#but i do feel like i've been slowly moving further and further away from identifying with masculine terms all the time

[that-starlight-prince]

I guess it's a sign of how increasingly comfortable or second nature not being a man is getting for me that now when I read something like "I could fix him" I just sort of internally have a reaction like "well that's not referring to me" before then saying "but i guess i can still reblog that"

[novankenn]

"Jaune Gets a Gun AU - Day 3" Date-a-Live - Spirit (Angel)

Emerald rushed to catch up to the four that were carrying Jaune away from the Colonial Marines booth. She was worried that the others would try to make further inroads towards capturing Jaune's heart, and even if she wasn't truly attracted to Jaune's male form, she still didn't want to lose her chance at the possibility of happiness. When she finally caught up, Jinx was brushing off Jaune's outfit as the other three were discussing where to go next.

Emerald: How about lunch? That's where we were headed before, you know...

Tiny Tina: I could eat.

Ruby: I'm kind of hungry as well.

Pyrrha: If we're all thinking the same thing, then I guess we should. I'll cover everyone.

Jaune: You don't...

Pyrrha: I'm COVERING everyone. I barely touch all my sponsorship funds, so I want to splurge.

Jaune: I guess... if everyone else is...

Jinx: Jaune, what's wrong?

Jaune: (Pressing his hand against his chest.) I feel... strange.

????: I've finally found you.

Tiny Tina: And who might you be?

Renie: My name is Renie, and I am very interested in you... Jaune Arc.

Jaune: Who? (groans) How?

The girls slowly started to form a protective circle about the beloved blond knight. They stopped their slow advance when Jaune groaned, and as they turned they watched him fall to his knees gripping his chest, agony on his face.

Girls: JAUNE!

Whipping back around Pyrrha, Jinx and Tiny Tina prepared to get answers only to find the woman who identified herself as Renie, was gone, replaced by...

Phantom: It is time, Jaune. Touch this, and all your suffering will cease...

The cloaked figure vanished and reappeared next to Jaune`s kneeling form.

Phantom: ... unlock your potential. Unleash all that they bound inside you.

Jaune: *Groan

Ruby: (Rushing forward with her semblance) Get away...

The other girls were only seconds behind Ruby in their own charge, to end up bowled over as Ruby was sent flying backwards into them. The figure hadn't even moved.

Phantom: Just touch it, Jaune... touch it.

As the girls struggled to untangle themselves, the strange floating crystal drifted downward. Jaune tried to swat it aside, but as soon as he touched it.

Jaune`s scream caused them all to freeze. A pure and utter sense of dread filling their hearts. The light that had been centred where Jaune and the crystal had touched, faded...

Ruby: Okay, what the FUDGE is it with people turning Jaune into WAIFUs!

Emerald: She's kinda cute.

Jinx: She is. Definitely cute, almost like how I'd picture and Angel.

Emerald: I can totally see it.

Tiny Tina: Seriously, you two, J-Baby has been transformed into a GIRL again!

Pyrrha: This is becoming a seriously troubling trend.

Phantom: Finally Angel...

Jinx: Called it!

Phantom: ... has arisen...

Jaune's eyes opened, and instantly zeroed onto Phantom. Pyrrha knew the look on Jaune's face, even if it wasn't his true face. He was pissed. Slowly he rose into the air...

Jaune: Metatron!

Phantom: Sh...!

Girls: SWEAR JAR!

Jaune: What did you DO to ME?

Phantom: I... um... well... it's like... ah...

Jaune: WHAT. DID. YOU. DO. TO. ME?

Ozpin: She unlocked a power that has been buried with in your family line for generations.

Girls: What the F...!

Ozpin: Swear Jar.

Jaune: She must... where'd she go?

Ozpin: (Taking a sip from his mug) It seems Phantom, or Ms Renie made a tactical retreat, as you are rather intimidating in this form Jaune.

Pyrrha: So what is going on?

Ozpin: Ms Renie used a special crystal, a sephira crystal to be exact, to unlock a power that has remained contained with in the Arc bloodline for generations, though it is rather interesting that it could manifest through you, considering you are male.

Tiny Tina: And I thought things were messed up in the Borderlands.

Jinx: I still think she's cute, almost adorable.

Emerald: I prefer his Tail-Yellow from, but I completely agree with that statement.

Pyrrha: So, let me get this straight? Jaune's entire family has powers like this hidden inside them? But, now correct me if I'm getting this wrong... only the girls should be able to access this... power?

Ozpin: Right in one, Ms Nikos.

Pyrrha: I need to sit down.

Ruby: So is he a WAIFU forever now? Or can he change back?

Jaune: Yeah, can I change back?

Ozpin: Yes, you can change back. Your spirit power just needs to be sealed, so it's not so overwhelming.

Jaune: And how do I do that?

Ozpin: (Leans in close to Ruby and whispers in her ear.) Kiss him Ms Rose, and you'll get your friend back... and maybe open the door to more?

Pyrrha: (Noticing Ruby's blush) What did you, just...?

Jinx/Tiny Tina/Emerald : Hey! No fair! We call hacks!

Pyrrha just stood there, completely shocked that in a burst of rose petals, Ruby raced up to Jaune's floating form and planted one on his lips. In a flash of light, Jaune was back to normal, and Ruby was weaving on her feet overcome with unadulterated joy.

Ozpin: My work is done, here. I bid you all a good day.

Jaune: I'm starting to feel like someone is playing with my life, just to see how ridiculous it can end up.

Pyrrha: (Taking a deep breath) Who would do that? Who could be capable of doing such a thing?

Jaune: (Rubbing the back of his neck) It's just a feeling I'm getting.

Ozpin rounded a corner and froze. His eyes growing concerned as a very intimidating figure stalked forward.

Ozpin: Glynda?

Glynda: The others will hear about this... tampering...

Ozpin: I didn't...

Glynda: You only informed Ms Rose on how to revert Jaune. It will be up to the others IF you remain part of the shipping-pool.

Ozpin: You can't! Lancaster forever!

Glynda: Blasphemy! Arkos shall rule the day!

Renie: (Hiding a distance away.) That's one... seven more to go, and finally this world will be freed from them...

(Okay, another dumb idea that just jumped into my head. Any way, the NEXT post will be another weapon based one. Hope You enjoyed)

[gruesomejack]

Oh, Charlie felt like a dream. Between all of the soft touches from his fingers and the pretty noises falling from that man's lips, Vi felt like he was walking on air. It was the stumbled-through compliment in a pleasured drawl that really sealed it for him. He could love Charlie-- He might already. "Mmhm." The hum was low and coaxing, meeting the man's moans and warning with open arms. That's what he was here for, wasn't it? Vi kept going for with just a touch more intent; he didn't want to ruin the building high by changing anything on him.

Charlie breaking for him sent rapid goosebumps over his skin, leaving him shuddering as he tried to stroke him through. The sound of desperation in his voice and new warmth on his tongue was nothing short of beautiful-- He'd be playing the memory over and over in his mind for the rest of time. He'd called Charlie precious at the start, and his mind hadn't been changed. Both him and this moment would be kept close to his heart where he could hold on tight. And when Vico finally picked up his head, the sentiment was reflected in the warmth in his expression.

Laughing, he checked his mouth for spillage and wiped away the line of drool from his chin on the back of his arm. His cheeks were already red, but they darkened further with Charlie's lips on his knuckles, his smile turning bashful. "You're not too bad yourself, sunshine." He he said and moved to rest his chin on the man's knee. Turning his hand, he took his cheek and drew his thumb along his skin and the line of his beard. Charlie was pink all over. His face, neck, chest, and ears-- "...You're so lovely." He said, his voice soft. "Might even be the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

Eyes dropping, he watched his free hand settle on Charlie's leg, tracing up his thigh. Long fingers hesitated over a patch of ink, rubbing over it with a gentle touch before shifting to get a closer look. Vico's eyes widened a little, and his lashes fluttered. Chin tilting, he drew a long finger over the flower and its petals while he tried to identify the feelings it brought up in him. Red poppy. Remembering life no matter the length and finding peace in death-- That's what he'd told his artist when he'd gotten the bundle on his arm. A sea of black and grey ink with the single pop of red under his bicep, where it was mostly just for him to see. Looking up at Charlie, he met his gaze again and pulled his lip between his teeth.

After what they'd shared that night in his room, he felt like he knew their flowers were matching sets. Vi took in a breath, thinking about each kiss they shared then, each secret and moment of open hearted acceptance. He did love Charlie, didn't he? It happened so fast, but it was too hard to deny the fullness in his chest and the way he ached. Vi leaned over to press a kiss to the petals and slowly shifted himself to sit beside the other man. Linking their hands again, he watched the way their fingers slid together and drew an easy thumb over his knuckles.

"Are you tired of me yet, my darling?" He asked, his lips pulling into a small smile. Although there were still bright playful stars in his eyes, underneath it was pure adoration for his sweet Apollo. Leaning close, he kissed Charlie's cheek and nosed him gently, his eyes closing. "Do you think..." He hesitated, his voice a whisper. "Do you think I could fuck you?"

It'd been three weeks. Nick was tired of him coming home exhausted and heartbroken, but for every shop he crossed off, he was one more closer to finding Charlie-- And this time, he had a good feeling. The last shop he'd been to focused mostly on bodywork, and the owner mentioned a younger guy who occasionally came into do paint work for them. Charlie Reimes was the name he eventually shook out of him. And the description was dead on. Lonely, blonde, a little scruffy-- It had to be him. After getting the address to his setup, there was no reason to wait.

Pulling up outside of the garage, Vi took in a shaky breath and parked. He glanced back towards the road and fought down the anxious bubbling in his stomach, threatening to make him sick. Yanking down the sun visor, he grimaced at himself in the mirror and flipped it back up. He didn't have the time to worry about dark circles. Vico grabbed his cane from the passenger seat and slid out.

If anything was clear, he stuck out. The area was a little outside the more urban parts of the city. It was green and homey and he-- Well. Brushing the wrinkles from the shirt he wore, he peeked at his reflection in the maserati's window and wondered if pink leopard print was too much. He debated for a moment on zippering up his leather jacket and decided it really didn't matter. One hand in his pocket, the other on his cane, he moved toward the open garage doors.

Vi peeked in and hummed, his eyes moving over the tools and parts scattered around the place. After three weeks of bouncing between shop to shop, the metal clutter and thick scent of grease and gas almost felt comfortable. Lifting his cane, he used it to knock on the frame and cleared his throat. "...Anyone around?"

@purposefully-lost

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

Not to bother you, but I've been wondering what would happen next in that Inner Demon! Kuro au. It randomly popped into my head and now im curious lol. I'm not asking for another chapter if you dont want to write it, I just wanna know what u think would happen next! Your ideas are amazing and I love hearing from you! 🧡

Ah, you’re so sweet! Don’t take this too seriously as I haven’t planned any of it and barely edited it LOL but here you go my dear~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright, and what am I supposed to make of that?"

It was hours later, or perhaps just minutes, and Mahiru found himself staring up at the slightly damp, bug riddled ceiling of the cave. He seemed to have fallen to the ground after Kuro had released his grip; maybe he had taken too much blood? The thought froze his muscles in visceral terror and his mind in a bid to remain sane immediately rejected the idea. Either way, he did distinctly remember hearing Kuro say that he belonged to Mahiru now, or something to that effect, and really, who wanted to have a psycho like this?

"What does what means?"

 Kuro's eyes popped in to view over Mahiru's face and he flinched back, bashing his head further on the cold stone. Frowning in irritation, at the pain in his skull, the situation in general, he sighed. "What do you mean you're mine?"

 The bright red that had flooded through Kuro's irises hadn't faded, in fact it seemed to have almost solidified against the former blue, looking like a small pool of swirling metallic paint splashed across the sky. As he watched, entranced, Kuro grinned.

 "Pretty, right?" He blinked slowly, demonstratively. "The red is a nice touch, a very easy way to identify contracts."

 "Contracts?" Mahiru repeated curiously. "What- no, I mean, how did your eyes change color?"

 "This is your blood, Mahiru." Kuro said matter-of-factly. "I didn't expect it to be so beautiful, to be honest. Most blood mixes in like mud. Such a disappointing shade of brown. But this!" Kuro paused, fluttering a hand in front of his face.

"This is gorgeous. We must be compatible."

 "Compatible..." Mahiru echoed, laughing weakly. "Great."

 "You wanted to go home. I'll take you there."

 "Hold on just a second." He pushed out a hand into the scant air between them and Kuro obligingly sat back, his head cocked in innocent puzzlement. "How do you know where I live?"

 "I know everything that is YOU, now."

 "Again, what exactly does that mean?"

 Kuro smiled wickedly, leaning forward suddenly, a blur of vitality in the dank air of the cave. "Take it literally. Anything that means something to you, makes up a part of your identity, it's mine now. And in exchange-" He gestured down at himself, "you get this, anything you could possibly want."

 Startled into silence, Mahiru felt his tongue form the sardonic comment before he could think better of it. "You're quite confident." As soon as the words were out he regretted them, praying that the offense they caused wouldn't be enough to get him ripped into little pieces, but Kuro only laughed, lighter and softer than anything Mahiru had heard before.

 "Of course I'm confident. Do you still not know who I am, Mahiru?" His lips curled up mischievously and he ran a graceful, delicate finger, along Mahiru's jaw. "You're a bit thick, aren't you? Ah well, no matter! You're mine as well now, no turning back." Before Mahiru had the chance to feel offended, he continued. "I knew you were special the second I saw you."

 The conversation was running in circles and it was only a matter of time before Mahiru got motion sickness trying to follow it, so, trying to decide the simplest course of action, he chose, simply, to ignore it. Obviously Kuro was not who he had originally thought, the eyes, the horns, the preternatural speed, no, there was no way to fake that, he was something else entirely, but the question was, what? Mahiru glanced over to find Kuro staring at him raptly and he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped. "Where am I supposed to hide you?"

"Is this just something that people like you can do?" Mahiru asked flatly, staring down at the tiny kitten at his feet. It turned it's wide, luminescent eyes (red like his blood, he thought) up to him and blinked. "I don't know what that means."

 "You really are a demanding little one." Kuro muttered as he phased back into existence, occupying the space the cat had previously. "Of course not all of us can, it is something unique to I and a few others." He paused, seeming to think carefully before speaking. "Eight total."

 There are seven others that can turn into animals?"

 Kuro nodded slowly, almost regretfully. "Yes. Seven. But you don't need to worry about them."

 "I'm not particularly worried." Mahiru sighed. "More like amazed." He watched for a moment as Kuro crept around his room, so cat like in his movements Mahiru almost laughed, and began to poke at several of the books piled haphazardly on his desk. "I do have a question."

 As though he had been in anticipation, Kuro spun on his heel, books and exploration forgotten and a lopsided smile in place. "Yes?"

 "Well, er-" Mahiru hesitated, biting his lip. "Not to be offensive or anything but, you're acting very... different now."

 "Oh?"

 "Uh, yeah..."

 "How so?"

 "Well." Mahiru glanced over, quickly looking away again when he met Kuro's amused gaze. "Well, to be blunt, you're not acting like a total nut job anymore."

 "A nut job." Kuro paused, digesting the phrase for a moment. "I do not know that one either." Four rapid steps had him directly in front of Mahiru again and he grinned. "There's so much you must tell me! But before that, what is the question?"

 "Why?" Mahiu blurted. "Why are you suddenly..." He trailed off and, at a loss for definition, gestured vaguely at Kuro. "Like this?"

 Shrugging casually, Kuro raised a brow. "One would act differently after becoming someone else, no?"

 Putting a finger to his brow in fatigued annoyance, Mahiru groaned. "No w I just know you're fucking with me."

 "Not yet, I assure you." Kuro said brightly, his grin widening impossibly when Mahiru blanched. "What can I say to make you understand?" He crossed his arms, gaze traveling lazily around the room. When his eyes lit upon the chair near the door and he paused. "I took from you and so you must take from me." He glanced over, his eyes shining through the shifting blacks and whites of his hair. "Give and take, tit for tat, you are a part of me and so I must honor that change. Act according to the new blood."

 Mahiru frowned, attempting to construct something realistic or even vaguely understandable from what Kuro had just said. "So, you're different because of me?"

 "Precisely. Perhaps if you were less stubborn I would not be quite so composed?" Kuro laughed, just a shadow of the maniacal, wild abandon from previously and shrugged. "It's an interesting change." He raised his eyes to the ceiling, as though looking up into the sky. "Not unwelcome. Certainly different from what I am used to."

 "What you're used to?" Mahiru prompted him after a moment.

 "Things at the court can be unbalanced." Kuro said slowly. "And so for the most part we are... unpredictable."

 Forgoing asking who exactly "we" was because he was fairly certain he didn't want to know anyway, Mahiru frowned darkly, remembering the shattered stalls and engulfing flames he had so barely escaped earlier."You seemed like a psycho."

 Kuro laughed happily. "That sounds like a compliment!"

 "It's not." Mahiru said flatly. "Psycho is bad." He too glanced around the small room quickly, taking in the limited space and lack of guest furniture. "So now what? I accept that you are some kind of- of- mythical creature. But I do not accept that I am stuck with you."

 "Whether you accept or not is of no consequence." Kuro sang, reaching out and plucking a sweater from where it lay draped over the foot of the bed. "We have a contract." He began to twist it back and forth, inspecting it from every angle, eyes wide in puzzlement.

 "About that. I didn't agree to any contract. So I don't really think it's legally binding." Mahiru crossed his arms, attempting his best impersonation of authority.

 Kuro shrugged, pulling the sweater over his head, horns turning to a bright translucent fog for a moment to allow for the collar to pass over them, and smiled, something quick and genuine, and Mahiru felt his heart skip a beat. "Unfortunate for you then that the fae do not care for legality."

It was an hour later, Mahiru standing in front of the cupboard contemplating it's bare shelving, that he finally admitted to himself that he was not the best at entertaining visitors. Not even a spare loaf of bread. He slammed the door shut in frustration and glanced into the living room, finding Kuri still curled up on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. Mahiru had turned it on in desperation about forty minutes ago and Kuro had not moved since. It was currently airing some strange episodic gum commercial but judging by Kuro's expression you would have thought it was a documentary of the end of the world.

 "How do they do this?" Kuro asked suddenly and Mahiru turned fully, watching as he pointed to the screen upon which was a helicopter view of the city.

 "Do what?"

 "Record this? Is that what you called it? It's so detailed!"

 Mahiru wandered closer, unable to ignore the impulse and peered over Kuro's shoulder. "You said you were some magical being but you've never seen a TV? Where have you been all this time?"

 "In the woods, mostly." Kuro answered casually. "It seems I should have ventured farther into town sooner!"

 Briefly imagining the utter devastation Kuro would have wrought unchecked had he indeed entered the heart of the town Mahiru held back a shiver and shook his head. "No. No way. You are way too much trouble."

 "It is not I that wishes for such destruction." Kuro said, flicking his sharp gaze up to Mahiru. "I only embody what you desire."

 "You keep saying that." Mahiru muttered, looking away in discomfort. "Listen. Do you need food? Or..." He trailed off in embarrassment, completely gobsmacked that the next words were about to leave his mouth. "Or are you actually a vampire?"

 "Vampire." Kuro rolled the word around for a moment and shrugged. "Call me what you will. You humans have always had such curious need to name everything. Regardless, it will not change that I simply am."

 Mahiru sighed. He really was getting so tired of all this mystical bullshit. "So then, did you want to get dinner?"

 Kuro froze, his shoulders going taut beneath the blanket he had huddled up in. "Dinner?" His eyes were darting from side to side as though in worry, though there was nothing but an innocuous soap opera preview on.

 "Yeah? You know, we go somewhere and get food? I honestly hate the idea of bringing you in public, but I don't have anything here." Mahiru admitted, frowning. "You have to behave."

 "Ah, I see." Kuro turned, fixing Mahiru with a strange look. "You need to eat then?"

 "I take it, based on this conversation that you don't actually require food." Mahiru muttered sarcastically. "But yes, I'm hungry."

 "Very well. Let's go." Kuro stood in one quick move, the blanket falling from his shoulders and to the couch and Mahiru flinched back a step, having completely forgotten just how tall Kuro really was. At his jerking retreat, Kuro raised a brow and a mocking smile flew across his face. "Do you truly find me so frightening?"

 An immediate affirmation withered on Mahiru's tongue as he studied Kuro's expression. It was neutral and empty but somewhere, deep beneath the veneer of indifference, he thought he could see a wiggling of disappointment. He didn't know what possessed him to do what he did, or even why he would care to do so in the first place but he found himself snorting and reaching out to wrap his hand around Kuro's wrist, tugging him roughly around the back of the couch and towards the kitchen. "Of course not, idiot. What's scary about you?"

[duraxxor]

Prelude of Myotis - Part 1 Benjamin Lewinters

Three months had passed since Duraxxor's reawakening and still not many knew of his existence aside from a select few. Though the Isle was a well-suited shelter for his needs, he and what few cohorts he had made the decision to move from it's sanctuary to forge one of their own. The location to this day remains a mystery despite the necessity of it for his inner circle. However, this did not cease his plots and contacts outside of the his grand scheme to locate and eradicate The Beast and his accomplices. One of his most loyal that he had no seen since the Siege of Undercity, Benjamin Lewinters, had kept tabs on the status of his children all for the sake of security and monitoring the movements of both Daevara blood and the opposition. But despite the Forsaken's use, the Faceless needed to accomplish having more eyes than what he possessed in order to accomplish this. And indeed, there are others that the Lord hadn't come in contact with for some time. Perhaps it was time to make a few changes. . .

Arcane magics sizzled and popped with the sudden appearance of a cloaked figure that materialized. Within the grasp of his left hand contained a wooden cane that appeared to keep the hunched individual fully supported even as he simply stood in the midst of a wooded hill. A faint scent of decay clung to the air that was only overwhelmed by nature's grasp on the location. A wild gryphon bellowed out as the individual disturbed his roost, spooking him to flee the location. " Gah. . .  I've really got to work on that teleportation... " The man's voice spoke between the guttural cough he possessed. Dimmed eyes peered from beneath the hood further up the hill to an cavern carved out from time's erosion. The exposed mandible clattered from the clenching of his skeletal jawline. Soon after, he would simply grunt before laughing about his own inner thoughts. " Daevara, you better not call me all the way out here just to screw around. " Benjamin slowly began to limp up the elevated terrain, cursing under his breath as a bone in his hip mimicked the echo of a tree limb snapping in twine.

Eventually the Forsaken made entry way into the denizens of this hideaway. He took three steps inward before coming to a complete pause, seeming to think for a few moments. " Oh. I almost forgot. . . " With a flick of his wrist, the chaotic flow of violet magics popped, conjuring a false landslide upon the caves entrance. " I wouldn't want any innocent Wildhammers or Whatever-tribe-those-trolls-are to wonder in here. " The sarcastic tone of his voice was as thick as the oxygen within the smothered confines of this path. A path which Lewinters willingly continued to tread down, noticing the damp darkness was growing to a point where he was consumed by the abyss. Yet, the man continued to click that wooden cane across the stone form each and every two second interval. A single minute passed and suddenly the clattered came to a halt. Only the caress of the cavern's draft created a soft wail through any whose eardrums took in the sound. Five consecutive droplets dribbled upon the right side of the Forsaken before he finally spoke out. " Alright, Faceless, I know you are here. You are always here before I am. " 

Suddenly, laughter billowed from the shadows and the fires of three rusted lanterns pulled the abyssal curtain away from the majority of this single area. " An organized man until the end, Mister Lewinters. Every time we meet, it always feels as if it starts with you painfully acknowledging my humors. " While the jawline gave way to a fiendish smile, it was clear that Duraxxor bore a masque that veiled both eyes from the Forsaken's own hidden gaze. The Faceless sat upon an eroded stone that gave appearance to that of a king's throne. The burdens of the dimly lit room also created a chittering cacophony from above, likely the avian minions of the devil himself. 

" Just like it seems every time this happens, you practically die or put yourself in a situation where you very well come close. . . Do you always have to wear a mask? " Benjamin grunted with displeasure as he tapped his cane three times. " Just get to the point, it's bad enough that the Banshee Queen is watching everything. You are not the only one with eyes everywhere. " 

" Everywhere? Hardly. Which is why I have summoned you yet again. " The Faceless tilted his head, continued to hold onto his comical expression with utmost care. " I feel as though I'm going to need more than I possess. While I have been busy grabbing bits and pieces here and there, it simply isn't enough. Real quick though, what is the status of the situation? " The talons of his right hand traced circles as if the representation of a continuous cycle was being presented. 

Another grumble was offered before Lewinters gave his answer to the masked man. " The children do well. Everything appears to be as you expected. Your father shows no signs of ill intent towards them and mostly keeps to himself. I have yet to find any traces of Telondra. Here's to hoping she burned down in that little fiasco. " The forsaken was interrupted by the sudden need to cough, sputtering ichor onto the floor in the process. " Hrngh. . . As I was saying. . . We have not seen your adversary or the witch in anyway thus far. However. . . " The Forsaken proceeded to pull some mysterious photograph from his sleeve, allowing it to drift towards the Faceless. The catch was made with ease as he appeared to be staring at it. " A friend of mine noticed that a Ren'dorei possessed quite the familiar marking on the back of his neck. It's very similar to the seal your family possesses. " 

" And where is this man in the picture at now? " Duraxxor asked with a hint of wonder and irritation all bundled up into his voice. 

" Butchered on the battlefield. Seems he thought he would try his hand with one of the Alliance expeditions for Azerite on one of the many uncharted isles. " Benjamin's voice grew hoarse in a brief moment as he continued on. " My cohort spoke of combat against this particular specimen. She claimed that unlike the other of his breed, this one appeared to weave the void in a strange, bestial manner. Perhaps a coincidence? " 

Silence descended upon the room as the two men stared upon one another. Once more three droplets trickled across the floor before speech disturbed the ambience. " I don't waste time with coincidences. I appreciate this little piece of information as a matter of fact. This actually has potential to help us identify His agents. " Duraxxor ascended from atop his throne and began to step closer to his ally with the pictorial clue in his hand. The stride in his step possessed confidence and a powerful pressure within it. Even the bone within the Forsaken cautiously tensed as he made his approach. " You continue to not disappoint, old friend. But I need you to do one last thing for me before I give you the fortune you desire. " The photograph slipped from one predatory claw to the boney hands of the living corpse. Benjamin rather than complaining aloud awaited this final task to be given. " . . . I need you to beseech Deathcleave. " 

It was at that point that Benjamin sighed with heavy discontent. " You mean that Orca of an Orc?. . " 

" Yessss. I mean one of the finest blacksmiths I have ever witnessed. I mean one of the greatest alliances I have ever forged in undeath in the beginning. I mean Dathuro Deathcleave. " Duraxxor's leathery left was placed delicately on his bound hip. The chill in the air signified the desire for this individual to be present and in his arsenal. All eyes were on the Forsaken from below and above. Not even Benjamin's irritation could hope to counter such a menacing sight that an eyeless individual possessed. " Do this, and I will give you everything you need. " 

The bone of his fingertips creaked and dug directly into the woodwork of his supporting cane. A light growl emanated from his throat before arcane magics enveloped the sockets of his eyes. " Fine. I may not like it but I know that I would rather do this than watch this damnable war break out. You had best make the vessel a well-made one. I will see to Deathcleave's return immediately. " " Excellent. " The word laced with content pleasure as he bore the grin of murder itself. " Look to Icecrown and return with him willingly. I will rendezvous with you to the north of Stormsong Valley with your reward. " Backwards steps were taken as the cascade of white radiated with crimson-imbued tendrils. The shadows in the back slowly enveloping him as a faint fit of laughter rippled across the cavern. The chittering, night wings flocked immediately wondered as a flock around and away from the Forsaken. 

Once more, the Forsaken sighed at the dramatics of this meeting despite Benjamin never seeming to care for the flashy appearances or the fear tactics that Dura implemented. But more importantly, it was the face that resembled a angered basset hound that made his discontent clear. " Orcs. It had to be fuckin' orcs. . . " A snap of his fingers was immediately given, fizzling an intangible veil across the surface of the Forsaken, creating an field of invisibility so that he could make his grand escape.

[dialux]

1) I am so on board for the new "marriage of convenience" fic, awesome work as always, and 2) "huddling for warmth" pre-jonsa? I've alway had this image of ten sitting (snuggling) together in one of the tents, several days before the battle of the bastards, and desperately want someone to tell the story behind it.

OOOH let’s try to turn that image into words, can we? 

(Also, nonny, funny story: I always thought the “share body heat” trope was absolute bogus and just fandom’s wishes, but turns out that it isn’t, and I AM SHOOK.)

[Sansa’s cold. Jon does his best to help. They never talk about it afterwards.]

...

Sansa’s cold.

Not so cold that she won’t survive, she tells herself. And it isn’t as if she has anyone to complain with- Sansa knows what they think of her, knows it well. Lannister, Stone, Bolton; it’s a miracle the Stark underneath hasn’t crumpled already, broken from the weight of her masks and griefs. The Northerners distrust her for her past, and the wildlings distrust her for what she represents, and in the end all Sansa has is herself, as it’s always been.

But, really, in the end, it all boils down to the fact that they just don’t like her.

So she keeps herself calm, unflappable, even in the fact of their utter contempt. Sansa’s suffered to get here. She won’t let herself falter now. She won’t complain, because she’s a Stark and a Northerner and she’ll show these thrice-damned people that if it kills her.

And yet- there’s a difference between facing off against lords’ disdain and being soaked to the bone in the only good clothes you have. The puddle she slipped and fell into was accidental; nobody had seen her fall, and she’d brushed herself off easily. The problem was in the tear of the furs which opened it up to the thinner layers below, and in the snowfall that came on later- they couldn’t find a proper place to camp for a few hours, and by that time her clothes almost froze solid.

Another violent shudder ripples through her, but she only clenches her jaw firmly and draws her hands closer to her torso.

She can’t call for more wood. Tormund was complaining to Jon just a few hours ago of the shortage in firewood; Sansa already has a private tent and a proper fire, which most of the wildlings don’t. Asking for more feels utterly selfish.

Just a few minutes, she thinks, eyes drifting shut under a bloom of warmth in her gut. I’ll take the furs off in a few minutes, and…

She’s asleep, or nearly there, when she hears the rustle of cloth outside her tent. Sansa flinches, jerking upright, and Jon enters.

“The Mormont’s have offered some more wood,” he says, stripping off his gloves as he strides in, heading to the basin of water. “I’m sure it’s just because they want us to leave, but it’ll ease some-” he turns, and Sansa isn’t sure of what he sees on her face but it must alarm him, for he moves towards her quickly, brows furrowing.

“Sansa?” He says. Then, when she lolls her head back to look at him: “What in the name of-”

Jon’s voice fades into a sort of dull murmuring, too soft for her to identify. She feels his hand hover over her furs, then flatten over her heart, resting over the damp cloth. He swears, loudly, fluently.

“When did this happen?” He asks. “Sansa. When did your clothes get so wet?”

“S-snow,” she manages to reply, dredging up the thought through a mind that feels slow and thick as molasses. “St-st-storm.”

“It’s been snowing for hours,” he snaps. “You couldn’t have said something?” He sighs, though, and steps away briefly before returning. Sansa feels him brush her shoulder, impossibly lightly. “Do you trust me?”

Sansa’s tired. She’s tired and cold and she can’t even find the energy in herself to shiver. She looks up at him, at her bastard brother whom she’s never much liked but always loved- she looks at him, and she wonders, How can I not?

“Yes,” she says, and the syllable drops between them like a stone. 

Jon nods; one of his hands come up to cup her face, all sword-callused and warm, and the other does some fumbling things with the clasps along her furs. Sansa feels weightless, drifting along on a wave of syrupy sweetness, when something cold and sharp touches the inside of her elbow.

The abrupt jerk of her body startles Jon, but he soothes her, one hand cupping her cheek firmly and the other rubbing concentric circles along her palm.

“We need to get these clothes off you,” he tells her lowly. “You’ll freeze, Sansa, if we don’t. I know you’re probably not hearing me now, but…” his voice trails off again, but this time she’s more aware of the rustle of cloth falling off her, the rasp of the knife against her cloth. 

Ramsay had, once, held a knife to her eyes. He’d taunted her with it, terrified her. Jon’s just as close as Ramsay ever was; but Sansa can’t feel even a drop of the terror that had surged through her only months previous.

When her clothes are off, Jon draws away.

Her eyes flicker open, tracking him lazily: Jon’s hesitating, and Sansa doesn’t know why. Then he reaches up to his neck and undoes the clasp, draping his fur over her shoulders. 

“Sansa,” he says, leaning down and gripping her chin. “Sansa, listen to me: the wildlings know how to treat this kind of cold. They say-” he swallows, throat rolling, almost nervously; he looks like he’d once done in the godswood, she thinks suddenly, dared by Theon to swim in the black pool and afraid but still determined to measure up- then the memory fades, replaced by the tent and flickering shadows that are her homes now. There’s a faint warmth in her chest at the thought, though the rest of her is still comfortably numb. “-they say the quickest way to fix this is to- to touch each other. To be lying next to each other. To share the warmth of my body with yours.”

For a moment, Sansa wonders why he’s telling her all this; then she realizes: Jon can see the scars that Ramsay had left her, along her arms and belly and legs. The scars she’s hidden from the world for so long- Jon can see them, now, he has seen them, and though there’s anger and bitterness and grief in his eyes there isn’t anything resembling pity.

She nods, and he takes that as some sort of permission- Jon picks her up and takes her to the cot set up not a few feet away, and steps away. 

Sansa curls further against the wool of the bed, turned away from him. The blankets and Jon’s furs have started little pinpricks of heat along her chest and belly, and it’s as painful as the pins-and-needles sensation that comes with trying to walk on a foot that’s fallen asleep. 

And then he approaches, pushing her further on the bed so he can have some space with her, and wraps his arms around her- his bare chest to her back, broader shoulders hunching over her slighter frame, one arm slipping beneath her body to curl back over her waist and the other resting a handspan above the swell of her breasts. 

Briefly, she thinks on what Robb would have said to see his sister and brother in such an embrace; on her father- their father- and her mother. But then, they’re all dead, gone, vanished. 

All Sansa has is this man, this brother who died and then came back- and in his arms, she feels the pain of her family’s destruction lessen, just the tiniest bit.

They fall asleep like that, or at least Sansa does. 

When she wakes the next morning, Jon isn’t in her tent. She’s warm, though, and the blankets are pulled up to her chin- Sansa picks herself up, reaching for her clothes. Jon was thoughtful enough to leave them in front of the fire to better dry.

She winces, inwardly, when her bones click like Old Nan’s used to- she’d always thought that disgusting, and now it’s happening to her. But then again, she’s alive, and that hadn’t been entirely guaranteed for a good portion of the previous night.

The normal camp rush is ongoing; Sansa picks her way through them, heading towards the commander’s tent where Jon will be with Ser Davos and Tormund, struggling to make a paltry army thrice as big as it’s actual size.

She enters, and they all pause when she does; it’s for a spectrum of reasons- she knows that much- distrust from Tormund, disquiet from Davos, and worry from Jon. The reason varies, but the result very little.

Sansa draws her furs together, inhales, and steps further in.

“You were saying, Ser Davos?” She asks, taking her usual position in the corner. 

They just don’t like you, she thinks, and the thought is weary. One day, Sansa will just crumble under the weight of their expectations.

But when she skims the people’s faces, trying to understand the shift in dynamics that have taken place over the hours she’s been absent, she realizes that Jon is watching her instead of listening- there’s worry plastered all over his face, obvious as a painted mask.

Davos continues to talk. Jon doesn’t pay attention to him- he tilts his head, just a little, to the side. 

Sansa never knew him very well at all. There are times when her knowledge of Jon’s emotions are on par with that of a rock’s. But she knows exactly what he means with that single look: are you alright?

Her muscles ache; she feels foolish; she’s tired, a pillar that’s slowly being worn down by everyone’s anger and hatred. Sansa dredges up a smile for Jon and nods, once.

One day, she thinks, she’ll crumble. One day, she’ll be all alone.

But that day is not today, and so long as she has her brother here, Sansa will not let herself be anything less than her blood.