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[tothelasthoursofmylife]

No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love No more dreaming like a girl, so in love with the wrong world

— Blinding, Florence and the Machine

Happy 7th Anniversary! (+ 3 months...)

Look who finally managed to finish this drawing? Me! Super late but done at last. I had this idea since last summer and thought it would be a good idea for an anniversary drawing. I tried to realise it to the best of my meagre ability^^’ and it didn’t come out too shabby at least.

(The scythe is meant to go through Cedric’s head btw, specifically through his ears... I just messed up there.)

[kykyonthemoon]

Drizzle at Midnight

When you miss his twenty-seventh birthday.

── .✦ Zayne x Female Reader|MC

── .✦ Tags: angst, emotional hurt, hurt/comfort, angst with a better ending, break up & post-break up

── .✦ Word count: 1k3

── .✦ Requested by bon.

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

You entered Linkon City territory just as the clock on the panel displayed four round zero digits. The cool air combined with the scent of passing rain signaled the arrival of autumn. Your shadow lingered on the road all by itself. In solitude.

Your steps were rushed from the minute you exited the train station. On the deserted street there was still a shop open. Your favorite bakery. As soon as your shadow became apparent, the owner delivered you a properly wrapped box. 

“Here you go, Miss Hunter. Lucky you, our shop's about to close.”

“I'm so sorry that my order came so late at this hour.” You spoke while attempting to catch your breath. 

The bakery owner smiled at you. "Not an issue at all. We've only just started cleaning up. Last time you called to cancel the order, I was concerned that something might happen between the two of you. But today when you called again for this cake, I assumed that everything was okay.”

You clasped the box in your palm, unsure what to say for a minute. You simply nodded and smiled faintly. The bakery owner noticed that the Hunter uniform on your body had not yet been changed and realized you were too busy to be certain that you would be able to return on time to pick up the cake. After that, you gladly bid farewell to the owner and continued walking along the desolate road ahead.

Your steps slowed as you moved further away from the bakery. The shop owner knew you and the person whose cake was ordered for that day. Just the previous month, you had spent hours there asking them for advice on cake selection, decorations and other necessary things. All for this special day. But one night, the bakery received a call to cancel this specific order. You thought you would no longer need this cake. But when your mission was over and you were on the train back to Linkon, you suddenly wanted it back.

You had called that very afternoon, hoping the bakery could still make it in time. You could pay more if necessary, but the owner insisted that they still kept my order. Thinking about it, the bakery was a place so familiar to you and that person; the shop owner had also witnessed happy moments of both of you. They preserved your previous purchase because they sincerely thought you would come pick up this cake and personally deliver it to the person you loved.

Finally, you showed up. Unlike what the shopkeeper expected, you ordered this cake just for yourself.

Your footsteps halted in front of a large building. You sat down on the stairs, placed the cake box on your lap, and gazed into the distance. One side of Akso Hospital was visible in front of you. You consciously counted the number of windows that were both still illuminated and entirely dark. You stopped by his window.

The office was still lit. You smiled. Your hands trembled as you removed the ribbon from the box. Once it opened, there was a blue and white cake inside, crowned with exquisite macarons and a glistening snowflake on top. It was just how you imagined when you ordered the cake.

You also imagined his reaction when he unexpectedly spotted you at the hospital, after his shift ended. His eyes would brighten up, even before he realized the cake in your hand was for him. You would sing the happy birthday song, then urge him to close his eyes and make a wish. Most likely he would claim that he did not need to wish, because what he desired most was right in front of him. 

You had envisioned that scene so many times. Each time, you would add a small little detail; his smile, the way you stood on tiptoe when you kissed his cheek, the way he held your hand when you both returned home... But it all shattered, into thousands of pieces of ice that cut into your heart. Like all beautiful dreams that come to an end, the pain of waking up to the discovery that you have lost everything was too much for you.

Let us stop... You could not forget those words coming out of your mouth. The fault was neither his nor yours, it was just that you two no longer share the same destination. The road was divided into two directions. Looking back, you realized that he was no longer there waiting for you.

You had been away from him for a fortnight. You erased an abundance of memories about him from your phone, but his birthday reminder still existed. You turned on the screen, his account was still offline. The last time he had sent you a text message was to remind you to wear socks before going to bed. It was already cold. He was no longer by your side to take care of you like a baby. Was it because of your childish behavior that burned him out? You knew too well that he respected every decision you made, including the one that ended this relationship. Yet, honestly, you wished he would hold you tight at that time. Did he let you go because he understood that you both needed space then?

You missed him. So much. You had left Linkon and threw yourself headfirst into the mission just to temporarily forget the void he left in your heart. But the further you stayed away from him, the more you felt that air had left your lungs. You could not think about anything else but him, the surprise birthday party you had prepared in advance for him. Everything happened so fast—the argument, the goodbye... All was whirling around in your head, and the only thing you could cling onto were memories.

The past cannot be altered. You could not turn back and stop yourself from saying those stupid words. You could only wish him the best on his own path.

You turned on the lighter and lit the candles. Twenty-seven candles on the cake shimmered in the area where you sat. Your lips released a tune, your whole body swaying back and forth to the rhythm. When the song ended, the window in the front office went dark. Lights off. You blew out the candles.

“Do you want to do something special on your birthday, Doctor Zayne?”

“Every moment with you is special to me.”

“You must have eaten a lot of mint candies recently! No surprise your words are so sweet! But I still want to do something for you so that you'll never forget that day.”

“Weren't you supposed to go on a mission far away on that day? You won't try to escape back here for me, will you?"

“I am Linkon's top Hunter! I'll finish soon and come back to you, okay?"

“All right. I'll wait for you."

Twenty-seven candles went out. Tears fell from your eyes. Still, you smiled at Akso Hospital. 

“Happy birthday to you, Doctor Zayne.”

You burst into tears. Your entire body trembled so badly that the cake on your lap nearly tumbled over. You had no idea how long you sat there. The temperature grew cold, and drizzle began to fall. You raised your face to the heavens. 

There were footsteps approaching and halting in front of you. An umbrella appeared to shield the rain over your head, and that dearest face you knew emerged.

You brushed the tears away from your cheeks. Was it a dream? Your lips parted, trembling:

“Doctor Zayne?…”

He was silent. Zayne appeared astonished to see you here and unsure what to say.

“You… What are you doing here?” 

Zayne remained silent for a little longer. His gaze locked on you, then down at the cake in your lap. As if he had realized something, he formed a gentle smile.

“I'm waiting for you.”

[inbarfink]

Okay, you know what, let's talk a little bit more about Simon Petrikov's ears

I already made a silly little post pointing out how the Winter King is drawn with visible ears, while Mainverse Simon is always drawn without them.

And I've gotten a few replies on that post saying that it's probably just a difference in hairstyle. Y'know, the Winter King tacks his hair behind his ears, Simon doesn't. But... I don't think that works if you look at Simon's design. I mean, it does seem to be the case if you look at this one screenshot I here - but usually....

Simon Petrikov's little glasses are very helpful here, because they literally form a line with where his ears should be, and you can see that his hair typically ends just above that point and no matter how much he turns his head there are no ears.

In a back shot you can even see where his glasses handle end, and there's no ears anywhere to actually hold them.

(this is also true when he's Ice King btw)

It's kind of a Whole Thing. The Adventure Time artstyle has some general guidelines of how to draw humanoids' face, but it's fully willing to break them to make someone more goofy and distinctive. Like, some characters having noses or more detailed eyes or even lips. And ears are already kind of a Weird Subject considering how many AT characters wear hair/hats in a way that hides their ears anyways.

Princess Bubblegum is another earless characters, but it's actually pretty hard to notice because most of her hairstyle obscure her Perfectly Spherical Head.

But she's like, Made of Gum, so it's less Weird for her to be earless compared to Simon Petrikov who's meant to be a Perfectly Normal Human Man.

(although Prince Gumball somehow does have ears. Even when he IS in his Magic Candy Form)

(Which is like... lowkey Weird. But still, Magic Candy People's physiologically can be whatever)

Meanwhile, ears IS something pretty consistently drawn for human Adventure Time characters. So it is pretty weird Simon doesn't seem to have them. It's probably a matter of, like, Simon being one of the first not-Finn Human characters added to Adventure Time and with the aforementioned matter of most characters not having their ears/lack of ears visible either way they weren't really sure of how Humans should look in the AT style at that point.

Or maybe they wanted to keep it consistent with Ice King's "Loyalty to the King" look and decided that a Magic Evil Crown that makes your ears fall off is a step too far. Or maybe having his ears hidden by his hair is what was originally intended in his design, but was misinterpreted as being straight-up earless so consistently by the shortboarders and animators it eventually just became his canon look.

But I think also... characters having certain non-typical facial features on Adventure Time is generally an indication that they're particularly prominent. So characters who are drawn with noses generally have large noses. The smaller a facial feature is, the more likely it is to get simplified into nothing.

Therefore, looking at it from an in-universe perspective, I think the most logical conclusion is that Simon Petrikov is not straight-up literally earless - he just has weird freakishly-small ears

And the Winter King was so insecure about them he literally enlarged them with magic.

[waywardxrhea]

Part of Your World - George Weasley

Chapter 13

pairing: George Weasley x fem!Muggle!reader

installment list / previous chapter / next chapter

word count: 1,196

content: long awaited reunions, mentions of death, tears, heavy emotions, fluff 🥰

A certain warmth filled the Burrow that only Christmastime could bring out, but even so, as you stepped foot into the sitting area of the home, you couldn’t help but shudder when you remembered what happened last time you were there. Your mind flashed back to the searing pain that scorched your body, but you tried to shake the thoughts away and focus on your immediate environment. So, as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, you smelled the delicious scent of baking apple pie and the tension left your shoulders as the air left your lungs once more. 

When you opened your eyes and looked around again, you saw Mrs. Weasley and made eye contact, giving a small wave in greeting. “Oh it’s so good to see you dear!” she cried as she made her way over and embraced you in a way only a mother could, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. 

“It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley,” you replied, your voice nearly breaking as you relaxed into the motherly hug. 

“Oh, no need to be so formal! You’re going to be married to George soon enough, Molly is just fine my dear!” she said as she pulled away, her hands on your shoulders as she took you in for the first time in sixteen months. “Did New York treat you well?”

“It certainly did! I learned a lot! Got one of my dream musical roles, wrote and directed a play, and I got noticed by Broadway and West End recruiters! We may not have ended up there for the best of reasons, but I gained a lot out of it,” you detailed with a broad smile on your lips. 

After asking George to get the pair of you a spot on one of the couches before they were taken by the many guests starting to arrive, you offered your heartfelt condolences to Molly for Fred’s passing, earning a tearful embrace in return as you both shed a few tears in Fred’s memory. Of course without Fred’s boisterous presence, there was a glaringly obvious hole in his absence, but the sheer amount of guests invited over to the Burrow attempted to fill in. 

Along with the main Weasley family members and their spouses, the Grangers and your parents joined the celebration this year! Arthur sat in awed silence as he listened to your dad and Mr. Granger talk about dentistry of all things while your mum and Mrs. Granger did what they could to help Molly in the kitchen, both women admiring not only Molly’s cooking skills, but her magical prowess as well. 

While you sat on one of the couches cuddled up to George’s side, listening to Charlie recall one of his many tales working at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, the door to the Burrow opened with a loud clatter. The harsh and cold wind had caught it as someone entered the home. Many heads turned to see who had entered and a slightly stunned silence filled the room as their eyes were met with the sight of Percy. You could tell that you weren't the only one shocked to see him for the holiday. 

“Oh Perce!” Molly cried as she made her way from the kitchen to embrace her son. 

“Happy Christmas, Mum,” he said, his voice muffled in her hair  as he somewhat awkwardly embraced her, the show of affection still not his strong suit despite his attempts to reconcile with his family since the war ended. 

“It’s good to see you, my boy!” Arthur called out as he stood to embrace his son as well. 

Despite the warm welcomes from Molly and Arthur indicating that Percy had been on the path to forgiveness in the last seven months, you visibly tensed when you saw him, the memories of your last Christmas here jumping to the forefront of your mind. George felt the tension in your muscles and began rubbing soothing patterns into your arm to calm you before telling you in a quiet voice, “I know you two got off to a rocky start, but can you try to give him a chance?” He paused for a moment before adding, “He’s been trying to do better since… He was there when Fred…” George cleared his throat when his voice broke, finishing quickly with, “‘Think he feels guilty, so he’s been real close with me. It’s been…nice actually.”

“Oh George,” you whispered, caressing his cheek before quickly kissing him. You gently wiped the tears away from his cheeks before nodding and saying, “I’ll give him another chance.”

“Thank you. That kind heart of yours is what I fell in love with,” George told you as the pair of you stood up and he guided you over to where his older brother stood, finally being released from Molly’s fussing over his travelling cloak. George cleared his throat to get Percy’s attention before saying, “Perce, I think it’s time you properly met my fiancee.” He pulled you close and told his brother your name, adding, “-and yes she’s a Muggle.”

Percy rolled his eyes good naturedly as he told George, “I have no qualms with that now that the two of you are engaged. Kingsley’s been making some progressive changes at the Ministry as you know.” He turned his attention toward you now, reaching out his hand for you to shake as he said, “I look forward to getting to know you throughout the evening.”

George couldn’t help his snort of a laugh at the words, telling his brother, “That has got to be the stiffest greeting I’ve ever heard.” At the sound of George’s laugh though, you couldn’t help but join in, giggling as you shook Percy’s hand, which in turn caused the notoriously serious man to crack a smile. 

The evening went on without a hitch. The meal was unsurprisingly stupendous, there was never a quiet moment as the house buzzed with the excitement of the holiday, and the Muggles introduced the White Elephant gift exchange.  This caused copious amounts of laughter, especially when a Muggle got a magical gift or vice versa. At the end of the gift exchange, George ended up with a blanket that looked like a tortilla, courtesy of your mum, and you ended up with a set of magic hair chalk from Ginny that changed colour with your mood. 

So, as the evening wound to a close and your hair chalk turned pink as you snuggled into George’s side, you felt like a new leaf had been turned over. Sure, there had been a lot of heartbreak over the last few weeks since New York, but you felt truly happy as you held your fiance close. When the memory charm Arthur had cast on you was in effect, you had always felt like there was a piece of you that was missing, and originally you attributed that to the fact that you had lost some sense of innocence with Evan’s betrayal. Now, you knew that the missing piece was George. And that piece that fell back into place when you found yourself back in his arms, and finally felt whole again. 

a/n: this one is short and sweet so i may upload another tomorrow! (also because my school was having “IT issues” for a few weeks and now we have to cram five weeks worth of coursework into three weeks so i don’t know how much online time i’ll have the next few weeks 😅) [or i may utilize the queue feature...]

as always, likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3

taglist: @v1ckycheesue @superduckmilkshake @5starl1ght

dividers as always by @firefly-graphics

[rebelsofshield]

Some scattered Acolyte theories (spoilers for episode five)

The use of Kylo Ren's motif to accompany Qimir has to be intentional. It's one of the few themes from any of the films to make an appearance in the show so far and pairing it so clearly with Qimir at the episode's close must be doing more than simply recycling a familiar musical cue. From what we've seen, Qimir doesn't seem to have much in common with Kylo/Ben as a character. While Kylo Ren was a villain defined by his conflict and the weight of family legacy, Qimir is a self-declared nobody who comfortably inhabits his Dark Side beliefs.

So what if it's instead a callback to the Knights of Ren as a group? The exact origins of the Knights has yet to be established but we know from Marvel's Star Wars comics that they are an independent group of Dark Siders that have existed for quite sometime, possibly even further back than the events depicted in the Prequel Trilogy. While they would eventually morph into their own organization with separate ideologies and goals than the Sith, the musical callback alongside the visual similarities between Qimir's aesthetic design and Ren and his followers makes me believe that The Acolyte could be showcasing us the creation of the Knights as a purposeful offshoot of the Sith. It would be a fascinating storytelling detail if the Knights of Ren themselves began as an intentional red herring planted by the Sith to prevent discovery by the Jedi. One of the biggest questions hanging over The Acolyte is how exactly the Jedi missed this opportunity to discover the Sith over a hundred years before Palpatine executes their millennia long revenge scheme. While we already know that bureaucracy, ignorance, and fear of political scandal are factors at play here, the creation of the Knights as a scapegoat and smokescreen by the Sith feels like another element that's in play.

Hell, it even makes Ki-Adi Mundi's skepticism of Qui-Gon's claims in The Phantom Menace make more sense. What reason would he have to believe that the attacker Qui-Gon encountered on Tatooine was a Sith when a similar threat a century earlier ended up just being a member of a gang troublesome Dark Side offshoots. A problem, sure, but not the return of the Jedi's dreaded nemesis.

I spent much of the first few episodes of this show convinced that Sol was a fundamentally kindhearted man who was a witness to a terrible mistake the Jedi made on Brendok. Sol's tenderness towards Osha both in the past and present timelines of The Acolyte feels genuine and I'm not inclined to think that he's a devious enough liar to completely fake care and compassion for over a decade. I am, however, coming to wonder if Sol is perhaps hiding much more than we may think and might be one of the guiltiest parties at work here.

Much of this comes down to Qimir's inference that Sol did something to Osha. This feels like a much more pointed and personal accusation than Sol simply being present for the disaster on Brendok. Sol did something to Osha specifically.

It's obvious from how "Destiny" is directed that we are not getting the entirety of the story. Osha's perspective is shown and the events are confusing and chaotic. The Acolyte goes out of its way to make sure we barely see Mae or Mother Aniseya's experiences of that fateful night and I had assumed that we were dealing with a Rashomon set up that would reveal the truth after seeing different vantage points. But now, I'm beginning to doubt that what we even got from Osha is truthful. Even before she blacks out and wakes up aboard the Jedi's ship, there's a lot about what's depicted in "Destiny" that just doesn't make sense. A small fire spreads faster and quicker than it ought too. The witches all appear dead with no visible wounds. Sol's appearance is too sudden. Too much doesn't add up.

Basically, I'm starting to wonder if Sol used the Force to erase or twist certain memories in Osha's mind to cover up the violence on Brendok. Maybe the conflict between the Jedi and Aniseya's coven started out as a peaceful confrontation that escalated into violence through mistake and misunderstanding, but perhaps Sol is so concerned about the truth getting out that he would go as far to alter the mind of a child to keep his secrets. I've always felt that part of Sol's devotion to Osha comes from a sense of shame, but maybe that guilt runs much, much deeper than we think.

The other big leftover mystery from "Destiny" concerns the means and intents behind Osha and Mae's creation. Part of me does still genuinely think that the witches, being a matriarchal single gender culture, birthed both girls as a to ensure that their culture and tradition is passed onto another generation. I don't see Aniseya's ambitions stretching further than her coven on Brendok, particularly in how she views the Force as a Thread that cannot be pulled on without creating consequences. However, while the intentions may be fairly benign, I do not believe that Osha and Mae's creation was a bloodless act. The witches are clearly nervous about the Jedi discovering the true nature of their creation and it seems to stretch beyond their general distrust of the Order. Life doesn't come from nowhere and perhaps costs other lives in the process.

Now, here is where I put on my tinfoil. Like we're entering 2015-2017 Snoke theories territory here. I think Darth Plagueis assisted in the creation of Osha and Mae. One of the few things we know about the canon version of Plagueis is that he was obsessed with finding ways to use the Force to create life. It seems very possible that he might have collaborated with another Force sect for the purposes of experimenting and exploring these possibilities. The witches get the children they want. Plagueis gets knowledge that he deeply desires.

It answers the question of how Qimir knows so much about Mae and Osha in the first place. Sure, Sith are resourceful, but in order to manipulate Mae into becoming his Acolyte he would have to not only know that she existed but also possess extensive knowledge about her past. This feels like information that might come easily to Plagueis's current apprentice. And Sith apprentices sure do love training acolytes to help get their way to the top of the whole Rule of Two situation.

So what does this mean for Osha and Mae's future? There are many different directions to take their story from here and my thoughts about where they are headed as characters ultimately comes down to how definitive of an ending this (and maybe only) season of the Acolyte has. But to me, the groundwork seems laid for a particularly dark ending that sees Osha and Mae trading places. This has already happened in some sense given that Mae went undercover as her twin sister at the end of "Night," but I think The Acolyte is setting up an inversion of Light and Dark between these two.

Given her newfound proximity to Qimir, it feels all too likely that Osha slowly begins to learn the truth about what happened on Brendok and I don't imagine she's going to take it well, especially if my earlier theory about Sol proves correct. Depending on the degree of secrecy and lies, I could see Osha, even momentarily, lashing out violently at Sol upon learning the truth. And maybe she does the one thing Mae never could. Kill a Jedi without a weapon. We end this season of The Acolyte with Osha embracing the Dark and taking her sister's place.

So, where does this leave Mae then? We've also already seen evidence that of the two sisters, Mae is the woman who is most hopeful for a reunion and reconciliation between the two. Hell, she abandons her Dark Side revenge quest almost as soon as she learns that Osha's still alive. Mae may not be without sin, but with each episode I become more and more convinced that she's not a villain. She's a girl who lost everything is eager to cling to even the slightest shred of hope she can. And maybe, come season finale, that hope might be that she can save her sister from the Dark. That would be a hell of a set up for season two. If we get a season two that is. (Please make it so, Leslye.)

[mrsundays]

TADC GANG REDESIGN

I finally finished the redesigns. It took me a long time, but they are done, and that's all that matters. Now I'll proceed to talk about each of them because if I don't, I'll implode.

I approached the designs with the idea of not straying too far from the original designs, although I can't deny that I went a bit overboard with Pomni's design.

AND NO, THEY HAVE NOTHING UNDER THOSE CLOTHES, ZERO, ABSOLUTE VOID, LITERALLY LIKE A BARBIE OR KEN. But who knows, maybe one day I'll wake up feeling crazy, ahem.

POMNI:

She has undergone the most changes compared to her original design, the most noticeable being the hat. The reason is simple; I find it funny that the hat itself is larger than Pomni, making her look even smaller than she already is, which brings me to the other change.

This Pomni is much smaller than the original, reaching only to Ragatha's shoulders compared to the redesign, which barely reaches her waist.

The third change is the suit. The only things I kept were the pattern and colors, along with the bells on her torso. I liked the idea of giving her a design that constantly makes her appear smaller than she is, with only her head and forearms visible. Now she wears a "tunic" that also serves as a small skirt. In addition, her sleeves and pants are now loose, not to mention a more prominent "collar."

Finally, the pupils - one is red, and the other is blue, both accompanied by black. I don't have many reasons for this; I just liked how the black looked in her pupils when I sketched it, so I decided to keep it in the final design.

Now, a few details or ideas I have:

The bells on her suit make little sounds when she moves. They're not very loud, but somewhat annoying.

Pomni remains just as nervous and anxious, but now a bit more aggressive and impulsive. Why? Who knows.

During the first few weeks at the circus, she develops an intense fear of physical contact. Not only because of the strange sensation her own skin gives her but also due to other events that I can't talk about yet.

She's quite elusive, like a cartoon mouse. This is the only reason she can land punches on Jax without him expecting them.

RAGATHA:

SHE'S THE SAME, SHE'S THE SAME—There are only a few changes. To be honest, I really like the original design, and I didn't feel the need to change much. So, I decided to add a few more things because I enjoy adding silly details that end up saturating things, haha.

The most noticeable change is the white apron. Now it has certain seams all around her body, from her arms to her face, including her neck. Lastly, a small bag hangs behind her with all the tools a seamstress needs, out of necessity, like herself.

Other than that, there are no other significant changes to her design.

Now, with the little details/ideas:

Originally, she was slimmer, but after a small adventure in the circus, she discovered that firstly, she had polyester fiber filling, and secondly, if she added a bit more filling to her arms, she gained more strength.

Yes, she has the kitchen knife/machete, not just to scare a certain rabbit but also to cook meals sometimes with Bubble, the meals they eat after their adventures, with all the affection a ragdoll can give.

She once tried, along with Gangle, to make clothes for Zooble. It didn't turn out well...

Currently, she is the second-longest-serving person in the circus, only surpassed by Kinger. That's why Jax sometimes calls her grandma.

GANGLE:

Same as with Ragatha, her red ribbons and mask are intact, with the only additions being the French beret befitting an artist of her caliber and a small cape that covers the top part of her ribbons. I don't have much else to say; I didn't have many issues designing her—it was just something I thought fit perfectly with her personality.

Little Ideas :D :

As the entire fandom agrees, she's an artist and probably watched a lot of anime before ending up in the circus. Yes, she has one of those pillows with a character printed on it in her room.

Every now and then, she draws the circus members, including Jax, and gives them as gifts. Although she has currently put this practice aside due to recent abstractions...

She has been in the circus for less time than Jax, and despite everything that has happened, she has been enjoying her time in the circus more than she expected.

She can take any form with her ribbons as long as they remain connected to her mask.

Pomni asked her to teach her how to draw. The reason wasn't given, but Gangle gladly accepted.

JAX:

The purple rabbit, yes, he was a bit more complicated. Originally, I had the idea of giving him a shirt with a vest—a contrast between formal wear and his asshole attitude. However, I ended up discarding that idea and decided to go for a 60s fashion style.

The beret was something I seriously considered almost at the end of his design, and at least in my opinion, I think it works well with the rest of his clothing. I had to keep the jumpsuit; it was too characteristic, so I had to work around that piece, leading to the integration of the turtleneck sweater.

And finally, I made him furrier, and yes, he has a tail—a fluffy tail that he doesn't let anyone touch.

Now, you know what's coming:

See that pocket on his jumpsuit? It serves as a hammer space, so if he wanted to, he could store something comically huge there.

He's the best at carnival shooting games. No one has managed to beat him even once. The only one who used to give him competition was Kaufmo.

Don't tell anyone, but he has Gangle's drawing saved. He thinks it's a cute detail, but no one can find out, okay?

Before Kinger's wife's abstraction, he used to play chess with him or accompany him on bug-hunting missions, mainly with the goal of finding one to bother Ragatha.

Once, Zooble called him a furry. Jax locked himself in his room for three days because of that comment.

ZOOBLE:

Zooble… was the main reason I took so long with this. I spent days trying to think of any changes, anything—giving them clothes, didn't like the idea; maybe changing their form, nope; a total redesign… no. And so, I was stuck for days until I decided to change absolutely nothing. They're perfect as they are.

But, but, but in the end, I made a few small changes. I decided to play with the idea that Zooble is a toy with removable parts, and none of the parts are from the same toy brand; some aren't even made of the same material, with their right arm being the prime example, a ragdoll arm with filling, something similar to Ragatha.

Also, now they have a built-in voice box in their torso. You just have to pull that light blue thing on their chest, and you'll hear a phrase that varies between "I love you," "You're the best," and "Friends forever."

I won't repeat myself with this, huh:

They were the one who had been in the circus for the shortest time before Pomni's arrival.

The limbs they have now are not the original ones; it took some time for them to find a combination that was comfortable to move with.

They strangle Jax at least twice a week; it has become a habit.

They dislike the lake, mainly because they don't have aquatic parts, making swimming very difficult for them. Plus, they have lost some parts at the bottom of the lake. Caine returned them, but something tells them that the ringmaster gave them duplicates.

KINGER:

He's perfect, simply that. His original design, despite being simple, I think is one of the best in the series. But I had to do something, so I decided to add two very small things.

First, a ring. No need to explain; I think it's quite obvious what it refers to.

And second, a belt to highlight the excellent figure he has, even if that belt isn't his…

Don't bug me, you already know what's coming:

Sometimes, he hums a song when lost in his thoughts, but it seems like some parts of the melody are missing.

He has managed to create a small encyclopedia with data on all the bugs he has captured, even with drawings made by Gangle at Kinger's request.

He knows what you are.

He takes long walks around the lake on his days off, perhaps in an attempt to revive memories of a better time, although he says he does it in search of an aquatic specimen to add to his collection.

Sometimes, Caine challenges him to an arm wrestling competition. Oddly enough, he effortlessly manages to beat the AI.

[hunter-creature]

Trans Preparedness

I'm probably not the right kind of blog to be doing this, but I go a little crazy not having a plan. A friend set up a threat model and practical steps that can be made to prepare for it. If this kind of disaster preparedness might be too much for you do not force yourself to read through this. Keeping calm and healthy is paramount above all of this.

Legal documents

Ban on legal document changes, reversion of previous changes and invalidation of updated documents. This means potentially being outed any time you present your ID. If you do update your documents, this may make it impossible to cross the border and any other checkpoints (legal or extralegal), as your documents could be invalidated. Possible criminal fraud penalty, like in florida, making the continued use of an invalidated ID risky. Risk of revocation of all legal recognition of non-binary gender.

What you can do to prepare: Consider whether it would be best to have your legal documents match your true gender or your agab. If you can’t reliably pass as your true gender, it may be prudent to have your documents reflect your agab, in the event you need to go through a document checkpoint without arousing suspicion. Also, consider that, by changing your documents, you may end up “on a list”.

Anti-trans discrimination

Rollback of anti-discrimination protections in employment, healthcare, and harassment/hate crimes.

What you can do to prepare: If you work at a corporation/franchise/small business with republican ownership or coworkers, consider updating your résumé and looking for new employment. If you do land a new job, think carefully about whether to present as your true gender or your agab while at work. Be extra cautious about coming out at your job — only do so if you can’t reliably pass as either your true gender or your agab.

If possible, save money. Pick up extra shifts. Cut back on discretionary purchases. Cancel unnecessary subscriptions. Meal prep. Organize bulk purchases with your community to share costs and get better prices. Visit your local food pantry instead of the grocery store. Etc.

One possible safeguard against healthcare discrimination is to have your medical records updated to reflect a diagnosis of intersex, rather than transgender, if possible. I’m not privy to the details, but my understanding is that there are certain diagnostic codes, genetic tests, etc that can be used to mask your transgender status while maintaining access to the same treatments.

Healthcare restrictions

Introduction of insurmountable liability for healthcare providers and expansion of malpractice definition/enforcement to make providing trans healthcare impossible. Possible criminalization of doctors prescribing HRT. Possible criminalization of HRT possession/use. It will become impossible to access HRT, except through DIY. Possible discrepancies in enforcement between states, with red states imposing “bounty hunter laws” that allow anyone to sue a person who has taken HRT.

What you can do to prepare: If you have a legal prescription for your HRT, ask your provider for a 90-day prescription. Fill it as soon as possible, and refill it once before inauguration day. Consider rationing to extend your supply.

Start thinking about what you’ll do when your stockpile runs out. Look into DIY method of HRT. Plan how you can share the cost of supplies among your community to build a larger stockpile.

Bathroom bans

National bathroom ban with possible deputized citizenry/tiplines. Could be fines or criminal penalties (jail). Either way, this makes it near impossible to go out in public, even in blue areas, because all it takes is one transphobe to turn your life upside down. This applies whether you’re in the restroom for your true gender or your agab, since we can’t count on transphobes to be consistent with enforcement (i.e. you look visibly queer so someone calls the cops on you, even though you’re in the restroom of your agab).

What you can do to prepare: Consult the Refuge Bathrooms directory to find single-occupant restrooms near you. Also submit any single-occupant restrooms you come across to the Refuge Bathrooms directory to help out others in the future. If you need to go into a gender-segregated multi-occupant restroom, try to go with a buddy or in a group for safety. Choose which restroom to use based on your outward appearance, not your internal gender.

Drag bans

May define transgender people doing any form of performance as drag, including public speaking at an event or protest, or performing live music in a venue or on the street. Possible definition of transgender people merely existing as “sexually explicit drag” in many circumstances. Possible classification of transgender people as sex offenders under this premise. May bar trans people under threat of criminal penalty from entering government buildings, airports, and schools while dressed in accordance with their gender.

What you can do to prepare: If you’re comfortable and capable of doing so, work on “passing“ as your true gender through voice training, clothing choices, hair style, and makeup. If you can’t reliably pass as your true gender, consider wearing less attention-grabbing, looser-fit, gender-neutral clothing and finding other ways to express your gender. Even if you’re wearing more body-conforming clothes, consider carrying a baggy sweatshirt or jacket to conceal your secondary sex characteristics in an emergency. Consider assembling a set of clothes associated with your agab, as well as any accessories such as a binder or packer, in case you need to “stealth” as your agab.

Additional notes

Update your passport, ID, and vaccinations. Drink water. Hug your friends. We get through this together.

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Fifteen

Word count: 20,059

I had PLANS for the aquarium date i swear they’re just… poorly executed. I struggled SO hard with this damn date even though there were a certain few things I absolutely had to include. This feels like i’ve handed y’all almost 20k words of trash. This chapter did not want to be written and I feel so bad it’s taken this long, and for it to end up like… really shitty. really really shitty. Everyone say thank you sleep token paris show with LP for being the reason I got my ass in gear to finish it (BLONDE SHORT HAIR III OH MY SLEEP) (also insomniac on twt for being so encouraging and kind even though I know this chapter is shit) there may be minor errors in hwo things are timelined in this one cause i moved a scene further up into the chapter, i really tried to make sure i fixed everything so, sorry in advance

Ao3

Masterlist

Previous Part 

____ opens his eyes to the sound of waves crashing on a shore at his back, sand giving way beneath his bare feet. The moonless sky above him is dark, an endless expanse of deep grey rain clouds. He looks around, confused, blonde hair being blown around gently in a breeze that doesn't smell of anything despite the expectation of seasalt.

He had just laid down to try and sleep, hadn't he? Desperate to escape the sounds of raucous laughter from the living room, the feeling of bruises on his hips and beer on his tongue from harsh, demanding kisses.

There is flickering light in the distance, and ____ finds himself walking with purpose towards it. He notices that the light is not that of a bonfire, but of small candles as he grows closer. In this circle of candles lies a man, a long cloak covering most of his form. With each flicker of the flames surrounding him, his prone form flickers, too. One moment, he appears as though he has antlers branching off of his head, making grooves in the sand. The antlers themselves have white lillies wreathed around the base, dark silver chains with pieces of decorative iron shapes, resembling a four pointed star, hanging between. There are white bandages wrapped around his covered calves, criss crossing over each other loosely. A mask sits upon his face, pearly white with a large red sigil that drips down over the cut outs of six lightly squinted eyes, as though the mask is smiling. Jutting down into some variation of fleur-de-lis points past the open mouth and creeping up along the jaw and nose is detailed red, swirling flowery filigree. Splatters of red lead up towards the temples, reminding ____ of blood.

In the next moment, he is just a man, skin as black as coal with veins of gold on the parts of his arms visible through bone white bandages. Attached to his ring finger on his left hand, are three red threads, one tied to each joint. The one closest to the nail is faint, the end of the thread leading off a couple of inches before it dissipates into nothingness. Unlike that thread, the other two are strong, tangible, with no loose threads. The mask under the hood changes too, losing the bloody filigree, the smooth texture, seeming more skull-like in material, with more grooves.

"Hello?" He calls, stopping at the edge of the circle.

The man does not stir, but with the state of his body, ____ doesn't think he even could. Still as the dead, the sight begs the question of whether or not the man was alive at all. ____ finds his answer quickly, eyes drawn to the beating heart laying in the strange mans outstretched hand, curled up on his side as though he was cradling it. A trail of blood and viscera overflows from the golden offering plate under their hand, leading from the heart to the gaping wound in the man's chest, a golden bladed knife stewn not far from the body. Ribs are splintered and pulled apart, a grisly sight that leaves ____ feeling vaguely ill, unable to tear his eyes from the empty cavity of the man's chest. Of the black sludge dripping out and colliding with red blood, but never mixing.

With difficulty, ____ tears his eyes from the bloody mess, and back to the heart, somehow less gory.

It is missing chunks, only a quarter of it left, and yet it still beats, a steady thumpthumpthump that pounds in ____'s ears. Sharp claws dig into the tender flesh of the right atrium, no kindness in the grey knuckled grip. The breeze picks up, tousling both of their hair, sand finding a home in the crevices of their clothes.

____ finds himself sitting, kneeling at the edge of the circle. Something in him begs to move closer, to pull the stranger into his arms, to comfort. He fears breaking the circle, something clearly sacred, but his soul yearns to touch. Waves crash on a distant shore, and neither he nor the man move.

Six eyes blink open, a set at a time, pupiless, crimson irises glowing from within the pitch black darkness of the eyes of the mask. They're captivating, beautiful-

Suddenly, ____ knows who this is, the memory hitting him like a lightning strike. Though the appearance is different, ____'s soul knows.

The man does not speak, does not move, only watches with tired, sad eyes as though looking right through ____. His eyes wander listlessly, searchingly, lips forming around a word that ____ cannot hear, but thinks he may know regardless. Plush, black painted lips seem to part around the word 'four,' over and over as if in question, eyes still searching for something.

With time that seems to stretch along infinitely, ____ feels something tickling the back of his mind. A name comes to the forefront, falling off his tongue gently, a mere breath leaving him in concern.

"Vessel?"

Crimson eyes meet the ocean blue of ____'s, snapping to focus as though Vessel knew where he was all along. There is panic, there, and fear. So much fear.

Wind roars overhead, the already cloudy sky going darker as they go from rainy grey to stormcloud black. Water laps at ____'s feet, where before the ocean has been distant.

"You shouldn't be here." Vessel's voice is hushed, choked with emotion, red blood dribbling over the side of his mouth.

In an instant, ____ realizes this is not a nightmare, but some strange mix of a memory like the times before this, and a dream.

Vessel sits up slowly, the veil of magic clinging to the top of his head beginning to slip. Antlers flicker in and out of existence with the weakening flame of the candles, the wind testing their resilience. An animal pelt on the back of his right shoulder trickles sand. On his left shoulder, a three tiered pauldron sits, white, with the same fur as the pelt between each tier. Chunks of golden corral sit at the top, and the same intricate design on his mask also sits on the rim of each tier, gold detail mirroring the mask as well. The pauldron itself is held in place by a strap across Vessel's chest.

Hands cradle the bloody heart close to Vessel's chest, golden tears slipping out from under the ever shifting mask.

"Vessel, what is this-?" ____ starts, alarmed, as salty seawater begins to rise over his ankles.

"Are you hurt?! Fuck, stupid question, I can see you're hurt-" He exclaims, frantic, reaching out to pull Vessel from the ground. "Please, let me help you! We need to move, the water's-!"

The other man is still kneeling in the sand, clutching his own heart with nails digging into the beating flesh. Water has made it's way to his waist, licking at ____'s own knees.

____'s hands hit an invisible barrier, lined around the circle of candles, unable to reach Vessel. His head is bowed, squeezing the life out of the heart in his hands. Horrified, ____ begs him to stop, tears desperate to slip over, to fall. He watches in terror as the hearts beating grows weaker and weaker, fluttering like a dying bird. Vessel is killing himself in front of him, and ____ is unable to stop him, to hold him, to help.

"No one was supposed to know." Vessel laments, barely able to be heard over the crashing waves growing ever closer. "They will not love me if they know my heart is no longer my own."

Vessel stands, coming up to his full height that towers over ____. His form entirely shifts to something completely inhuman, something almost like living shadow beginning to waft off his pitch black skin. Golden tears splash into the water lapping at ____'s waist as Vessel moves through the water towards him, eyes glowing a crimson red behind his mask, like the strange sigil sitting in the hollow of his throat. The antlers atop his head, jutting out through slits in the hood of his cloak, are extravagant and sharply pointed, the silver chains and lillies softening the intimidating sight into something more elegant. White hair peeks out from the dark void of his hood, like silver moonlight. An image of a scythe, made of white bones and an intricately carved ribcage complete with a blackened heart, is strapped to Vessel's back, rippling on the water's surface. ____ looks back up, expecting to see the scythe on Vessel's back, but only finds empty air. Chancing a glance back down into the ocean, the scythe remains on the rippling image of the water's surface alone.

In the middle of his chest sits a large golden scar, uneven and littered with slash marks where skin had been cut through and carelessly pulled aside to make way for hands to extract the organ within. It travels down the length of Vessel's sternum, uneven and gruesome, a clearly agonizing injury.

Candlelight flickers at their feet, unnaturally lit even with the water submerging them, Vessel stopping at the invisible barrier between them. Careful hands offer up the heart, held carelessly between loosening fingers. Divots are left in the beating flesh as claws release their grip. Distant, crimson eyes search ____'s face, catching on the fresh bruise over his cheekbone.

"Are you in pain like I am?"

Ocean blue eyes meet pupilless blood red as the devastated whisper washes over ____. A split second later, waves crash over their heads, water filling ____'s lungs-

____ wakes up, shooting up in bed to the sound of the same loud laughter he fell asleep to.

Coughing, seawater spills out of his mouth, salt stinging his nose and eyes before the feeling eventually fades like a dream. When his lungs are clear, he rubs his face with both hands, struggling to come to terms with what he's witnessed. He knows he has seen that man before, a couple of times at least. Why... why in this dream could he not remember him until a glimpse at his six eyes had brought the memories forth? The beating heart and golden tears, the antlers, six crimson eyes... he couldn't possibly be human. Is ____ dreaming of a God? Is he being visited by a divine entity, forced to watch as someone once human suffers? ____ doesn't understand, no matter how his brain twists and turns over what he's witnessed.

"____! Get your ass out here and get us some more fucking beer!"

____ stands, wincing as the movement pulls on the bruised skin of his hips. Bracing himself, a hand hesitantly reaching for the doorknob, ____ takes in a deep, deep breath to steady the racing of his heart.

It pounds in his chest, just as the bloodied mess of- What was his name?

The thought slips away like water under a bridge. What was ____ even thinking about? It must have been a strange dream, for his mind to still be so muddled after waking up. He startles at the sound of another shout of his name, irritation blatant and terrifying. Hurried now, ____ leaves his room with a wince, fearing the harsh berating he is sure to come for taking too long to do as told.

II is up and starting the day earlier than the other two vessels for once, but isn't entirely surprised by it. It still takes a lot of energy for III to keep up their glamor for so long, and Vessel had a hard day yesterday. He takes a moment to sit in the rock hard hotel bed and admire Vessel and III, Vessel curled around III's mostly covered form. Tender caresses are bestowed upon their skin, over the curve of Vessel's cheek, down the slope of III's nose, through each of their hair. Every touch is reverent, worshipping. II is sure he has no need of a God, not when he has these two.

Dark bags under Vessel's human eyes pull a frown onto II's face, dried tears having left glistening tracks. Was Vessel crying last night while they slept? II had hoped Ves would wake them up if he needed anything, but knows the other man likely still needs time to warm up to that. He's come so far as it is. II is so, so proud of him for the progress he's made.

Sleep's presence, felt faintly, lingers at the edges of the room, a silent observer. II isn't sure if the God is even fully here with them, or if its only a piece of Him able to follow them around. II doesn't really care either way, chunks of his initial love for the God slowly being torn off with every action Sleep has taken that has hurt those II loves.

Glancing over at Nick to find him still deeply asleep, II starts getting ready after covering III's unglamored form back up with the bedsheets. He knew Vessel would be excited about the aquarium, glad he had the foresight to look into the city the festival was going to be in. An ad had caught his eye, and after making sure it wasn't a scam, II looked into it further. Looking over the exhibits offered, II knew he needed to take Vessel. Absolutely needed to. III had agreed when II mentioned his idea, eager to see Vessel's reaction. The mere thought of how excited Vessel had looked when II had brought it up, exhausted as he was, was fuel enough to keep II's soul burning bright for decades.

Gathering up all the stuff they would need, II takes it out to the car. It was mostly just spare clothes, since they didn't unpack any of their equipment. II comes back into their room as quiet as he can. III is sitting up in bed, rubbing sleep from their eyes with black stained hands, hair a baby blue mess around their head. "Hey honey, sleep alright?" II greets, gaze soft with love.

"Mm. Good."

"That's good, sweetheart. You should put your glamor back up, if you can." II requests quietly, glancing over at a sleeping Nick as he leans over the bed to smooth a strand of hair behind their ear.

"Mm." III hums again, carefully getting out of bed so they don't disturb Vessel, who is still sleeping, too.

"Wanna shower?" III mumbles, stretching while magic shimmers very faintly over their form, reapplying their glamor.

"Together?" II muses, eyebrows raised and a small smile playing at his lips.

"It's not like I haven't seen everything before, Doll." III smirks, but they're so sleepy still that it comes across as more of a smile.

"Sweetheart, we showered last night. Don't you remember?"

III frowns, thinking. "Oh. No, I didn't remember. Was exhausted."

"We can shower together some other time." II laughs, so, so fondly, reaching out to pull III into a kiss with a gentle hand at their nape.

When they part, II says, "You should start getting ready soon. I would like to leave before noon if we can."

"Can I... get dressed up?" III asks, hesitant.

II levels a confused but soft look up at him, "Of course you can. I was expecting you and Vessel to be dressed up. It's our first proper date away from home, after all."

"You won't mind if I wear makeup?" Less hesitant but still unsure, III tries to come across as nonchalant, but II knows them better by now.

"If you wanted to look as if you've just stepped off the red carpet for the Met Gala, I wouldn't stop you. Wear whatever you want, be it makeup or clothes."

III smiles, a gentle thing that is opposite to how they pull II forward with arms around his shoulders, kissing him roughly and adoringly.

They have found themselves struggling lately, with the weight of their past, bad memories that linger because that is the way Sleep made them. III has settled in entirely with being a vessel, and even though that was a quick thing at the beginning, eager for acceptance and love, he is only now beginning to have problems. It's frustrating for everything to have been going so well, and his own mind seems to have other ideas. As Vessel starts slowly healing, III seems to be reverting. II, as well, if the stint of smoking is anything to go by. III really hopes it's a one time thing and that II's bad habit won't make a return.

III had thought- had hoped... he wanted to move beyond his past life. That was why Sleep had taken most of their memories, wasn't it? But it's haunting all three of them, even after rebirth. Maybe Sleep should have taken everything, left them as nothing more than blank slate's.

II's lips on his makes III feel a little like everything is going to be okay, no matter what. It's a familiar feeling, when II is near, when II smiles up at III so prettily, with that self-assured little glint in his eyes.

When III pulls away, II is noticeably breathless, panting. It makes III's smile stretch into a grin, "Can I do your eyeliner?"

"Mine?" II mumbles, dazed, eyeing III's lips hungrily, "Uh, sure. Yeah. No wing though, please."

III pouts, but agrees without a fuss, pulling II by the hand towards the small bathroom. "Are we going to be wearing our masks?"

"We don't need to since we have our uh, y'know-" II lifts up his necklace for emphasis, "Vessel would probably like to wear his but... we could get him one of those surgical face masks?"

"Oh! Good idea! He'll feel so much better with that instead of his mask. We'll all blend into the crowd better, too. Speaking of Ves, should we wake him up?"

"No." II decides, keeping his voice low, "We'll let him sleep a little longer. He deserves it, having taken the brunt of the ritual magic yesterday. If he sleeps past eleven though, I'll need to wake him up."

"That really scared me." III says, almost meek, the admission lightening a bit of weight on their shoulders as they begin to pull out their makeup kit from their duffel bag.

"It scared me, too. It was nothing like our worship in practice or at the altar." II closes his eyes as III directs, content to let III work.

Between careful strokes with an eyeliner pencil and a brush to smoke it out, II peeks an eye open to watch III dig around in their makeup bag, the picture of concentration. III truly is a beautiful man, II thinks, a blush slowly spreading from his cheeks downwards.

"See something you like, pretty?" III comments offhandedly, not looking away from their search.

"Always." II smiles, "You're so beautiful. Inside and out."

"You flatter me." III says, brushing off II's words with a shy smile.

II sits, stunned for a moment. III thinks that II is only flattering him? Perhaps this is taking a page from Vessel's book, but II would become the air so that he could be the breeze, gentle enough to rustle III's hair in the light of day. III is always so beautiful in the sun.

"I'm admiring you." II corrects, gentle hands reaching out to stop III in his tracks for just a moment. "I do not do flattery. I mean what I say. If I could, I would show you how you look from my eyes. The sun seems to follow you, a light in a dark room. You're gorgeous, and I wish you could see that."

III blushes, a pretty red spreading across their face like wildfire. They cover their face with their hands, trying to hide away from the praise. III feels unusually shy, a little off kilter, when he says, "I love you. You mean the world to me."

"I love you, too, sweetheart. Now, am I done, or do you intend to put mascara on me as well?"

"Well, since you offered..." III grins, and the weighted bond feels a little lighter, like the dark cloud that had been hanging over III has finally begun to recede if only slightly.

III's mood seems improved, after that. The bond is content between them, broken only by the fuzzy feeling of Vessel sleeping. By the time III is done with II's makeup and moving on to his own, Nick is waking up. II doesn't bother watching the other man get ready for the day, only scooting to the side of the counter when Nick comes out from the small room with the shower and toilet, to fix his messy bed hair into something presentable in the large mirror. III is finishing up with their eyeliner as Nick goes back towards the main area of the room.

"I'll be right back. Gonna grab a pack from the car." Nick comments without any intention of receiving an answer.

The door slams shut behind him, and while II and III's faces both twist up into annoyance, Vessel wakes up choking on a sob. Smothering the bond out of instinct, Vessel both takes peace in the near silence of the bond going quieter, and hates the way II and III go distant. The sound of the door slamming has his mind reeling, caught between his dream and reality, unable to process what is going on around him. It takes but a moment for his mind to move from the fear of potential pain from hands that used to hurt him and on to what his dream had entailed. He feels somehow stuck in his past and present and his dream all at once. Vessel doesn't know what's going on in his own mind, he can't focus, he needs to focus-

The terror on Four's face, set into the worry lines by his mouth and the crinkles by his eyes comes to the forefront of Vessel's mind. He thinks that for just a brief moment, just a fraction of a second, he may have been able to see Four's face in its entirety before waves crashed over their heads. His magic had been so strong, swirling within him and around him, churning the ocean water, leaking out of every pore as exhaustion weighed his body down, Vessel isn't entirely sure what was going on in his dream before or after Four's arrival. He knows one thing though, Four knows.

No one was supposed to know.

And now, two people know what Vessel has tried so hard to keep hidden.

The dream starts slipping away. Something in Vessel knows if he lets it, he will lose Four with it. He grasps ahold of the memory of his dream, holding tight to it as it blurs in his mind. Vessel doesn't want to forget. It doesn't matter that Four knows his secret, Vessel doesn't want to forget.

The force tearing his dream away from him loosens its clawed grip before disappearing entirely, and everything comes back into clarity.

That dream is his, Four is his, and nothing will keep him from it.

The possesiveness scares him. He has always been so selfish, holding too tightly to everything that was his knowing that nothing lasts forever.

He coughs, trying to rid his lungs of water that isn't truly suffocating him, curling into himself under the coarse hotel sheets. Tears are beginning to make a wet spot on the pillow as II and III make their way to him hastily. It had been only a few seconds since he'd woken, but Vessel felt as though it had been a lifetime. He is so tired.

II reaches out, intending to comfort. Where the action had been welcome, before, Vessel slowly less and less expecting of a hit, now he reels back, scrambling to the other side of the bed, legs tangling in the sheets. He doesn't know if he was expecting to be hurt, or if he was afraid of his secret getting out. He thinks, perhaps, its both. He coughs again, sure that saltwater will come up with it, but there is nothing but saliva splattering on his hands.

"Ves, honey, how can I help you?" II tries carefully, handing over a pack of tissues.

Vessel only barely manages to get himself to reach out and take the pack, hesitant of II's hands like he had been in the very beginning. It breaks II's heart. When there is no response, III asks a similar question, hovering behind II with a worried expression. It's clear they want to ask more questions, but III shows restraint.

The hotel room door opens, Nick stepping through while shrugging his jacket on. He takes in the scene, a concerned, curious expression pasting itself on his face.

"Nightmare disrupt your beauty rest, princess?" Nick poses the question lightly, a joking smile pulling gently at his lips as he takes in Vessel's tears with this look in his eyes that begets a sense of satisfaction.

Vessel's expression shutters, like a light has gone out behind his eyes, face falling into humiliation and upset. Cold fury blazes in II's veins at the sight of Vessel's eyes going dead. A far too familiar sight, reminiscent of when II had first arrived as a vessel. So much time and effort and love has been put in to helping Vessel heal enough to bring that spark back to his eyes... to bring him to life...

"Leave it, Nick. He has a difficult enough time sleeping as it is. I know you're only joking, but now is not the time. And don't slam the fucking door next time." II turns quickly, almost spitting in his anger, trying hard to not be too biting in tone despite the way he bristles at the joke.

A strange expression twists onto Nick's face, something trapped between a sneer and a tight smile. Vessel shrinks into himself, the expresion oddly familiar, even if he has no face in his mind to truly compare it to.

"My bad. Not the time." Nick parrots, guilt seeping into his smile, "I'll be back. Going for a smoke."

The door clicks shut behind Nick, more conscious of the sound now, II watching him pull out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket as he goes. Something in II longs for the deathstick between his fingers, the smoke burning his lungs. He turns back to Vessel, shaking his head lightly to rid himself of the thought. His hands shake with his want.

It takes a moment for Vessel's voice to work, already strained vocal chords locking up in his fear. Tentatively, he lets the bond bleed back into focus, guilty over the concern the other two or feeling, but ultimately unable to force his own fear and anxiety to the side despite his best efforts.

"Don't touch. Please." Vessel hates to ask this of them, wanting the exact opposite of his request, the words thick on his tongue.

"Bad day, Sugar?" III asks, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, body poised to get up quickly in case Vessel deems him too near.

II sits beside him, hands carefully laid flat on his lap, though his fingers drum gently against his leg. Somehow, the sight of II still drumming, even now, brings a little bit of amusement to Vessel, knowing the other man always had a beat on his mind. Tapping it out soothes II's own anxieties, shows when he's feeling content, happy, sad. The familiarity leaves Vessel wanting to hold II's hands, to offer up his own skin for II to tap against.... but those hands could also discover Vessel's lack of heartbeat.

"Mhm. Don't- Want it to be." Vessel tries to wipe his tears away, but they won't stop falling. "I want... I want to be able to-"

Fear leaves him shaking, thoughts of the others finding out about his lack of heart racing through his mind on a loop that he fears will never end. Vessel wants to be held, wants to curl up in II or III's lap, whichever of the two would allow him the comfort, but now more than ever he is scared of wandering hands. Hands that would not intentionally betray him, he knows, but... Vessel is afraid.

"I... I... my rule. Please, my rule... you'll follow it?" Vessel is desperate, so desperate for affection, for their love.

Even if he doesn't deserve it. Even if he knows it is only fleeting. One day, they'll realize he isn't worth anything.

Softly, reaching a hand out slowly in offering, III says, "Always. Your comfort matters to us more than anything, Sugar."

Vessel's fingers are cold as death when he reaches out to touch just the tips of them to III's hand, a faint tremble wracking his frame.

"Here, sweetheart. Maybe it will help with the cold." II says, standing to retrieve Vessel's hoodie for him.

Vessel doesn't have the heart (ha) to tell him it won't. He takes the hoodie anyway, grateful for the kind thought.

Vessel slips it on, and covers his head with the hood, contemplating whether he should pull the sleeves over his hands or not. Ultimately, he decides against it, crawling from under the covers and into III's lap. They welcome him with open arms, stroking a gentle thumb over Vessel's cheek when the other rests his head on III's thigh. "Better?" III asks, thanking II in Vessel's stead quietly.

The only response he receives from Vessel is a timid nod while he cinches up the hood of his hoodie tightly. III's arms comes to rest over Vessel's shoulder, hand hanging limply onto the bed. Their hands do no stray, do not wander where Vessel has asked them not to. He is thankful that they're so strangely willing to listen to him.

III continues stroking over Vessel's cheek, hand warm against Vessel's cool skin. III doesn't care that tears smear against his thumb, not when Vessel is allowing the touch.

"Would you like to speak about your nightmare, Ves? You don't- Ves, honey you don't have to!"

Before II has even finished his sentence, the bond is flooding with fear. Shaking his head profusely, Vessel curls into himself, hands clutched tightly over his chest. "Ves, love, please don't hide from us. I'm not going to force you to tell us anything." II tries, letting a sigh of relief spill when Vessel slowly lets a bit of the bond bleed back into focus.

The distance between them had been frightening, no matter how close they were physically. That distance Sleep had forced between them during their set the day before had been frightening, too, bit it was out of all of their control. Sometimes, II wonders if the bonds are just strings, an easy way for the God to puppeteer them at His whim. Or chains, perhaps. They are bound to him, after all. Sleep could take away His gift at any time, if the God saw fit, II is sure.

"Don't shut us out, please. Take all the time you need to calm down. We'll be here." III leans down to press a kiss onto Vessel's hood, their hand never losing the tenderness.

Vessel is so grateful to them. He needs them to know that, and so he tells them in the easiest way he knows how, by sending it down the bond. The warm affection he receives makes him cry harder, letting their love for him chase away his fearful thoughts, for now.

The terror has lessened with the others comfort, his tears abating eventually. Vessel is left tired, as if he had never slept at all. He doesn't want to go back to the way things were in the beginning, when he was afraid to touch and be touched. He wants things to remain as they are, he wants to trust that they won't hurt him without nightmares and plain old fear getting in his way. Vessel wants to believe they won't leave, if they find out what he is lacking. He doesn't, but he wants to. He wants so many selfish things...

"We're going home." II announces, moving to stand, "I'll call Nick back-"

"I still want to go on our date." Vessel says, voice hoarse, his eyes peeking out from under the cinched hood of his hoodie.

"You do?" II asks, a mix of concerned and surprised, eyebrows raising up to his hairline.

Vessel looks like a mess, beautiful even now, but a mess nonetheless. Exhaustion weighs heavy on his shoulders, purplish eyebags under his eyes and a frown trying to pull at one corner of his lips.

"Yes. Is... is that okay? Can we still go?" Vessel goes quieter, II only able to hear him due to the more advanced hearing they all have.

"Vessel, I only said we were going home out of concern for you. I didn't think you were feeling up to it." Frowning, II tries not to tap his fingers against his thigh anxiously.

"He says he wants to go, II. I think we should listen to him." III says, glancing between the two of them with slightly wide eyes.

II takes a moment to stare into Vessel's eyes, feeling fond when Vessel manages to keep the eye contact for a few seconds.

"You're sure, sweetheart?" II asks, blue eyes as soft as his words.

"I'm sure." Vessel states firmly, nodding his head.

"Alright, only because you said you want to. But if at any point you want to leave, we will, no questions asked."

Vessel smiles lopsidedly. Its hidden behind his hoodie, but his eyes crinkling at the edges is telling enough for II and III. "Mhm! Thank you..."

"You don't have to thank me, sweetheart." II remarks, leaning down to press a kiss on the visible sliver of Vessel's face, right over an eyelid.

"I want to, though. You didn't have to do this..."

II hmphs in amusement, dimple appearing with his smile, "Do what, Ves? Set up a date for my two beautiful boyfriends so I can see them all dressed up and hopefully, happy? It's no trouble and I'm more than glad to do this."

Vessel turns his head to try and hide, embarrassed, but it doesn't work very well. Remnants of tears are still drying on his cheeks as a comfortable silence seems to settle over them. III breaks in with a carefully controlled exclamation, "Oh, that reminds me, Ves, can I do your makeup!?"

Nervousness ripples at the edges of the bond as Vessel contemplates his answer, removing his hood. He takes a close look up at III, then over at II. They're both wearing makeup, he realizes with a start, face flushing at how ethereal they look. Mascara has made both II and III's eyes pop, the eyeliner bringing out the pretty blue of their eyes. Their respective piercings only add to the look, III's large, sharp wing suiting them well.

"I don't mind doing it myself. I used to wear a bit of makeup a long time ago." Vessel offers, not wanting to trouble III with it.

"You can do it yourself if you want to!" III reassures, shyly adding on, "I did want to do it for you though. If you don't want me touching you to apply it, I'd understand."

"No, I... You can do it. I want you to, if you want to."

With ease, II lifts Vessel up enough to put his head on II's lap instead, III immediately hopping up to go get their makeup bag. Excitement bounces along the bond, causing Vessel's nervous smile to widen into something more positive, more loving.

"Is it alright if I straddle you, Ves? I want a good angle to do your eyeliner." III asks when they return, waving a pillow in one hand while the other holds their makeup bag, "I kind of wanted to... uh-"

III fumbles, a little red in the face suddenly, "I would like to be close to you that way, while I do your makeup. I've thought about it... a lot more than I would like to admit. If that's too much for you right now, though, I understand."

Vessel's brain seems to stop operating all together, all at once. The thought of III atop him, straddling him, so close... their hair would fall to frame their face, pretty blue eyes staring down at Vessel... he wants that. The fact that III had thought about the scenario often...

Then he thinks of his nightmare, and the interest that had been growing is muddled immediately.

"If you want to, I don't mind." Vessel agrees, clearly nervous by the prospect of having III atop him but sitting up to move to the middle of the bed anyway.

II remains where he is, gentle gaze flicking between III and Vessel fondly. Vessel is almost apprehensive in his movements. He's undecided on whether to be nervous or eager.

Vessel takes the pillow as its offered, clutching it over his chest tightly as III crawls onto the bed. Carefully, III lowers themselves over Vessel's waist, thighs on either side of his hips. The long skirt he's wearing pools around them, fabric scrunching where their bodies meet. The sight leaves Vessel wanting... but-

His dream with Four is lingering heavily at the forefront of his mind, causing anxiety no matter how hard he tries to rid himself of it. Is he not allowed to have a moment of peace where he isn't afraid of his secrets becoming known?

"Mind if I hold your jaw? It would be easier for me. If not, that's okay, hun." III asks, trying his hardest not to let his own excitement overshadow Vessel's known insecurities and triggers.

"Go ahead. I... I trust you." Vessel responds, smiling into the kiss III leans down to smother him with.

Vessel tries to ignore the underlying arousal as III pulls away, but stays leaned over him to begin applying a bit of black eyeshadow, his hand so gentle where it's cupping his jaw. He doesn't want sex right now, but if the others want it, he will. He won't mind. They're always so gentle, it won't hurt. He trusts they won't hurt him, even if he wouldn't mind if they did. Vessel will take anything they offer, be it pain or affection.

Shaking his head lightly, Vessel tries to rid himself of the thought. II and III do not use him. They don't. They've- They make sure he feels good too. It isn't only take, they give as much as they get. As Vessel's mind wanders down that trail of thought, he wonders if they are simply kinder in their use of him. He doesn't mind the thought.

He is glad when II speaks, pulling Vessel's thoughts from beginning to spiral into anxiety over how his mind wars with itself over his past and present.

"No funny business. We've got places to be today. Wait until we get home." II orders, leaving no room for argument.

"Of course. I would never cause problems." III says, grinning widely under the scrutinizing, dry stare II tosses at them.

"You and I are his biggest problems." Vessel jokes, trying to appear as if he isn't closely watching for the others' reactions, as if he isn't more nervous to make a mistake than he has been in ages.

"He loves us though! Don't you, Doll? You'd be so bored without us to keep you on your toes." III agrees, so excited about the joke Vessel had attempted that they're nearly vibrating in place.

III squirms, trying to turn to see whatever expression II is making. The friction is delicious, Vessel squeezing the pillow to try and rid himself of the tension slowly building up his body. III is so beautiful above him, hair left loose except for a long braid behind one ear.

"I'd be absolutely miserable without you." II grins, and while its a wide thing showcasing human teeth, there's a soft, adoring edge to it, and Vessel is absolutely enamored by the view he's receiving.

III continues working, concentration furrowing his brow. Vessel closes his eyes when asked, opens them when asked, trusting III not to make him into some sort of clown. The right

III is heavy atop him, a welcome weight as Vessel's deep blush is met fondly. III's hands are steady as he draws a long, sharp wing, hot breath fanning over Vessel's face.

"Gonna make you prettier, beautiful. People are going to fall at your feet begging for a glance from your pretty eyes."

Vessel's turns more red, unable to escape or hide, unable to move for fear of messing up III's carefully applied work. His next words are mumbled, carefully enunciated so his face moves as little as possible, "Your praise is not helping."

"Oh, I can tell." III smirks, pausing to kiss the tip of Vessel's nose.

Large hands settle on III's hips when they shift to get a certain angle right. Vessel lets out a breathy little sound, caught in his throat from where he tries to stop it from escaping. Just to hear more, III grinds down again, receiving the same reaction only slightly more whiny. Vessel stifles the anxiety bubbling under the surface of his skin, desperate to please the others. If he's good, they won't leave him. Besides, it does feel good. It always feels good, if it's them.

"Boys." II's reprimand is sharp, causing both of them to freeze in place.

There's a pout on III's plush lips, a gentle hand moving to caress Vessel's cheek at the fear beginning to fester in the bond. Vessel swipes the fear away quickly, trying to keep the others from feeling anything negative from him. If III wants sex, Vessel will give it to him.

"No funny business." III recalls, voice mocking as he tries to emulate the timber of II's own voice.

"Good boy. I don't think we should be letting Ves do anything strenuous. He must be tired, remember?"

Vessel feels immediate relief, trying not to hide it but also feeling as if he should hide that specific emotion from them. He's been utterly exhausted since the ritual, minor aches still present in his chest. III's weight has strained his ribs, but Vessel has kept that well away from the bond. Has kept it from his own awareness intentionally. Seeing III like this above him is well worth the bits of aching pain that sometimes strikes through a rib or two when III shifts their weight.

"Ves, you should have told me to stop." III levels guilty eyes back on Vessel, who stares back just as guilty, both for differing reasons.

"Can't- I can't." Vessel admits, the words like ash on his tongue, forced out like pulling teeth. "You are not them and yet... I can't."

III looks crestfallen, tears beading at the corners of their eyes. Any bits of happiness that had been in their bonds have all been snuffed out. He sits up, beginning to pull his hand away and Vessel whines, desperately reaching his own hand up to hold III's hand on his cheek.

Vessel's ruined everything.

He wants to cry, to dig a blade into his skin anywhere he can reach to punish himself for fucking things up. He shouldn't have said anything, Vessel should have kept his mouth shut and let them do whatever they wanted to him despite his discomfort with the idea of sex right now. To think he hasn't even told them that he still hurts.

"My apologies." He mumbles, hesitantly reaching out to take III's now unoccupied hands. "I did not mean to make you cry."

III is still warm and heavy above him, both of them half-hard. III lifts one of Vessel's hands up to kiss his knuckles delicately, reverently. Each one is worshipped before III moves on to Vessel's fingertips.

Spreading his fingers out, Vessel dares to reach a little further up and splay his hand across III's cheek. III's sigh, whether of sadness or contentment, sends shivers down Vessel's spine as it spills over his cold skin.

"Its okay, Ves." III murmurs in response, II shuffling closer, his knee grazing against III's thigh.

"I know we've said this before, but you can say no. Neither of us will be upset with you for not wanting sex. It's not a requirement in our relationship, just a bonus, okay?" III needs to stop being so gentle with Vessel, he loves and loathes it.

In lieu of answering, eager to move past this, Vessel turns his head and bites onto III's hand, moving it closer for his teeth to reach. Human teeth do not leave more than faint red marks on III's flesh, but he receives the reaction he wanted anyway. III's smiles, smaller than Vessel had hoped for.

"We'll get through to you on it eventually, but I'll accept your attempts at ending that particular line of conversation, for now." II huffs, not quite amused, not quite annoyed.

Vessel is a little apprehensive, releasing III's palm from between his teeth. Is II upset with him?

"Bite me next, sweetheart?" II asks, taking joy in the way Vessel's nervous expression shifts into something brighter, a spark coming back to his eyes.

"Where?" He whispers, the hand cupping III's cheek falling to rest against a thigh, holding onto the other man as if he'll disappear if Vessel doesn't keep him within reach.

Offering up his arm, biceps on full display due to the tank top II is wearing, II points at the meat of his bicep, almost on the underside, "How about right here, once III is finished with you?"

II then grins mischeviously, a smile Vessel feels he picked up from III, "I'll take a kiss right now, though, if you're up to it."

Vessel sits up as best as he can, one hand making grabby motions without care for how his shoulder twinges in protest. III starts to get off of him, but the hand on his thigh splays out and grips, meaning to keep III in place. Vessel nips gently at II's lower lip, relishing in the warm hand II slips into his hair. The kiss is slow and languid, II taking his time tasting Vessel just the same as Vessel himself is doing. There is no rush, no frenzy of passion, only worship through colliding lips.

"My turn, my turn!" III exclaims childishly, taking great pleasure in the mockingly aggrieved look II sends their way as he and Vessel reluctantly part.

Vessel's little grin is contagious, II stealing it with one last peck. II turns his head, reaching out to pull III into a kiss before the other can process what's happening. II is more rough with III, but no less loving, tongue swiping over III's lower lip in search of entrance into their mouth.

Vessel watches, fascinated, at how differently II handles him and III while never losing that adoring tenderness. He flexes his hand, still holding III's thigh, and slowly trails it down to rest easily on their knee. III is still straddling them, just as Vessel wanted, remaining close just as Vessel wanted. Though clothes limit their touch, he relishes in the warmth seeping through to his skin.

Vessel wants to hold them, wrap his arms around them, be so close that they all meld into one being. Instead, he watches their dance of tongues and yearns for something he cannot give himself or them.

II gently pulls III's head back by his hair, forcing them to part. "Enough now, pretty. Give Ves a kiss and then we'll finish up. It's almost time for us to leave."

III lets out a sound between a whine and a sigh, pretty blue eyes falling to meet Vessel's own. II doesn't release their hair, and III glances down at Vessel in confusion.

"So you don't get ahead of yourself, Three, I'll be keeping my hand right here. I won't pull hard enought to hurt at any point. Is that alright?" II asks, always seeking to keep them comfortable.

"Mm. That's fine, Doll." III nods, not minding how the action tugs at his scalp.

Slowly, II pushes III down until he and Vessel are nearly face to face, noses a hairs breadth apart. Then, II makes III wait, and in doing so, makes Vessel wait. For a moment, no one says or does anything, the tension slowly building between all three of them. Finally, II pushes III's head forward and he eagerly takes Vessel's lips with their own. Their hand finds Vessel's, clasping their fingers together. Ever eager, III immediately tries to devour Vessel, all hot tongue and claiming lips.

Before III can get really into it, II is pulling them back by the hair, ordering, "Take your time with him. Savor what Ves is gifting us."

Whining, III nods, desperate to put his mouth back on Vessel's. Hungry blue eyes take in the human dilation of Vessel's pupils, the faint flush spreading to the tips of his rounded ears. Dark hair is messy, curling at the edges from sleep, with still wet lashes from when he had been crying earlier.

"Please, sir, I'll be good. I'll be so good, just- let me taste him-" III shivers, not missing the way arousal suddenly surges through the shared bond.

The hand in III's hair tightens its grip marginally, and then II is releasing him entirely.

It surprises III enough that he doesn't move an inch for a few long seconds, but he gets over it quickly, slotting their lips back with Vessel's as though it's the last time he'll be given the chance.

III is slower this time, more careful, a languid swipe of his tongue against Vessel's bottom lip, a gentle nip to pull on bitten, chapped flesh. Kissing Vessel can be a little challenging with the others' penchant for grinning widely or smiling sweetly into them, but III wouldn't have it any other way. It's such an endearing thing to do and III loves him so much...

"Enough now." II orders, breathing labored as he pulls III away from Vessel, "If we don't stop now, I won't be letting Three out of the bed for a long time yet."

"That was fucking hot. I'm so turned on right now." III mumbles, eyes wide and dazed as their hand squeezes Vessel's own.

"I may have allowed you to get yourself off but I told you no funny business and you didn't listen." II mocks, smugly licking his lips to gather the faint taste of his lovers, "And you even dragged poor Ves into it. I know he's irresistible but I told you no."

"Aw, that's no fair." III pouts, perfectly aware that he disobeyed an order. "If you were in my position, you'd be struggling, too."

"Now you know that's not true, my love. I have impeccable restraint." II hasn't lost even an ounce of that smugness, knocking his shoulder into III's arm gently.

"Didn't show a lot of restraint when we finally had Ves moanin' for us." III smiles again, widely with teeth, baring them in challenge.

II looks away deliberately, a blush spreading from his cheeks down his neck. III's grin grows impossibly wider, victorious.

"Finish up here, Three. No kisses for two days." II states, leaning over to give Vessel a quick peck on the lips before getting off the bed entirely.

III gasps, one hand splayed over their chest. For a moment, Vessel thinks III is seriously upset, but the pleased little glimmer of emotion in the bond shows otherwise. Vessel doesn't understand it, but III seems to enjoy the punishments given.

So he works up the courage to ask.

Once II has wandered off to change clothes, Vessel brings it up while III fixes a smudged bit of under eye makeup on Vessel.

"Why do you not mind the punishments you receive? He does not hurt you, but I still don't- understand?" Vessel hopes he worded it alright, trying to keep himself from tilting his head naturally to the side with his confusion.

III's smile turns muted, small, dull. It doesn't suit him, it makes their face dim, like the light of the sun has gone out. Vessel hates that he put it there by asking such a stupid question-

"I trust him." III responds quietly, gently dabbing the tip of the eyeliner brush at the inner corner of one of Vessel's eyes.

It's a struggle to keep from flinching away with every touch, but Vessel manages. He stares resolutely at the beauty mark beside III's eye instead of attempting to hold eye contact with III while they work.

"Two has always made everything very clear to me. He has never hurt me, always listened to what I've said. I do not feel ignored or like my wants don't matter. The punishments I receive are small, mildy annoying things at worst, and at best, simple tasks or minor things withheld. II... he makes me feel safe, and loved, and I trust him with my body and needs."

"I don't remember the whole experience well, but I used to not be allowed to eat dinner if I made a mistake or was too loud back at the adoption home I was placed in. I preferred being forced to be absolutely silent over not being able to eat. "

Vessel's face twists into a pained grimace, devastated over the life III must have led before Sleep. III's face twists into further concentration, struggling to remember. The memories are neither good nor bad, a grey area that makes them easier to recall with single minded focus, with enough effort.

"The only dom I ever had was nice at first, but strict. A lot like II, perhaps, not as fun. Didn't love me like he does, either, but I wasn't in it for the romance, with him. He was more inclined to refusing basic needs when I was too bratty, always thought I talked too much, too. Reminded me the most of my childhood compared to any other flings I had."

Vessel plots murder in his mind, protective, possessive rage fizzling under his skin. III soothes it with a gentle pat against Vessel's cheek, the tender touch smoothing out the rough edges into something more manageable. Vessel has time and a means of killing that asshole off, if III will allow it. "No murder. I vaguely remember he got his shit together after a different brat kicked his ass for trying to pull the same shit."

Vessel visibly wilts, but agrees quietly.

"I appreciate the intent though, my love."

III continues, brushing a bit of highlighter over Vessel's cheekbones even if it potentially won't be seen, "I think I was in a lot of online forums before Sleep? I have vague recollections of talking to other queer people and figuring out labels I never would have learned on my own in my shitty, backwards town. The elderly woman at the thrift store was the first person to accept me, for me, after I figured out who I was and wanted to be. It's.... it's hard to remember much of my time with her because it was some of my happiest moments and Sleep took so much from me."

"I know I just continued to ramble after answering your question, I'm sorry. If you want me to be quiet, I will."

"No. I want to hear you, the sound of your voice, your laugh... your moans. I want to hear all of it for as long as you'll allow me the pleasure." Vessel says, no more than a whisper.

III leans back, a blush flaming across his face, closing his makeup bag and taking in his work. Sharp, black eyeliner juts out from Vessel's eyes, the style matching his eye shape. Inner corner points are mostly even, and mascara used to further darken Vessel's already dark eyelashes.

"You look so fucking ethereal, Sugar. Thank you for letting me do your makeup. Wanna kiss you so bad." III juts their lower lip out, continuing to pout as they had earlier.

Its an endearing expression, with his wide, pretty blue eyes and his beauty marks. "You reckon he'll extend the time for no kissing or not let me cum for a week?"

"I'd keep quiet if I were you, sweetheart, you're giving me ideas." II sings from the other side of the room, slipping a black tank top on, having been listening the whole time.

III laughs, leaning down to nuzzle his nose into Vessel's cheek in place of a kiss before climbing off him. Vessel misses the weight immediately, even if his sore ribs immediately feel relief. Vessel follows III up, discarding the pillow to the side and reaching out to take III's hand. "You didn't deserve anything that happened to you." Vessel states, feeling a little strange for reiterating what they seem to tell Vessel himself so often.

"That's why I left the adoption home when I was of age and why I dumped that piece of shit dom I had. I realized how much of a dickwad he really was, and left him. I didn't deserve any of it, even if sometimes, somewhere in my heart where faint memories linger, I feel like I did."

Vessel longs for his mask, in that moment. To hide behind the solid material, to keep III from seeing how some twisted sense of realization seems to physically slam into Vessel, stealing his unneeded breath.

"Ves?" III asks softly, cupping his jaw with a tenderness Vessel doesn't deserve.

Or... does he? Does he deserve to have good things, does he deserve the other vessels? Did he deserve everything that led him to Sleep?

Did he?

In this moment, about to go on a date with his lovers who mean more than the world to him, Vessel doesn't want to think about it... but-

"I'm fine, Three. I'm going to get dressed, thank you for doing my makeup. You look beautiful." Vessel says while stepping away from the hand on his cheek, and though he means it, its a clear attempt at exiting the conversation.

III watches as Vessel goes to dig around in his duffel bag, sharing a weighted glance with II. The other man shakes his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. III understands. They'll leave it be, for now. Someday, Vessel will realize he didn't deserve a fucking thing that has happened to him, Before Sleep, or After. It is not an easy realization for someone who has been hurt so severely.

They all finish getting ready quickly. Vessel finishes tucking in his billowing black shirt into the waistband of his skinny jeans, and while he does so, he takes note of what the other two are wearing. III's long skirt, loose with ruffles at the hem, is a pastel blue to match their hair. A black shirt with bell-like sleeves, one of Vessel's, is hanging off their less broad frame, with black socks and their sneakers. II has on a form fitting tank top, tucked into a pair of black cargo pants. His silver necklace is the only accessory other than his piercings, unlike III who has a choker around their neck to offset their own piercings. III takes a few minutes to braid bits of Vessel's hair, and then up into his usual half up, half down style. The braids match III's, a detail that doesn't escape Vessel's notice. It makes him surprisingly happy to see that they match.

Just as Vessel thinks they're going to leave, II stops them at the door. "Forget something, pretty?" II croons, very slowly caging Vessel against the door.

He makes sure to give Vessel ample time to move aside or ask him to stop. Vessel grows nervous at the attention, at the position, biting his lip even as he eyes up the thick bicep's caging him in.

"Oh~ We almost forgot II's request!" III smirks, leaning his elbow flat on II's head.

It ruins the sensual approach II was going for, and II glares lightly up at them.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Doll. You were making him nervous! Coming at him with those delicious muscles on full display."

II glances back at Vessel, intending to see for himself. He finds Vessel staring at his biceps, eyes wide. There are hints of arousal in the bond from all three of them, though II knows Vessel likely doesn't want to do anything about it.

"Gonna bite me, sweetheart?" II says, leaning in closer, smile turning playful as III lifts their weight from his head. "I do so love your teeth on me."

Vessel's taller frame slowly moves closer, leaning down into II's personal space. Nervously, he places his mouth over the curve of a muscle, grazing his teeth along the skin. II shudders, leaning closer, his hair tickling Vessel's jaw and ear. The height difference is clear, like this, II so small beneath him even though the shorter man is the one caging him in.

It... does something to Vessel, to see II like this.

He opens his mouth, and sinks his teeth in to the meat of II's bicep. II moans, a shiver wracking through his whole body.

For a brief moment, Vessel has the strangest thought of reversing their positions. It's banished before it can fully form. Vessel would never dare. II wouldn't want it, and Vessel would never dare.

"Christ on a bike." III mumbles, finding themselves weak in the knees.

II chokes out a laugh, startled. "Where in the fuck did you hear that- Shit."

As II is speaking, Vessel releases his arm from between his teeth and moves up towards his shoulder, biting in deeper there. Not hard enough to break skin, but the indents will last a few minutes at least. Perhaps it will bruise, and Vessel can look at it longingly until it fades, can revel in guilty satisfaction at what II has allowed (asked) him to do.

Vessel pulls away, fearing for his secrets safety, realizing just how close he and II have become. Boldly, he presses a kiss onto II's forefead, face heating with a blush at the desire filled look in II's eyes.

There's something else, too. Surprise, adoration. Vessel had just kissed him first, after all. Even if it was only on the forehead. II could count on half a hand the amount of times that has happened, and basks in how happy it makes him.

II lets Vessel loose from the cage of his arms, rubbing a hand over his face with a disgruntled huff, "Okay, we need to go. I won't be able to stand a minute more of you both looking this pretty while we have some semblance of privacy."

Vessel can feel his face grow warmer, pale skin going pink as a lopsided smile tries to make an appearance. Without any more preamble, Vessel reaches back and twists the doorknob to their hotel room. II lets him escape without a fuss, running reverent fingers over the stinging bite marks then following behind III after making sure he has his wallet and room key.

Nick is leaning against Vessel's car when they leave the hotel, nearly to the butt end of his cigarette. He offers one to II as he shoves off the car, but II politely declines.

III makes note of the longing in the bond with distaste, trying to keep II from feeling it. They really hope II keeps to his promise.

"Well, aren't you a fancy bunch. Sure I can't tag along?" Nick's voice is warm, kind, smiling around his cigarette even as he eyes the bruising bite stark against the pale skin of II's bicep.

Vessel stiffens, moving to hide a bit behind III to avoid Nick even seeing him, or him from seeing Nick. He really doesn't want Nick to go with them.

"Maybe some other time, I'm sorry. If this weren't a date, I'd be all for you coming along." II apologizes, smile bordering on kind, and Vessel isn't surprised that the emotions the others feel towards Nick are genuine.

They're friends with him, somewhat, it's only Vessel who has a problem.

"It's almost noon, Two." III points out, and II is quick to give their farewells.

Nick says something about maybe going off to explore, or maybe just sticking around the hotel room but Vessel doesn't care to listen keenly, eager to leave the other man behind. Hiding in the car, Vessel fiddles with his phone as the others give farewell pleasantries. The message from Terzo stares back at him, left on Read.

As he's thinking over a reply, II and III get in the car. III immediately starts fiddling with the radio, digging through Vessel's cd collection. The Poison by Bullet For My Valentine is III's pick, and Vessel finds it in himself to smile a little wider at the choice, turning his attention back down to his phone.

How did Terzo know? How? Did Omega find out and tell him? Did they tell II and III? No. No, they couldn't have. There is no way that the others would still be here with him, treating him so kindly, loving him, if they knew he had no heart.

Vessel deletes the message from Terzo about his heart, electing to answer the first part.

(Terzo Emeritus)

Vessel: Thank you, and Omega, for helping me yesterday. I appreciate the kindness you have shown. It was a pleasure meeting you, and if I have any questions, I will ask as you have offered.

Pleased with his formal writing, Vessel sends the message and sets his phone down when II begins to drive. He doesn't mind being in the backseat as much, now that Nick isn't with them. III keeps engaging him in conversation, not minding when Vessel answers quietly, or merely nods or shakes his head to show he's listening.

The bond is buzzing with Vessel's excitement, the anxiety warring with the positive emotion for control. It leaves Vessel feeling a little ill by the time they park, seeking out one of the others hands for comfort. The aquarium is a large building, grey in color with spots of ocean-themed murals along the more expansive sections.

II pulls him closer as III takes Vessel's other hand, paying for the tickets. Inside is a throng of people all gathered around the gift shop and some of the smaller exhibits and directory signs. II hands over a black surgical face mask from one of his many pockets, and when III asks when he found the time to ask for one of those, II shrugs, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the ticketbooth. Vessel slips it on, making sure his earrings and hair aren't caught beneath the strings, and immediately feels more secure. He'd felt exposed without his mask, and this has helped.

All three of them take a moment to briefly look around, and then Vessel gasps softly, pulling the other two forward toward one of the directory signs. He lifts II's hand up with his own to point out one of the exhibits.

"A jellyfish exhibit!" He exclaims, blue eyes gray in the lighting, like a sea overshadowed by a gathering storm.

"Do you want to head there first, then?" II smiles, taking in how lively Vessel is already, and they've only just arrived.

"Can we?" Vessel turns wide, bright eyes onto II, grinning beneath his face mask.

Though his smile itself is hidden from them, it still crinkles the edges of Vessel's human eyes. He looks absolutely ethereal with his sharp black eyeliner with the bit of blue glitter II has put at the inner corners to highlight the little wings there, too. His hair is pulled back into its usual style, now with two little braids in front of his pierced ears. Framing pieces of hair had been left out, and he's utterly adorable. II and III are absolutely enamored.

The jellyfish exhibit is a large room, with a wall of glass on one side. Behind the glass are yellow-orange jellyfish, sea nettles if Vessel remembers correctly. They're large, floating about inside their huge tank. Smaller tanks are strewn about the room, with different types of jellyfish in each. Vessel knows some jellyfish eat other species of themselves, so it makes sense. Murals take up the expanse of the other walls, of jellyfish in the ocean and silly cartoon sea creatures. In the middle of the room sits a floor to ceiling cylinder of water filled with moon jellies, all leisurely swimming as people ogle them and their beauty.

Vessel opens his mouth to gush about the moon jellies as he drags II and III closer by the hand, but shuts it as he seems to wilt. He knows they don't mind too much if he rambles, but... the fear that they will grow annoyed with him remains ever present.

"Hey Ves, what kind of jellyfish is this?" III asks, grinning when Vessel visibly perks up.

As Vessel moves to speak, II mouths, "Good job."

"They're moon jellies! They can make themselves about half their size if there isn't enough food around, and will grow back to regular size when more food is available! They're primarily preyed upon by sea turtles-!"

II and III listen fondly as Vessel continues to ramble out facts about jellyfish, not just the moon jellies. He drifts over to the sea nettles, explaining how depending on their home region, can be minorly or severely dangerous based on someone's sensitivity to their sting. 

Eventually, they finish in the jellyfish exhibit room after no small amount of time. Vessel had gone on and on about each type in all of their respective tanks, enjoying himself to an extent the other vessels aren't sure they've ever seen. It makes them feel so... in love. And proud. Proud of how far he's come.

"Hey, Two, Ves, want a picture?" III asks, holding up their phone as they're all just looking up at the glass wall separating them from the jellyfish, right before they leave. 

"Up for a picture, sweetheart?" II looks up to Vessel, and when he receives a quiet affirmation, II pulls them over to a less crowded spot while III follows, readying his phone camera.

Vessel stands awkwardly, not sure what to do, as II moves them both into position, facing each other.

"Okay, in three, two, one-!"

II reaches up on his toes, pulling Vessel's face mask down and kissing him, cupping his jaw on either side so gently it brings tears to Vessel's eyes. II fixes Vessel's mask after he pulls away, settling back down onto his feet properly.

III comes over to show them the picture, pouting about not getting a candid photo of kiss too. II grumbles in good fun, leaning over to kindly ask a young goth couple to take a photo of them. 

Breaking the rule he'd set, II kisses III the same way, the girlfriends taking the photo hooting and hollering. 

"One more photo." II calls, pulling Vessel to their sides, "Alright, now pose."

Knowing he must look a fool, Vessel simply smiles, doing a little peace sign. III strikes some full body pose from II's other side, while II merely leans his head on Vessel's arm, hands clasped together. The girls give III his phone back, commenting on how cute they all are and then walking off, hand in hand. III shows them the photo and then sends all of them to the group chat. Vessel sets the one with II as his lock screen, and after a bit more tapping, the group one as his homescreen. After that, they move on through the penguin enclosure, where Vessel tries not to frown too harshly. Downtrodden, he asks to go to a different area pretty quickly.

Vessel had been excited, at first. He still is, to an extent. Happy that II and III brought him, had thought of him to such an extent, but...

He can't help but think back to how listless the penguins had looked, in their boring enclosure with nothing to look at but gray walls and ice, and the relentless calls and noises from humans staring at them through the glass separating them. Vessel may not know what it's like to have a home (he won't admit the truth to himself. He can't- He's afraid-), but he can sympathize with the pain of being taken from it. The only place Vessel had felt at home in, Before, was down in the ocean, sinking with the weight of stones in his pockets as his lungs screamed for air and his body fought his heart to swim back to the surface. He'd worn his heaviest clothes and boots, knowing it would only help him achieve his goal. Fish had swam by, a small coral reef leaving scrapes and cuts when he'd hit it after finally sinking deep enough. The light of the moon had been bright, then, and utterly beautiful. His body still struggled, but his heart, his mind, had finally, finally felt peace.

They move on to the shark exhibit at III's insistence, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood that has befallen Vessel. The First perks up, having a love of sharks, but the sight of one of the grey reef sharks swimming with a bit of difficulty alongside some seabass, ruined III's good intentions.

"What's wrong sweetheart, why are you sad?" II questions, pulling Vessel in close, arms brushing against each other.

"They were all taken from their homes. All the creatures we saw today." Vessel frowns, eyes a little misty, "The sign says that this shark was hurt so they brought it here for recovery, but... the scar looks like it was from something man-made. We did this to it, took it from its home after we hurt it."

"We didn't do this to it, honey. I know someone else did, and I despise that we as a species are so prone to cruelty, but they're trying to heal it, here. Look, this other sign says they'll release it once it's healthy enough. It'll go back home soon enough."

Nodding, Vessel squeezes II's hand, seeking comfort without wanting to ask for it. "Next time we'll go to a sanctuary!" III breaks right out with it, desperate to bring some semblance of that joy back to the bond.

"There might be one near home." II adds, nodding, "They treat their animals better, usually, and are more likely to actually release them when they're healed up."

"You would do that for me?" Vessel whispers, surprised like the first time, like every time they show him an ounce of consideration.

"I would do anything for you." II replies firmly, pressing a soft, adoring kiss to Vessel's temple.

Vessel doesn't realize the truth in that statement. II isn't sure he ever will, but that's alright.

"If you decided one day that the sun was too bright or something, I'd find a way to take it out of the sky." III chimes in, completely serious.

Vessel gapes, "That would have severe environmental effects-"

"It's the sentiment, Sugar. If you asked me to do something impossible, I'd find a way, no matter what, for you. Because you mean that much to me, to us." III grins so widely their cheeks surely must hurt from the strain.

Vessel grins, eyes wet, nodding in lieu of a verbal answer. He's overwhelmed by the love they're showing him, by that tender emotion flowing so gently down the bond.

"Can we head to the giftshop next? We passed it on the way in and there was something I wanted to check out." III says, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

There's an excited gleam in his eyes, uncontainable.

"Shouldn't we wait until we're about to leave?" II counters, a little confused.

"There's a plushie I want to get Ves and I really want to get it now before all of these little kids buy out their entire stock." III says, entirely serious, then brings out the wide eyes and simpering expression to beg, "Please?"

"Oh, fine. We'll backtrack if its fine with Ves." II rolls his eyes good naturedly, turning to look up at Vessel for his decision.

Vessel nods, not really minding either way. He's content to follow the others around, even though they have been following him around. Rubbing an eye, Vessel struggles to stifle his yawn. He's still utterly exhausted from yesterday, the ache in his ribs growing worse as the day wears on. "Do you want to take a break first, honey?" II asks, ever the caretaker.

"No. I'm fine, promise."

II acquiesces, and they continue on. They make their way back to the front area of the aquarium, holding hands the entire way. Any rude look receives a fierce glare from II, the shortest of them shooting daggers into any bigoted asshole that wants to be shitty. They're holding hands, not fucking on the aquarium floor. The giftshop is larger than some of the exhibit rooms, dedicated to many different kinds of merch, ranging from t-shirts, to mugs and keychains, to plushies and child-friendly scientific kits or home aquariums.

"Do you have a preference for a plushie, Ves? You don't have to pick the one I have in mind." III says, suddenly nervous, picking at his nail polish.

"Pick whatever you want. My plague doctor was a gift from II. It is... nice, to be thought of. To have a gift chosen for me."

III lights up, the sun returned to his eyes, bounding off with a promise to return thrown over their shoulder. II stays close, keeping a tight hold of Vessel's hand as he leads him through the store. Vessel tries to keep track of III, anxious for him to be so far away. Rows of plushies are lined up against a back wall, the opposite direction of III who is currently staring down a child who wants one of the plushies somewhere up front. Vessel watches as II scans over the rows with a discerning eye, taking great care in reaching out and feeling the materials of each plushie to see how the texture feels between his fingers.

"Here, Ves, how about this one?" II says, finally, picking out a jellyfish plushie.

It's about the length of Vessel's arm, white in color with two black dots for eyes and a line for a smiley face. Hanging from off of its bottom is the jellyfish arms, a mix of white ribbon and a scrunchy pastel blue material that springs back up when Vessel tentatively stretches out one of the tentacles. It makes him smile, amusement zinging down the bond.

"I take that as a yes, then." II says, longing to hug Vessel or kiss him senseless.

"Guys! Guys! I beat this kid in rock paper scissors, four to five, and got the last one!" III exclaims loudly, excitedly bouncing up beside them with a decently sized shark in hand, triumphant.

Vessel barely flinches, feeling much better than when he woke up. He turns his attention to the shark. It's... comical in expression. With big, beady black eyes, a grey and white body, its mouth is what sets it apart from a typical shark plushie. Its mouth is a half moon shape, lined with sewn in pointed, but blunt, teeth. Its a very round shape, with a floppy dorsal fin, and one of the pectoral fins is misshapen. The caudal fin looks to be about the right shape, but no less floppy than the dorsal.

"It's a little... off looking." III's smile turns sheepish, "But it was the last one and I wasn't about to lose rock, paper, scissors to a ten year old that I challenged."

"You challenged a ten year old to rock, paper, scissors?" II raises an eyebrow, amused.

"And almost lost?" Vessel whispers, taking the shark from III.

"I'll have you know I won in the end, and that's what matters. Besides, that's not the point here. The point is that I got the plushie I wanted to get Vessel! Even if its misshapen." III pouts, tucking a stray strand of hair behind their ear.

"Such a pouty boy today." II gets up on his tiptoes to whisper in Vessel's ear, smile fond but cheeky.

It sends shivers down Vessel's spine, warm breath hot against his cool skin.

"I like the shark." Vessel decides, as III moves to ruffle II's hair out of spite.

"What are you going to name them?"

"Name them?" Vessel tilts his head, puzzled.

"Yeah! You should name them! It's like breathing new life into them, like when we chose our names." III drops their voice down to a little louder than a whisper.

Oh.

Vessel thinks he understands.

"Think on it, Ves. You don't have to name them right now, or today. Whatever you think of will be a good choice because they're yours now." II says, reaching up to cup Vessel's cheek over the face mask.

Nodding, Vessel follows the others towards the front of the shop to pay, struggling to ignore the crying child throwing a tantrum over wanting too many items for the family to pay for. The noise is loud, almost overwhelming, and it causes Vessel's anxiety to spike.

He holds the plushies close, seeking comfort in them while they wait in line to pay. As he's looking around, rubbing a thumb over III's knuckles, something catches his eye on a stand nearby. Vessel glances up at III who is messing around on their phone, and II who is watching him already. II makes a shooing motion, taking the plushies from Vessel, and slowly, he drags III with him to look at what caught his attention.

It's a projector that puts moving underwater images on a wall. Deliberating, but guilty, Vessel weighs his options. He knows the others would just tell him to get it, simply because he wants it. And he does want it. They don't destroy his things either, so it likely won't get broken that way.

He turns to III, holding up the box with one hand wordlessly.

"That's going to look so fucking cool in your room, pretty."

Vessel grins, kissing III's knuckles through his face mask as they go back to where II has moved a bit further up in line. "I'll help you set that up at home if you need me to, Ves. It'll look really nice with your blackout curtains to block out light."

Vessel presses up close to II, keeping hold of III's hand. The line moves slow, but not overtly so. The harried cashier is tired but kind, struggling to man the cash register by himself. II pays, uncaring of the price, though Vessel blanches at the absurdity of it. III reassures him that money doesn't matter today, and Vessel really does try his best to not think of it. 

As they find the nearby directory, Vessel is lost in thought. He thinks he has names picked out, but will the others approve?

"Um, how about Mr. Nibbles? For my shark, and Jello for my jellyfish?" Vessel asks, gently putting Mr. Nibbles in the bag with his new projector. 

He makes sure to pat his head goodbye before II takes the bag from him.

"Those are great names!" III exclaims, II agreeing, more subdued, but no less enthusiastic.

Vessel lights up at II's approval, holding a hand out in hopes II will take it.

He does, clasping their fingers together and bringing their hands up to kiss Vessel's ringed knuckles. Vessel blushes up to his ears, a pretty flush to his cheeks that hasn't seemed to leave the entire time they've been on their date. He really is so happy to be here, despite noticing some less than savory things about the place. Hiding his face in the plush fabric of Jello's cap, Vessel attempts to force the blush from his cheeks. 

"Two, Two, he can't keep getting away with this. He's so cute." There are honest to Sleep tears in Three's eyes as they tug at a beltloop on II's pants.

"And I'm not even allowed to kiss him." III moans out in utter agony, dramatically holding their head in their hands.

"You can kiss him all you want in a couple days, brat. Now, how about we check out the bioluminescent fish exhibits?"

"Can we go back to see the sharks again? I... saw something for a touch pool." Vessel asks, quiet and expecting rejection, quickly trying to correct himself, "We don't have to. We already went so-"

"That's fine. I wanted to take a look at the touch pools too. I chose the aquarium with you in mind, we can do whatever you want to do." II assures, eyes going between the directory and up at Vessel tenderly.

"Alright. If you're sure." Vessel's smile is weak, uncertain, but II takes comfort in the hints of excitement still in the bond.

II takes the lead again, holding Vessel's hand while he holds III's. They might look a little silly: Three grown men linking hands at an aquarium, armed with bags of merchandise. II doesn't spare a single fuck for fools who think they're acting immature or being too public in their affections.

The shark exhibit room is busier than the last time they were there, II's shorter frame helping him navigate through the throngs of people and pulling the other two with him. The touch pool area is thankfully less crowded, with only a few families and their children around.  All three of them lean over into the touch pool area, II setting down their stuff by their feet. III immediately seeks out a cow nose ray, petting over it's brown back gently. II finds a starfish close to the wall of the touch pool, fascinated by how textured their spines feel as another cow nose ray drifts close. 

Vessel is a little more hesitant, gradually sinking his hand down into the water. There's a bamboo shark nearby, tentatively swimming closer. It brushes up against the back of Vessel's hand curiously, then swims away. It comes back quickly enough, nibbling at Vessel's fingers gently, making him laugh quietly. Vessel thinks this is the best part of the day so far, unable to contain the elation flowing smoothly through his veins, thick like honey.

A child splashes the water, her parents pulling her back with exasperated reprimands, familiar on their tongues, as the manta rays scatter. Vessel loses track of time as he pets the sea creatures, gently picking up a starfish to look over before setting it back down. II and III eventually drift away to look over a wayfinding sign, pointing out exhibits they could look at next. They talk back and forth, debating over which of the few are left to go to since they've visited most of the exhibits  already. Vessel stays nearby, seated now on the concrete lip as one arm remains in the water, the other holding Jello. Gentle fingers brush over a bamboo shark pup, eyes wide in wonder as the beautiful creature keeps circling back around for Vessel to pet again. II keeps a careful eye on Vessel, afraid to lose sight him in the growing crowd.

Slowly, more and more of the pups come up to Vessel's hand as he struggles to pet them all and hold his plushie still, a wide smile pulling at his lips. III takes a quick photo before turning back to the conversation they're having with II, undecided on the aviary or the seahorse exhibits.

Around Vessel, children of all ages pet the epaulette sharks and manta rays, laughter and conversations between families quickly becoming overwhelming. It's beginning to make his skin crawl, every little noise causing him to flinch or grimace. Looking around, Vessel stands, shaking his hand off then wiping it on his pants. His sleeve is let back down as he looks around, hoping to find somewhere a little quieter that won't be too far from the others. There are more people around II and III, parents with their unruly children looking over the wayfinder sign, too, and Vessel doesn't feel like going near all of those people. The others would hold his hand if he asked but all of the noise and people would cancel out the comfort.

Another glance around and a sign catches Vessel's eye, as well as the deep blue tunnel under it. It's a water tunnel that apparently leads off to a large room of similar purpose. Already Vessel can see schools of fish swimming past the glass in front of a lone couple in the tunnel, and intrigued, Vessel makes to move that direction before pausing, looking back towards his lovers unsurely.

He adjusts his grip on his plushie, holding Jello closer, running gentle fingers up and down the length of one of her scrunchy blue arms, taking comfort in the action. A child starts screaming, high-pitched and grating, throwing a tantrum over something or other, and Vessel flinches, hunching into himself. He takes a glance at II and III again, finding them thoroughly distracted. 

Vessel stands, and heads in the direction of the water tunnels. He'll only go a few feet in, linger at its entrance so he's within sight. And he does, Vessel stays near the opening, crouched at the glass separating him from kelp and little fish swimming about in their schools. Vessel stands, moving a bit further in to get a better look at some of the larger fish, human eyes struggling in the lighting. 

Vessel is entranced. Beautiful blue waters surround him on all sides, fish of various types swimming in their own respective schools. A hammerhead shark swims leisurely by, Vessel losing sight of it as it goes behind a large structure meant to resemble a corral reef. The lights in the room are meant to look like the audience is underwater, and blue eyes absorb everything around him he can as he slowly spins in a circle.

His soul had died it's true death the day Vessel tried to drown himself in the ocean. He knew a piece of him stayed down under those deep, dark waters. Here, surrounded by fish and stalks of seaweed, the distinct sound of being underwater playing through the speakers, Vessel feels like he finally came home.

He holds his new plushies close, standing smack dab in the middle of the room. No one is around, only him and the blissful calm of the sea as company. He gets a bit lost in it, unaware of the passing of time as he watches the fish swim by.

Unbeknownst to him, Vessel's bond goes distant, fading into the void like his mind.

The peace is shattered by the sound of his name, a desperate call. Vessel blinks, dazed, as his mind is forced to focus.

"Vessel!" The shout reaches Vessel's ears again, and he realizes II is calling for him.

His phone rings incessantly in his pocket, and he reaches to answer it urgently. As he does so, he notices multiple missed calls. How hadn't he heard them?

"Three?" Vessel inquires, a little confused as his head tries to focus on the present.

"Vessel, where are you?!" III's voice over the phone is frantic, laced heavily with emotion as though they are on the verge of tears.

That thought leads Vessel to realizing his face is wet, and there is a tugging on the bond every second or so, trying to get his attention. He pulls taut on it, a means of leading the others to him.

"I followed the signs for um, an underwater room? I'm not sure. It was through some ocean tunnels." Vessel tries to explain, but his voice is frail, as weak as he suddenly feels.

Slipping off his face mask, Vessel tries to wipe away his tears. His hand comes away glistening, wet with the tears he didn't even know he was crying.

"Okay. Okay, II and I are on our way. Stay there, okay, Sugar? Stay there. We'll be right there." III's voice sounds wrecked, and his words feel more to reassure himself than Vessel.

Vessel doesn't need reassuring. He's fine. He is.

He makes his way to the glass separating him from the tranquil waters, placing a hand on the glass, listening to III whisper loudly to II on the other end of the line.

Staring into the glass this close, vision filled with beautiful blue water and little guppies pecking at his fingers through the glass, Vessel feels himself slipping away again. It's quiet here, the only sound are the waves through speakers, static interrupting the peaceful sound every once in a while. 

Vessel wants to go home.

Yet, that place, sinking under the depths, isn't really his home anymore, is it? He's found a new one, he just can't admit it to himself. Fear stays his hand. 

Two pairs of footsteps running towards him fall on deaf ears, his phone hanging loosely at his side in a limp hand. His arms itch, the sensation faint, like the strange feeling of more tears slipping down his cheeks. Free to glide over his skin, salty wet splashes against his shirt, but Vessel doesn't notice. 

"Vessel!" He barely manages to hear II and III, their voices intertwined, only realizing they've finally met up with him when II collides into his back in a hug.

Vessel flails, caught between turning around and pulling away entirely. He settles on turning around, keeping his plushie between them. It doesn't feel like enough, it never does, but Vessel desires what he knows he shouldn't, so he allows them closer than he should. 

"I look away for two seconds and you're gone! You scared the shit out of us, Ves! Please, please don't wander off again." Tears bead at the corners of II's eyes as he pleads with Vessel, wishing for the stuffed animal to be gone, just so he could be close enough to hear Vessel's heartbeat, to know the other man was alive.

The wetness smudges the eyeliner that had remained intact all day, but II still looks beautiful. He always looks beautiful.

Vessel is slowly nodding his agreement without a thought, squeezing II's hand comfortingly, "I didn't mean to worry you,. I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't mean to, honey." II sniffles, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"Why did you wander off?" III asks, voice small, clutching at Vessel's sleeve like a scared child.

III looks scared, too, wide, wet eyes scanning Vessel for any injuries. "There were so many kids screaming, and everything got really loud. I... I couldn't handle it so I went off to the ocean tunnel area. I only meant to stay at it's entrance, I swear, so I wouldn't lose either of you, but I got distracted by all of the fish and continued." Vessel explains, guilty.

II finds it in himself to laugh, "Of course you got distracted. You at an aquarium must be like a kid in a candy shop. Do you... know why you started to disassociate?"

Vessel's lips pinch beneath his face mask, averting his eyes. "No. Must be because I got overwhelmed."

II knew this would be coming any time now. Vessel hasn't been out around this many people in the entire time II has known him. He knew the other would get overwhelmed eventually, and should have kept a closer eye on him.

Any vulnerability is gone quick enough, snuffed out in replacement of a smile and drying eyes, "Alright, Ves, that makes sense. Do you want to do anything else? There are a few more-"

Vessel wants to go home. He wants to go back to the manor, where he lives with II and III, and he wants to be home with them.

"Can we go back to the manor?" Vessel interrupts, guilty eyes struggling to meet II's.

Vessel turns his head so that his cheek presses onto III's head, taking comfort in the way the curls muddle his line of sight. III still hasn't let him go, still clutching at Vessel's arm like a limpet now, refusing to let any distance come between them. If Vessel focuses, he may be able to feel III's heartbeat in his bicep where the other man has Vessel's arm in a vice grip. 

"Of course we can, Ves. I'll be right back." II says, soft eyes full of understanding.

II turns to go back to the wayfinder to grab their things, hand beginning to slip from Vessel's. He clutches onto it like III is currently doing to him, fearful of any distance between them. "I don't... please- Can we stay close?"

"I'm not going that far, sweetheart. Just to grab our things."

"Too far." Vessel mumbles, selfishly, and II's expression softens further.

II let's Vessel hold onto his hand, all three of them shuffling back through the tunnels towards their collection of bags. It's a miracle all of them are still there, and then Vessel notices the thicker than normal shadows underneath the plastic bags. Vessel still feels guilty that they'd bought him anything, even though II was adamant it was fine, they weren't wanting for money thanks to Sleep, and Vessel had decided for himself that he wanted something. 

"Can we get a drink or something before we go? I would feel better, personally." III asks, feeling guilty for asking.

"Is that fine with you Ves?" II asks, and Vessel nods, replying, "Do they have anything sweet?'

Even if he didn't need sustenance, something sweet did sound nice. As soon as they find themselves surrounded by people, Vessel's hands kick up a faint tremble. II blessedly tries to keep them away from the thick of it, carrying their bags in one hand while keeping hold of Vessel's with the other. 

II finds a secluded spot for Vessel to calm down in, setting their stuff down beside a small fountain. Small tremors wrack his otherwise still form as Vessel's mind settles from being out of the overwhelming situation, holding Jello close while rubbing his thumb and forefinger down the scrunchy material of her arms. 

"I'm going to the restroom and to get us drinks! I'll be right back, promise!" III exclaims, nervously fidgeting with their nail polish, picking at the chipping paint.

"Be careful." II implores while he digs around in his wallet for their credit card, seeming as reluctant to let III go off on their own as III himself is.

"Will do." III grins, easy despite his own anxieties.

"Three." Vessel mutters when III turns to leave, "Sleep will erase anyone who harms you if I ask. Do not be afraid to protect yourself."

"I'll come back to you, Sugar. I'll bring you something sweet, and maybe something more bitter for Two." III leans down to kiss Vessel's forehead, pulling away from the finger he didn't realize was locked around a belt loop.

They glance over at II, a nod meeting his questioning look. The kiss was allowed then. III was hoping it was. II isn't strict on the rules when distressing situations occur, knowing allowing them the small comforts helps. II isn't cruel. III turns, and walks away, long legs carrying him from his lovers quickly. II waits until III is out of sight, both he and Vessel watching them go before II hands Vessel Mr. Nibbles, swimming in his love for the other man as Vessel cuddles into the misshapen shark. Already, away from the crowds and overall noise of the aquarium, Vessel's bond is lighter. The static of overstimulation is beginning to taper. II wants to ask Vessel what happened in the ocean tunnels. That look in his eyes scared him, something like death seeping from his blue eyes into crystal tears.

Now, Vessel is looking at him over his new shark stuffed animal with loving eyes, clear contemplation in the bond. Would II get angry with him? Would he think the nickname was too old-fashioned?

II lets him ruminate in peace, content to keep watch for III's return as Vessel calms down. II tugs on the bond on occasion, relief buzzing through him whenever III returns the gesture.

Vessel does his best not to even think the nickname, despite how much he longs to refer to them as such in his head. He yearns for so many things, and fears allowing himself the luxury of having any of them. He is ruled by his fear, but... II and III have helped him overcome so much already...

"Today was fun, thank you, beloved."

II freezes in place, and Vessel does, too.

"I-I apologize, it just slipped out!" Vessel tries to fix his mistake, even if he said the nickname with purpose, holding his plushies tighter to himself as though their soft forms will protect him. "I won't say it ag- oof!"

II launches himself at Vessel, startling him so badly he loses balance, almost toppling over the ledge and into the fountain behind him. II continues, smile wide, picking Vessel up by the waist and twirling him around. It makes Vessel dizzy, and he's caught between yelping and loosing an undignified giggle. The sound he makes comes out as more of a squeak instead, and II laughs, pressing a kiss into Vessel's stomach. Vessel almost drops his plushies in surprise, easily ignoring the way his ribs ache in protest at the movement. II doesn't miss the flash of Vessel's pain, hold gentling but not placing him back down. Vessel's weight is barely felt due to II's strength, the chains on his pants digging into II's skin. He doesn't want to let go, wants to hold on to Vessel forever. 

"Sorry, sweetheart. Got ahead of myself. Are you okay? I can put you down."

Vessel hums a disagreement, relishing in II's arms around him. He shouldn't be able to feel Vessel's lack of heartbeat. Hopefully. He can't see II's head over his new stuffed animals, but Vessel can still feel his love, feel his happiness, and that's enough. He sends back his own, and it is like they're floating in it, just them two in a vast ocean of tender affection.

"Would you say it again, sweetheart?"

"Beloved." Vessel murmurs, too lowly for II to hear him.

"Again."

"Beloved." Vessel repeats himself a little louder this time, though not above a whisper.

"Again? Please?"

"Beloved."

Now that he's said it properly, at a normal volume, II finally sets him down only to immediately smother him in a world ending kiss, pulling Vessel's facemask down to do so. One hand holds Vessel's nape, pulling him down to meet II's lips while the shorter man stands on his tip toes, the other cupping Vessel's cheek. He is careful not to put too much strain on Vessel's ribs, but Vessel himself is not as careful, once again ignoring the ache and leaning down further so II doesn't have to strain himself.

Gentle 'I love you's' are murmured into the chapped skin of Vessel's lips as II kisses him again, and again, less frenzied than the first, softer, slower.

Finding the restroom is easy enough, III passing by a man who sneers at them distastefully when they politely squeeze by. Taking a piss is a boring affair, as it always is, though III is glad to be the only one in the restroom. Lost in thought about how absolutely gorgeous his boyfriends look today, and still a little frazzled from losing Vessel, III doesn't pay any mind to the next man who comes in the bathroom, takes one look at him, and promptly leaves as III is washing their hands.

A tiny voice croons in awe, something about his hair being pretty and having so many red threads on his fingers, and III freezes in place, turning their head to look at the restroom entrance. Empty, just like the stalls behind him. 

He turns in a circle, looking around. The restroom is completely empty, except for a spider on the wall, hanging out on an intricately spun web in one corner of a small window. The tiny voice speaks again in amused disbelief, and again III understands perfectly. It isn't English, or any other human language, but III's mind translates it with ease. It says something about there being no way a human had heard her speak. The spider shuffles, moving slightly closer. Eight eyes blink slowly, once, twice, before there's a chittering exclamation of realization.

III finds himself pointing at it, mouth hanging open. It's tiny head tilts, before one equally as tiny, spindly arm lifts to point back.

Slowly, the point turns into a mimicry of a wave, and III feels their heart constrict painfully. He waves back cheerfully, trying to keep himself contained so he doesn't scare the little creature.

"You're so cute. What's your name?" III sticks his hand out, and tentatively, the spider climbs on.

It's a small thing, no bigger than III's thumbnail, perhaps a jumping spider? With two large eyes in front with a smaller pair beside each of those, and another set, one eye on either side of its head, and fuzzy little hairs all over the brown body.

"What is a name, Vessel of a God?" She asks in a confused chitter, and III is fairly certain it's a she.

"It is what you are called. My name is Three. It's what my boyfriends call me, and the name I chose when I started my new life." Though surprised, III brushes past the spider knowing their inhuman status.

"You can choose your own name?" III's mind supplies when the spider speaks again.

"Yeah, you can! Or I can name you. It's your choice." III responds, exiting the restroom.

They move off to the side, reaching to fiddle with their phone screen so they don't draw too much attention for talking to their hand.

"You would grant me a name, kind Vessel of a God?" Big, big eyes stare up at III and he knows he won't survive those eyes.

They remind him far too much of Vessel.

III has only known this little spider for a total of five minutes but he'd kill for her.

"Yes, yes, I will! If you want me to! How about Kiwi? Cause you're fuzzy and about the same color."

When Kiwi repeats her name, it is not in any form of human speech, but it translates just the same. She sounds a little awed, and looks so adorable III wants to squeal like a schoolgirl.

"Can I take you home with me? The restroom doesn't seem like a safe place for you to live. I don't want to take you from your home though, if you'd prefer to stay."

"Will I have a place to spin my webs? Food to eat?"

III is nodding rapidly as they agree, "Yeah! I'll make sure of it! You'll need to stay in my room most of the time though. One of my boyfriends is afraid of spiders. He's been working on it but still freaks out when he see's one. It's not your fault though, or his. He's making an effort to get over the fear for my sake." III gushes, pure adoration shining in his eyes as he lifts Kiwi up and let's her hide in his hair.

It tickles a little as she moves around, "Just stay hidden in my hair for now! I'm so excited! You're such an adorable new friend!"

"Your mate, he will not hurt me?"

III's eyebrows raise in surprise, "Mate? Well, I suppose that's an accurate term. No, II won't hurt you. He's more likely to run away or freeze in place. Vessel won't hurt you either, he's too gentle hearted."

"I will take your word for it, friend."

III could cry. This is the sixteenth greatest honor he's ever been gifted. A spider has just reciprocated their friendship. He can't wait to tell II and Ves, even if they know II will be a bit... scared, to put it lightly, at the mere mention of a spider. Maybe he'll wait until they're leaving the aquarium.

He would just have to keep Kiwi in his room, to keep II from seeing her and passing out on his floor or something.

Getting drinks is easy, aside from the long line. II tugs sporadically on the bond in question, anxious for their return, and it leaves a smile permanently etched onto his cheeks long after he orders. There is relief, too, as Vessel's end of the bond loses it's harsh, overstimulated edge. Tugging back is second nature, and each time he is met with II's relief and a heavy dose of love down the bond.

III returns to II holding Vessel in the air by his waist, absolute elation flooding the bond like the waves of an ocean. II has a wide smile on his face, Vessel much the same, and III wishes he could take photo's with his eyes.

"And you said no PDA when I wanted to give you kisses on stage!" III calls, grinning widely, drink holder in hand.

Vessel blushes up to his ears as II puts him down, pulling away and fixing his facemask. He remains close to II's side, holding his new plushies still. He's so fucking cute, III feels he will burst at the seams with his love. 

"I told you I have to concentrate. Besides that, we're as away from other people as we're going to get and you didn't hear what he just called me. You'd want to kiss him senseless, too."

"What did he call you?" III asks II, curious blue eyes sliding to try and catch Vessel's evasive gaze.

Vessel can't bring himself to speak, a conflicting mix of nervous and embarrassed. "Come on, sweetheart, he won't be upset." II gives Vessel a reassuring smile.

III starts handing everyone their drinks, and when Vessel takes his, he speaks in the same fashion he had with II mere moments before, "Thank you, beloved, I appreciate it."

III freezes, wide eyed as a grin twitches onto their face. Then, he doesn't do anything. Just stands there, drink in hand. Vessel would have thought he'd done something wrong if the emotions coming from III's bond weren't complete and utter love and elation.

"I think you've broken him, sweetheart." II's teases lightly and Vessel is struck by a mix of worry and mirth.

"I didn't mean to. I wouldn't have said it if I'd known they'd react this way." Vessel replies, unsure, pulling his plushies closer.

"No!" III practically shouts, and it's so sudden Vessel steps back out of instinct.

III's smile is still bright, the blissed daze he'd fallen into slipping away so he could grasp at some amount of coherency after Vessel short circuited their brain. He steps forward, handing his drink to II who takes it with a small smile, "No, Sugar, I'm so happy with that nickname! I want to hear it everyday for the rest of my life! You're absolutely adorable."

Arms wrap around Vessel's torso, III pressing in so close. The only thing that keeps their chests from meeting is the plushies Vessel still holds. Vessel smells of the ocean, something like the salt on a gentle breeze. It's a scent III has noticed before, but it's stronger here, in this place, where the scent can be given a proper name.

III wants to hug him, pull Vessel close and meld into one. He wants to know why Vessel won't allow them to hug him, why he is so adamant they remain far away from his neck and chest with few exceptions. He wants to ask, to know, but neither he nor II will dare.

Vessel has allowed so much, told them so much already, shared painful secrets. If there is something else he is hiding, there must be good reason. III just hopes it isn't something that will hurt Vessel in the long run, hopes one day Vessel will tell them.

Kiwi chitters in III's ear about how cute his boyfriend is, and III wants nothing more than to shout it from the rooftops because it is the truth and he needs the world to know. Kiwi moves around in III's hair before he can't feel her at all, and internally, III panics, afraid she has fallen. 

"Make sure II doesn't see the little spider." Vessel mumbles, breath cool against III's ear, close enough for III to feel the way his lips brush against the sensitive skin.

When Vessel pulls away, III's face is bright red, pupils dilated as he see's Kiwi hanging off of one of Vessel's braids, thankfully at an angle II can't see. Despite his flustered state, III nods as if nothing is wrong, as if Vessel's pretty voice in his ear didn't send blood straight down to his dick. Reluctant to let him go, but knowing it would only make Vessel uncomfortable to continue holding on to him, III lets their arms fall back to their sides, taking their drink back from II. A sip is taken, and III groans.

"This is the best matcha iced latte I've ever had! Surely I would remember that much. You've got to try this, Ves! I got you the same thing. Oh, and a dark chocolate frappe for Two, I thought you might like it because it isn't super sweet-."

While III distracts II with talk of their respective drinks, Vessel tells the little spider his name, even if he isn't sure it understands him. A gentle hand reaches up to fiddle with one of his braids, Vessel trying to discreetly move the little spider somewhere II won't see it. It's a cute little thing, waving up at him happily. Vessel moves it to the pocket on his loose shirt, letting the spider slip inside. Vessel finally takes a sip of his iced latte, finding it to be a perfect amount of sweet and bitter, mostly sweet. He likes it, and wonders if they could get something similar in the city near the manor.

"This is really good, beloved, thank you." Vessel comments quietly, and is surprised when III steals a kiss.

They taste of matcha, like their drinks.

"Three! You little brat. Make that three days."

"Oh come on, Doll! Show me some mercy, he's just too fucking cu- Hey! Stop- Stop flicking me! I'm not a cat-!"

Vessel laughs, feeling light on his feet despite the tiredness dimming his brainpower. His bond, somehow, feels less weighed down than the others, and he knows he must have scared them badly.

They leave the aquarium in varying states of emotion after finishing some of their drinks. Everyone is a little on edge, the terrifying situation of having lost Vessel lingering like the rot of death, and yet time has passed, the tension fading away bit by bit. Guilt festers in Vessel's empty chest. Regardless, Vessel is still happy, so happy, but heavily bittersweet. He sips at his drink on the way to the car, holding the little spider in his hand, resting curled in his lap once they're on the way back to the hotel. III chats with II in the front seat, animated and full of energy regardless of the long day they've had. Vessel wants nothing more than to take a nap, exhaustion making his bones its home. His mind runs wild, thoughts swirling round and round. 

Today had been good, despite it's rough start and iffy middle. His first ever official date, outside of the manor, that is. He made mistakes, and the others didn't get too upset with him. He remained unhurt, only loved. Truly loved.

How was II to know that Vessel would grow nostalgic for the peace of the ocean, the moon above him, the fish swimming around him without care, and the way his mind and heart finally seemed to settle even as his body struggled for air.

Vessel still doesn't know how he survived that. He made sure the next attempt would be the last, and it had been. Until Sleep came to him, anyway.

Nick is watching television while simultaneously scrolling on his phone when they return to the hotel. He spares them a warm greeting, though he doesn't look up from his phone screen for long enough to really get a glimpse at any of them.

Vessel carefully avoids looking at him, once again nervous to be existing in his presence. If he looks at Nick too long he can feel the other man's hand on his shoulder, brushing against his lower back. It makes him vaguely ill.

They take turns washing their makeup off, III bemoaning losing such a pretty sight. Nick snorts quietly, lip curling. Only Vessel seems to have noticed, as is becoming a familiarity. He seems hyper aware of everything Nick does, something about the other man instilling a quiet, but building, fear in him. It's a recognizable feeling, but... Nick isn't like that. Like them. 

II spares no time for rest, beginning to pack their things without care for the time. He has clearly taken Vessel's request to go back to their manor seriously. The thought of going back soon becomes all he can think about, discreetly handing III the little spider and going to lay down. He curls around a pillow and wonders if his heart still beats while he is aw ay from it. Wonders how Elvira is doing, if Sleep misses him the way Vessel misses the God. 

Vessel wishes he had brought his new plushies inside instead of leaving them in the trunk, fearing losing them on the trip back and the stop they'll have to make at Nick's apartment.

"Going back to sleep already, Vessel?" Nick asks, his presence nearing.

Vessel's eyes shoot open, having not realized he'd closed them. Nick is beginning to sit on the bed, phone in hand as he mindlessly scrolls. Vessel moves to sit up so he can put some distance between him, but one glance from Nick has him stilling.

II and III are bickering loudly by the bathroom over III having lost something. Vessel knows III isn't used to having to keep track of their own things since the house always returns any lost items quickly, and would say as much if Nick weren't around. 

"Must be tiring third-wheeling their date, huh?" Nick snickers quietly, turning warm brown eyes on Vessel. 

Vessel winces, Nick's words like a dagger to the heart even if it is no longer in his chest. 

"You're not much of a socializer, it must've been so boring."

Anxiety begins to fester under Vessel's skin, a hand coming to rest on his ankle. Vessel wants to throw up, carefully hiding his emotions from the bond as III laughs about something or other.

Get off of me. Don't touch where Four had. Don't ruin the memory with your filth. Today had been good, please don't ruin it for me. I have so few good things.

Vessel is begging in his mind for Nick to go away. A thumb begins to caress his ankle, brushing over the tips of fading scars. He flinches away, curling into himself further. Nick grins, standing with a whisper that wraps thorns around Vessel's throat, "Not much of a talker, either. That's probably for the best." 

"Hey, Nick, have you seen Three's checkered socks? He's lost them." II calls, ruffling through III's duffel bag.

"No, I can't say that I have. Give me a sec, I'll help you look." Nick responds, walking away from Vessel's bedside.

The room isn't even big, and yet Vessel feels the space between them widening like a chasm, a welcome distance. 

"Was nice talking to you, Ves. Hope you had fun on your date." Nick's voice never loses its kindness, and Vessel's stomach churns, the itch for a blade building in his fingertips.

He turns onto his other side as he buries himself under the bedcovers, and wishes to go back to the manor where only the three vessels live. Where he doesn't have to see Nick more than a few times a week. Where Vessel feels safe. He promised II, he promised.

I promised, Vessel repeats, digging his blunt, human nails into soft skin and wishes to bleed.

[nana-kom]

Hello 💕 Finally I’d time to write and post a fic, so I hope you’ll enjoy.

This is a weight gain fic. So if you don’t like don’t read.

Leebit’s Kitchen

It all began the day Minho came across cooking channels on YouTube. Ever since he was a child, he'd loved to cook and make food, whether for his family, his friends or even his classmates as a child. It was a passion that had always animated him, and even as he grew older he kept it alive, always preparing good food for his boyfriend Chan. And one thing was certain: he was gifted at cooking, so he came up with the idea of sharing his recipes on the Internet, first by opening a blog where he wrote out the recipes in full and detailed how to cook each ingredient, then as the months went by and he gained more visibility, people started asking him for videos. At first, Minho had been afraid to show his face on camera, but thanks to his boyfriend's encouragement, he had managed to show his face and even create his own community on his YouTube channel "Leebit's kitchen", and today even manages to earn money from the work he does on the Internet. Minho knew how to explain and you could feel his passion through his videos, and his boyfriend could only be proud of him when he saw the work he had accomplished over the years.

For his part, Chan was a producer working in a small company in Seoul that he had set up with his friends. The couple were doing well and living together was a real pleasure, Chan spending his days at the office and Minho at home preparing his videos and shooting them, and when he came home in the evening Chan was always happy to help his boyfriend, finishing the editing of his videos or even composing background music to animate the video. They had a perfect balance and everything seemed to be going swimmingly. Until Minho came across an intriguing comment. That day, he decided to go and see his boyfriend as usual to ask his advice. So he knocked on his office door, entered and headed for Chan.

"Can I talk to you?" asked Minho.

"Yeah of course, you’re okay ?"

"Well, I've been seeing comments like this for a few days now and I was wondering what to do," he said, pointing to his phone. "In fact, people think that the quantities I make are too small and they'd like me to make recipes for more people or even bigger cakes...I don't really know what to do because I'm afraid that if I make too many tonight it'll be a waste...and I don't really like the idea of throwing away my recipes." Chan then stood up and put his arms around Minho's neck before pulling him closer.

"I love your cooking and if I have to eat a bit more, that's fine! And I could always bring leftovers for Jisung and Changbin, we'll find solutions! You don't have to worry you know!"

"I know, but...I'm always afraid that people won't be interested in what I do anymore..."

"They love your videos and I love them too, and I'll always be your biggest fan so don't be afraid and if you need help I'll help you!" says Chan, kissing her tenderly on the cheek.

From From that moment, Minho was determined to keep on making recipes, so he started digging into his cookery books and taking notes on how to make enough, how to keep the taste the same and how to find the right balance between the ingredients. After a few weeks, he finally came up with a video of kimbap, mandu and jajangmyeon which he had prepared for at least a dozen people. Seeing the quantity in front of him at the end of the video, he hurriedly put everything away to chill for the evening and cleared his table before moving on to the clean-up. Minho hoped this recipe would please, and he was proud of himself for having succeeded in this first challenge he'd set himself, and he already had ideas for sweet and pastries recipes for the future.

When Chan came home in the evening, he found the table ready, with candles and the light dimmed from a large dish in the middle of the table, so Minho came to his side to help him get his things and brought him to the table.

"What's all this for?" said Chan, looking at the food in front of his eyes.

"I shot a video today, you said you'd help me make sure there was no mess right?"

"I didn't think there would be so much...but yes I'll try, and the candles are for what?"

"I just wanted to create a romantic atmosphere, it's been a long time..."

Chan smiled and Minho kissed him gently before sitting down opposite him and starting to serve him, filling his plate and placing all the side dishes around him. Chan was a pretty athletic guy and had always had a good appetite, so for a first plate, the quantities seemed reasonable, he'd always been pretty muscular since he'd taken up sport and even living with Minho as his personal chef he'd managed to keep the weight off, so there was no reason for that to change was there?

At the end of the fifth plate and Chan was beginning to feel far too full, his belly had never been so swollen and bringing food to his mouth had become difficult, but he didn't want to disappoint Minho as he wanted to encourage him and show him that he could continue to cook like this. After finishing his plate, he put his hand on his belly and started rubbing it gently trying to digest but he saw Minho just as quickly serve him again and he widened his eyes.

"I think I'll stop here for tonight babe..."

"But...there's hardly anything left...look!" he said, showing him the empty plate and the end of it all on his plate.

"Well...all right then..."

Chan grabbed the plate and began to eat, the truth being that Minho's food was really delicious, and despite his full belly his mouth was begging for more. He let out a few discreet burps before starting to eat again. He finally managed to finish his plate, and Minho smiled. For his part, Minho had simply enjoyed the spectacle. Seeing Chan eat plate after plate without being able to refuse him was just perfect. He could see how his belly was swollen under his T-shirt and how even his face looked bloated, and how he couldn’t ignore his little burps to release air in his stomach. Minho smiled and cleared the table, giving Chan time to digest, then led him to the sofa while helping him to walk. When Chan sat down, he could feel how heavy his stomach was and that he'd really overstepped his limits, wondering if he'd even be able to digest for one night as his belly was so swollen. Suddenly, Minho put his hands under his shirt and began to massage him gently. Chan was surprised but realized that the sensation wasn't unpleasant; on the contrary, it seemed to relieve him.

As for Minho, he was finding it harder and harder to hide the way he found it exciting, seeing Chan unable to move just because of his food and his belly getting bigger and softer thanks to him, made him think he'd really made a good decision. Chan continued to let his boyfriend do the work, feeling relieved and finding the situation just as pleasant, after all having a heavy belly and someone at his side to look after him was almost like being in paradise. Then Minho began to kiss him, continuing to caress him, wanting to combine pleasure with all this to thank his boyfriend for being so perfect. Maybe Chan could become the perfect feedee, looking at him Minho could already imagine himself doing this every day, massaging his belly after feeding him all evening and watch him gorge himself. Yes, he could get used to it and even make it a routine.

Over the following weeks, Minho posted his videos and the number of views continued to grow, encouraging him to continue cooking in large quantities. He set up this routine with Chan and for his part he always finished Minho's cooking, whether it was cakes, pastries, dishes, starters or side dishes, Chan never missed a thing and Minho continued to encourage him to eat. He even began to prepare his dishes for him to take to work, always making sure to give him a good breakfast so that he left the apartment with a full stomach. Because of this new way of eating, Chan felt less energetic about going to the gym and decided to put it aside until he regained his energy. He wondered why he felt more tired. Perhaps he hadn't noticed that his belly had started to grow and that even his thighs seemed to rub when he walked, nor had he noticed that Minho had bought him new clothes in a size larger, and that his face and cheeks were becoming softer.

He didn’t notice either that, without noticing he had started to eat more and was taking more and more snacks as the day went on. He wasn’t surprised either to see that now the quantities Minho prepared for him didn't make him as full as before, and that he always had to add a dessert at the end of the meal to feel fully satisfied. But what he did notice was that Minho seemed even more cuddly than before; he liked to take him in his arms before he left for work, when he massaged his belly he was careful not to miss any of Chan's belly rolls, and he now enjoyed pinching his cheeks to show him how cute he was when his cheeks were full. Minho, for his part, could only admire the way Chan fell a little more every day for Minho's dishes and that he had become a real glutton. Because the thing was that Chan was becoming a real glouton: no matter what time or moment he was thinking about what his boyfriend might prepare for him, or how Minho would play with his belly at night. Chan had even decided that from now on there would be days when he would only work at home so he wouldn't have to go out and his boyfriend would pamper him all day.

Days became weeks and weeks became months, and Chan's weight only increased drastically - he found it hard to stand up when he was sitting down, to get out of bed he felt he had to put in more effort, and a strange thing happened - he was no longer able to see his feet because his big belly was blocking his view. His body had changed, and Minho was the first to be able to detail it. Admiring his torso, which now resembled a large chest, his belly, which jingled every time he took the slightest step, his thighs, which rubbed and stuck together every time he put one foot in front of the other, even his buttocks had grown too large for a simple chair and Minho had been forced to buy new ones. Chan's face had changed too, and his double chin had made his old jawline disappear completely, and his former muscular, athletic body now showed an overweight man far too fat for his own clothes and furnitures.

And what surprised Minho was that Chan didn't seem to notice his changes, he didn't notice that he was more tired just because he took a few steps, or that Minho had to prepare meals for twenty people to satisfy his appetite, he may have thought he could turn back the clock at any moment but Minho had become addicted to every one of his bulges. His boyfriend had become the most perfect in his eyes, and for that he could only thank his friend Hyunjin. Let me explain: a few months earlier, during a discussion with his best friend, Minho had hinted that he'd like to introduce Chan to his attraction to feedism, but was a little afraid of his reaction.

"Why don't you feed him more then? You'll see if he likes it or not?" said Hyunjin at the time.

"I don't want him to force himself on me if he finds out..."

"What if...under one of your videos I asked you to make meals for more people...? Then you could cook more and say you don't want to waste food!"

"But what if he refuses?"

"We can at least try!" His best friend had confided in him, which then triggered Chan's new habits.

It was the game-changer between them that brought them to today and Chan's physical transformation. Minho had finally explained his attraction to Chan, who had pretended not to understand what he was talking about, pretending that we was not gaining that much weight and that he loves Minho no matter what. After all, he didn't eat that much? And he could still do sport if he wanted to? Minho didn't respond to this, contenting himself with cuddling him, he loved to feel him against him, to feel his body sink into Chan's curves, to feel the softness of his bulges and to be able to feel every curve of his body against his own. The bigger Chan got, the more they both enjoyed it, one watching his body slowly transform and the other becoming more and more in awe of Chan. He just wanted to take care of him continually and show him how much he loved him.

Like this morning, when the couple had breakfast together and Minho was happy to fill Chan's plate gently. Chan knew he wanted Minho to tease him as usual. Indeed, as the months went by, a new love language had developed between them and Chan still wanted to take advantage of it, after all he wasn't just greedy for food.

"Minho...?" asked Chan.

"Yes? Do you want something, my love?" Minho asked, moving closer.

"The other day, Jisung said I should watch my weight...do you think...I'm a bit chubby?"

"Are you finally going to admit that you’ve become a greedy pig ? Too fat for his own clothes ?" said Minho, grabbing Chan's belly who let out a groan as he finished his mouthful.

"At least it wasn't me who decided to make my boyfriend fatter..." say Chan decided to annoy Minho, or rather tease him.

"You didn't seem to be opposed to it, in fact, I think you take great pleasure in gorging yourself like the little pig you are, don't you?" said Minho, handing Chan another piece of cake, which he began to eat.

"Maybe it's to fulfill my boyfriend's weird fantasies..." Minho then laughed and gently caressed Chan's belly.

"As if I forced you into it...you fell all by yourself..."

"You said it yourself it's because I'm greedy…and maybe you forced me ! after all you know very well that your best friend didn't keep secrets from himself and that the first day I met Hyunjin he told me: 'you're a lot thinner than I thought you'd be...' do you think I didn't know what I was getting myself into?" Minho squinted, knowing full well what Chan was up to after all, he was used to his new attitude and when he liked to be teased by Minho and vice versa. "When we met Hyunjin and his boyfriend I also notice how you were looking at his boyfriend, he was just so fat too, you too obvious babe…"

"Of course that’s because Jeongin is not a bratty feedee like you, who like to tease me too much and talk instead of having food in his mouth ! » he says while placing an other slice of cake in his boyfriend mouth. "And come on piggy, that's why you agreed, isn't it? You wanted to see how much I would help you to get fat, and see how your body would change ? Or are you still pretending to be in denial ?"

"There's nothing wrong with being a little chubby..." said Chan as he shoved a large piece of cake into his mouth waiting for Minho to respond.

« Of course you’re just chubby my love, but is that what you want really to hear? I don't think it is. You just want to hear how fat you've gotten and how fat I’m going to make you, you just want me to touch you to make you aware of how wide your body is, all you want to hear is that you're a good feedee and a greedy pig!"

Chan let out another moan, this time louder, as he finished the slice and pulled Minho on top of him for a kiss. Minho let himself go, smelling the taste of cake on Chan's lips. As for Chan, he finished his mouthful at the same time as he felt Minho's slim body resting on his big belly. He loved seeing the difference between them and hoped Minho would continue to be such a good feeder, because he had no desire to go back to his old diet when his life had just become a perpetual pleasure between food and his lovely relationship. Everything was perfect, and he knew that his relationship and their feeling would continue to grow as much as the kilos he would gain.

[imaginatorcreates]

Commission for Kewkies (@xxxkewkiesxxx)

Kewkies here asked me to write a little scene about her Welcome Home OC, Sabrina Spool, and the neighborhood's famous painter, Wally Darling. There weren't a lot of requirements nor requests for this piece by Kewkies, and the idea and general plot came to me when out and about.

Enjoy this written piece!

Stitch Some Time For Yourself

14 May 2024 — 29 May 2024

Summary: Sabrina, the neighborhood's resident seamstress, suddenly finds herself under a time crunch to make costumes for Sally's upcoming play. How does she deal with the pressure?

Word Count: ~3.1k words

TW: None

Author’s Note: Enjoy! Also on AO3 as a gift.

Sabrina Spool was Home’s resident tailor. Seamstress sounded more elegant to her, but she wasn’t fussy over the details of her job’s name. No, her fussiness instead came over the details of her job. What was it that carpenters said?

Measure twice, cut once.

For Sabrina, not only did she measure twice — sometimes thrice — and cut once, she stretched sheets of fabric between her hands and made calculations in her head. Would this fabric stretch enough to accommodate her customer’s body type, or would she have to allot extra fabric to make up for it? What type of fabric would the customer want; cotton for comfort and breathability, or perhaps silk for the texture and smooth feel?

And don’t get started with her about colors!

While she preferred darker shades herself, she knew that everyone had their favorite colors and patterns to wear. The colors and patterns, when stitched together in just the right size and paired with the right clothes, made the ideal outfit.

Yes, that was what she was fussy over.

Sabrina loved her job, now don’t get her wrong. Nothing can really quite match the exhilaration that she got when someone’s eyes lit up after seeing her work, nor the warmth that filled her body from words of praise once her customer tried on the article of clothing she made for them.

Well, there were quite a few things, she supposed. A good hug or a gift as her payment, for one thing. A large, sweet watermelon or a tart green apple. Her morning ritual with Llyod, as annoying as he was.

And a certain, little puppet of the neighborhood: Wally Darling. He loved apples with just as much — quite possibly more — gusto as she does. His half-lidded eyes and blue, swirled pompadour were part of the charm that drew so many towards him, Sabrina included. From his hands burst painted portraits of still life and of his neighbors that he loved so dearly. And when he pressed those hands against his mouth? A blown kiss with a monotonous “Mwah!”

Oh, even now Sabrina wondered how the two of them managed to get together! It was all so new, like an apple that just ripened to optimal sweetness. If she thought about it too hard, she may accidentally poke herself while sewing.

What have they done already?

They’ve held hands — Wally’s small gasp of “Oh! You’re holding my hand!” made her grin to no end when her mind wandered to it. They’ve certainly spent time together, enough to consider them dates (to her).

But what else can they do?

Knocks on the front door beckoned her out of her thoughts. She turned away from her sewing machine and paused. “Llyod, I swear if you locked yourself out again — !”

“Mailman! Eddie Dear here!”

At the kind southern accent, the vampiric seamstress turned off her sewing machine and hurried to the front door. She turned the doorknob, then opened the door so only a slender crack was visible. Bright sunlight poured through and she squinted outside with a small wince. Beyond flashes of color and small floaters in her vision, she could catch glimpses of the portly mailman waiting for her with bundles of wrapped packages in his arms.

After a few minutes of acclimating herself to the sunlight, she fully opened the door. “‘Ello Eddie,” she greeted him.

“Howdy Miss Spool.”

“Please, call me Sabrina.”

Eddie sputtered. “Sabrina! Apologies Miss Sp– Sabrina.”

Sabrina chuckled and lightly shook her head. All predictable Eddie. “Do you have any mail for me?”

“Ah, well…” Eddie jutted his chin towards the bundles in his arms. “Cloth orders for ya. Howdy was particular ‘bout these gettin’ to ya in one piece.” He shifted the packages and Sabrina took the cue to take them in her arms.

She knew what was inside: lengths of dark cloth, a few dozen sewing needles for her machine and for her hands, and several spools of thread. Still, her eyes widened and she mumbled “Huh” as she took the wrapped packages. They were heavier than she expected.

“Oh, ‘n Sally wanted to give this to ya,” Eddie said as he placed an envelope on top of the packages. “She said it was important, ‘n to read it ‘a-sap’. Whatever that means?”

Sabrina blinked a few times at the envelope, and at Eddie’s words. “I will do that Eddie. Thank you.”

Eddie tipped his hat and took a few steps backwards before he turned on the balls of his feet to head off towards his next delivery.

Sabrina would’ve waved goodbye to him, but her hands were full.

She closed the front door with a bump of her hip and maneuvered back to her room with the caution and grace of a dancer who was paired with someone who never danced before. Her feet knew where to step in her dim house, and she could nudge open doors with ease. But the packages in her arms caused her center of gravity to be located somewhere else, so her elegant movements were hindered. Twice, she dangerously tipped too far and nearly caused any number of packages to slide out of her grip and onto the floor.

In the comfort of her workroom, she ditched her ungraceful packages gently onto the floor and shook out her arms. She shut her door and lowered the lights down, letting the dimness of the room calm her senses once again. She knew that most of the neighborhood preferred a warm sunny day for one reason or another: Frank found sunny days to be optimal for insect observations, while Julie enjoyed making games that made everyone scratch their heads at the rules but at least no furniture would be broken by the end of it.

Sabrina, on the other hand, preferred the night and overcast waking hours. She was aware that this might feed into the fact that she — and Llyod, but this wasn’t about him — were more vampiric than their neighbors, but no one commented much about it nowadays, so she assumed that no one really cared anymore.

She unwrapped her packages and placed the contents where they belonged, taking extra care to not misplace her new batch of needles. She already lost too many to the cracks of her house and carpet. Even when she does her customary sweep of her workroom with a magnet (also from Howdy’s), at least one needle would surprise her when walking barefoot.

Then again, sometimes they would surprise Llyod.

But she couldn’t have any stray needles surprise any of her customers. That would lower her customer service for sure.

Sabrina’s eyes glanced over the letter Sally wrote for her. The playwright’s circular handwriting on the envelope said “To: Sabirella”, and underneath it said “Read ASAP” almost as if Sally didn’t trust Eddie to remember to tell Sabrina to do so.

Sabrina’s nose wrinkled at the elongated version of her name, but she’s long gotten used to the fallen star’s quirks. “Please, it’s Sabrina,” she murmured to herself as she opened the envelope and read the letter inside. For everything that Sally was, at least she was trying to understand what did and didn’t work when trying to communicate with Sabrina. The star’s bright aura — literally and figuratively — drained Sabrina’s energy quicker than she could drain fruit of its juice.

Dearest Sabirella,

I’m sure that you remember my request for your work last month. I remember it like it was yesterday: I, Sally Starlet, gracing you with my presence to craft costumes for my upcoming petrifying play. I can still see your eyes squinting and widening as I slipped you the list of costumes I required.

Now, I know that I said that I’d give you as much time as possible.

Darling, that’s changed.

I need what you have as best as you can by the end of this week. It’s a shame, but I will settle for simplified designs if that is what will work. Your payment will still be front row seats to the play where I’ll be featuring your costumes.

I’ll be expecting the gothic garbs soon.

Sincerely,

Sally

Sabrina paused. She read the letter again. Once more for good measure.

The letter’s edges started to crumple as the seamstress’s fingers gripped the paper with more force than necessary. “A week?” she whispered. “I thought I had two weeks. You– Sally!”

Almost as if the star herself was here instead of the letter in her place, flourishing her hands and beaming from her rays, the vampire felt her energy drain. Her pep and love towards her work left her and was replaced with only a burning annoyance.

“By the end of this week? And simplified?” she hissed. “When I had plenty of plans to give only the best?” She slammed the letter down onto her work desk, causing the items on top to rattle and move slightly from the force. “Do you know how difficult it is to have to rework this?”

Sabrina huffed and pulled out her sketches. She viciously grabbed a pencil and was ready to violently scribble out the costumes she had yet to start. She could already feel the lead of the pencil tear through the paper, tearing her plans into nothing but black graphite and ripped paper.

She paused.

She breathed in, and out.

She let out a sharp sigh and threw the pencil down onto her table. “Simplified. End of this week.” She snapped her mouth shut and went about her work.

The days ticked down. Sabrina spent them all in her dim workroom with only the rhythmic whirr and hum of her sewing machine filling the silence. Multiple times, she poked herself with the needles, but not once did those pokes lead way to any larger injuries.

Lloyd quickly learned to not walk in without knocking, or to not even bother trying at all. The first time he had tried, Sabrina had abruptly stood up and slammed the door on him. His fingers had gotten caught in between the door and the frame.

In hindsight, she was sorry. She would’ve apologized if she had enough time, but that was what she was low on. She was low on time and patience, and she let everyone who interacted with her know.

She got her work done though. She projected as much mercy as she could towards her work, but even those couldn’t escape her wrath when the stitches couldn’t work just the way she wanted them to, or when the colors were just a little bit off. She probably sounded like a madwoman, yelling at the clothes to just fit together better. Several times, she threw the shabbiest of her works onto the floor and stared at them with a look that could kill.

She got her work done. That was what was important.

She got her work done. It was simplified and not as fancy as she imagined, but she got her work done.

Still, she yearned to add some of the additions that she had imagined. The fluffy flowers and the drapes on the shoulders. The cape and ruffles.

On the night before Sally was supposed to pick up the costumes, Sabrina was certain that she hadn’t left the house in forever. She could hear her sewing machine in her sleep, even though she was certain that she turned it off and unplugged it. She could feel the fabrics underneath her fingers and she could feel every stitch that she was certain was misplaced.

She was proud of her work, but at the same time, she wanted to take them all and rip them apart. Start over again. Do it better. Make what she imagined in her head come to life in front of her.

A knock on her door.

She didn’t have the energy to answer it.

Her door creaked open. “Sabrina,” Lloyd called. “Your aim better be good so you don’t hit your actual guest.”

Sabrina opened her mouth to retort, but words had been failing her lately. Still, a whole different reason as to why she said nothing was revealed to her as the guest turned out to not be Llyod but instead — 

“Hello Sabrina,” a quiet, monotonous voice said. It echoed throughout the vampire’s workroom and cut through the sewing machine’s constant noise.

She looked up from her work, but she didn’t turn around. Oh, just when she was almost done, she was hallucinating.

Quietly, two sets of footsteps entered. Several thumps as multiple objects were placed on a free portion of her work desk, then one set of footsteps left. The one that left was heavier and larger, less graceful.

The one that stayed was smaller and quieter. There was a certain way that this one walked.

Sabrina turned off her sewing machine.

“Hello Sabrina,” Wally said. “I got you some fruit from Howdy’s. Llyod was also there, and he helped me carry the watermelon back.”

Watermelon. The vampire had cut herself off from her favorite fruit halfway through her work last week, before she even got Sally’s letter. Convinced herself that she would get it when she was done, as a treat.

“And I carried the apples.” Sabrina heard Wally shuffle closer to her work desk, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him poke a finger at one of the green apples. He hummed and added, “I don’t understand why you like green apples. Red ones are better to me. But you like apples, so I think the color doesn’t matter too much.” He turned his head to look at her as he nudged one of the apples closer.

Sabrina took one of the green apples in her hand. It was unblemished and smelled perfectly ripe. Howdy’s bodega only contained things that he deemed were of a certain quality to sell. So obviously this fruit was perfect.

It was even more perfect as she pushed her chair away from her work desk, brought it up to her mouth, and sank her fangs into the fruit. She easily pierced through the skin and flesh of the apple, and the juice was sweet and tart.

She almost forgot that there was a watermelon there as she dove after all the apples gifted to her, drinking all the juice until the fruit was nothing more than dried skin and disgusting flesh. Then Wally nudged the large green and striped fruit towards her and she dove after that as well.

Sabrina was a clean drinker when she fed from fruit. She performed the actions with a lady-like poise and prevented as much juice from spilling as possible.

But after she’s deprived herself of her favorite fruits for a while? Add on top of that how she had been stressed from the moon and back, and she threw her finesse out the window. Juice spilled from her mouth and onto her skirt, but she didn’t pay any attention to it until the watermelon was a water-less-melon.

“Sabrina,” Wally said as Sabrina wiped her mouth. “I haven’t seen you for over a week.” He tilted his head and blinked once. He never really blinked much when around his neighbors, and much less around his close friends. He seldom blinked around Sabrina, as if each blink was a full day away from the vampire.

Sabrina looked away. She could’ve pulled her chair forwards and continue working. But her hands were a bit sticky from apple and watermelon juice, and she would hate to ruin the clothes. So she avoided his gaze and fiddled with her fingers.

“Sabrina,” Wally repeated. “I heard from Sally that her play will be tomorrow instead. I know that you’re making her costumes. Have you been taking breaks?” He leaned against her and breathed out a little “Oh!” when she wrapped an arm around him. He went limp and hummed, content with the touch.

“I have to finish this.” Sabrina’s voice came out softer than she expected, with more force than she expected. Talking had become difficult the closer the deadline was, until she could no longer bear to. “I have to finish this.”

“You look almost done.”

“But — ”

“I think Sally would not mind if you gave her something simple.”

“I would mind.”

Wally hummed. “I think your work always looks nice. Something simple made from your hands is always nice. It also feels nice to wear. I like wearing the cardigan you made for me, and I think it makes me look handsome.”

Sabrina chuckled and softly shook her head. “You’re always handsome, my candy apple.” When he laughed that soft, monotonous laugh that Sabrina loved so dearly, she gently squeezed him and leaned over to give him a small kiss on the cheek.

Wally’s semi-permanent smile widened, causing the edges of his eyes to crinkle. “Oh! You are very sweet Sabrina.” He reached towards her face and brushed a thumb against her cheek, his dark eyes looking deeply into her own. “You’re very, very sweet,” he whispered.

One moment, the two of them were staring into each other’s eyes. The next moment, in Sabrina’s opinion, was very sweet and very soft.

She realized, only then, that she forgot one thing when trying to remember what the two have done already since becoming an official couple. Maybe because it was a bit unorthodox, seeing how it was only brought up once then never again. She had made hints towards it, but he never picked up on them. It was only when she had asked him directly did he realize what she was asking. No wonder he didn’t pick up on it; he thought she was being friendly still, just in a different manner.

So when the two parted, it was soft and sweet. Sabrina lightly pinched his cheeks and cooed about how lovely it was. Wally leaned into the touch and softly shut his eyes.

That was the longest break Sabrina took where she wasn’t sleeping or eating. The two simply lingered in each other’s presence, asking about the day and the week. The dried fruit was discarded and Sabrina’s hands were cleaned of the spilled juice.

Wally stayed for a little longer while she worked. He was hypnotized by the sewing machine and his hands stroked some of the fabric as Sabrina fed it into the machine.

All the fuzz in her mind cleared and her work became less muddled and misshapen. They were already good.

And the next evening, when she sat in the front row to Sally’s gloomy gothic play and watched the actors glide upon the stage with her garbs on display, it didn’t really matter how much the play went sideways.

She was just glad that she could do what she enjoys.

[diamond-vic]

I decided to try to make a keldeo paper phone case graphic on impulse and I succeeded!! For fun here’s how I did it

Materials- A clear phone case, any sort of paper, scissors (preferably smaller ones), sticky notes, glue stick, pencil, some container to hold scraps (optional, but recommended)

I started by simply tracing out the shape of my phone, and cutting it out. I should have taken the case off for this, but I didn’t, so my initial shape was too big to fit on the inside of the case. Nevertheless, it is probably better for this first shape to be too large than too small, as you can trim uniformly along the edges of your shape until you can slip it into the case. Initially, I tried to cut a little window in for the camera and flash, but it was too difficult to do so neatly, so I opted to just cut a notch in for that section.

I then sketched down the design I wanted, trying to keep in mind where I’d put the colors. I used sticky notes of 6 colors (yellow, blue, green, orange, pink and purple), so I wanted to make the design work with these colors and have it be readable. It probably would have been best to do the background first, but I jumped impulsively right into doing keldeo.

For thinner / more translucent sticky notes, I found you could see through them to the pencil sketch fairly easily, so I had to erase as I went. This also, however, made it somewhat easier to trace out the shapes I needed. For several of the shapes, I turned my phone’s flashlight on and used it as a sort of light table so I could trace certain shapes so they could be sure to not overlap existing pieces. I glued using an Elmer’s glue stick

From there, I used a mix of freehand scraps (for example, the water and skyto give it a sort of wavy look), carefully traced shapes (such as the grass around the legs), and relifting previously glued pieces to slide new ones underneath (purple mountains are slid under Keldeo’s blue neck fluff and pink mane) to form the background. It could get super tedious and frustrating, especially when it’s all unplanned. It’s definitely easier to slide pieces under other pieces when they are finely detailed; I could never have cut a purple piece to fit around keldeo’s little pink ponytail without details being lost (believe me, I tried!). I used an old little plastic clay carving tool with a small, pointed but non sharp shovel-shaped edge to gently pry up pieces so I could glue new ones under. You do need to be careful that the pieces you do this with aren’t too much darker than the pieces on top, or else they may be visible in the final, such as the small bit of purple poking under keldeo’s lifted front shoulder. I also needed to glue the edges of pieces down repeatedly when they’d lift up over time. For this, I also used the carving tool, but you could likely use any small slightly sharp object for this, like the end of a toothpick. Simply scoop up a small bit of glue and glide it under the lifted piece before reattaching. Repeat until the madness is over.

Very important warning: be careful of the glue you get on your fingers when doing this!! If you get glue on sketched on pencil and later try to erase it, it can leave a dark smudge, and it can even generally just leave dark smudges when left to dry (you can see some of this on the water). Try to scrape off any excess glue as quickly as possible with a toothpick or other small tool!!

While I’m not sure what good it would do, I did sort of ‘laminate’ this piece before I put it into my phone. I didn’t want to use permanently sealing laminating sheets, as this would both be permanent and likely make the piece too large to fit in the case, so I instead cut up a clear sheet protector you’d use to hold notes in a binder. I placed the piece in the corner and cut the protector down to size, then trimmed until it could fit within the case. I had to cut down one sealing edge, meaning it only holds the piece between two bits of plastic held together with one hinge. However, this did give me some peace of mind knowing I didn’t shove a straight up sheet of paper covered with sticky notes in there

Anyway !! This actually only took two days total, so while meticulous and tedious, it isn’t extremely hard. Especially considering I just sorta jumped right in hoping it’d work out with 0 knowledge if it would!! It’s such a special invigorating feeling to see the final project on your phone and know you have a special little work of art following you around!

nobody can say I’m not keldeo’s #1 fan now

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Hunger

A/N: I wanted to write some scenes about my Durge and their relationship with the companions during certain parts of the game. This is the prologue to that, to set up the way the Urges manifest and what it feels like to deny them. They're still kinda in blank slate mode. I haven't written in a long time, so it was really good to get this out! The title for this is just for the prologue. The work will be differently titled when posted to AO3. Tysm for reading. CW: Gore, Durge Shit Word Count: 1868

The sorcerer’s sleep was dreamless, a peaceful void of nothing cocooning their useless mind as dawn chased away the stars and painted the dark sky with shades of pink. The sun peeked over the horizon, blanketing the sorcerer’s slumbering form in gentle warmth. The first light of day chased the shadows of the night, until they were cornered and consumed. The sun’s rays painted the sorcerer’s vision a familiar, and comforting, shade of red as the brightness became visible through their closed eyes.

The dull ache of their sore, stiff body finally entered the periphery of their budding awareness. A symphony of rolling waves and crackling flames roused them further, until consciousness struck them like a bolt as it dawned on them that they were outside. Not crammed in the pod, tossing themselves against it, again and again and again-

They escaped. 

Their eyes darted open, wide and wild, as they took in the unfamiliar scenery around them. Sunlight left the world over exposed, details washed out where the light shone brightest and obscured completely where the craggy rock along the coast cast black shadows. The scent of sea salt, sulfur, and burning debris filled the air. 

Their stomach churned with a twist of nausea and the threat of bile at the back of their throat. They gagged, choking on the foul mixture of odor and aroma. Their head began to pound, the world too loud, too bright, and too vivid. The sorcerer tried to squint through the throb in their head and the pain of their eyes struggling to adjust to the daylight.

They survived.

They pulled their gaze away from the world and focused down on their hands. They looked over their palms, calloused and rough, then followed the darkly pigmented freckles speckling a trail on the back of their hands and up their exposed arm and shoulder. Their skin, a translucent, lifeless shade of pale blue, flushed red where their veins ran hot beneath it, but nothing appeared to be freshly spilled. 

The sorcerer gripped their left wrist with their right hand and rubbed the pad of the finger along deep bruises peeking out from behind the edge of their leather bracer. Purple bruises and angry looking scratches marred both their wrists, the half-healed state of the old injuries suggesting they were older. Before the Nautiloid. 

Their brows furrowed as they pressed their thumb harder against the mark, the sting of pain adding a bit of delight to the storm of frustration and confusion wracking their wreck of a brain. How did they even end up on the pod? The sorcerer sifted through their well of memory, only to find it was surprisingly shallow. Only a small pool remained, the rest dried up and consumed by the abyss of darkness hanging over them, cloaking their mind, both an ever present threat and comfort.

They remembered the Nautiloid. Adrenaline painted the memories aboard the ship with strokes of excitement and fear. Their brain had been barely capable of stringing together a coherent thought, but they remember the excitement at the carnage, even as they were running for their life. 

They could still feel the heat of Avernus against their skin. They remember the red dragons soaring alongside the crashing ship, their leathery wings beating against the hot air with terrifying majesty, and then wishing they had one of their own when they were knocked from the safety of the ship and sent hurtling towards certain death. Their stomach fluttered with the memory of their body falling freely from the ship, like a snuffed out star. 

They could recall the visceral vision of their own body, disemboweled and on display, twitching violently on an unwashed operating table. Their wrists and ankles ached where they had been bound to the table, their body convulsing against the bonds cutting deeply into their flesh. Their blood dried and flaked where it had built up over the duration of their torment. They could see their stomach gutted like an animal, feel the tug of their intestines being pulled from their split belly, a red thread connecting the sorcerer’s insides to the hands of a faceless woman who loomed over their convulsing form.

‘Poor, stupid thing…’

The woman’s voice cooed, belittling, but with a sweet fondness that had the sorcerer’s skin crawl. Anxiety caught their unsteady inhale in their throat, suffocating them as the blood drained from their face. Sand kicked into little clouds of dust as they sat up with quick, jerky movements, their limbs moving clumsily. They gripped the bottom of their robe with one hand, yanking it up to expose the cleanly healed scars carved into their torso. Calloused fingertips traced the seam where their innards remained safely encased in tender flesh and muscle.

They spent a long, silent moment, just touching the scars, unsure all of them were even from their torment on that bloodied operating table, until their breath steadied. The panic built in their chest finally dispersed, leaving them empty and tired. The sorcerer dropped their hands to their lap. ‘I survived,’ they repeated to themself, a mantra of comfort as their brow furrowed and their hands balled into tight fists. The tips of their nails bit sharply into their palms, the sting of pain a reminder that this wasn’t a dream. 

Their lips pressed together into a tight, firm line as they turned their gaze back to the wreckage around them. Their eyes were adjusting to the and the world suddenly appeared so dim. They’re surrounded by water. The ocean, rolling and endless, stretched boundlessly, racing the sky before converging against the horizon. In the opposite direction, the sandy shoreline curved beyond the wreckage of silver metal and pink viscous matter scattered among the beach and cliffside crags. Bodies sprawled in lifeless heaps littered the pathway from the beach to the crags like breadcrumbs, leading beyond the wreckage, and presumably, to civilization. 

Another throb in the sorcerer’s head accompanied a flash of memory. A woman trapped a pod, her body twisting with pain, bones snapping and flesh ripping where her flesh suit quickly became too small for the Mindflayer emerging from her carcass like a cocoon. The exact fate waiting for them if they kept wallowing in the sand like a wretched little worm.

With a deep breath, the sorcerer pushed themself up onto uneasy feet. Their legs wavered beneath their weight, their weakness throbbing mercilessly through the muscle. They stumble away from the beach, following the path to where a corpse cut across the walkway. The sorcerer paused over the body. A whisper of a thought tickled their ear. An inkling of an urge and a gentle encouragement as they stood over the perfectly placed toy just waiting to be poked, prodded, and played with. Their blood began to run hot in their veins.

The glow in their mismatched irises dimmed and an ache of dark yearning stirred in the recesses of their mangled head, awaking to the same bright, new world the sorcerer did.  

They managed to crouch down with some grace, forked tail whipping dangerously behind them. They were hesitant at first, but the moment their palm pressed against the corpse’s belly, the sorcerer’s darker appetite stirred with pleasurable little pulses. Each pulse of heat emanating from their core was accompanied by flashes of a thousand different dead, all felled at their savage hand. A smile tugged at the corner of their lips, ecstasy twisting their round features with delight. 

The joints in the sorcerer’s fingers began to pop and elongate. The ends of their fingers began to blend together, a blue to black ombre where their calloused fingertips turned to hard, sharp talons. Their claws easily pierced the layers of fabric and flesh protecting the corpse’s innards, sending more pleasurable tingles to their very core. With a hungry lick of their lips, the sorcerer wiggled their fingers with a rabid appreciation for the way their claws easily pierced the carrion, the decaying flesh tugging and pulling like fabric with each twitch of their talons. The putrid scent of decay perfumed the air as the desire to poke, prod, and play festered in the back of their mind.

They aren’t sure how much time passed before a soft groan drifted across the silence, pulling their thoughts away from the bliss of playing with the corpse beneath them and toward the bountiful harvest waiting to be plucked. They dragged their hungry gaze along the length of the sandy shores to the Half-Elf lay unconscious. The sorcerer was anything but graceful when they scrambled across the sand on their hands and knees, clawing their way towards the slumbering woman before they could even think. 

Shadowheart’s chest rose and fell with the steady beat of slumber, her expression softened in her unconscious state. The sorcerer’s hands shook - and they weren’t sure if it was from fear or excitement - as their gaze devoured the sight of the helpless creature sleeping in the dirt. The blood whispers became a murmur, then a howl, stirring excitedly with a loud fervor when the sorcerer realized the cleric was unharmed.

Perfectly unharmed and deliciously vulnerable.

They wanted to reach out, but the threat of control slipping from their weakened grasp froze them in place. Shadowheart was the perfect morsel, placed among the wreckage to be devoured before the sorcerer devoured the rest. The call for death became a murmur, then crescendoed with a cacophony of screams for blood and death, demanding them to conquer, to devour. The volume hurt, swallowing up their thoughts until the desire for death became their own. 

The sorcerer’s clawed hands twitched with excitement, sharpened talons scraping against sand and rock. Pleasure and heat washed over them in waves as they indulged the thoughts of temptation. The thought of wrapping their fingers around this creature’s little neck and squeezing until the cleric’s radiance was snuffed from this dull world danced at the back of their mind, threatening to consume them if they didn’t get themself together.

“Wretched thing,” they growled to themself, voice raspy. The sorcerer shoved themself up onto their feet and cradled their hands against their chest, recoiling from the tainted thoughts. Repulsion burned in their veins as they took a few steps back, threatening to burn out their resolve to spare the cleric. Their stomach churned with the threat of retching until whatever goodness lingered in them had been expelled.

Their claws began to shrink back to fingernails as the sorcerer lifted the back of one hand to their mouth. They swallowed hard, biting back bloodlust and bile, then took a firm step over Shadowheart’s body. Their entire body shook, sharp teeth gnashing rabidly, the struggle to maintain control reverberating through every cell in their body.

“I’m sorry.” Their voice was barely a whisper, the apology spilling clumsily, the words foreign on their tongue. Without sparing the cleric a second glance, the sorcerer trudged forward, putting distance between them and temptation. As they followed the rocky beachline toward the wreckage among the crags, the scream for death in their veins hushed to a cold whisper, easier to ignore, but a constant reminder of the rot threatening to eat them from the inside out.

[secretkeeper13]

Christmas, Interrupted

It’s been ages since I’ve posted anything— return to the office and real life this past year has been an adjustment, to say the least. But somehow, I managed to write this silly, smutty fic for the Harry/Ginny Discord Incognito Elf fic exchange for the lovely, kind @sweeethinny. A true Christmas miracle!

First part below, full fic on Ao3.

23 December, 1998

The thrum of anticipation radiated throughout platform nine and three quarters, the voices of anxious parents and excited children echoing off the domed ceiling and the brick walls adorned with boughs of holly.

“There it is!” a child shouted, running down the platform. Harry’s heart quickened as the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts express became visible, thick steam billowing out of the stack and into the chilly air. Next to him, Ron rocked up onto his toes, trying to make out the blurry faces through the windows.

“They’ll probably be the last off the train,” Ron said, with a tone of fond exasperation, raising his voice over the hiss of the brakes. “You know Hermione, she’ll think it’s her responsibility as Head Girl to make sure every bloody first year is off the train and accounted for before she’ll leave.”

“Don’t think she’s wrong there, mate,” replied Harry wryly, though he understood Ron’s eagerness far too well.

He hadn’t seen Ginny in nearly two months, since a painfully short reunion in Hogsmeade at the end of October. Of course, he’d gone much longer without seeing Ginny in the past, but he quickly realized that it was much harder (literally and figuratively) to endure their separation now that they were properly together.

At the Burrow during the summer, though they had to be discreet, it was easy enough for Harry to slip down to Ginny’s room under the cloak once everyone else had gone to bed and be back in his bed before anyone woke. And so, Harry had become accustomed to engaging in certain activities on a fairly regular basis. But after just two months of shagging the girl of his dreams, Ginny returned to Hogwarts, and they were forced off being together, cold turkey.

Time apart had made them rather desperate, and with far more attention than either had ever paid to their Hogwarts timetables, Harry and Ginny had carefully planned the Christmas holiday to ensure they would be able to spend as much time alone as possible together. It was not an easy feat, considering that Ginny’s presence was expected at the Burrow, and Harry would rather face a bevy of Death Eaters than ask Mrs. Weasley if Ginny could spend the night alone with him at Grimmauld Place while she was still a Hogwarts student. And so, through the exchange of many letters, they’d planned and prepared, making a foolproof schedule for the Christmas holidays with diligence and attention to detail that even Hermione would be proud of, Harry thought, suppressing a snort of laughter.

As the air around them grew thicker with steam and louder from the sounds of happy reunions, Harry scanned the cars, looking for Ginny.

Ron spotted her first, his height working to his advantage on the crowded platform. “Ginny,” he called, with a wave.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Ginny, running towards him, her long red hair flowing behind her, eyes blazing. She threw her arms around him, and he pulled her tightly to him. Time stopped, as it always did when they kissed— Harry lost himself in the feel of her fingers in his hair, her small body pressed against him, her familiar scent, like flowers and flying and home—

“Oi,” Ron called, causing them to pull apart. “Nice to see you too,” he said sarcastically to Ginny.

She rolled her eyes and stepped away from Harry to give her brother a hug. “Hermione should be out in a moment, she was just making sure that everyone was off the train,” she said. “And nice to see you, idiot.”

Ron grinned down at her. “Knew you missed me.”

“Not as much as Hermione did,” she replied, nudging Ron towards the farthest car, where Hermione was stepping out onto the platform.

Ron ran to Hermione with a whoop, and when he reached her, he hugged her around the waist. Harry looked away as the two began snogging in earnest.

“Bloody hypocrite,” Ginny grumbled.

Harry embraced her again and walked her a few steps backwards towards the brick wall, the platform growing emptier by the moment. He leaned down and kissed her, his lips parting, relishing her quiet gasp as he pressed her towards the wall, the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest making him desperate for them to be alone.

“Let’s skip dinner at the Burrow and just go to yours,” Ginny murmured as Harry pulled back, his trousers already starting to feel tight.

He raised his brow, trying to ignore his body, which was fervently in agreement with hers. “That’ll go over well, considering Charlie’s just got in and your whole family is waiting to see you,” said Harry, the sarcasm apparent in his tone. He stroked down her cheek gently, tilting her chin up to look at him. “Besides, we’ve got a plan, remember?”

Ginny sighed, dropping her chin slightly to place a quick kiss on his fingers. “Right, stick to the plan, I suppose.”

“Stick to the plan,” Harry echoed, trying to ignore the electricity coursing through his body from the barest brush of her lips upon his fingers.

“Someone should record that for posterity,” Hermione interrupted, her smile broad and cheeks very flushed.

“What plan?” asked Ron, who approached behind her, pulling Hermione’s and Ginny’s trunks.

Harry laughed as Hermione pulled him into a hug, purposefully ignoring Ron’s remark.

Only Ginny knew of their well-crafted plan for the first night of the holidays: dinner at the Burrow, then after, he’d bring her to Grimmauld Place, ostensibly to ‘show her the renovations,’ but in reality, to have their own private reunion before she returned to the Burrow for bed.

“Harry and I’ve got to go to the Burrow for dinner, remember,” Ginny said smoothly.

“Right, Charlie can’t wait to see you. Better have your broomstick ready, he said wants to put the Quidditch captain through her paces.” Ron grinned, setting the trunk next to Ginny.

Ginny snorted. “I’ll fly circles around him, there’s no way he’s in shape.”

“We’ve got to go to my parents, Ron, they’re expecting us for dinner, remember?”

“Course I remember,” Ron said, hitching up Hermione’s trunk as they reached the apparition point before placing a shrinking charm on it. “Harry, don’t wait up for me at Grimmauld, I won’t be back until late.”

“We’ll see you at Christmas,” Hermione said, and she and Ron disapparated.

“Come on, we’d better get to the Burrow.” Harry turned towards Ginny, resisting the strong urge to sod it all and just go back to Grimmauld Place.

“Do we have to?” Ginny trailed her hand down Harry’s arm, her fingers swirling over his bicep, causing a swooping sensation low in his stomach. “We could pop over to yours for a minute and no one would be the wiser.” Her eyes gleamed as they met his.

Body still tingling from her touch, Harry swallowed, fighting back the temptation to take her home with him immediately.

“We can’t, your whole family is waiting for us for dinner. And they all know what time the Hogwarts Express gets in, it’d be obvious.” Harry sighed. “But we’ll leave as soon as dinner’s over.”

“Good. Because I can’t wait to see the renovations,” Ginny replied, with a knowing grin.

“We’ll definitely start the tour in the bedroom.” Harry tried to keep his face deadpan, but Ginny’s laughter was infectious.

Continue reading on Ao3

[rachthepoet]

Cherry Analysis 🍒

Chérry, the catalyst. Harry's prettiest baby she is, but concurrently catalytic — for the backing voice peppers the track like the low-hanging fruit of a cherry tree, and the harvested details amp the appetite to indulge in the Fine Line album. And, we've only hit the surface of this piece's mastery, too often overlooked due to its divisive ending, which is tragic. The song's title not only builds on the artist's evergrowing fruit charcuterie but is ridiculously close to the French translation for my dearest and/or my baby, ma Chérie — connecting the plea we hear him beg perpetually.

Harry's prettiest baby. A painting of vulnerability, humanity, and storytelling. It's that tapestry of memories — though messy and imperfect from certain corners of the exhibit hall — that one can't stop themselves from luxuriating in. Even as it causes nothing but agony to experience devastating heartbreak all over again. It's a heart song, the type of song that people feel in their hearts before even making it to the end. The pain of still being in love with someone who's already moved on, and stuck watching them be their best with another. Masking the pain in feeble attempts, but unraveling as it comes out in bursts unwarned.

Here's a deep dive into Harry Styles' Cherry, from a poet. And one of my favorites to praise. Below Sunflower, though. Of course.🍒

Rhymes, Patsy Cline, & Word to the Wise

Oh boy, you get to have fun with the poet today! Because first things first, let's talk rhyme schemes — such an essential pillar in the structure of this piece, that far too many don't appreciate. Or, maybe they just don't see it like the poets do — but, that's why I'll explain it all, detail by little detail. Further down, in the ever-notable LYRIC PULL APART section, there's some color coding going on. I personally have always found it easier to understand and identify rhymes visually — and making it clear and visible to you is so important. It seems like something relatively simple to an untrained eye, but, you see, that's the catch in it all — it's a way of speaking without directly speaking, as in the piece he tries to suppress feelings while pain, jealousy, and heartbreak bubble under the surface.

Note that the chorus' rhyme scheme remains consistent, like a control group, an anchor to keep him stable on the ground. This coincides with the language in the chorus being straightforward, while the verses can be less cohesive, allowing room for the writer to play around in his storytelling. This is where the consuming emotions are bubbling under his surface, which mirrors how, as the verses move along, the rhyme scheme gets weaker (more conversational, more casual, more messy) in contrast. Naturally, as we hit each part of the song, I'll give you greater detail, but I wanted to offer some summarization to warm you up to the idea. Yeah?

For a long while, Cherry has had this association in my mind with Patsy Cline's She's Got You. Cline's song is about a woman yearning and mourning over a lost love by looking back through old photographs and possessions that remind her of what's been lost. The drastically too short piece is a lament about how someone else has the love she lost or the love she let go, and all that remains are these small things and small memories. I believe Harry's piece — especially amplified in the chorus — holds a similar sentiment and story. However, Cherry seems adamant about focusing on just one little thing that meant so much to him — the nickname: dearest, baby, chérie. He selfishly wants to keep this exclusive to himself all while watching the other give their love to someone else. He doesn't want to lose it like he lost them. Both of these pieces are framed and executed eloquently, and I adore them both, so maybe it's only natural for me to draw a connecting line — but I wanted to mention it anyhow.

And, lastly, a word to the wise. I know this piece to be one of Harry's that gets caught in discourse routinely, whether there's those name-dropping or others' encroaching nature with theorizations. Here's a gentle reminder that we will not engage in that nature here. Given, that the principle I'm about to discuss applies to every song I analyze from Harry's collection and beyond, but, for some reason, it felt extra fitting to say it here especially.

A fundamental rule of songs and their accompanying analyses is that songs are practically never about anyone other than the songwriter and/or the speaker. Sure, other people might be included as a vehicle to conceptualize feelings, ideas, or experiences to add more detail — but it's never solely about the other. Think about it this way — when one's watching musical theater, a character onstage will be singing about a character offstage, but the audience's focus is on the character onstage amid their monologue. Even though the character is singing about someone else, the subject is not in view, so your focus shouldn't be on the other.

Once one comes to this realization, seeing this song without a clouded lens, the experience becomes much more nuanced. Bringing it back in, the big picture of Cherry is an internal struggle — and the storyline just supports the big picture, all the little details that inject life into it. Little supportive pillows uplift the core idea. It's not about the ex-lover in question, and not about the action, but, rather, it's about the writer's reaction! Get it? Good! :)

Lyric Pull Apart

[INTRO] Coucou

A hello to the listeners — looking into the translation, multiple possibilities come up, but given the context, I'm sticking to the intention of a greeting. Coucou leans more toward an informal greeting, between those familiar, which helps solidify an existing relationship between our speaker and the haunting voice present behind him. This voice is intrusive, following him throughout, as he's using the song as a processing stage. Attempting to push down and drown his feelings about the situation. This conclusion can also be discovered in how Cherry has a conflicting feel to its instrumentals — happy and sad together, at once. Could even go forth and say "balancing on a fine line", eh? Representative of the conflict present in the speaker himself, but gosh, I'm just getting too ahead of myself now. Gotta leave you something to discover, don't I?

[CHORUS] Don't you call him baby We're not talking lately Don't call him what you used to call me

As mentioned prior, the color indicates a rhyme scheme, and the chorus rhyme scheme will remain consistent. A control group, an anchor to keep him stable on the ground. But, now let's grant a deeper perspective into that. The repetition of the chorus, of this controlled rhyme scheme, is a way of the speaker trying to pull himself back from his own disaster. Trying to calm himself and keep a hold of his emotions as they bubble — the constant battle of these emotions to push to the frontlines is executed in the verses, and their differing rhyme schemes.

[VERSE 1] I, I confess I can tell that you are at your best I'm selfish so I'm hating it I noticed that There's a piece of you in how I dress Take it as a compliment

The first half of the verse holds strong to its rhyme structure, as listeners witness a moment more petty than pathetic through words. Sure, the speaker's not happy, far from it, but refuses to admit (directly) that he's missing them. The rhyme structure in the first half is stronger & more routine in comparison to the second half, resembling the speaker holding himself together more. Best and Confess (green) share the "es" sound, the main rhyme, with Tell That and Selfish (purple) sharing an "el" sound, the supporting rhyme. The purple emphasizes the green!

I, I confess / I can tell that you are at your best: The realization that someone you cared about so deeply is now at their best with someone who isn't you. A confession to oneself about the realization, and letting it hit right in the heart and the pit of the stomach. This line really hurts to me. Lyrically, a relatively simple line. But meaning? Surpasses. And this supports my notion that Cherry is focused on an internal battle rather than the person he's referencing.

I'm selfish so I'm hating it: This admittance is another piece in speaking to one's own internal structure and echoes 2017's Woman where he also admitted his jealous tendencies, and being selfish in said jealousy. Once more, we as listeners have found ourselves as spectators to the speaker's internal battle about the hurt he's experiencing time and time again.

The second half of the verse is when some unraveling occurs, coinciding with the admission of how much of an impact the other has had on him. The existing rhyme scheme continues with the "es" sound (green), with Noticed and Dress, creating a flow from one feeling to the next. Then, there's a playing rhyme that starts at the end of the second line, emphasizing the "et" sound in It and Compliment (blue) — but, the rhyme is interrupted subtly by the n. This mimics the speaker's feelings as both he and the rhyme begin to crack. In addition, the secondary rhyme (purple) is lost, creating a weaker structure than previously.

I noticed that / There's a piece of you in how I dress: There's an eloquence to this line, and I often struggle to put into words just how deep my admiration goes for it — guess I'll start with how I love when scenes are painted with lyrics. Like, you can picture so much within one singular line. Whether an accessory or piece of clothing they left at his house. Whether it's watching one's style soon melt into one's significant other's. Whether — delving into the more abstract — getting dressed in his normal routine and there are still pieces of them in every step. And, to take it further in the symbolic and abstract direction, one can even spark up a debate on how the way one dresses connects to identity — therefore, he's speaking of how there are still pieces of them left in himself.

Take it as a compliment: Naturally, this is a complimenting line to the lyric that precedes it. Take it as a compliment that I'm thinking of you still, which comes off sweet with a lingering tingle of that pettiness rooted in pain. Which — naturally, I'm going to keep reminding — coincides with the rhyme structure, with Compliment being the one to alter the rhyme (blue) [subtly]. And, with that being the case, the "I'm so happy you're so happy" façade is slipping down to reveal the truth as the internal struggle peaks to the exterior.

[CHORUS] Don't you call him baby We're not talking lately Don't call him what you used to call me

A return to the chorus, the control rhyme scheme, the centering point. An anchor. With the first iteration of the chorus, I focused on the rhyme scheme, so in this second iteration, let's dive into the words said themselves.

Don't you call him baby: Lovers call each other baby. The realization hits now, how the other person is out and happy with someone else. The realization hits now, how deeply he doesn't want to share this one thing he can still grasp onto from what they had before. It's a moment of selfishness, childishness, and a moment of not wanting to share what meant the most to him. The intimacy. And, in addition, as mentioned previously, the French word for dearest and/or baby is chérie, which is artistically simplified into what we know as Cherry.

We're not talking lately: An admission to himself, within his internal struggle. A realization they haven't been connecting as they had once before, and they're both at fault for that. However, in the tone, it feels like the speaker is placing the blame on himself a little more, as I have interpreted it. In whatever way one hears it, the mentality of blame shifts as the listener travels deeper into the album, to To Be So Lonely, but that's just a little teaser there.

Don't call him what you used to call me: A lyric connected to the first line, emphasizing a plea, asking them not to bestow upon their new love the terms of endearment that were once reserved for him. And, there's a constant circle back to this, which indicates a central motif. And, further revealing — pulling back the façade — the speaker's difficulty in accepting his ex-lover finding comfort in someone else's arms. 

[VERSE 2] I, I just miss I just miss your accent and your friends Did you know I still talk to them?

The second verse's shift is a dramatic one. Something in the air feels different after the second iteration of the chorus has rounded. There's no more beating around the bush, or hiding behind a fake happiness for this person who's moved on — things are now being laid out on the table. And, there's almost a little petulance to it that's very complementary to the song, with a taunting sound to it.

I, I just miss / I just miss your accent and your friends: Now he admits to missing them, and admits that there's something to miss in his life now that they've parted ways. But, it's always in the details, you know? The things you'll hold onto. Your accent. Friends they bonded with together, or your friends to which they introduced him. There are assumptions of carrying out the rhyme scheme that preceded it, with the "es" sound (green). In the first verse, we had Confessed, Best, Noticed, and Dress. Now, in the second verse, the expectation is for Miss and Friends to follow suit. However, that's not the case — the rhyme has drifted away from the "es" sound. Miss is overpowered by the vowel change, and Friends is interrupted by nd. Once more, we're met with rhyme structures falling apart subtly, which only supports the big picture of the song, as the speaker crumbles and loses his poker face.

Did you know I still talk to them?: I love how I've always heard this line, like a child taunting. Almost a bit like... hmm, how can I describe it? Like, you can't take them away from me. Like you took everything else. It's just another added aspect to what he's going through, the feelings experienced, and the overarching internal struggle present. Rather than continue to hold it all in, he wrote a song about it. A beautiful one, at that.

[BRIDGE] Does he take you walkin' round his parents' gallery?

Oh, this bridge. How I adore it.

In the bridge, stylistically, the taunting note is held tightly, but there's a return to the rhyme scheme of the chorus. The controlled structure, the anchoring point to bring the speaker back from an emotional overwhelm (as categorized by the rhyme scheme crumbling in the verses). On a surface level, the lyric seems so simplistic, and will frankly remain so if one refuses to look into the details. I believe it carries a lot of weight, especially within the context of Cherry's storytelling. Even though the line is directed at someone outside the speaker — and one can just picture it said in a heckling whine — it's more telling of that internal struggle over anything. That big picture of Cherry to keep returning to.

Throughout Cherry, as listeners and spectators, we are experiencing and investing in the emotions the speaker must work through in the song's duration (and continued throughout the album, naturally). He's not only admitting to that post-breakup stage that everybody goes through but pretends that they don't — the bitterness that lingers like a cherry that's turned — but he really wrote a whole fucking song about it. He's sinking into the turmoil of this, into the pettiness, admitting that he is not free from this overwhelming bitterness and envy of an ex-lover who could be happy without you. And, something that rings true in the FINE LINE album as a whole, it's a song where we witness the (coping) method of capturing such an unpleasant feeling and transforming it into something lovely through the love language of music. For himself more than anybody else.

[CHORUS] Don't you call him baby We're not talking lately Don't call him what you used to call me Don't you call him baby (Coucou) We're not talking lately Don't call him what you used to call me (Coucou)

Here we find ourselves again, back to the stabilizing rhyme scheme of the chorus. With the bridge returning to this standard of rhyme, it flows beautifully in the ear, but there's a symbolic/metaphoric factor in play. He's not trying to hide it anymore, he's allowing himself to embrace his bitterness, his green face of envy at seeing someone he cared deeply about move on with their life without him in it. And, in companionship with the bridge, the direct address to his lover's new partner is poignant and continues the pattern of the chorus' language being more straightforward.

[OUTRO] "Coucou! Tu dors? Oh, j'suis désolée… Bah non… Non, c'est pas important… Ouais, on a été à la plage, et maintenant on— Parfait! Allez!"

Okay, here we go. The ever-controversial voice note. If you aren't going to indulge in this section of Cherry's analysis with an open mind and heart — no clouded lenses — you can feel free to skip over, but I really invite you, genuinely, to remain and hear me out. Personally, I like it, love it even, and don't understand the relentless arguing that seems to fester from it. It's most important to bring in the context for full appreciation. And, to me, we discover that in the screams preceding the addition.

The final choruses are interspersed with this voice, her voice, alongside his screams. Pay attention to the screams, and each one is a reaction to the sound of her voice, always in this intrusive manner. This inclusion of the voice from the very beginning of the song and throughout serves as a subtle foreshadowing of where we stand now, the voice note. But, I digress — this series of screams, and the final, most agonizing scream is in response to silence. This lover he's been hung up on, the one he's agonizing over for moving on without him, is gone from him. And that idea hurts more than all else. Through the pettiness and anger we witness, there's also an underlying sadness, and it pushes to the foreground in those screams.

Then, in comes the voice note, echoing, very neutral, can be from any day — it's the final memory he's holding onto. All he has left, even the music — representative of his Hail Mary coping attempt — fades. He can't bring himself to get rid of it, so much so that he decides that a song composed from this inner turmoil couldn't be complete without it included. My interpretation? It's like not wanting to delete/remove the few reminders you have left of a person, even if they bring you pain to see them. In that final scream — that scream to the void of silence where there used to be something — he scrambles for a single memory, to let himself wallow rather than be stagnant in silence he never heard so quiet before. But, his wallowing is now compromised with catharsis. And, in all this, that is the beauty of Cherry. Harry's prettiest baby.

Thank you for reading, you’re absolutely incredible! If there are any songs you’d like me to make an analysis of, please send your request to my inbox! along with any questions or insights you might have yourself!

[miyakuli]

Jusant

Climb every mountain

Acrophobics beware, our ascent begins. Armed simply with a rope and three pitons, our character, accompanied by a small water creature, sets off to climb a giant, mysterious tower, where the remains of the past are still visible. But once on its roof, is the view up there up to par?

❤ More than just a climbing game, Jusant is clearly a game of contemplation, as the panoramas are always magnificent and I've often stopped just to enjoy the view.

The tower is made up of different biomes, each with its own unique and varied atmosphere. The ruins you find are full of details of life in the past, so it's easy to imagine what this ancient civilisation was like. It's often tempting to explore the surroundings further, even if it means deviating a little from the original path. ❤ Although this Human city is now abandoned, the tower is nonetheless teeming with life, with its distinctive flora and fauna.

I really appreciated their diversity, but also the harmonious way in which they fit into the universe; insects in the form of moving stones can be good grips but will tire under the weight of the character, certain plants can be made to bud but will wither very quickly under the burning rays of the sun, life becomes less and less habitable as you climb because of the lack of water and the violent winds etc… This aspect of the universe makes it very immersive and easy to grasp. ❤ The climbing mechanism is very easy to pick up and intuitive (at least on the controller). Some might criticize the lack of challenge, given that you can't die (the game is meant to be relaxing, after all), but I found that the stamina bar was enough to add a bit of management and reflection to the whole thing. What's more, while the game is very linear, I found that it allowed each player a fair amount of freedom to create their own route. You can go on a breakneck run and climb a passage in one go, or you can play it safe and place pitons from time to time. This can lead to quite different parties from that point of view. The gameplay could be perceived as repetitive, but as the landscapes evolve, you'll also have to adapt to each new environment. As a result, the paths become a little more complex as you go along, without feeling redundant. The game also offers good replayability if you intend to find all the hidden corners and collectibles.

+/- The music is very beautiful and there are some very soothing sound design moments…but I found that there were a lot of rather empty passages where only the sound of the wind could be heard. Given the amount of life abounding on this large rock, I was expecting more sound ambiance. Only the seashells, the game's collectible elements, really transported me in this respect. +/- This is clearly going to be the most subjective point of all but, in my opinion, the universe is too cryptic, or rather, it has too many details that don't quite fit together. Let me explain. Throughout the journey, you can come across messages left by the former inhabitants, allowing the player to learn more about how they lived in this tower, their occupations and the beliefs they held. On the other hand, we also have engravings and technologies that are activated by our little pet creature (just like our tattoos) but at no point are these elements mentioned in the found texts, and they hardly seem to correspond to the same era. As a result, I'm left with a very strange mix of lore and I'm struggling to fully immerse myself in it, not because I don't understand how it works, but rather because I can't conceive of these two elements going together. And the ending didn't help either, becoming very mystical compared to the more down-to-earth side of the ancient writings. In short, a strange mix that left me dubious.

✖ My journey up the mountain was exacerbated several times by numerous glitches: the camera suddenly became uncontrollable, the character found himself levitating above the stairs, and my rope became entangled far too often with elements of the scenery…. enough to easily break the serenity that the game aims to offer. ✖ The tutorial is rather intrusive, with the explanatory text recurring too frequently as if to give us clues as to how to proceed. While this was a way of making the game accessible to a wider audience, it breaks the immersion and doesn't allow the player to simply observe and reflect. ✖ While I was quite taken with the visual spectacle, I didn't feel much during the whole trip. First of all, I think that's down to the main character, who I found…flat? We don't know who they are, what their objectives are, and their expressions are very neutral, so it's hard to know how they feel about events. Their friendship with the little water creature is cute, but there's no more connection between them in the game than little optional interactions. And as for the finale, it's déjà-vu for me, I was once again left unmoved.

Jusant is a catchy game in both senses of the word. The climbing gameplay is enjoyable and the world, while perhaps too obscure, is rich and intriguing overall. Despite the altitude, however, it didn't transcend me, because for me it lacks emotional intensity, and beauty alone isn't enough to reach the summit.

➡ My Steam page

[snow-system-wol]

It's been about a week since everyone returned from Ultima Thule.

It'll take... time for things to be more like they used to.

(heavy whump, h/c. No detailed S'ria trauma refs.)

Ao3

Things don't make sense as they happen to you. But they don't have to, not in Ultima Thule, not where your own panic can warp reality.

You can not say where you were a moment ago, only that it is different now. Your next step doesn't land on cracked dead earth, like you expect, but on carpeting. A draft chills you to the bone and you look up in complete confusion – the abyss behind you still exists, but in front of you are fractured floorboards leading into a familiar hall.

You don't want to keep walking, but you are… looking for someone, are you not? Yes, you desperately need to find them.

Each step back into that place is dreadful and searching seems to avail you naught – every door you try may as well be set dressing, just part of the wall. The temperature continues to drop, now as cold as it was during that one time that the ceruleum heating failed for bells on end during a long storm.

By now, you've been walking for long enough, along twists and turns, that you know for absolute certain that the space no longer reflects truthful memories. It could hardly have been this large and complex of a building, even if it may have felt as such when you were small.

You also do not feel…alone in here, and your footsteps grow hasty. There is something malevolent in this space, and if Meteion is to be believed, you may have created it yourself.

You are growing tired of walking, trying so hard to break into a jog and yet never moving faster, when the hall suddenly ends with a single door in front of it. You recognize it immediately. You will not enter, no, not willingly.

But a presence lingers directly behind you, closer and closer, and you still feel that panic that you need to find someone, so you open the bedroom door and slip inside.

There is nothing. Quite literally – just a darkness that stretches in all directions. You slam the door shut against whatever has been stalking you and step deeper into this space.

Only a few steps in, you see him – G'raha. He watches you, unmoving, the barely visible shape of a dark bird perched on his shoulder. Not a single sound leaves your mouth as you try to scream for him to come back to you. The corruption engulfs him before you can get any closer.

Unlike the others, he does not simply vanish and grant a glimmer of hope. Something must have been done wrong this time, because the darkness dissipates and reveals a battered and broken body instead of empty space and a tangible spread of magic. There is no crystal this time, only blood.

Your knees give out, even as you try to stagger towards him. Menphina can – you can't feel her right now, but she'll wake up and she can fix him – you just need to get to his side –

A hand closes on the back of your jacket collar and yanks hard enough to sprawl you out on your back, head smacking into the not-ground of this space. Once your vision clears, you look up and your stomach lurches to recognize the face.

He's dead, nothing in this place is real, you know that. You fairly redecorated His bedroom walls with arterial spray, you remember it too clearly now to doubt. He is absolutely dead. Not real. You know not whether you spoke or simply broadcasted your thoughts, but a lilting reply echoes around you. 

“But G'raha, he was real, wasn't he? By your side this whole time until you lost him.”

That…that sounds right, G'raha had come to Ultima Thule with you, that was no trick – which meant –

You try to sit up, to see if that body is still there, to drag yourself to him. Instead, you find yourself struggling against the weight of a boot on your chest. Please, you just need to see G'raha –

Your eyes focus on the ends of long blonde hair, not there a moment prior. Your master hadn't…had hair like that. The pressure on your ribs increases, bones creaking, and even as you refuse to look up to confirm, the following spill of words does it for you. Zenos has ever had a recognizable voice.

You don't know whether Zenos is haunting you as a hopeless memory, or actually has come to Ultima Thule in search of you, but you don't want to know what happens next, you don't want to know what happens next –

 

Your throat is raw, cutting off your screaming into a coughing fit as you bolt upright. You immediately regret it so badly as you hunch over yourself in agony. It hurts, but past the pitiful sounds you are making, you can hear G'raha's voice – and the sheer relief of that is overwhelming.

The sudden glow washing over the room is bright enough that you clench your eyes shut against it. It is only the radiating warmth in your chest that makes you realize what he is doing. The pain starts to fade from something that steals your breath away to simply a steady ache. He gently urges you to stop trying to fold yourself in half and lie back down. It helps a lot, with it so much easier to draw breath.

“Wha–.” Your voice comes out as a dull croak. “Oh godsdammit, not again.”

“You are safe, I promise – untense and allow me to finish healing.”

You're awake enough now to know that you are safe without being told. Now it is more so the guilt that plagues you.

After the first few nights of waking up absolutely everyone in the building and G'raha rushing to your side, he had simply begun sleeping in your room and casting silencing wards. While that is better, you are still waking him up.

(And making him do difficult magic immediately, no less.)

The glow dies down and you finally crack your eyes open to focus on G'raha in the dark.

“How is the pain?”

You take a slow breath, not able to fully fill your lungs. “It's bearable now, thank you.”

He looks at you, horribly worried, and you so badly wish you could sleep through the night without sabotaging your recovery. You keep curling up tightly or moving too fast in your panic, and then G'raha gently tries to heal new microfractures in weakly repaired bone – it's been like this all week.

You had listened to the important bits, when you were conscious enough for them to explain the extent of your lingering injuries. Your ribs fared none too well and would need time to finish the job that magic had begun – time that only increases whenever your night terrors make you forget yourself. You were already warned that they may pain you for months or years after healing, so ideally it would be best to at least actually let them heal in the first place instead of doing things that hurt them.

And the shortness of breath – in the gift that truly kept on giving, evidently the damage Zenos had done when stabbing you over a year ago in Rhalgr's Reach means that you are stuck at higher risk of that lung failing again in response to future injuries. Of course, the blunt force damage you'd taken during this last fight was more than enough to cause a repeat incident.

(They'd also said that your right leg may… not ever quite be the same again, but you are content to ignore that piece of information for the time being and focus on being able to breathe. You can still walk on it, after all, even if not too far without help.)

You let out a slow shuddering breath. “Fuck. I'm sorry. You should rest.”

“You need not apologize for this – it is not your fault. I wish you were not suffering, but I shall stay by your side as long as you'll have me. Would it be incorrect of me to say that I…cherish these moments when we are both awake afterwards, in an odd way? We are both alive.”

You nodded. “I understand. I don't want to…ask too much, but waking up to see you safe and here is a relief. Especially…especially w-when…”. You stifle the hitch in your breath and try to push the images out of your head.

His eyes softened. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

You fix your eyes on the ceiling. Garlemald – G'raha's corpse – Master – Zenos – the cracking of bones. “No, I can't, I can't – not right now.”

“‘Tis alright, shh, you do not have to.” He reaches up to card his hand through your hair, so slowly that you could've stopped him any time. You lean into his hand instead.

You soften your voice, trying to recapture some of your lost sleepiness. “Stay up here.”

His hand pauses in your hair. “Are you certain? You know my sleeping accommodations are perfectly comfortable.”

“Surely not as good for your back as a mattress, though?” You reach to find his free hand and twine your fingers together. “If you're comfortable with it, I'm saying it's okay.”

With his hand in yours, it is easier to drift back towards sleep – a familiar scent and warm body that is reassuringly alive.

Yes, you are safe in this time, He and Zenos have both died under Fray's watchful gaze, and G'raha breathes steadily by your side.