffering.  At one point, he shed a few tears, but they could have just as easily been from anxiety or exhaustion, which itself produced its own kind of pain - he longed to sleep, but his body refused to allow him even that comfort until the very end, right before he was rescued, as if he were being forced on pain of death to endure the pain of death right up until the very moment of his painful death.

At least he didn’t have too much trouble breathing.  There must have been a crack somewhere in the wall in front of or behind him, because fresh air was entering somehow.  He did, several hours into his imprisonment, begin finding it difficult to pull in a full breath, and by the time he was rescued he was giddy with light-headedness, but he didn’t know if it was from the air quality or exhaustion or panic or from being forced to breathe only through his nose for hours, but he really didn’t care.

Quiet.  Even worse than the cold and the dark and the pain was the quiet.  The tape over his mouth prevented him from doing the one thing that could bring him comfort in even the most difficult of situations.  Talking was what Shawn did - he utilized mindless prattle to distract bad guys, to make people underestimate him, to quell fear and panic in himself and those around him, to annoy and wheedle those whose opinions meant the most to him (and who he was most afraid to be real with), and most importantly, to distract himself from all the pain and baggage that his exceptional memory had filed away for him throughout the years.  Talking nonsense meant that he wasn’t thinking about or acknowledging the parts of himself that arguably needed the most attention, those bits that were scared and unsure and hurt and vulnerable.

Shawn had always detested silence, and now it had invaded so intimately that even he could not drive it out.

And all of these culminated in a constant, agonizing state of absolute, unrelenting fear.  

Panic attacks are horrific things that take your natural instincts in potentially dangerous situations and turn them against you in the cruelest of ways.  They suck the air out of your lungs and make your heart pound so fast and so hard that you are convinced it’s going to give out in pure fatigue and never make it to that next beat.  It makes your skin crawl like there are thousands of spiders nesting there, and your chest hurts and your breath is short and stunted and you know you are dying, that the next breath will be your last, but it isn’t, and the fear just continues and sometimes you curl into a ball or rock back and forth or scratch at your skin.

Panic attacks generally last anywhere from five to twenty minutes.  Shawn was stuck in a state of raw, unfiltered panic for ten hours.  When the EMTs at the scene took his heart rate, it was 160, had been the entire time he’d been buried in a collegiate tomb, knowing that he was going to die.

Put simply, Shawn Spencer spent ten hours in his own personal hell.

***

It was nearly three in the afternoon when Detectives Juliet O’Hara and Carlton Lassiter, with the help of a frantic Gus and a worried Henry that tried his damndest not to show how worried he was, made the final connections in the case and tracked down the woman who had slept with and then killed her lover like a hyper-intelligent, book-loving black widow.  Juliet and Gus remained on the college campus to continue investigating while Lassiter and Henry went on to the station to question Olivia.  She had refused to say where the missing psychic detective was, however, and only offered one bitter phrase, spoken in another language that sounded to the questioning party like a curse being placed on their heads: 

“Nemo me impune lacessit.”

It was Gus who figured it out after Lassiter related the cryptic saying over the phone.

“I know that phrase!” he exclaimed to a swell of raised eyebrows.  “It’s Latin! It means no one wounds me with impunity!”

“You speak Latin?”  Juliet seemed impressed.

“Not much.  But I recognize that particular saying, because it’s from a story that gave me nightmares my entire sophomore year of college.”  He shuddered.  “It’s from the second-most terrifying Poe story.”  He didn��t elaborate on what the first-most terrifying one was, largely because he didn’t want to give the others fodder to use “The Tell-Tale Heart” against him like Shawn already did.  Then the full implications of the words sunk in and he gasped, “We have to find Shawn, now.”  The horror in his expression sent a chill down Juliet’s spine. 

“Gus - what the hell are you talking about?”  Henry was no longer trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“It’s from ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Gus clarified, his own panic making it difficult to express himself clearly.

“Guster, this is hardly the time for you to have a glass of wine,” Lassiter barked.  “Now stop talking in riddles and just spit it out!”

But Juliet had now made the connection as well and answered for Gus.  “Oh my gosh - isn’t that the one where the guy is sealed into a wall and left to die?”

The dread in Gus’s eyes said it all.

“He’s got to be somewhere on campus,” Henry reasoned, and his voice shook the tiniest bit.  “Lassiter and I are on our way back to you now.  In the meantime, check with the school and see if there are any places that are easily accessed and under construction.”

No one said it aloud, but the possibility that her words hadn’t been a hint at all and that Shawn was somewhere else entirely hung in the air amongst them.  It was funny, Juliet thought - though it wasn’t funny at all - she urgently needed Gus’s theory to be right, because otherwise they would have no leads, but at the same time, she was terrified of the implications if it were true.  

Her heart felt as sick as Montresor’s when he placed the last brick as she and Gus raced to the administration building and prayed they weren’t too late.

***

When they broke through the wall, the sight that greeted them was one that would never leave them - any of them.  Even Lassiter, who made it his sacred duty to remain unfazed by anything his job threw at him was visibly disturbed.

A moment of silence, a beat where time stood still and everyone was afraid to move, and then - 

“Shawn!”  The four rescuers surged forward as one, but Henry got there first, his trembling fingers groping for a pulse - thank God, but it was racing, dangerously fast, and in the background he heard Lassiter radioing for an ambulance.

Shawn woke up as Henry gently peeled the hideous pink duct tape (an affront to all duct tape everywhere) off of his mouth.  It wasn’t a gentle waking, a flutter of eyelashes or the murmuring of a name - it was violent and erratic, fueled by terror.  

Henry had had to deal with panic attacks before - mostly Gus’s when he took the boys camping together, but once or twice when Shawn was really young and he’d had a bad dream.  This one was the worst that he’d ever seen - Shawn woke with a muffled yell, panting through his nose, writhing, tears streaming down his face, eyes squeezed shut against the trauma he’d been subjected to, and he threw himself against the handcuffs so fiercely that Henry feared he’d break his wrists.  

Soon his wrists were freed, though, and Henry, with the help of Lassiter, helped a weakened Shawn out of the wall and into the basement and lowered him to the floor.  Henry sat with him and rubbed his back and spoke quietly to him, Juliet took his hand, and Gus reassured him while Lassiter ran up the stairs to check on the ETA of the ambulance.  

Twenty minutes later, Shawn had been placed onto a stretcher and carried up the stairs and out into the sunlight - sensing the warm rays, he opened his eyes only to pinch them shut again as the brightness after so many hours in the dark nearly blinded him.  He had been given something to calm him down, and he would be going to the hospital to be checked over and observed overnight, and a psychiatrist would be sent in to evaluate him in the morning, and everything was moving so fast that Shawn leaned over the side of the stretcher and deposited the remnants of the last thing he’d eaten, nearly twelve hours before.

“There’s one thing I still don’t get,” he gasped as he was eased back onto the stretcher.  “Where do the armadillos come into her plan?”

The EMTs exchanged a concerned look at the stretcher, probably wondering if there had been some carbon monoxide poisoning after all.  Gus, however, just rolled his eyes.

“Amontillado, Shawn.  It’s a kind of wine.”

“The story is called ‘The Casket of the Armadillos,’” Shawn argued stubbornly, going so far as to cross his arms over his chest, pulling at the IV in his right hand.  

Gus was going to argue, to insist that he’d actually read the story (and why the heck would someone fill a casket with armadillos?), but then Gus saw the plea in Shawn’s hazel eyes, that need for jokes and silliness, and understood that his best friend was clinging onto his last shreds of control.  

“You know what - I forgot,” Gus corrected, shaking his head and giving himself a light smack on the forehead for good measure.  “It is ‘The Casket of Armadillos.’”  He glared out at Henry, at Lassiter and Juliet and the EMTs, defying them to challenge his claim.  No one did, but they all shared a similar baffled expression.

Well, they could deal with their confusion, Gus thought protectively as he watched Shawn and Henry disappear into the ambulance.  Shawn had been through a night of unspeakable horror, so if it was armadillos he wanted, then it was armadillos he was going to get.

[lavendertwilight89]

InuxKag Week 2020 Day 7--Home Part 2

I know I missed Eastern Time cut off but it’s one minute from Monday here!

Forbidden Love

Rated E NSFW

SMUT. SMUT. SMUT.

@inukag-week @superpixie42 @lemonlushff @dangerouspompadour @keichanz @cstormsinukagblog @willowandfog @inuyashaloverforever @xfangheartx @clearwillow  @umacaking @bluejay785 @smmahamazing @murdergiraffe @faulkner-blog @sapphirestarxx @swaggingtomboy @sarah-writes-stories @hnnwnchstr @wolverine1092

It had been a week since Miroku and Inuyasha had gone northward to help Koga with a demon extermination. He refused to allow her to go with him. Their fight ended with her staying behind…She was still greatly upset with him. He wouldn’t even tell her why she wasn’t allowed to go. Just basically ordered her to remain behind, forbidding her from coming. Her. Forbidden. 

Pft!! What was his problem?! She ended up staying with Sango and helping her out with her three beautiful children. The twins had just turned three and their son, who was around eighteen moons, was handful. Kagome joked that Sango was going to have to pay extra attention to him around the ladies.

Sango laughed and whole heartedly agreed as he was already a little flirt. With the children so young, Sango had easily agreed to remain in the village while her husband went off to the help the villages in the north. Kagome though… She wanted to be with her mate. They hadn’t been separated since she had returned. 

The day she returned, they spent the whole day with their friends. At night she beckoned him to sneak out of the hut and they ended up sleeping in the Sacred Tree after hours of talking and finally snuggled into the trunk in each other’s arms. The days that followed were similar. He never left her side and she refused to leave his. A week after her return, Miroku and Inuyasha were summoned for an exorcism… He originally refused to go until she offered to go with him. Inuyasha was skeptical but she assured him she’d let him handle it. As they packed to leave, she confessed she didn’t want to be away from him. The fear of separation was deeply embedded within her still. He told her he felt the same. 

After a moon cycle of staying with Kaede (if they hadn’t snuck out to sleep in the Sacred Tree), Inuyasha finally proposed. Kagome happily accepted. Since her return he had been respectful. Sango admitted he had asked how to court her the human way. Kagome blushed at the thought. He had been so sweet, careful, and endearing. Flowers, fruits, and prepped meat were the more common things she was presented with. She honestly had wondered when he found time to find any of it because he was always so near. But he was a demon. Fast, cunning, and quick enough for her not to notice his presence was too far away from her.

He wasn’t always in her sight--between priestess training and foraging for herbs, she figured he’d prefer to nap in trees or run like he used to. She was always shocked to find some type of present waiting for her.

Inuyasha also surprised her by showing her his hut. She had fumbled over her words and was scared she had offended him by asking why he hadn’t been staying in his home. But thankfully he just chuckled and said it wouldn’t have been proper to have her stay over at his hut unmarried. Pervert. He was right though. There were already murmurs about them disappearing into the forest at night. Not that she cared. Her powers were from her pure heart. Marriage to him wouldn’t alter her--if anything, she knew it would strengthen her.

She was indeed correct. After their wedding, her training drained her less, she had been able to keep up more, and she progressed much faster. That was one of the reasons she took Inuyasha forbidding her to go with them so harshly. 

She knew she was strong.

She knew she could handle it.

She knew he knew that.

What she didn’t know again was why…

“Kagome, they should be back soon,” Sango soothed.

“Sigh… I’m still mad at him Sango. I--”

“I know what he said bothered you, but I don’t think he meant it in the way you're taking it. I guarantee he had a very important reason. You know as well as I do how he hates to leave you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she said sitting down resting her head on her knees.

“Don’t worry; I’m sure he’ll tell you,” Sango said lifting her son in her arms and walking him into his bedroom.

Kagome exhaled frustratedly. She imagined sitting him fifty billion times. That’d make her feel better. The five or ten she did get while they were fighting obviously hadn’t helped or appeased her.

“We’re back!” Miroku announced entering the hut. Sango emerged and smiled brightly walking calmly to his side to hug him while Kagome glared. She knew it wasn’t his fault she had to stay behind. But she was still jealous as all hell he went instead of her. Inuyasha’s wife. Mate. And he wanted to go with his best friend.

Shaking her head she stood and made her way to the door. She heard mummers of her name and questions but her heart was so full of turmoil and her head was fogged with thoughts caused by her overwhelming emotions she proceeded to exit the hut and finally head home to her hut without another word…

Only it wasn’t her home. Her home was Inuyasha. The hut was only a place to sleep. Just like the Sacred Tree. Just like Kaede’s spare futon. And admittedly, her old house in the future. The only place she was safe, secure, and happy was in Inuyasha’s arms. Maybe that’s why it hurt so bad he pushed her away. 

She stepped into the forest and sensed him following her from behind. He obviously was keeping his distance. Good. Ignorant jerk. 

Finally she was in view of their home when she stopped to turn to look at him. He looked hesitant. Nervous. She even thought she saw a hint of hurt and longing. Sighing, she took a deep breath to try and calm herself. She had honestly really missed him, even though she was extremely angry with him.

“Kagome--”

“Don’t. Just… I’m glad you’re back. Let’s just go inside,” she said defeatedly as she turned back to head inside their home.

“Kagome! You don’t understand!” he bellowed angrily.

“You’re right. I don’t,” she clipped as she entered the hut.

“Then let me explain!” he yelled following after her.

“I just said I didn’t want to hear it right now!”

“But you need to hear it!”

“I wanted to hear it before you left. For a week. But nooooooooo, you decided to just forbid me from going. I forgot that I’m you ‘property’. Tch,” she scoffed as she headed towards their bed. She didn’t care if he ate or not. Let him starve for all she cared.

“That’s not what--DAMNIT!! Will you just listen!?”

“Why??!”

“Because this isn’t four years ago!! This isn’t where we get an argument, you jump home, and we just forget about it! We’re married! Mated!! We have to fucking talk about shit!! And fuck!! Kagome! You know I’m not good at that kind of shit! Damnit! I was trying to be good about this!”

“About what?!?!?!”

“THAT YOU’RE FUCKING WHELPED!!!!!”

She was shocked into silence. That was a twist. Something she had not expected. She hadn’t noticed she missed her period. How long had it been? One, two months? Probably going on three…? Her body was frozen. Did he mean she was…? Her hands finally found their way to her perfectly flat abdomen. She finally found her voice, though it was barely above a whisper, “Pre-pregnant?”

He blushed and started cursing himself, “Son of a--damnit! I ruined it, didn’t I?” His perfect little ears flattened to his head.

She finally stepped forward and placed one hand on his chest while she kept the other on her stomach, “Are--Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure; I noticed the change in your scent the day before we were summoned. I didn’t want to tell you then run…”

“I--I’m sorry. I… I was just so hurt. I thought you didn’t want me by your side anymore. We had fought together for so long I just--”

“It’s my fault, Kagome. You have nothing to be sorry for… You know I’m not good at words. There was probably a much better way to tell you why you couldn’t come and even just now.”

“Yash,” she raised her hand from her belly and cupped his cheek. “No. I should have had more faith in you. I… I know you didn’t want to leave me. You haven’t in the year that I have returned. I didn’t trust you like I should have and let my fear and insecurities cloud my judgement. I’m so sorry,” she admitted as tears began to form in her eyes.

“Don’t cry you idiot. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he chastised her as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Mmmmm, I missed you,” she said brushing his cheek raising her other around to encircle his neck.

“Not as much as I missed you,” he smirked leaning down to capture her lips with his. She hummed her approval. “You’re sure you’re not mad?”

“I can show you how not mad I am,”  she said as her delicate fingers started to untie his obi and seductively pushed down his hakama. Before he could undo her own clothing she dropped to her knees in front of him and took as much of his cock in her mouth as she could. 

He groaned and placed his hands on her head to help him remain steady from the overwhelming sensations she gave him using her tongue. She swirled it around his tip and dragged it slowly to lick up his precum before engulfing all of him again. 

“Fuck! Kagome!”

She hummed, knowing it would send him over the edge between the vibrations of her throat, her mouth encompassing him fully, her tongue stroking and teasing, and her teeth softly grazing his hardened length. She knew he would burst. Clenching her thighs together as she felt herself growing wet with excitement from where their reunion was headed, she couldn’t help but realize how happy she was. How much her life had changed for the better… How she never realized her home was always with Inuyasha. 

“Ka-Kagome!” he cried as he came in her mouth. She drank him up without hesitation until she felt his cock stop twitching. Wiping her mouth she smirked up at him.

“You’re a little too cocky there, mate,” he rumbled as he lifted her up into his arms and then laid her down on the futon. He kissed her hard and started to undress her after he shed his kimono and kusode. He took his time, caressing her body lightly, tracing her scars, her curves. She felt him sniff her as he licked and nibbled her body. Like he was memorizing her scent--something that must’ve changed for him to have realized she was pregnant. He had to relearn it maybe? Or maybe it egged him on. Either way, his mouth made her body light on fire. The way he dragged it down and up, it was like he wanted her to burn in flames.

His mouth found purchase on her breast and his tongue swirled around her nipple. When he fangs grasped it in a pinch, she cried out in ecstasy. His fingers swiftly dropped to pinch and circle her sensitive nub. She was close already. Her body responded to his without fail, without hesitation. He didn’t have to coax her out of a shell or try very hard to get her to achieve her pleasure. It was like he had his own secret manual to her body. But then again after a year of marriage, of course he had learned. He was a fast learner even if he lived in a world of denial half the time.

He lifted his head from her other breast after giving it equal attention and caught her lips in a heated kiss. She felt him nudge her thighs wider so he could seat himself between them. She did him one better by wrapping her legs around his waist and rubbed her swollen excited clit on his rehardened cock. They both moaned and groaned into each other's mouths as he shifted down slowly to line himself up with her entrance.

Panting, she dipped herself to start to take him inside of her making him chuckle breathly, “Impatient are we?”

“Gods, please,” she begged.

“Only because you asked nicely,” he taunted as he thrusted into her. She cried out and clutched his shoulders.

Usually things were rushed, heated, rougher, but this--this was purely making love. He went slower than normal. Not that it stalled her release, but he obviously wanted this to last. While he admitted he was not good with words, his actions made up for that and more. He worshipped her body. Inside and out. He proved to her how beautiful she was, how much he loved her even if the words rarely left his lips, he showed her how much he truly cared about her.

While they discussed their past briefly, their travels, the scars Naraku and the jewel left, Kikyo, his past growing up, hers, they gave enough to clear any form of uncertainty they had. She knew he didn’t see her as Kikyo, and he knew she knew that. She knew he loved her, a different kind of love from Kikyo. That was something she had worked past in their journey though--that he did love them both. But his love for Kikyo was as a first love, someone who he couldn’t forget. But his love for Kikyo didn’t hold a candle to what he felt for Kagome. Something he did make sure she was aware by using his words. He said it was something he couldn’t not voice; even if saying those words were difficult to provide. He wanted her to know that because Kagome had undying faith in him, loved him unconditionally, and accepted him fully, it was what had made him fall so deeply in love with her that she became the most important person in his life. While he made a vow to protect Kikyo, he couldn’t forget about Kagome. Even though he loved Kagome back then as well, he couldn’t tell her due to his duty to Kikyo.

She cried out her orgasm and her walls seized around his hardened cock. He finally was panting, holding on to make this session last as long as he could. But she wanted him to feel the undying release he was holding back. She rolled her hips and purposefully clenched her walls around him as she met him thrust for thrust.

“Ugh, Kagomeee,” he moaned as he roared his orgasm. He fell onto her body, his head on her shoulder, and his arms wrapped around her little body holding her close to him. 

“Welcome home,” she said threading her fingers through his hair and rubbing his ears.

“You know… even though this is our hut…” he began.

“I know exactly what you mean. That you are my home. And I’m yours,” she said kissing his sweaty forehead. 

He shifted to roll them both over so she was straddled atop of him, their bodies still intertwined. “Exactly,” he agreed, beginning another round of them expressing their love for each other. Expressing how excited he was that they were going to start a new life together. 

[null-whump]

Whumptober Day 6

Continuation of day 5. Cutting it a little close, but I managed to make the deadline! And oh boy, we have all the whumpy goodness in this one.

Warnings: Cutting/knives, broken bones (specifically fingers/hands), whipping, brief mention of past branding, torture in general, Avis not knowing what personal space is

Word Count: 1,686

Whumptober Prompt 6 – Get it Out | No More | Stop, Please

––––––––––––––––––––––

I hadn’t thought there was anything worse than Varren’s punishments, earned or not. Two days of Avis trying to pull information out of me had been bad, but not as bad. I was starting to fear, however, that Varren and Avis put together might be worse.

“It’s a good thing I haven’t touched your back yet,” Avis said when we arrived. “That’ll give me plenty of room to work with!” She observed the room Varren had reserved for punishments, taking in the stone walls and lack of furnishings. “You always were a minimalist, weren’t you?”

Varren pushed me forward onto the floor, then leaned casually against the wall. “And you were always overly extravagant.”

I went to push myself onto my knees but was stopped when Avis dropped down beside me and pushed her knee into my back. “No need for that,” she murmured, leaning uncomfortably close to my ear. “We’re going to have so much more fun now that I don’t have any restrictions.” Her hand found my right arm and twisted it behind my back, while her other hand tangled through my hair. “I may not have access to all of my…tools, but I’m not going to let that stop me.”

I bit my lip in an effort to remain silent. She hadn’t even hurt me yet, but my heart was pounding in my ears.

“Relax,” she said, loosening her grip on my hair to switch to stroking my head, which was somehow more discomforting. “This is going to be fun!”

I shut my eyes. Avis laughed quietly and gently eased off my back. I heard her stand but didn’t try to move. “Where should we start?” She asked brightly.

“You’re the expert,” Varren said scathingly.

“Don’t be like that Varren. He’s your pet, surely you know what he’d hate the most?”

Varren scoffed. “It doesn’t matter what you do, he’ll be begging you to stop in no time.”

“How about a game then?” Avis nudged me with the toe of her boot. “Boy, how long do you think you can last without begging?”

“Let’s make it more interesting,” Varren said. He addressed me. “One hour – for however many minutes are left when you break, you’ll get that many lashes, on top of whatever Avis has planned.” He grinned. “Sound fun?”

It sounded like hell, but I wasn’t going to say that.

“Lovely!” Avis crouched down next to me again. “We’ll start with something simple, yes?”

I caught a glimpse of her knife and flinched as she brought it close to my skin, only for her to cut away my shirt, cold blade brushing close against my skin. I clenched my hands, trying to steady my breathing as I waited for the first cut to come. I heard movement and a sound like she was opening a bottle. Then the knife came, cutting a line down my left arm.

I gasped, shutting my eyes against the pain. At first, it felt like any other knife wound I had suffered, but then the cut burned – it felt like acid was being poured into my veins and it didn’t stop – I screamed through clenched teeth as the knife seemed to burn through my skin, the pain continuing even after the knife retreated.

“How’d you like that?” Avis asked triumphantly. “A special potion I concocted myself. Works like salt in a wound, but worse.”

I felt the knife brush against my arm again and couldn’t hold back a whimper. Avis leaned closer as she pushed the knife in, and I felt stray hair not caught up in her braid brush against my face. “Fifty-seven more minutes,” she whispered, while dragging the knife through my arm again. “And I’m just getting started.”

I tried to keep track of the time, but it was impossible with the intensity of the pain Avis was causing me. The knife returned, again and again, each time worse than the last. It felt like an eternity had passed when she finally put the knife away. She grabbed my right hand and twisted my arm behind me again, and I felt tears spring to my eyes at the sudden pain the movement caused.

“There are so many things to be done with hands,” Avis mused, stroking each of my fingers individually. She traced her finger down to my palm, stopping at the brand in the center. “Of course, you already know that.” She tightened her grip until it was painful. “Do you know how many bones are in the human hand?”

I shuddered, pushing down memories of the last time I had been asked that. “T-twenty-seven,” I whispered.

Avis laughed. “Varren already pulled that one with you, did he?” She shifted her grip to my first finger. “Oh well, this is still fun.” She twisted my finger sharply, and I cried out as I felt the bone snap. Another twist and more pain shot down my hand.

I tasted blood in my mouth and realized that I had bitten my tongue, but the pain was a dull ache in comparison to the rest of my body. Avis moved to my next finger, and I braced myself for the two sharp cracks that followed. I whimpered as she moved on to the next one, pain already radiating down my hand. Three more fingers and she had finished with my right hand. My eyes were screwed shut as I tried to focus on breathing through the pain.

“Halfway there,” Avis said happily, dropping my right hand, then reaching for my left. “How about a different method for this one?”

She placed my palm flat against the ground and drew her knife. I panicked, sure that she was about to cut off one of my fingers, and tried to pull my hand away. She kept a firm grip on my wrist and moved to push her knee into my back, so hard that my breathing became difficult.

“Hold still,” she ordered, before raising the knife and slamming the hilt down onto my hand.

I couldn’t hold back my scream as pain blossomed in my hand, radiating through the tips of my fingers and down my wrist. As I gasped for breath, I saw that she had aimed for my first knuckle, which was turning an awful shade of purple. Avis raised her knife again and I choked down a whimper. It hurt more when it came down the second time, so close to the first break that it might as well have been on top of it. Then again, and by the final fifth time I was sobbing brokenly, unable to feel anything in my hand other than a mass of pain.

“Well, Varren?” Avis said, breaking through the haze of pain over my mind. “How is he doing? Think he’ll last the whole time?”

That’s right, I remembered. I was still on a time limit. Surely it couldn’t be much longer – surely.

“You can’t really expect him to,” Varren replied. “I know my pet. He’ll give in before much longer.”

“Think so?” Avis brushed her knife lightly against the edge of my neck, then moved it slowly up to the tip of my spine. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The knife pierced my skin and she began dragging it slowly down the length of my spine, pulling another scream from my ragged throat as she pushed it deeper, and the cut burned like it was on fire. She had reached halfway down my back when I finally broke.

“Stop, stop, please!” My voice broke over the words, and I couldn’t bring myself to feel relief when the knife was raised. I knew what the cost was. “Please,” I whimpered, holding back more sobs. “Please, no more, please…”

Avis sat back on her heels. “Looks like you were right,” she said to Varren. “How much time was left?”

Varren paused before answering. “Twenty-three minutes.”

My head spun at the number. Twenty-three. Twenty-three. I had only lasted seven minutes past halfway.

“A good number,” Avis decided, standing to her feet. She nudged me in the ribs. “Up now, onto your knees. You know what’s next.”

I couldn’t move without pain, and it was an excruciating process to get my broken hands underneath me and push myself onto my knees. I thought I might pass out from the pain, or from the fear of the additional pain about to be inflicted.

Varren walked around to stand on my left side, still several paces away. “Don’t pass out,” he ordered. “I would hate to have to do this over again.”

I shook my head frantically. I couldn’t do this again. I couldn’t even think of it. Avis pulled my wrists above my head and secured them with a rope, not paying any mind to the broken state of my hands. I felt like I couldn’t breathe as she moved behind me, trailing the whip she had selected on the ground after her.

The first strike landed across the knife wound on my back, and my vision went white with pain. I’m sure I screamed, but I didn’t have the presence of mind to be aware. The second strike was the same, if not worse, then the third, then the fourth, until I lost count. When no more lashes came, I was on the edge of consciousness, only kept awake by the fear of what would happen to me if I passed out. Varren and Avis were speaking to each other, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than how much pain I was in.

I flinched when a hand came near my face; Varren, who gripped my chin and tilted my head up to face him. “I suppose you’ve earned a rest now,” he mused. “If only so you can recover naturally.”

Avis must have loosened the ropes holding me up, because I fell forward, only to be caught by a hand around my arm. Avis pulled me to my feet, though I was entirely supported by her grip.

“I’ll bandage him before he bleeds out,” I heard her say before I slipped away, finally, into peaceful rest.

––––––––––––––––––––––

Tag list! Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed, or if I somehow missed your name.

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @shameless-whumper @whumpity--whump--whump @whumpitywhumpwhump @nervous-writer @this-zombie-will-eat-you @abyssshifter @whumpersworld @whatwasmyprevioususername @scared-and-crying @whatwhumpcomments @blackrosesandrhyme

[bleedinghearthalstead]

SWAT!Jay / Upstead AU

A/N: Part 8! My take on Upstead at the shooting range. Crossposted on AO3, link on my blog.

"Before we start shooting," Jay says in his best teacher voice, "we're gonna familiarize ourselves with the weapon first."

Hailey sighs. "Jay, I told you I just wanted to shoot the damn thing once."

"Before we start shooting," Jay says in his best teacher voice, "we're gonna familiarize ourselves with the weapon first."

Hailey sighs. "Jay, I told you I just wanted to shoot the damn thing once." She has been begging Jay since they started dating and he's finally caved, but she certainly didn't expect her boyfriend to go all firearms instructor on her. It's 8 a.m. on a Sunday and they drove almost an hour outside the city to go to Jay's favorite outdoor shooting range. The owner greeted Jay like an old friend, immediately putting a box of the right ammo on the counter and telling him that his usual lane all the way in the back was free. Of course it was free, Hailey thinks, it's 8 a.m. on a Sunday.

Jay tuts at her. "If you want to handle the damn thing, I'm gonna show you how to properly disassemble, clean and reassemble the Remington M24 Sniper Weapon System." He opens the rifle case and reverently takes out the M24, laying it out on a blanket that he's already spread out in front of where they're kneeling on the ground.

It's kind of fascinating to watch Jay disassemble the rifle with practiced ease. He's not even looking at what he's doing with his hands, removing the parts one by one by muscle memory, mostly looking at Hailey while he explains what every part is and does, making sure that she's paying attention. Once he has the rifle reassembled, he takes out a pouch with cleaning utensils and shows Hailey how to "maintain performance standard", brushing and scrubbing the inside of the barrel and wiping down the rest.

"Jay," Hailey groans, "you do remember that I've handled rifles before, right?"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course, but you gotta handle Loretta with care."

She stares at him with wide eyes, trying to hold back her laugh. "You named your sniper rifle 'Loretta'?"

Jay warns her, "If you laugh, I'm gonna pack up and leave." Hailey bites her lip trying hard not to laugh. Glaring at her, he folds up the bipod on the rifle with a snap.

"No no no, wait!" Hailey puts her hands on his to stop his movements and gives him an innocent smile, then schools her face into one of pure devotion. "Please teach me the Halstead way."

"I swear to God…" At her pout, he huffs. "Alright, fine." Hailey grins and claps her hands in excitement. "But you gotta let me do this my way."

"I promise I'll be good." He gives her the side-eye, but relents and continues with his lesson.

Clearing away all the tools he used to assemble and clean the weapon, he sets up the rifle on the blanket, right on the firing line, pointing it downrange. "The steadiest stance to shoot in is the prone position." He motions at Hailey. "Lie down on your stomach with your legs straight. Prop yourself up on your elbows." Tying her hair up in a messy ponytail first, she gets down on the ground and Jay gets up to adjust her arms and kicks her legs further apart until they form a nice Y-shape. Knowing she is a lefty, he continues, "Now put the butt of the rifle in your left shoulder close to your neck." Again, he moves her arms to the right positions ‑ right elbow on the ground just to the right of the rifle's forearm, right hand under the butt of the stock, left elbow on the ground, making sure that her shoulders are level. "Put your left hand on the pistol grip and pull the rifle into your shoulder."

Already comfortable in her position, Hailey rests her face firmly against the stock, looking straight down the sights. Letting her breath out slowly, she inches her trigger finger to its intended position, but before she can curl her finger around the trigger, Jay steps on her right foot. Her head snaps back and she glares at him. "Ow, what the hell, Jay!?"

He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly having seen that she was ready to pull the trigger. "Easy there, tiger. Your feet weren't flat on the ground-" He then smirks and holds up a single round with two fingers. "-and the rifle's not even loaded yet."

"Whoops." She lets out an embarrassed laugh, realizing that she let herself get caught up in the excitement of finally being allowed to hold the coveted sniper rifle after Jay's show-and-tell that lasted almost an hour. She doesn't think she's been this giddy about shooting a weapon since firearms training at the academy.

Jay shakes his head at her and laughs. He squats down next to her and instructs, "Raise the bolt handle and pull it all the way back." She does as she is told and he one by one pushes five cartridges down into the internal magazine. "Now slowly slide the bolt forward and push the handle down." When the handle slots into place, he puts a hand on her shoulder. "Loretta is now officially loaded."

Hailey rolls her eyes as he grins. "Can I shoot now?"

"Patience you must have, my young padawan."

"Please don't jump on my back." Hailey laughs. "Or make me carry you through a swamp."

"Feel the force!" Jay lets out an evil laugh in return and drops down on her back, making her squeal. Holding her down with his body weight but careful not to crush her, he starts tickling her sides, her arms trapped under her. Hailey squeals again and tries to buck up to push Jay off of her, but he doesn't budge. He does however stop tickling her and begins to kiss the side of her exposed neck instead, his hands roaming up and down her sides. She lets out a low moan and tilts her head up to give Jay a better angle.

Her boyfriend is in the middle of sucking a hickey on her neck, but Jay's lips freeze on her skin when someone clears their throat next to them. "I don't mean to interrupt…"

Jay jumps up and gives the shooting range owner a sheepish smile. "Hey, Walt."

Walt gives them both a look like he's a disapproving parent admonishing two teenagers. "There's other people here too, Jay, so try to keep it clean, will ya?"

"Sorry, Walt. It won't happen again."

The older man nods, then leans closer to Jay and whispers, "She's cute." He winks at him and turns to walk back towards the front office.

Watching them from her position still lying on the ground, it's the first time Hailey has ever seen Jay blush. She giggles. "Well, that was awkward."

"That was one dad talk that I didn't think I ever needed." Jay grimaces. "I might have to find a new shooting range."

Hailey snickers and slaps his ankle. "Calm down, let's just get back to teaching me how to become Badass Sniper Hailey."

Jay raises an eyebrow at her, then bows down and playfully slaps her butt. At her indignant look, he grins. "Let's get to it then, badass. Get back in the prone position." Checking her stance, he does some minor adjustments, then pulls out a spotter's scope from a compartment in the rifle case and lies down next to her. Using the scope to look downrange, he picks out a target for her about fifty yards away. Considering she does have experience with long guns, this should be an easy shot. "Target at fifty yards, you got it in your sights?"

Hailey looks up from the scope mounted on the rifle and scoffs at Jay. "Fifty yards? You serious right now?"

He sighs. "We'll work our way up. I want you to get used to the motions first."

"Fine." Huffing, Hailey goes back to looking down the sights. "Yeah, I got it."

"Any adjustments you need to make? The knob on the right side of the scope is for windage and the top knob is for elevation."

"No, I don't think so." Luckily for Hailey, it's a clear and sunny day with barely a breeze.

"Good. Now chamber a cartridge. Raise the bolt and pull it back until it stops. Push the bolt forward. The bolt removes a cartridge from the magazine and pushes it into the chamber. Push the bolt handle down." She follows his instructions and she can hear a round move into place. With the way Jay has been taking care of this weapon, it's no wonder the mechanics work so smoothly.

"To fire, switch off the safety and then squeeze the trigger. Now before you do, one last thing that is also one of the most important things when firing – your breathing has the most effect on your shot. Breathe in through your nose and slowly breathe out through your open mouth, try to relax and slow down your heart rate." He hears her take a couple of deep breaths. "Fire at will." Hailey breathes deeply a few more times before a shot rings out and hits the target with a metallic ping. "Good. You hit it between the 9 and 8 ring. So either there was some wind or you swayed to the left when you took your shot. Use the bolt action to chamber another round and try again." On the second shot that takes her considerably shorter to set up, Hailey hits the target inside the 10 ring. She's a fast learner and Jay beams at her in pride. "Let's move on to a hundred yards."

Jay lets Hailey take a few shots on the 100 yards target which she pretty much nails before he hands her another five cartridges and tells her to reload. Remembering what he showed her earlier, she easily manages the task and immediately chambers a cartridge, ready to shoot again. They continue moving from target to target in 50 yards increments. When they get to the 300 yards target and she hits it at the bottom of the 7 ring, she lets out an indignant huff. Jay chuckles at her. "We're shooting at a longer distance now, so you have to adjust the elevation on your scope."

Realigning her shot, Hailey hits the bullseye and her eyes widen when a metal plate on the target comes loose and reveals the words "will you". She is about to ask Jay what is up with that, but he has already moved on to their next target, telling her that he'll buy her a really nice bottle of champagne if she hits the bullseye on the first try. Challenge accepted, she again focuses on the target, this time taking her time to adjust the scope and concentrating on regulating her breathing. Deliberately squeezing the trigger, she hits the bullseye. Another metal plate folds down.

Instead of being pleased at herself for achieving the shot, having read the words on the target, she squeaks out a tiny "what" and turns up to Jay who is now on one knee next to her, holding a beautiful solitaire diamond ring out to her. "I know we've only been together for two years, but I love you so much and I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so..." He takes a deep breath and gives her a hopeful smile. "Hailey Upton, you hit me right in the heart, will you marry me?"

Hailey feels like she's going through some sort of out of body experience, but she doesn't even have to think about it. "Yes!" She throws herself at Jay and kisses him fiercely. He laughs into their kiss and wraps his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

Pulling back, Jay takes her left hand and slides the ring onto her finger. "It's my mom's ring," he whispers, "She would've loved you too."

Hailey's heart warms infinitely and she takes Jay's face into her hands to kiss him again. Breaking their kiss and leaning her forehead against his, she whispers back, "I love you."

"Congrats, kids!" There's the sound of a cork popping and Walt is back with a bottle of champagne and flutes. There's also cheering coming from far away that's moving closer and Hailey laughs and watches as Jay's team mates come running towards them from downrange, whooping and whistling loudly.

Jay grins. "Walt and the boys helped me set this up. Sorry for stepping on your foot, but you almost ruined your own proposal, they weren't done with the plates yet."

At that moment, the guys descend on where they were set up and Mitch slings an arm around each of them and gives them a bear hug yelling, "YAY, GUYS!"

They all laugh and Walt hands out champagne glasses to all of them. "To Hailey and Jay!" They all raise their glasses and cheers to the couple.

"Since we're here already …" Sam, Jay's spotter, pulls out a different rifle case out of nowhere. "I'm gonna beat you this time, Halstead."

Jay groans. "Dude, you're seriously bringing this up right now? I just got engaged!"

The two of them start bickering and the other team guys start laying in as well, but Hailey doesn't care, she's on cloud nine right now. This is definitely not how she imagined being proposed to, but it went down in pure Jay Halstead fashion and it's perfectly them.

They end up spending the rest of the day at the range, Jay and Sam, who is also an ex-army sniper, doing trick shots (and where did the cooler full of beer come from?) until Hailey leans down to Jay while he is lining up a shot and whispers, "Do I need to compete with Loretta or can I spend some time alone with my fiancé?"

Jay takes his shot, but doesn't even hit the target in the black and packs up his gear. The guys watch them knowingly and start wolf-whistling. Jay just gives them the finger and Hailey waves at them as he drags her behind him.

[theastrophilearchitect]

Skyward spoiler-free review.

Skyward by Brandon Sanderson, full rant review, in blog form. Not that it's that long; it was just too long to stick in a wrap-up.

Well, damn.

I mentioned in a recent reads post that I'd read this and had so much to say I was planning a full review, but God only knows whether that or this will be up first, so if it's this one, hi! I read this book.

I'm planning to make this spoiler-free, but if the title of this post doesn't say spoiler-free, it means I'm going to start with a spoiler-free section, then move into spoilers, so if you haven't read this book, don't worry (yet).

Skyward takes place in a (technically dystopian) future in which the remains of humanity upon the Defiant spaceship have crash-landed on the planet Detritus after persecution by the alien race of the Krell. Fast forward several decades, and the Battle of Alta takes place, which allows humanity to drive the Krell back far enough to come together again, and return to the surface. Fast forward a little further, and our story follows teenage Spensa Nightshade, who wants nothing more than to become a pilot and prove both herself and her father, the coward of the Battle of Alta. Then she finds a ship in a cavern - it's broken down, but well beyond any technology humanity has, but fixable. And it speaks.

This book is so well-developed, but that's the basic premise.

So, the story opens, and Spensa gets into flight school. Obviously. The first three hundred fifty pages or so, we're basically just being introduced to a seemingly unnecessary number of characters (which does become less character-soupy as the story continued) and Spensa learns pilot stuff.

In all honesty, it did, even by the end, feel like a few too many characters. For example, Spensa's best friend, Rig, seems unnecessary. His role is as the smart mechanic-guy, and he's fun, but I just don't see why Spensa couldn't be the mechanic. It would've given her a more interesting personality, and just cleaned up our cast of characters.

SPEAKING of Spensa:

'I was Defiant.' What you are, Spensa, is annoying.

At the beginning, Spensa Nightshade is basically your typical I'm-not-like-other-girls. She's smart-mouthed--obnoxiously so--and not pretty, and doesn't fit in, and she's oblivious to flirting. Then, you know, character arcs, and I hate her slightly less by the end of it.

Now. Let's talk romance.

This book has no definitive romance arc, but, as a YA sci-fi, I was expecting it to, so spent the whole book speculating about who was going to be the love interest (and ultimately got it right). The fact Spensa was established with a male best friend worried me we were walking on love triangle-territory, but we weren't, at least so far in this series. Though no romance actually happens in this book, it does set up the obvious romance arc-to-come, and quite well.

Spensa is, however, one oblivious bitch. Like I said before, she's oblivious to flirting. Granted, this flirting doesn't come from the character who is destined to be her love interest (it would be really embarrassing if after the whole series is released and I've read all the books, I look back at this and find out I was wrong). But by God she is dumb.

Towards the end of the book, she makes a couple of comments in the narrative, 'Why was I thinking about [REDACTED]?' and I'm sat here, reading this, like, GEE, I WONDER.

On the plus side, dumb bitches are fun. Unless they're Spensa Nightshade.

I think I love to hate this protagonist.

Ultimately, my issue with this book was the pacing. It's clearly the set-up for a much bigger series (intended to be four books long, as of 12/03/2021) (That's March 12th, not December 3rd), and does so effectively, but so little that happens before we really start to build to the climax is interesting, and most of this book fell flat. Were it anyone other than Sanderson, I probably would have DNFed it, but I didn't, and now I can't stop thinking about it.

Next up on my tbr is the enormous House of Earth and Blood (aka Crescent City) by Sarah J Maas. I'm not 1000% sure now is the best time for me to be reading a 240K word book, but I'm getting FOMO about this book. After that, I'm delving straight into Skyward's sequel, Starsight, which came out last November. The downside of which is, of course, that I will have to wait until this November for Nowhere. The titles of both those sequels make so much more sense now.

So, if you're debating, should you read Skyward? Absolutely. Assuming Starsight lives up to my expectations. If you're somebody who can't bear annoying protagonists or basically a three hundred-page training montage, it may not be for you, but if you are, like me, a sci-fi/fantasy superfan who loves to hate the pain authors wring upon us, you'll love it. Or at least get pumped up for Starsight.

It would be very disappointing if I look back on this and don't like Starsight.

Great. Now I've worried myself. Good night.

Retrospective from myself a few weeks later: I loved Starsight. So Skyward was absolutely worth it.

[a-wild-yuumi-appeared]

Sort of want to emphasize how many threads I have ACTIVELY going on, but this is also sort of a vent, too.

Okay, so. Y’all know my blog and how i run stuff. I follow, send an ask. If you want to answer, you answer. If you don’t, you don’t.

I follow over 150 RP blogs [after having trimmed down recently for ppl who have been inactive for 2+ months w/o warning].

That is 150 asks i send.

About 4/5 people will respond to the asks I sent. That’s approximately 120 answers.

I reply to every single one, as is the nature of this blog.

This does not include many people who will send me multiple asks, etc. etc.

This means that I have 120 threads to go off on, and to write this hyper bouncy, excitably kitten. But I put actual effort into my replies--despite Yuumi being somewhat simple minded, she’s still at least somewhat three-dimensional. I try to write her that way, at least.

So, let’s be super duper conservative with this estimation: I take about 5 minutes to write one reply for Yuumi. Five nonstop minutes of pure focus on average.

And there’s always at least 5 replies from both sides on every one of yuumi’s threads.

So for each person, 5 replies.

That’s 120 people x 5 replies.

That’s 600 replies right there.

Oh? but I take 5 minutes [again, the actual time is longer but i just want a flat, basic number] per reply.

600 replies x 5 minutes =

THAT IS 3′000 MINUTES, OR FIFTY HOURS.

50 HOURS.

As you can understand, I am getting sort of burned out from so much writing. I can only do so much, as well as Yuumi’s high-energy of a character is hard for me to keep up with at times.

please stop pressuring me to reply. I’m doing what i can, but everyone loves yuumi. i really, really appreciate it, but i can’t go any faster without making my life a living hell. 

[myckicade]

Do the kids stay snakes forever, or do they change into toddlers/babies? (I only just found your blog so I have no idea if you've answered a similar ask, so please forgive me if you have) Bc tbh I thought that in the last ask you answered, that Crowley might turn around and find the missing kid looking like a toddler, walking on unsteady legs, knocking things over and completely nude. He sees Crowley and they just stare at each other until the baby smiles and laughs while Crowley is just "???"

Awww! That’s so adorable! I gave it some thought, and I think it would go down, a little something like this:

P.S. This is being broken down into (at least) three parts.

***

“Do you think they’ll be like this, always?” Aziraphale asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t dare raise it, even a fraction, for fear of waking the two slumbering hatchlings curled around his throat.

Crowley looked up from where he sat, at the opposite end of the sofa. “What do you mean?” he murmured, with a tired smile. The child draped over his shoulder didn’t budge. The one on his chest wiggled for a second, before settling back down. Reaching up, Crowley brushed a gentle thumb along the boy’s side, hoping to comfort him back to sleep.

On the other cushion, Aziraphale looked to be struggling over a thought. “I mean, will they be… Well…” He looked to each of the four children, in-turn, before looking to their mother. “Like they are now.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What, like, snakes, you mean?”

Aziraphale gave a guilty nod. “I-I’m not trying to say that there’s something wrong with it. With them.” He worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a second. Crowley’s smile returned. Now, his angel was just over-thinking it. “I love them. You know I do. I just wondered if…” He sighed. “Well, I just wondered if you thought they might have inherited your gift for… Well… Transmogrification.”

“Shape-shifting, angel,” Crowley corrected lightly. “Let them learn the easy words, first.” That got a smile. Still, Aziraphale carried that expression of guilt, which didn’t suit the demon, at all. “I know what you mean. And, honestly, I’m not sure.”

Blue eyes glanced up. “No?”

Crowley shook his head briefly, before catching himself. “I mean, I’d like to think so. They’ve certainly got the right personalities for it.”

“My dear, they’ve only just joined the world.” True, just hours prior, they had begun cracking their ways into existence, beyond their shells. They’d been checked, fed, and sleepy, in no time. Given the hours of waiting, watching, and caring for them, their parents were likewise ready for a nap. “How can you tell what their personalities are?”

Crowley’s lips turned up, in the softest expression he was sure he’d ever attempted. (If a full fifty-percent of that expression was smug satisfaction, then so be it. He’d earned it). “Easy,” he replied, looking the father of his children in the eyes. “I’m their mother.”

***

“Where in the f-.” Crowley paused, catching himself, at the last second. He leaned back, to peer through the doorway, and into the living room. Nah, they couldn’t hear him. Still, he bit his tongue. He’d promised Aziraphale, after all.

But, really, where, in every conceivable Circle of Hell, was his fucking plant mister?!

It had been going on for days, now. Every time he tried to find something, he felt like it wasn’t where he’d left it. Keys, cups, books… Crowley half-expected to come home to find the whole blessed flat moved slightly to the left. He was getting closer and closer to believing that, no, he wasn’t just imagining it. Which left only a handful of options:

1. Aziraphale was right, and pregnancy had left him a little light in the brain cells, and lax in memory.

2. Aziraphale thought he was being fucking funny, in hiding Crowley’s things.

3. The fucking place was haunted.

Honestly, he liked the third option the best. He was pretty sure he’d read that, somewhere, in the last century, that newborn babies could disrupt the peace and harmony of the spirit world. And, he’d had four of them.

Crowley cringed. On second thought, the first option was looking better and better.

Pausing, he took a deep breath, which he let back out slowly. Where hadn’t he looked? Well, no, really, where hadn’t he looked, by that point? He’d been through the bedroom, the bathroom, and he’d threatened the plants three separate times. (As expected, everyone was pretty well mum on the subject). Nothing was on the kitchen counters, but-Oh! Maybe, the cupboards. It stood to reason. After all, Aziraphale was always putting things back where they didn’t belong.

Bless him, his lover tried. His heart was in the right place, even if Crowley had no idea where the angel’s brain sometimes ended up.

Though, as of recently - as evidenced, at the moment - Crowley really was one to talk.

Well, the cupboards were as good an idea as any, he supposed. He made a sudden one-eighty, intent to saunter back to the kitchen. A shot of discomfort in his hips stopped him in his tracks. Crowley swallowed back a hiss, and shook his head. “Ow.” He rocked from side to side, a few times, stretching that one out, before continuing on his way. “Wish that would go away.” From the beginning of his pregnancy, he’d been plagued by aches to… most of his body. And, most of them had gone away, by the time he’d given birth. The hips, though. That pain had decided to stick around for a prolonged torment. The frequency, and severity had both lessened, but every now and then…

Crowley smiled, just a little. Every now and then, he’d get a reminder of how worthwhile the last six thousand years truly had been.

“Helps that you’re cute, too,” he murmured, as he passed by the most precious basket in all of Creation. He peeked in, smiling at the three slumbering sn-.

Three? Oh, Hell, not this again.

“Freddie, you little-.” That child was a terror, Crowley had concluded. Every time he turned his back, Freddie was out of the basket, and off on an adventure. He had no idea where the boy got it from. Honestly. One of Aziraphale’s hidden traits, he imagined.

And, promptly, he scoffed. ‘Hidden’. Sure.

Crowley continued toward the kitchen, already picturing the jar of biscuits, in his head, complete with his son, nibbling away on more sugar than any four children would ever need. (And, he would know).

“Somethin’ wrong, Mama?” came a voice from Aziraphale’s chair, across the room.

“Yeah, baby, don’t worry. I’ve just got to go find your brother.”

Wait. Wait, what?

Crowley stopped, mid-step, just to back up, a few paces. Poking his head back into the living room, he turned wide eyes toward the source of that voice. He was met by the stare of a pair of golden-coloured eyes, under a mop of messy, blonde curls. A little girl. Three, maybe four years old. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought someone’s child had wandered into his flat, by mistake.

“Uhhh,” he muttered helpfully, as he stepped closer to the girl. “Hi, there.”

She beamed. “Hi, Mama!” The child kicked her feet, under the weight of the heavy book that was open, atop her lap.

Yeah. Yeah, she was definitely one of his.

Crowley took another step. Floundered for a second, for something to say. “Sooo…” he began, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He rocked back on his heels, a couple of times. “Out of the basket, I see?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Daddy didn’t finish the story yet, and I wanna’ know what happened to th'dragon.” She held up the story book, a bit, for her mother to see.

“Ah-huh.” Crowley nodded slowly. So, she’d clearly gone from one end of the room to the other, powered by the knowledge that, at the end of her efforts, she would be rewarded with a book. Yeah. That sounded familiar. “And, you had to stretch your limbs, because…?”

What followed was the most indignant expression he’d ever encountered from a child. “How else was I gonna’ turn the pages?” She huffed, just a little, before glancing back down to the book. “I had t'stare at the same picture so long, I got bored.”

Crowley found himself staring, for a moment. And, when the first thought in his head was, Yeah, wait ‘til your Dad tries to take you to a gallery, he scrubbed a hand over his face. Blinked, a few times. Made sure he wasn’t hallucinating. He could hardly blame himself, on that last bit. It was borderline insane, what was happening. All right, all right, yes, he knew the day was likely to arrive, eventually, but… He was talking to his child. Talking with her, not just rambling on about nothing, and getting a tongue-flicker, in return. But, if he was talking to her…

Crowley took a moment to glance back at the basket, under the heat lamp. One, two-Yep. Still three of them. Well, he’d be blessed. He owed Freddie an apology.

Turning back to his most recent runaway, he squinted, trying to figure out which one she was. Pinky and Jeckle had the same colour eyes, so that was out, as an identifier. And, all three that remained in the basket were still sound asleep, curled up, and hiding any other telltale markings.

Ah, right. Markings. That was when he spotted it. Along the little girl’s side, near her ribs, Crowley could see the edges of what looked to be a fairly sizable birthmark. A blush-coloured birthmark.

Again, the demon found himself smiling. “Pinky.”

Pinky looked up again. “Yes, Mama?” She held his gaze, expectant, and Crowley felt something catch in his chest. It wasn’t just the blonde hair that gave her away as her father’s daughter.

Oh, Aziraphale was going to shit a brick.

Striding the rest of the way across the room, Crowley nabbed the book from his daughter’s hands. Before Pinky could give voice to the protest he could just feel was coming on, he lifted the child into his arms. “Come on, then,” he replied, finally, and dropped a kiss to Pinky’s cheek. She giggled, hugging her arms around his neck. Oh, motherhood was turning him into such a sap. He was going to be a puddle of goo, before too long. And, this was just the first!

“Where are we goin’?”

“To get some clothes on you.” Crowley grinned, carrying Pinky toward the bedroom. “Maybe, comb your hair. Can’t have you running around, in the altogether, when your father gets home.” Said father, he knew, was in for quite a surprise.

“He’d better be home, soon!” Pinky warned. “He’s got stories ta’ finish!”

Crowley threw his head back, in a laugh. Quite a surprise, indeed.

***

Later, while he and Aziraphale sat on the couch, accompanied by a bottle of wine, Crowley scrunched his nose, in thought. “Where did she even get 'Mama’ from, anyway?”

Aziraphale’s answer was just fucking typical. “Well, my dear, I’m sure it was from one of those dreadful television programs you like to watch, while they’re awake.”

Crowley didn’t even check to see if any of the children could see him, before he flipped their father off.

[emletish-fish]

I follow your blog, and in particular your meta posts about Atla, and i was curious on what you thought of LoK in general ? I was horribly disappointed by the show myself, but that in part because of wrong expectations i had about it before it aired. So i'd like your opinion, if you want to give it, thank you.

LOK was such a hot mess of awful writing, canon mangling and gorgeous animation. But I didn't watch Atla for the animation, I watched it for the story. I can re-watch an atla episode now and still heartily enjoy it and notice new things I didn't pick up on. I can't ever imagine wanting to re-watch LOK. The story did nothing for me.

Warning: this answer contains frequent use of my favourite yikes gif.

I didn't care for the new krew (and bryke gave us little reason to. These characters barely cared about each other). There was no emotional energy in the plot. I found most of the drama trite and contrived - especially the love drama. Shuddders. What even was Bolin and Eska? I think they were trying to make an abusive relationship funny??? Because the abused party was male???

None of the season arcs held any weight or add much of value to the world building. The side characters felt flat. Some plot points every directly contradicted what was established in ATLA . The solutions were lazy, or deux ex machinas or just plain weird. The HC??? Spirit invasion is good??? That means Koh the face-stealer is topside???

But the worst thing for me is what LOK did to the gaang (not just Katara, but obviously I have too much salt about what happened to Katara in LOK to contain in this post. Leave the fighting to the younguns and the men?? Atla katara would never!). Why did they have to write Toph as a terrible mother and swamp lady? Why did they write Aang as such a neglectful dad that his children are still bitter at him in their fifties??? I wasn't a fan of the Kataang ending, but jeez, I didn't think bryke would write him as a terrible husband too. (we are meant to believe that Katara of the abandonment issues would be okay with Aang abandoning her and two out of their three children constantly?)

I'm glad we never found out wtf happened to Sokka because I wouldn't put it past bryke to have written him as abusive/neglectful parent somehow.

LoK has many failings. Primarily it also showed bryke's failings as writers. They do great concepts and animation, but they clearly need more writers around them. They often used the 'the seasons are too short for a good story" excuse. Well, let's compare dragon prince to the first season on LOK shall we?

Anyway, I have little faith in Bryke as writers and no excitement about their future atla projects (comics and live action). I would prefer atla season 4: book air with ehasz as head writer than three entire seasons of bryke-led live action.

No thank you.

I won't be tuning in. My love of Atla made me sit through hours of bryke content in LOK, vainly hoping it would get better. I won't make the same mistake again.

If I want more atla in my life, I'll re-watch the original series.

[mx-bright-sky]

Stain Is A Little Bitch And Here’s Why; The Newer Version!

Yeah I made a post like this forever ago debunking all of Stain’s motives and stuff but it’s been. Forever. And so I’m remaking it! Cause I still believe this. 

As you probably know, if you’ve been following my blog for a while, I trust neither the hero society nor UA and Nedzu himself. So, one might THINK that because of this I would agree with Stain.

That is not the case. 

Stain was wrong and I’m gonna prove why.

So the easiest place to start out is looking at Stain’s motives by themselves. The reasons that Stain thinks modern heroes are corrupt are as follows:

Too concerned about the paycheck

Don’t actually follow heroic ideals (Iida attacking him for revenge)/All Might is the ideal hero in his view and that’s it

Only care about the glory and the fighting

I’ll go down the line to state what I think about each of the reasonings themselves.

Although, before I start, I would like to emphasize; I do not trust the Hero Society as it is at all. I definitely do believe that it is corrupt and has many flaws. It’s just that, at the same time, Stain was still wrong

Now then, the first one is the deal with money. On the surface, this does seem like a good reason; heroes fighting for the money and only the money is a problem. However looking deeper into it this argument quickly falls apart. Consider for a moment what would happen with the heroes is they WEREN’T paid. In this case, the heroes would have to get a second “job” on the side to be able to, you know, live. By getting paid for their heroism, heroes are able to work on being heroes 24/7, instead of having to worry about divided attention. 

In addition to that, heroes are paid based on how they perform as heroes, by saving people and defeating villains. The heroes who do the most work get the most pay. That being said, it’s also pretty easy to see that some heroes still don’t get paid very much at all. Mt. Lady, for example; even though she’s new, she has a problem with money. If heroes just got payed way too much, then why is she still struggling? And Uwabami- maybe she likes being a model, but she had to take up a side job away from heroing because it didn’t give her enough money. (another possibility for that is unequal pay fro heroes but I’ll get into that another time).

And yet even more to that, being a hero is the most popularized profession. I do think that itself is a flaw, yes, but it’s true. So, if heroing is a popularized profession and pretty much everyone wants to go into it... then the country must be overflowing with heroes. That being said, there’s no way that being a hero always pays well no matter what. I’d even go so far as to say that any hero not in the top 50 or even the top 10 make any large or ludicrous amount of money. Yet, when Stain attacks a hero, he goes after Ingenium (who, while probably in the top 50, is not in the top 10) and Native (who we know nothing about besides that he was there; I highly doubt he was all that bad). 

But that’s just the first tic on the list, there’s more. 

The second thing that Stain upholds is All Might’s idealistic form of heroism. Any other kind of hero is wrong. As we know that’s just... flat out wrong. We all know it was foolish of Iida to try and attack Stain. Do we say that this makes him any less of a hero? No. Uraraka’s original motivation is getting money.... for her family, which is poor. Maybe not the most pure of motivations, but at the end of the day she just wants what’s best for her family and can we really say that that’s wrong? And she has proven time and time again, that even if she is there to make money for her family, she still has heroic qualities and wants to help and save people. At the end of the day, by choosing this path, the majority of heroes are intentionally putting themselves in danger to do something that, at the end of the day, helps innocent people. Whether it’s for family pride, personal pride, or a true heroic spirit, these heroes are fighting villains that want to hurt or even kill them. If their ideals aren’t all that perfect, is it really wrong?

Now then... the last one. The last one is tricky.

Stain’s last argument is that heroes are starting to only care about glory and fighting. And while I like to believe that MOST heroes aren’t like that... the evidence is all there to suggest that some heroes are that way. This is the one thing that I will minorly agree with Stain on, because, for this one part of his beliefs, he was right. This focus on glory and fighting is what lets someone like Endeavor be a hero. Endeavor is the purest example of everything Stain hates; he only cares about the money, the glory, the fame. He only wants to be number one. He doesn’t care a single shred about saving people. 

But at the same time, in this belief, Stain is a hypocrite. He hates heroes for being put up on pedestals, while putting All Might on a pedestal himself. 

That being said, though one shred of his reasoning is actually right, his actions themselves prove him to be wrong. 

First there’s the obvious that killing people is flat out wrong. Even if he disagrees with these heroes, killing them is not the answer. They might not be perfect, but those people have families. Families that will be distraught that they’re gone. In the cases of real corrupted heroes, then maybe the deserve to go to jail, or to be injured to the point where they can no longer work- but death? Death is permanent. And it’s not always the right way to deal justice. 

Beyond that, there is the effects that these deaths have. Because these heroes are gone, killed, that means that any villain they would have defeated if they hadn’t died now does not get defeated, at least not as quickly as they might have. Even if the heroes are being replaced, if a bunch of heroes in an area die, then villains can easily attack harder on that area knowing that it’s less protected now. This gets innocent people hurt. 

Then there’s the replacing of the heroes. By killing heroes, Stain is creating a demand for more heroes. With a demand for more and more heroes, how many corrupt ones are going to slip through the cracks? How many people not suited to Stain’s ideology are going to become heroes now because of Stain’s actions? What Stain has done is counterproductive to itself. 

What about WHY Stain is doing this? We know his reasonings. But as for WHY Stain is going this far? It’s simply because no one would listen to him. He wasn’t hurt by some corrupt hero. There wasn’t a loved one that a hero didn’t manage to save. There was no past betrayal from a hero. Stain simply came up with this ideology and these thoughts, and when no one listened to him, he acted on them. How entitled do you have to be to do that? Stain is an entitled man child who whined that society wasn’t fair and got violent when people wouldn’t listen to him.

Finally, we have the “who” is getting killed. Stain says he only goes after corrupt heroes, but from what we see? That’s a lie. The people that Stain attacks are Ingenium, Native, Iida, Izuku, and Todoroki. We know Stain wasn’t planning on killing Izuku because he had one throw away line where he mentioned All Might and that made Stain assume he was a good hero. Other than that? 

Ingenium. From everything we know about him from Iida’s flashbacks, he’s a good guy. He wanted to be a hero because he thinks that the kind of person who helps kids on the street is cool. He’s Iida’s model as an older brother. Generally all around Ingenium is a good, charismatic hero. But Stain attacks him. For what? Because he gets money? Because it’s a family business? It’s not about Ingenium’s actual motives or reasons for being a hero at all- Stain makes assumptions and decides Ingenium is worth killing. 

Native. We know very very little about Native. But here’s what we can gather; He’s definitely not in the top ten, and I doubt he’s in the top fifty, so fame and glory certainly wasn’t it. Money can also be knocked off the list because it’s very likely that less popular heroes hardly make anything. So that leaves... what exactly? Native isn’t cruel, at least he isn’t shown to be. He helps carry Izuku when the fight is over because Izuku has an injured leg. Stain gives us no reason for why he’s killing Native. He just. IS.

Iida. He made one(1) emotionally fueled mistake. He’s just a kid. He’s in no way done with growing and learning. But because his love for his brother turned into a need to avenge his brother’s attack, Stain quickly decides that Iida deserves to die. To DIE. He doesn’t entertain the thought that Iida could ever grow and change. He decides that, on the spot, because of this one occasion, that Iida only ever will care about revenge and that he is destined to be a horrible hero. 

Todoroki. Stain never outright says what his plan with Todoroki was. We don’t know for sure if Stain would have spared him or killed him, but I believe that Stain would have killed him. For the same reasoning that he attacked Ingenium- family name. Other than that I can’t press further on this because we don’t really know if he would have killed Todoroki or not for sure. 

In conclusion? Stain? Is a little bitch. The one shred of it that he got right he never even acts on. He certainly doesn’t deserve all the publicity and praise. He was WRONG. Case closed.

[towritecomicsonherarms]

Hey man, been following your blog for years and about a year ago the game store I work at started taking in comics. We use go collect to price them but a lot of the prices aren’t listed for them on there. Was curious if you knew a better place or way to price them.

WELLLLL

I’m a pawnbroker by trade so this question is right up my alley and in the past we have bought comics in. First we used to price them individually on ebay (there’s an option to on desktop dow n left side to see sold and completed listings) and mot of the time you’d find a comic was only selling for £1-2 but the delivery would be bonkers. Even then we’d never pay more than £1-2 per comic because we don’t sell them online.

BUT THEN they stopped selling as well as they had been so we basically just said ‘fuck it’ and paid Fifty pence each. We don’t have time to check the prices on 100 comics someone has brought in. Yes. Every now and then we’d pay fifty pence for a comic and it would turn out to be worth £20 but the majority weren’t worth a lot.

BUT i have a few customers who do bring in several bagged and boarded comics that i do check prices on as they are usually variants with some value.

so in short. If there’sloads. offer a flat price. If the customer is nice maybe pick a few randoms and check them. If they’re a dick or the comics are battered to fuick offer a flat price. If the customer brings in a few check prices (uinless they’re battered or not a nice person)

ya feel me?

any more questions get in touch.

kinda bashed this out quick as i am off to work.