#fever ‘verse

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Paradise | kinktober 2024 | “broomsticks”

prompt: lingerie

pairing: alex/one of my many girls

word count: 3489

song: “blood” by in this moment

contains: exactly what it says on the tin, mentions of the satanic panic, oral, alex being a li’l devil

Sam had often dreamed about wearing something nice when Cliff was alive. There had been a few chances in the time that they had known one another, but there was never enough of a chance for her to carry it out at all for him. She knew that he liked the way that her body looked, but there was never any chance to take it any further. Their relationship was too ephemeral, too distant to even so much as take it any further than what they had. She knew that if she ever opened up her heart again to take in a new soul for her taking, then she would have to take the chance.

She already had wormed her way into the realm of metal, into the insulation of being away from the prying eyes of the parents who clutched at themselves and the ones who brandished their prayer books every which way at the mere mention of an electric guitar. There had been a couple of incidents on the street, especially when she helped the Cherry Suicides camp unload their gear into the next venue in their hometown of Providence. She spotted a woman across the street flash her the cross pendant about her neck, and she recoiled back a bit. It was one of those things that made her think someone held onto the rug underneath her feet and prepared to tug on it out from underneath her. She was with friends but therein lay a lingering doubt at the sight of that.

“Third one this week,” Zelda declared with a shake of her head; as the woman walked away, she flashed her middle finger to her back. “We got a guy in Boston yesterday calling us heathens and a couple in Hartford on Sunday looking at us in complete and utter disgust. Heaven forbid a bunch of girls wanna make music.”

“I worry about you guys, if I’m honest,” Sam confessed to her as she adjusted the lanyard around her neck.

“Why is that?” Zelda asked her with a knitting of her eyebrows; she held onto Sam’s shoulder to nudge her out of the way of the stagehands and the technicians helping the two of them out. Morgan, Minerva, and Rose were all about an hour out of town, and the doors didn’t open until around dinner time, and thus, the two of them had enough time to talk with each other and hang out there in downtown Providence.

“Because I really don’t know how people like that behave,” she answered. “I don’t know if they’ll come after you or if they’re just all talk.”

“They’re all talk,” Zelda assured her, and she ran her fingers through her short, dark pixie-cut hair. “Trust me, if they actually meant that shit, we would’ve been burned at the stake a long time ago. You know, the guys have been catching that hell worse than us. Long-haired boys in denim and leather playing hard and fast music that sounds like it came from the pits of hell. What we’ve been witnessing is like nothing in comparison to the shit Slayer and Possessed have been getting. Or even Exodus, for that matter. Zetro was telling me that they worried about getting thrown out of a venue because a bunch of parents bitched about their name to the owner.”

“It’s funny, Cliff actually never really mentioned it before,” Sam recalled as the two of them walked into the backstage area. They were alone except for those five men down the hall; Anthrax were a drive from New York City away from there.

“He was probably trying to protect you,” Zelda suggested as she closed the door behind them. She led Sam into her dressing room, a tiny but cozy space with two chairs snuggled down in the far corner with a doorway into the shower. Sam sat next to her as she changed her shoes from her dark red wine-colored Chuck Taylors into big black and scuffed Doc Marten boots. “I know I’d wanna protect my girlfriend from the bastards like that just because I know she’s got other things to fret over like school or where or when she’s getting somethin’ to eat.” She then hesitated with her head cocked to the side. “How’re you doing, by the way? I know it’s been six months since the accident, but seeing as we’re talking about worries, I should confess to you that I worry about you. And I know they—” She gestured out the door and the left side of the hallway. “—they actually worry about you, too. That’s according to Lou, anyways.”

“Really? Alex actually worries about me?”

“I guess?” Zelda shrugged. “Although I’m really just going by Lou’s word with that, but… you got the wrong idea about that boy, Sam. You should see how he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”

“We talking about Alex or Lou?” Sam knitted her eyebrows at the sound of that.

“Alex. In fact—you heard this from me, too—” Zelda gestured for her to come in closer to her, even though those five men were well out of earshot; Sam leaned in closer to her regardless of that fact. “I actually caught him pretty recently, like right after Cliff was killed. He had his eye on you like you were in a bikini. He had his eyes on your legs and your ass especially.”

“I remember how sweet he was to me during Cliff’s memorial,” Sam recalled. “I’m kind of curious about him now, if I’m honest.”

“You know what you should do? You should wear something sexy tonight and sneak up on him with it. Totally surprise him.”

“I don’t have anything sexy, though,” she confessed with a slight bow of her head as if out of shame.

“Really?” Zelda seemed genuinely surprised by that. “You don’t have anything in your closet from when Cliff was alive?”

“Never even crossed my mind,” she replied with a shake of her head.

“Wow! I was wearing lingerie even well before Lou showed up to the party.”

“And besides… I—” Sam cleared her throat. “—kind of want to save something like that for someone really special, like for a special occasion.”

“This is technically a special occasion,” Zelda pointed out as she reached for her bottle of hair gel on the shelf by her head. “We’re on tour with our buddies, and we’re in your neck of the woods in the Northeast.”

“Yeah, but…”

“What?”

“I don’t really know, to be honest, Zelda… I love Joey,” Sam confessed to her with a gentle massage of her shoulder with her opposite hand. She peered right before her to the corridor, and she knew that Testament were back in there rehearsing.

Testament. They were Testament as of New Year’s Day.

“Does he know?” Zelda asked him.

“No.”

“Then don’t worry about it. If you guys were a thing, then I wouldn’t say that. Otherwise—” Zelda squirted a bit of gel onto her palm, and then she closed the lid and rubbed her hands together. She ran her gelled fingers through her hair to style it up into that rough pompadour.

“Otherwise, what?”

“Otherwise, we’re in Providence. What happens here stays here, perhaps more so than New York or Vegas. We can fool around and play around with these boys, especially if at least one of them has his eye on you.”

Sam sighed through her nose and straightened up her spine a little.

“You know, the guys are going to be playing right down the block from us,” Zelda told her as she tightened up the laces on her Doc Martens. Sam noticed the narrow strips of duct tape spread across the toes, which in turn made her cock her head to the side from the sight of it. “You can thank Greg for this,” Zelda explained with a pat of the toes with her fingertips.

“The tape?”

“He noticed that my toes were starting to poke out so he got me a big roll of tape,” she explained. “Honestly, I kind of wanna put more on because it fits our whole feeling.”

She sat upright and rested her hands on her bare knees. It was late March and not that hot there in Rhode Island, and yet there was Zelda wearing fitted Bermuda shorts and a little lacy white tank top.

“I’ll show you a place where Min and Mo liked to go when they were living on the street,” Zelda told her. “I was thinking of going there again just to find something to wear up on stage.”

“You guys really wanna play around in lingerie?” Sam asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah, why not?”

“Why not, indeed. You should wear that plus the boots, too.”

“That’s the plan, Sam I Am!” Zelda declared. Sam then wondered what she would get there at the shop, and she also wondered as to how she could track down Alex, especially when she was still getting to know the backstage sections of venues and she was still getting to know those men in particular. Nevertheless, she and Zelda returned their way to the streets, and the latter led her around the corner to a small dark shop on the corner, fully illuminated with bright red neon lights despite being the middle of the day.

Zelda held the door for her and they were met with all the things that she never thought she would ever see firsthand. It all felt like such a blur as Zelda whisked her to the lingerie section, and she picked out an outfit for herself.

Something about wearing a coat just to surprise him.

Sam blushed at the thought of what she was carrying down in front of her knees, but Zelda was more than keen about it.

“Got a see-through top and some shorts,” she said with a smirk.

“That’s all?” Sam raised an eyebrow at that.

“Sometimes that’s all there is to it,” Zelda replied with a wink. “And especially if we’re going to be donning coats over them just to  hide out and lead some boys on.”

Sam swallowed, hard, and yet it was difficult to do so from the nervous feeling within her. Zelda then raised her eyebrows at her, and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” she began again, that time in a lower tone of voice. “You’re an artist. Art means to be brave and to expose yourself, never to explain yourself. You put that on and go see him. In fact, I’ll take you to the bathroom in here and we’ll get changed together.”

Indeed, Zelda led her back into the backstage area, where Exodus had showed up as special guests, but she led Sam into the women’s bathroom so they could change into their new outfits. At least the room was clean, and they could tuck their clothes into the bags, but they still took their shoes off outside of the bathroom and kept them under the bench on the outside of there.

“Which room is he in?” Sam asked her.

“I think the third one down?” Zelda replied as she set her bag down on the bench. “You’ll know it when you see his name on the outside of the door.” She adjusted the lapels of the coat, and she tugged the ends of it out from the tops of her Doc Martens.

“What should I say to him?”

“Lead the way,” Zelda said. “From what Eric’s told me, he’s a little naïve. He’s only ever gone down on a girl but he never really was present before, like…” She pinched her fingers together at her lips, to which Sam raised her eyebrows at that.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. So—” She stopped dead in her tracks and turned her head. Sam followed her gaze over to the five guys from Exodus going onto the stage together. 

Zelda gestured for her to follow her as well as them. They congregated on the far side, and Zelda turned to her with a determined look on her face.

“I’ll give you an example,” she told him. “Hang tight back here, I’ll show you a means to my madness.”

Sam lingered back with the black and pink paper sack in hand, and she watched Zelda walk on out of the backstage area and to the center of the stage. She spotted Zetro and that thick dark mop of curls upon his head on the far side of the stage, and her skipped a few beats as Zelda strode on up to him in that see-through top and those little fitted shorts.

“Steve!” she called out to him, and Sam ducked back into the corridor to Testament’s dressing rooms. Alex was the third door on the left, after Greg and Louie’s rooms. The two doors had shut, but he focused on the third one, which hung ajar and showed her a soft glow of lamp light.

She peeked into the room from around the edge of the door frame to find a futon which folded out into a bed pushed against the far right wall and a mirror right across the floor.

Alex was laying there on the bed, flat on his back with his arms up over his head as if he was about to serve himself to her. He had on those snug jeans and a black leather belt as well as a little black suede vest that seemed a touch too small for him. As far as she knew, he was merely getting into the mindset of the show for that night.

If this was an act of sin, then Sam would dance with the devil just to do it right by him. She held back from the doorway and let the overcoat fall onto the floor around her. She took another step forward as she heard Chuck and Eric laughing about something down the hall.

But she had to be brave. She was exposed. She had to be brave about it.

“Alex,” she started, and she rested her hand on the side of the door frame. He lifted his head and raised his eyebrows at the sight of her there at the doorway, donned in that cropped corset and the low-rise panties. She believed that she mirrored him there in the doorway. He hoisted himself up onto his elbows and gazed on at her in daze. His deep eyes locked onto her as if he had just seen the eight wonder of the world.

“Um, hello,” he breathed out.

Sam stepped into the room, and she felt exposed, and she knew that she had made a huge mistake by dressing like that before him. She swallowed, and she strove to find the right words as he leaned in closer to her as if he was about to push her back away from him.

“I know, I know, I look ridiculous,” she confessed. “Zelda talked me into it.”

“No, no, you look… so hot.”

“You think so?”

He cracked her a little smirk, and he leaned forward some more, that time for a better look at her. Those big deep eyes grazed over her entire body, from her head down to her feet, and all the while, he locked onto her hips and thighs and then all the way down to her ankles. He brought his gaze back up to her black lace panties, to the way her waistband fitted her hips so perfectly as if they were made for her in particular. His eyes made their way up her stomach and to her chest, and she could feel him looking at the thick layer of lace that covered her chest and pushed her breasts together just enough to warrant the right amount of cleavage for him. He swallowed at the sight of the straps over her shoulders.

Sam couldn’t resist smiling at him.

“Zelda was right to talk you into it,” he said in a low, breathy voice. Alex leaned back onto his hands and spread his legs apart as if to welcome her forth into his body. But she squinted her eyes at him, and she stepped on closer to him. She gently stroked the side of his face, and she ran her fingertips down onto the side of his neck to his collar and the top of his chest.

“I want to lead you along,” she confessed to him.

“Go ahead, dearest Samantha,” he coaxed her. “I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing most of the time.”

“Tell me how you really feel to start with,” she guided him. He lowered his gaze to her chest and her stomach.

“I love this little top,” he told her as he fingered the lace under her breasts.

“I was just drawn to it,” she confessed to him.

“It’s kind of how I feel whenever I see a new guitar,” he added as he ran his long and lanky hands down the curvature of her hips. “How I feel when I see a new guitar.”

He leaned forward and held onto the waistband of her panties with his teeth. He gazed up at her face, and his sharp brow only accentuated the look in his eyes: his teeth brushed against the skin on her belly and her crotch, and a deep shiver ran throughout her body.

He dragged her panties off her hips with nothing more than his teeth.

Sam responded by running her fingers through his thick curls, especially the roots of his gray streak, which coaxed a shiver out of him in response.

“I want you to eat it, big boy,” she whispered to him. “Start with my clit and then… go inside as far as you can go. Then come back.”

Alex licked his lips and then he dove in between her thighs with his tongue out for her own little lips. Sam nearly leapt back as he slithered his tongue up under her hood and onto the nub of her clit. She gasped at the feeling, and she clutched at his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s it… that’s it! Now… as deep as you can go.”

His tongue snaked down onto her lips and up inside of her.

Sam ran her fingers through his black hair again, and that time, she brought her hands to the back of his head so she had something better to hold onto. She closed her eyes and bowed over the crown of his head as he slid up inside of her lips so deep. He slithered about like a snake, the snake charmer.

Sam gently swayed from the feeling, and then he released his tongue and cleared his throat.

“Okay, back, back, back, back…” He moved his tongue back to the head of her clit for some more of that spice. 

“Slowly,” she whispered into his ear. “Go slowly.” She gasped again as he caressed her slow. Low and slow.

She breathed harder as his tongue touched on the head of the clit as if he was licking ice cream. His tongue, so like velvet, so like a rose.

Sam let her arms dangle down his back to the waist of his jeans and the bottom hem of his vest. Her fingers crept up inside of his vest to tickle the small of his back and his hips. He gasped and coughed at the feeling, to which she stuck out her tongue and chuckled to herself.

“Okay, just for that—” Alex held onto her hips again and brought his tongue back to her clit, but that time, he licked her hard and fast. Her mouth hung open and a soft cry escaped from the back of her throat, to which she followed it up with an arching to her back and a bout of laughter.

The tip of his tongue wriggled and curled around the head of her clit, and she laughed even harder as she reached the top of the peak and breathed out a heavy sigh of feeling. She stroked his back some more, and Alex lifted his head for a look into her face, albeit with his chin rested upon her stomach and the tip of his nose on her breasts.

“I could motorboat you right now if you’d like,” he suggested to her in a muffled voice. She giggled at that, and she massaged her fingers through his thick black curls, and she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“Maybe if… I find something new and we have another chance together,” she replied. He held back and ran his fingers through his hair, and a warm glow crossed his handsome face.

“I’m going to be thinking about that for weeks,” he confessed to her, and he peeked up at her from underneath his bangs.

“I hope it doesn’t kill any chances at being friends,” she told him in a soft voice.

“Not at all, dear Samantha. Not at all.”

[josiebelladonna]

”the wandering jew”

this has been rolling around in my head for like… the last month, and all it took was ^that pic to coax it out 🫧

(takes place in the fever ‘verse)

“Hey, Alex, you want a beer?”

The words caught his attention before the photographer showed up to the bar before him, and he realized that he had been daydreaming this whole entire time. For a moment, he had had a brief lapse of memory, but one that seemed to last longer than a few seconds. It was sitting there at the bar, under the thick metallic skulls up on the shelf over the bar that made him think of the movie Alien, that brought him back to that encounter back there, in the one part of the building that no one really paid much attention to, and without any warning whatsoever. The mere sight of the interior, the way it all rose up into thick arches to make it seem as though they tucked themselves into the back part of some hideous alien like the way his feelings rose and welled up into thick arches as well...

It all happened so fast and yet it managed to etch itself into the side of his mind.

The euphoria. The intensity. The feeling of fire within him when he believed that it had died out some time prior to his twentieth birthday.

No longer a teen and now a young man, which meant the teenage dream had been laid to rest before he managed to bring it out in its entirety to the world at large. Where did the time go, he so often heard around him back home, and yet chances for him never really manifested themselves: he only had to focus on his playing as well as the band before him.

Such was the plight of the late bloomer, the boy who had the look but had his zipper all the way up to his collar, even as the lead guitarist.

He had his friends, and most of them female, but he could never gather the courage to really ask the one out on something nice. He never could gather the courage to ask any of them if they wanted to join them over there on the other side of the Pacific Rim for the next few weeks, and thus, he found himself alone most of the time. It was one of those nights on one of those long trips across the Pacific Ocean whereby the time seemed to slip sideways and he found himself a day ahead.

The culture was different. The language was different. The one thing that united him with the rest of Japan was the love of music as well as the sense of exploration. To walk the streets of Tokyo under the neon lights and find something that piqued his curiosity.

Oh, to find a loose leaf copy of Tropic of Cancer in one of the many bookstores around there in the center of town and tell Samantha all about it once they returned home. To find a copy of Tropic of Capricorn and read it to her aloud before they went to bed together.

He had no idea as to how to label his feelings for her, especially when she seemed so hung up on Cliff still, as well as her relationship with Joey. But there was no denying of the fact that whenever he looked on at her, he could feel something with her. Aside from his own unwillingness to even so much as walk on up to her, she always seemed so distant and preoccupied with something else at the moment. She had eyes for another man, anyway, and a huge piece of her heart remained six feet under. No way he could have more than a moment alone with her unless one of them cracked open a couple of brewskies and kept a back room open for each other so no one was looking in their direction.

The books would have to wait a while as he stepped out of the shop and into the cool afternoon and the bright sunshine over the crown of Tokyo. Though it wasn’t all that cold, he had wondered around the city with his hands tucked into jacket pockets and his long luxurious hair sprawled down all around his slender shoulders. The thin leather of his jacket proved to be more than enough for him as he walked up the block to the next crosswalk: somewhere in there was a view of Mount Fuji as well as the clusters of cherry trees near the edge of the city. He was told that the Giger Bar and the hotel next door were not too far from there.

The sleeves of the leather jacket were smooth with the slightest wrinkles near the elbows, and the black leather carried a gentle sheen to it courtesy of the soft neon lights of the city around him. The streets bustled with life, and he remembered that his band had pitched their tents not too far from that old red-light district as well. Not too far from the rows of adult bookstores and the brightly colored strip joints that seemed to blend in with the rest of the neighborhoods of downtown Tokyo. He gazed up to the wires stretched overhead to connect the buildings which stood across the street from each other, as if he stood at the mouth of a cave that presented him with his fate. The pearly white and bright red neon sign over his head showed off the kanji characters for all the world to see, followed by the word “Kabukichō.”

Off in the distance, past the bright neons along the sides of the street before him, the summit of Mount Fuji stood before him in all its cold power like the lines of block art, and he knew that he should have brought something with him for a snapshot back to the States. If only he could find a way to her, to confess to her of what resided within him.

“God, I wish she was here,” he muttered to himself, and he tucked a stray lock of black hair behind his ear.

Then again, the feelings seemed so far away, and he had no idea as to how to describe them, either. All he knew was something within him existed whenever he thought about her. And whenever he thought about her, there came about a deep itch inside him that he couldn’t seem to put his fingers upon.

Even with her feelings elsewhere, he still saw her as his friend, and even after the utter fiery path they took to reach the point of friendship as well. Samantha had her fingers clasped around the stems of the yellow tulips and the hat that Cliff gave her perched upon her head: it almost felt impure to break into her world with his black leather and the slender shock of silver on his head. He wasn’t anywhere the grim darkness that stood adjacent to his band and their hosted scene but he knew how they felt upon the thought of her. No lipstick, hairspray, or safety pins for him, but the shadows beckoned him, especially the ones cast by the neon lights in front of him.

A flash of wispy smoke, and the red lights dazzled before him. It felt as though he was entering the one venture of the house that was sealed off from him and his brother until they were eighteen, and he had crossed a threshold of sorts. He licked his lips and flexed his fingers inside of his coat pockets.

The ribbon of blacktop underneath his feet made him think of all those first shows, where he walked upon the stage with his guitar in hand and his black leather vest barely open to show off the plumes of dark hair on his chest. The initial feeling of nerves only to have it all subside away once the show got underway. The language barrier proved to be another ribbon for him, one that he hoped he could cut through once he had settled himself in for the time being. All the time he could ever ask for right then, and he let the zipper of his leather jacket slide down a bit. His long black curls cascaded around the crests of his shoulders like water, and the cool Japanese air caressed his skin. The smell of freshly poured bath water and burning incense followed him like the silky, forbidden feelings that lingered within him.

He stopped before the smoked glass entrance of the next place along the edge of the sidewalk. The hot pink kanji lettering struck him, while the translations remained right under the edge of the glass window. An alien boy looking on at an alien language scrawled across the glass, that is until he found something that he recognized.

“Soapland…” he muttered aloud. He looked up to the receded doorway and decided to explore things a bit. When he opened the door, the delicate aroma of matcha with the fresh soaps greeted him, as if he was meeting someone who had just climbed out of the shower. It was one of those places that made him think of burlesque but the sight of the bathtubs down in the floor made him think otherwise. The clean pink tiles under the thick soles of his shoes had been freshly scrubbed earlier that morning, and he held still out of slight concern over slipping across it all.

She sauntered on up to him with her hands tucked behind her back and a head of short black hair lined with bright red highlights around the bottom to where it resembled a tortoise shell. Her pale skin had been kissed with the caress of the sun and the summit of Mount Fuji, and her dark eyes drank him down like the back of the sunrise. She wore some little red scrubs lined with even richer red lace: her fingerless leather gloves made him think of something that he wasn’t all too familiar with.

She said something to him which beckoned a furrowing of his eyebrows to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m American,” he told her as his face grew warm with embarrassment.

She reached up and nudged his hair off his shoulder.

“So… very—kawaii.”

“Kawaii?” he echoed her, all while the corner of his mouth curled up to form a little smirk for her. She reached up and pushed a stray black ringlet over his ear, and then she fanned herself with that hand.

“Sekushī,” she remarked, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“I don’t know much Japanese but I think I can figure out what that means,” he quipped to her, and he flashed her a wink. She giggled again, and that time, she brought a hand to her mouth. With her other hand, she caressed the top of his sleeve with nothing more than her exposed fingertips.

“Leather,” he whispered to her, to which she giggled at him again. “It’s really… sekushī when in the right context.” She showed him her gloves, to which he nodded at her.

“Nice dark red leather to go with my black,” he remarked. She clapped her hands right then, and the blinds drew over the windows behind him. She directed him to the one ground-level tub right behind them, the one with the rich royal blue floor and the still waters within.

“I wash?” she offered him with a gesture over to the pool, and he wondered as to what this place was, especially with the blinds pulled over the windows.

“Oh, yes, I would love to be scrubbed clean,” he told her in a low voice. “I’m a dirty American boy, after all.” He clasped onto the lapels of his jacket, and he tugged it off of him. She took the coat and draped it over the back of a chair closest to them. It was rather odd undressing in front of a girl, especially a girl whom he had just met and especially since he had never really done it before, either. He shivered as he kicked off his shoes and then dropped his pants down around his ankles and feet, and more so when he stripped off his shirt: it somewhat baffled him given it wasn’t very cold in that room, but he still could not ignore the feelings within his body.

“Short—too—” she advised him.

“You want me to take off my underwear, too?” he asked her with a sly grin on his face. He stuck his thumbs into the 

One foot into the water before him, followed by the next one. He followed the steps down to the very bottom of the short pool filled with warm, aromatic water.

“The water is absolutely perfect,” he told her, and stray strands of his long black curls drifted off from his shoulders onto the surface of the water before him to where he resembled a merman who had emerged from under the water. Before he could even so much as lean forward to settle into the one nook of the pool big enough for his ass, she dipped her hands into the water on either side of him and rubbed it all over his shoulders. The water trickled down over his collar bones and bare nipples with the kiss of life and death. The spicy smell of her perfume was utterly intoxicating, and for a brief moment, he had forgotten all about Samantha.

When her fingers spread over his collar bones, and more water thus trickled down the front of his chest which in turn made him lean back against the wall of the pool, he parted his lips and let out a low whistle.

“Feels good?” she asked him as she picked out a sponge from the right side of the pool right next to him.

“It does,” he replied. “Feels really good on my back, especially.” He gestured to the crest of his shoulder as she gently scrubbed down his smooth skin with some soap that smelled of dried tea leaves with one hand: with her other hand, she dropped something bright green into the water before him for some suds in the thick of the warm water.

“Ooh, what is that?” he asked her as he moved his hands about in the water to help with the suds. “It smells divine, like green tea.”

“Shōga,” she replied. “Uh… ginger.”

“Oh, ginger! That fused with green tea. It smells absolutely delicious.”

She pressed the bar of soap onto the canvas part of the sponge and rubbed it on the crest of his shoulder. She leaned him forward and moved the sponge in circles around his back.

“Oh, my god, that feels so good,” he confessed to her, and he brought his face closer to the increasing pile of suds before him. His hair dangled forward into the warm waters and the soap suds, and yet he was more than willing to be in that water forever. Such light aromas in the tea bath bomb as well as the woody feeling of the soap in the sponge, and he didn’t want to leave right then. Indeed, there was a part of him that wanted to sink down into the waters around him with his eyes closed to relish in everything. She moved his head closer to her so she could wash his chest and his neck: he sank further down the inside of the wall towards the base of the pool so he could somewhat submerge himself in there. He closed his eyes and let the water surround his head, and then he rose up from under the surface so she could give him a good washing of his neck and shoulders.

“Utsukushī kubi,” she whispered to him, and her voice almost glided over his skin like the kiss of a breeze. She picked up some more water with the sponge and she rubbed it over his chest. She then brought it under the water’s surface to the top of his belly, which in turn tickled a bit.

“Ooh, yeah—that’s the spot right there,” he said with a smirk and a chuckle. “So good, so good.”

He could feel her body moving in closer to his back: her warm soft breasts pressed against his shoulder blades and the top of his spine. He licked his lips at the feeling of the water down the middle of his back and all around his chest and his upper arms. His hair clung onto his chest and his collar bones; he never knew that being drenched and washed clean could be so arousing but he could feel something between his thighs. Something that made him twitch ever so slightly, and he hoped that she would reach down into the water for a swipe.

She kissed him on the side of the neck, and before he could do anything else, she kissed him on the rim of his ear as well. He shivered and let out a low whistle from the feeling of her lips. Her hand found its way under the water’s surface once again, down onto his belly.

“Lower—” he begged her in a broken voice. “Go lower—please—”

She reached down below the surface of the water, still with the sponge in hand, until she lost her balance and tumbled forth into the water before him, head first. With the soap suds in the way, as far as he knew, she had taken a tumble and banged her head on the rim of the pool. He held back so she could return to the surface before him: she gasped for air as she clasped onto his shoulders. Meanwhile, the sponge floated upon the water next to them, still lightly covered in a few little soap suds.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” He nudged her hair out from her eyes so he could look into her own.

But she laughed instead, and she pressed her lips onto his own as the water streamed down her face and onto her shoulders. He knew that she had hit her head but he was too enthralled by the sight of her before him, this little woman who barely spoke a word of English and the way that she touched him with the water all around them as their makeshift bed. She pointed down to the water’s surface and pinched her nose with her other hand.

“Want me to go under?” he asked her, to which she nodded. He took in a big breath of air before he held it, and then he bowed under the water’s surface. He kept his eyes closed as she did the same, and she pressed her hand onto his face and the side of his neck. Despite the soap embedded in the water around them, he could feel and taste her on his lips.

Her fingers trickled down his body to the space between his legs, right to the full length of his dick which firmed up from the feeling. Her fingers wrapped around the shaft and she gave him a hearty tug. He strove not to gasp lest he lose his breath under the soapy water’s surface, but she tugged on him again and that time, he jerked his head up towards the surface for some air. She tugged on him again, and that time she slipped the tip of her finger into that small hole of his head. It tickled him so much that he burst into a fit of hearty laughter.

He steadied himself against the edge of the pool so she could better grope him with both hands. He gasped and yelped out from the delicate feeling of her fingers on his shaft and right inside of the head. He held onto the edge of the pool with both hands and breathed harder with the rich feeling of euphoria within him. He let his tongue hang out from his mouth like a dog, the dirty dog he was and was born to be.

The warm water and the soft-smelling soap only added to the feeling: if anything, it just made the feeling within him well up even more. He slid down the wall of the pool right as she surfaced from under the water with his dick in both hands: his body lay flat before her, all for her. With one hand, she reached forward and raked her fingers down his chest and his belly. He gasped, and his head nearly sank under the water again: he caught himself and coughed and chuckled from the feeling.

She did it again, and that time, a small translucent bead of precum emerged from the head.

She then ran her fingertips over the top of his thigh, and she lowered her head towards his hips. The way she lingered over him made him think of a mermaid, a girl of the sea taking him under for her own pleasure.

He closed his eyes and he let her put her mouth around his head, followed by his shaft.

Her pleasure with his own, just so neither of them were alone for the time being.

“Alex!”

To hear Chuck's voice right then shattered the glass of his memory, and he opened his eyes and shook his head about.

“Hm? What?” He raised his dark eyebrows at him, to which Eric brought a hand to his mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl or rather, like the woman in the bathhouse. Bashful, Alex bowed his head a bit and shifted his weight in the chair.

“I asked if you wanted a beer or not,” Chuck repeated, and that time with a bit of laughter as well.

“I do,” he said with a clearing of his throat. Eric’s lips quivered as he tried to keep the laughter down but it was useless, however. He and Chuck erupted into a rouse of hearty laughter.

“It's not that funny!” Alex insisted.

[hawkinsbnbg]

Himbo Steve got knocked up over and over again all because he always bought into Eddie's "latex allergy" excuse.

At least, their kids were cute.

[undermine-the-instinct]

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 (Then I Intend)

Sesshoumaru x reader

Read on A03...

Notes: For @lorelune 's Spring fever '2024 a/b/o collab!

Masterlist.../ Next part....

Summary: The Lord Daiyokai often shuts you up in an inn, every few days of the month, for the demons that are attracted to your bloodscent. It is one of the few graces he allows. You would think its for your safety, and truly it is. Because not only do you seem to forget that he is a demon, but also a man.

Rumors of a bloodhungry demon arise, one that prowls the edges of this ghost town, devouring its residents under the shroud of moonless nights; Of which steadily approaches. Under the dark viel of a new moon, all desires will be brought to light.

NOTE: Rin and Sesshoumaru are so found-family core to me, so I absolutely DO NOT ship SessRin.

Content: Omegaverse, Alpha!Sesshomaru, HumanOmega!Reader, AFAB READER, FEM CODED READER, period mentions, era appropriate misogyny, servant/master dynamics.

Length: 8.9k

Part 1 out of 4

Listen, nine hundred and fifty years before jesus was a child shaking willow leaves out of his tangled curls, the author of the book of solomon wrote: behold, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves.

The inn that Sesshoumaru leads you to is weathered but sturdy, and most importantly, empty.

You’re surprised at the fact that the inn is a honjin, and not a cheap Kichin-yado, like the ones you've seen sparingly in other villages. This is a post town though, so it makes sense.

It is late, but beyond that the night is still, stale. The wind hardly moves, and you know the signs of a desolate town before the wariness in the residents' eyes can tell you. Scared perhaps, and desperate.

The woman who runs the inn is much like it, a bit old, but grounded, and elegant, as she stoops into a low bow and accepts the pouch Sesshoumaru hands with due reverence and trembling hands.

“Four days. Attend to their needs, whatever they may be. Your head depends on it.” You hand Rin to him, and he sets the child down on her feet with care that belies his stern brow. You take his hand next and hop down from A-Un, and he retracts his hand as soon as you are steady on your feet.

“Get inside now. It's late.”

“Yes, My Lord.” You usher Rin in behind the innkeeper, and for just a moment, you turn to look back at your Lord who doesn't follow.

“Will you be joining us?”

His eyes flash like lanterns in the darkness before he turns away. “...Just get settled in.” And he slips into the dark.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was hard adjusting.

Leaving the 21st century for 1500’s Japan was enough of a shock, but apparently, demons existed. Yeah. Actual Demons. You’ve tried to adjust and find shelter, and a way back home, with no luck. You've been kicked and chased out of villages as mad or an ill omen (For washing your hands so often???), and you've escaped death and harm so often you swear there is either a deity who favors you, or favors your eternal anxiety over this whole situation.

It was by complete chance that you stumbled upon the Lord, in which you listed your capabilities and usefulness with the frazzled energy of a court jester at threat of beheading, the first demon to not drool and try to devour you on sight. 

He cut off your rambling with an odd head tilt and a ‘accompany me then,’ despite the furious squawking from the green imp you've come to know as Jaken. You just grinned, relieved at finally finding yourself secure in this foreign place, and followed along. 

You’re fine doing chores, or calling him Lord, in return for protections and shelter. You've learned how to talk in a 'appropriate manner for a woman' as the Lord ordered, but sometimes you push your luck–but you can’t help it! That reckless attitude followed you from your first life to this one, and that silky pale hair was just sooo pretty not to touch, and the barely perceptible shock in his eyes when you call him by his given name, no honorifics, is worth being forced to walk on foot for a few (dozen) miles. 

Perhaps he might have thought of killing you, a few times, the sniveling thing that you were, if you hadn't piqued his interest with your charming and witty banter...that he often rewarded by cutting your rations.

He’s gotten more lenient about it now when you ‘slip up’ and you think it's like an exposure therapy sort of thing. Except the exposure part is friendship, which you think he’s never had before. It is something the both of you have to adjust to, him, with your friendship! You, with the fact that you were most likely never going home and that demons exist, and probably, subsequently, Hell. Existential crises for everyone, yay...

Yet, another thing that was hard to adjust to was…your monthlies, Things were thrown out of wack when you landed here; Your circadian cycle, sense of appropriate social interaction, your menstration, etc, so it all took a few odd weeks to come back. Your period, that is you still don't know how to talk to people or wake up early. When that happened, Sesshoumaru had already been eyeing you strangely for days you swear, even if you never really caught him in the act.

It was only when he made himself scarce, did you recall how your friend's dogs could smell your stuffs before you even could, and you promptly wanted to cringe yourself out of existence. He’s an Inuu Youkai. Dog demon.

The blood stuff started, you freaked, and Sesshoumaru promptly disappeared far ahead, leaving you to the sneering and bemoaning of Jaken. You didn't have your preferred toiletries or heating pads or anything! It was never a fun time.

The only thing that hinted to Sesshoumaru’s continued presence was the corpses of demons left in his wake, drawn in by the heavy scent of your blood, the thick trail you had left behind. He started shutting you up in an inn somewhere whenever the time comes along now, even if he’s more often late than not, which was still… oddly considerate? Well, one time you all were too far inland so you had to huddle up in a cave and that was not a good time.

Futon and tatami mats might not be a duvet, comforter and down pillows, but it was much better than a cave.

As you’re thinking, Rin trots into the room, and you brighten, immediately waving her over. Joining the group the girl was a selective mute, speaking a few precious words here and there. Surprisingly, even with Sesshoumaru being the Leader of this group and you being her favorite (obviously), the one she spoke the most often to was Jaken. She trailed and played with him often, even if the imp would call it more tormenting.

Still, the girl has done wonders on brightening this dull little group, and you adore her more than you thought you would. 

Rin’s eyes light up with familiarity, and she skips over, plopping in your lap. You let out an exaggerated huff.  

“Woah, I think someone had a bit too much to eat at dinner…” She pouts, shakes her head.

“Really? Because it seems like you put on a few pounds already…” She shakes her head harder and kicks her feet, so naturally you reach to tickle her toes. She screeches in laughter as you hold her in place and count off the little stubs.

“This little piggy went to market, This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy got roast beef, This little piggy had none. And this little piggy cried, ‘Wee, wee, wee!’ all the way home!”

“What sort of nursery rhyme is that?” Jaken sneers as he trots inside.

“What kind of stank face is that?” you snap back. Rin gasps against you, trying to get her breath back, and flinches back in laughter as you fake-reach for her feet again.

Tiring her out and settling into bed is easy enough, and you regale Rin with one of the many tales of your world. You tell her about electricity and skyscrapers, blimps and airplanes and lakes within caves, caves with pink salt and love stories and anything that you can recall. Even Jaken doesn't interrupt, content to sit along and listen to your tales.

In no time at all, Rin droops against you, breathing evenly, eyes barely slitted open in that way that all young children fall asleep. Jaken snores in his corner, that creepy two headed staff in his arms, but you’ve all gotten used to that so you ignore him. Slowly, and carefully, you tuck Rin in, and move to blow out the oil lamp.

But Sesshoumaru is already there, staring down at the both of you, and you jump.

“...!!”  Putting a fist over your pounding heart, you just manage not to scream, and you frown at the Lord.

“You almost scared me into a heart attack!’ You hiss. You can swear he rolls his eyes– but the motion is too swift.

“Humans and their weak organs.” 

“And yet we’ve managed to survive this long, and longer yet.”

“Yes, like crickets. Or roaches.”

“Hey,” you frown. “A roach can survive nuclear fallout. You and I, however, cannot.” He rolls his eyes again, and you definitely catch it, and maybe this time you were meant to.

Rin snores gently, and his eyes are drawn. “These inane stories you tell the child are senseless and impractical.” 

“She likes them, they ease her. You know she’s been having nightmares recently–that last batch of demons brought back some…bad memories.” Sesshoumaru had told you how he had come to keep the girl, after he brought her back to life with Tenseiga. 

You know you’re not the only one who cares for her. Sometimes, if you’re keen enough, you would look over and catch the Lord looking over the child.

She’s be caught in some silly antic, like trying to braid flowers into A-un’s double mane, or refashion Jaken’s clothes to something more fashionable; And the Lord wouldn't smile or laugh no, the Demon is a practically made of marble, but there would be a fondness in his eyes. Then he'd catch you looking and that stony wall would slide back up.

But that did a lot to humanize him in your eyes (ha). He liked to gift both you and the girl new clothes in bright colors, and on especially good days, he would pretend to be asleep as she braids his hair. Jaken would critique her technique and flower placement, it was very found-family core.

You only caught that once though and you bemoan your loss of modern photography. You would’ve loved to get that on camera.

“The stories help get her mind off of that. And did you say ‘impractical’? I would say they’re inspiring–maybe she’ll reinvent planes and be the next Amelia Earheat, traveling the world.”

He cocks his head down at you. “And what exactly happened with this woman, did she live a fulfilling life?”

“Uh, no…whilst trying to become the first woman to complete a circumnavigational global flight, she and her navigator, Fred Noonan disappeared over the central Pacific Ocean.”

“Hence, why women should stay in the home.”

You scowl. “She didn't fail because she was a woman, she failed because she ran out of fuel for her plane. And if you must be misogynistic, she had a man with her!”

“Who let her take lead. Hence, their death.”

You click your tongue. “The inventions of women have revolutionized the world! Wireless transmission technology, central heating, kevlar fabric, the fire escape, mint ice cream; Women can be just as capable if given room to thrive.”

He waves your words away. ” I suppose then I shouldn't let you out of my sight, lest you recreate your lightning in a bottle again.”

“It's called electricity. I almost got the hang of it.”

“Hence.” He walks the length of the room, opens the sliding door to look outside of it. He stalks back in a moment later.

“There are no other guests in the inn, and I paid the old woman enough to keep it that way. After these four days we leave for the mountains.”

“Mountains…” You sigh, burying your face in the blankets.

“Can't we just fly over with A-un?”

“No. There are demon nests I must quell inside. We pass through.”

“Ugh,” You groan, flipping over. “Why? It's gonna be so hard…You know, this isn't how I imagined my life to go. So much hardship,” you whine. “If I wanted to climb mountains I would have joined a hiking group up Mount Everest or Fuji or Hiroshima or something…”

“How did you expect your life to be?” You stop your pouting, turning over to look at him, and the light from the oil lamp paints him in shades, a chiaroscuro of silver and gold.

“...What do you mean?”

“What did you expect out of life? Do you have dreams? Or did they die out when you came here?” 

He waits, and you can't seem to muster up the words under the confusion you're under. Staring at him upside down, you wonder, ‘when did you ever want to know about me?’

He’s the one who breaks eye contact first, a harsh sigh pushing past his teeth.  “Never mind.” He reaches inside the lamp and pinches the fire out. The room is enveloped in deepening shadows and cool tones; All moonlight and deep blues, softening into Dawn.

He turns, and his hair swishes, like a curtain of silver. A full moon, gleaming brighter here than the waning one in the lightening sky.

“Go to sleep.”

“...Goodnight, My Lord.”

“To sleep with you.”

_______________

Inu Yokai are more attuned to their senses than most demons.

It is their nature, as dog demons–their senses are what lend them their extra strength in battle, in the company of other demons–and He is a master of them all. He is a pure blooded Daiyōkai, Lord of the Western Lands. It is expected.

He has honed and sharpened and used them like any weapon, and they serve him just fine, as well as any tool or instinct.

He did not expect them to betray him like this.

The scent of your heat is a heavy, disorienting thing–but still weak compared to the true cycle of a female Inu Youkai. But where a female of his kind would enter estrus twice, maybe thrice a year, you enter it every month.

He caught the tell-tale ends of it, the day you stumbled onto his path. Faint and still unripe, rare, and no less precious for it-Omega. You wonder why so many demons chase and clamor after you, and that is why.

He found himself appalled, disgusted. But not surprised. Mortals are weak and slaves to their own biology. Such a rampant cycle must be their evolutionary way of ensuring that their population does not die out. Yet even he has to scoff at the luck you must have had to survive unblemished. A young, unclaimed, unattended Omega, even if they are human? How crass. How delightful. Like impure jade, saturated and cloudy. He keeps you anyway. He wants you anyway.

You fall into slumber easily, but fretfully, and he watches you alternate between a light and deep sleep. It is not pain or discomfort that ails you though, and he tries to tamp down the rumble in his chest at your drawn brow. He wants to soothe it. He wants to slip beside you and savor your heat.

Instead, he settles for brushing your hair back from your face, arranging it in a neat manner so that your neck stays cool, and the child won't step on it in her hurry. You’ll wake up late, more sluggish than the other two, but he’ll excuse you. Rin will rush out first, intent on cooking breakfast, which Jaken would take over, with the innkeeper's aid. You’ll wake up next, blurry eyed and guilty, intent on pulling your weight. He has instructed Jaken to make sure you rest, but recently you’ve cowed the imp into some leniency. He’ll have to check on you.

But he won't be staying in this inn, or around you long if he can help it. The scent of you before was irregular, heady and dark like blood and earth. It's a stroke for his ego (and what does that say about him) that being around an Alpha, a complimentary presentation, has helped you to…stabilize. You must have been surrounded by Betas, to have such a weak scent. But now that it's settled, your scent is something more floral now, mature, warm. ‘Like honeysuckle’, he compares. 

Pungent, thick, slow, very particular. It could be mistaken for jasmine, or vanilla, but no, honeysuckle. The scent thickens now, in your estrus, trails behind you in wafts. Further fuelled by the blood residue of your menstruation. You smell like wounded animal. Maddening, enticing, frustrating. Lovely.

Blasted instincts. They demand he steps forth and assuage them, but you are human. However his urges, no matter this damn longing, you will never be on equal stance, despite your presentation. That is reason enough. It should be reason enough.

Humans like to pretend that they are better than animals, or mindless beasts, but your body relays those basic desires pretty clearly. 

He wants to taste.

Four days. Four days until the worst of this passes, and he can continue on his journey. Perhaps he should have left you for dead, ages ago. Or killed you himself, to prevent anyone else the right. He wouldn't have to deal with this, and you’d still belong to him. 

But he’s not going to kill you now. He’s come too far for that.

He exhales, and slides the door shut seamlessly. It is near dawn, you all arrived rather late, so he will leave you to your slumber. That dizzying scent of yours heckles at his nerves, raises his hackles just the slightest bit–lengthens his teeth and claws, he cannot meditate like this.

He stalks from the inn, irate. There were plenty of low class demons he saw on the way to this backwater village. He needs to shred something apart. He needs to put his claws in something.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The next morning you wake up late, which is surprising, because usually Rin wakes you up by stepping on your hair rushing out. It lies neat around your face, and you’re left to wonder who did it for you, because it certainly wasn't you. 

Rubbing the dredges of sleep from your eyes, you still as an image comes to mind; A dream, the glint of something sharp, like a whetted knife, and…something else, a soft rattle in the dark. A weight on top of you? But kinda nice, like a warm, weighted blanket in winter. Hm…White scales. The heck?

“Whatever…? Weird dream…” You would have looked up your zodiac sign for any clues in your era, but there are things to be done. The Lord doesn't shut you in an inn so you can idle about. Maybe you can find some chores to help out with.

You shake your head at the images, and get ready for the day. Jaken and Rin are nowhere to be seen, and your body aches sorely like you did a full cardio workout the night before.

You only just finish getting dressed when there's a knock, and the sliding door opens, revealing the innkeeper kneeling beyond it.

“Forgive me for intruding upon you, honored guest. Breakfast is ready in the common area. Or would you prefer to eat in your room?”

“Uh, no, I‘ll head down, thank you..” You follow her down the empty hallways, until you reach the common room. Rin and Jaken have already set up all the plates; Jaken huffs when he sees you, lifting his sleeve to his nose while Rin just beams. You decide to focus on her, Jaken has always had a sore spot with you.

“Good morning Rin! Did you help set this all up?” She nods, before gesturing wildly with her hands, your eyes flitting to catch it all, the odd few words spilling out. You can understand her easily, by now.

“Oh, and you helped cook too? Well why didn't you call me?! I feel horrible that I just slept in while you were working so hard!”

“It wasn’t hard; You would know if you weren't so incompetent. This is just something any person can do.” Jaken lifts his chin in the air, self vindicated, nose still covered. You are not impressed.

“Thank you for the snark, this early in the morning Jaken. Anything else you would like to add?”

He scoffs. “You should be taking my criticism with due gratitude! I mean, what sort of servant sleeps in and doesn’t even help cook breakfast?”

“I am no servant, I am a companion. And so what? Are you going to take breakfast away as my punishment, Jaken?” You smile and take the bowl of rice Rin hands you, lifting an eyebrow.

“Why, I should!”

“But you won't. Because you know the Lord wouldn't approve.” And with that, he shuts up, the click of his teeth snapping together audible. The innkeeper flinches, and draws back.

And, alright, you were only half bluffing; Sesshoumaru would be upset, but only because Jaken has no right to dole out punishments. That's his job.

You see the owner lady bow and start to head out, but you call to her before she could leave.

“Hey, have you eaten yet? You should sit with us.” She smiles politely, shaking her head, still bowing. She isn't that old actually, now that you look at her. Laugh lines and crow's feet, salt and pepper hair. Fifties, perhaps. Her eyes keep flickering towards Jaken, and she breathes shallowly.

“Esteemed guest, I am honored, but I could not dare to impose.”

“I’m asking you to impose. Don’t worry about Jaken, I can punt him like a football at any given opportunity.”

“No you can’t!” Before Rin can fill it, you take your empty teacup and beam it off his head. It lands with a satisfying crack and the imp falls with a sad cry. 

“See? Also, the Lord is the esteemed guest here, not us. And, he’s not here. Please, sit and eat,” you tilt your head, peering just a bit closer at the woman.

“You look tired, actually. Are you alright?” Luckily, it doesn't take much more convincing before she sighs, and slides in the seat next to you, across Rin and Jaken.

“It is fine. There is much to do when you run an inn.”

“But you don't get many customers in this shack of a town, do you?” You glower at Jaken, who flinches back. You turn back to the innkeeper as he mutters something about  “hormones and lady cycles’, in which Rin scolds him for you, and introduce yourself.

“And the little girl here is Rin.”

“H-Hello,” Rin stutters the word out, and bows. You watch the innkeeper for any sign of reproach, but she just smiles and bows back.

“I am pleased to be in such fine company. I am Numachi.” She smiles, and easily looks ten years younger.

“‘Numachi?’” Jaken always has to ruin things though.

“Odd choice for a family name.”

Her brow doesn't furrow, but she closes her eyes, inclines her head. “It was my late husband's name.”

“Well it's still–”

“ANYWAYS,” you cut in before he has another chance to be crude, “Not to validate Jaken, but it does seem you don't have many…patrons. So why do you look so tired?”  She laugh-sighs, shoulders slumping, and the words spill from her, easily, like she's been waiting for someone to lend an ear.

“It was easier when I had my husband and two sons. But… after my husband passed, they left to travel to a more prosperous town, leaving me here…I run the errands by myself now.” You frown.

“They just left you alone when you needed them most?” She shakes her head. “Oh, no, they wanted to bring me along! But I’m much too attached to this place. It’s where I worked and stayed with my husband, after all. They are not far away anyways, they visit me every few months to check in. In fact, I received a letter at the beginning of this month that they would visit soon!” A smile paints her face, before consideration crawls over it; She lifts her sleeve and moves closer to you.

“Though, it's only after the new moon, and for that, I worry less. This post town used to be very prosperous, with many travelers and smaller inns. You can see the wreckage of them further into the town. But there's a demon, who's been eating all the residents for the past twenty years, under the veil of every new moon, and only then. The victims numbers keep increasing as time goes on, and soon…we will also be gone.”

Your mind quickly flashes to Sesshoumaru; The new moon will be soon, but for the next few nights at least, no one would be eaten, the demon wont get close unless they have a death wish. You think to tell her that but she goes on.

 “Now we mostly trade amongst ourselves. It takes such a long time for me to finish all these chores, cleaning the rooms and the bathhouse, checking the hot springs and collecting my small wares to trade, or collecting the things I've traded in advance for.” Numachi-san looks at you, almost conspiratorially, though it's hard on such a soft face as hers.

“I…have traps further upstream the river than anybody goes. It's where you can catch the fattest fish, though I only catch a few every couple of days. It's very far upstream, so that nobody may stumble upon them and steal them, a little aways from the rice paddies Taiga-san owns. Though, I supposed the fish make their own way out of the traps, with how long it takes me to sneak up there.” 

You pick at the fish on the table, seasoned with herbs and salt and vinegar, and take a mouthful of rice. Chew, swallow.

“There isn't much I am currently needed for, or need to do. I'd be happy to help with some chores. And please–” you cut her off, “don’t refuse because of hospitality. It would be kinder for the both of us if you received some help, and I find something to keep myself busy with.” 

Rin immediately bounces up in her seat, rice grains stuck to her cheeks and waving her hand in the air. You laugh.

“And it seems like you have another eager helper too. Three, with Jaken.”

“I did not–” He withers under the blinding smile you shoot his way. 

“So,” you grin back at Numachi-san. Please. what can we do first?”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The empty basket bumps against your hip as you rush into the village. Jaken had kicked up a fuss, had wanted you to stay inside, but Rin had wheezed past him, wiping the floor with a rag, and started chasing his feet. While he was distracted, you memorized the list of things you were supposed to get, and made your escape.

The village really was tiny, even in the midst of such a sunny day. In a time when the village should be bustling, people just kept their eyes forward and went about their business. Oh, there was of course the ladies in their tight knit groups, knitting and gossiping. There was the odd maiden who glanced longingly at some fellow or another, a couple cute village boys, all stereotypical bullshit, yeah yeah, but this town felt…hollow.

Or rather, drained. Like an old, cracked egg.

Numachi-san was right, you saw a few wrecked buildings as you made your way through town, following her instructions. They looked old and fragile, like houses made out of matchsticks. You hurried past these buildings, set on your way.

First, you had to get to the apothecary, for the bundle of herbs she owed the innkeeper, then, to old man Taiga for the rice. But the rice paddies were on the other side of town, where the streams ran from. You could get the rice and check on the traps tomorrow. 

Apothecary and cleaning today, rice and fish and cooking tomorrow. 

The apothecary was a small, but a long nook of a place, dimly lit and crowded with plants, hanging vines and drying bundles of other things. The woman who ran it was a frail old lady, white haired, who hardly spoke a word of greeting to you before she dropped an assortment of…things into your basket. You checked it over–expensive things. Honey and pears and mushrooms, spices–Parsley, chrysanthemum, kaiware, …some other plants you haven't been in this era long enough to identify. 

You were just sorting the basket on your arm when the lady slipped a few extra stuffs into your basket.

“Oh, was that also–”

“Extra.” 

“Extra? For wha-” 

“You're bleeding aren’t ya.” A woman of few, but blunt words. All knowing and terrifying in that knowledge. You nod.

She inclined her head towards the basket. “Ginger and ginseng to revitalize and heal the body, make it into a tea. You’re gonna need it, with that Lord of yours.”

“...What about him?” She rolled her eyes, a strange dark oak. 

“Don’t be dense girl. He shut you in that inn for a reason, right? Take advantage! He doesn’t seem the type to wanna go at it in a cave or some sort. “ And she leans in grinning, sharp and white toothed.

“You gotta watch out though, those types are the ones who pretend to be all dignified, but they’re the ones who go at it like beasts.” And yeah oookay you get what she means.

“Oh, no no no no nooo, we’re not here for that. I’m just a companion! And…my period just ended and I need rest, you know?” But she doesn't buy it.

“So you’re not his wife, or concubine?”

“No.”

She nods. “Not yet then. How ‘bout that little girl, she yours?”

“Rin, the child? No, no, we just took her in.”

“We?"  You catch your slip of tongue a moment too late, and flush red. The old lady’s edged eyes seem to stare right through you, sharp and inscrutable, as she grinds and cuts her herbs.

“Having trouble carrying that Lord’s child then, are you? That why you adopted her–”

“Goodness, no! I said it’s not like that!  She is just…part of the group.” Even that sounds weak to your ears, and you start to back out of the shop.

“‘A companion’...” She clicks her tongue. “How naive. He’s a high class demon and a man. You’re either a snack or a concubine, and with that sweet young scent and body, you might end up as both. Best take advantage before then."

"What?"

"If you're on or near off your bleeding, you're at your most fertile. If he hasnt already he's gonna try to pop a litter in ya." You make a sound of disgust and she rolls her eyes like a grandmother at an unruly child.

“Listen, I’m a part of this group. He's not that depraved to do that, you dont know what you’re talking about!” You're shocked at the volume of your voice, bouncing off the walls, and the most this lady offers you in a raised bow.

“Ah, I see. You like him but you’re scared–of what? Or is it a pride thing?”

“I don’t-”

“You're naive, but not clueless then. But pride is an easy price to pay for a good life. Make a move if you haven't already. Seems he already cares for ya, if he’s feeding ya and shutting you in an inn for your bleedings.”

“It's a two way street sort of thing. I get rest and he doesn't have to fight all the demons attracted to the blood.”

“Really? Well I bet he gets the days wrong, always shuts you up when the bleedings already ending. Leaves lots of bodies on the way too for ya, huh? It's like when my kitty brings me birds; It's about proving strength and showing he can provide. Demon and a man, remember?”

“You don't know him like I do. You don't know anything.”

“I know most women don't get a choice between comfort or a pleasant partnership; you got the chance for both and you’re not making any moves. If I was young as you I'd kill to take your place. Many women have.”

“So I should, on their behalf? He’s arrogant and aloof and looks down on humans,” you counter. “Why would he want me?”

“He’s sympathetic enough to take in a human woman and child and an imp, so maybe he’s not all that. Maybe you should ask why exactly he shuts you up. Or why you want him in the first place?” She resumes her chopping, the scent wafting up as bitter and sharp as her eyes. She pauses.

“If you live to make a decision, come back here. I got things to help you, whether you want to give him a baby or not.” She doesnt look up as you scoff, or run out the shop. You try to cast her words from your mind.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It got your mind running though.

“Numachi-san,” The innkeeper elegantly turns her head towards you, prime and ready to serve. It kinda irks you, her effortless grace and subservience but you ignore that.

“Why do you think the Lord dropped us off here?”

“Hm?” She tilts her head. “Honored guest…I wouldn't dare to presume, it is not my place.” 

“I'm asking you to presume. I won't hold any offense, so please.” Her eyes slowly slid over to Jaken, who was busy telling Rin off for the mess she was making. Rin just grins him away. 

Numachi-san slides over to your side, lifting her sleeve to cover her mouth.

“Well, if I may be audacious…Are you not the Lord’s wife?” You would choke, if the apothecary had not shocked you with this presumption earlier.

She hesitantly went on as you remained silent.

“The Lord has demanded your comfort. You rode in on the back of a mule demon with the child, and you were…bleeding. I saw the spotting. Oh, honored guest, do I go too far?” You shake your head, waving your hand at the crease in her brow.

“No, it's a...reasonable idea to come to. But it is none of that, I assure you.”

“Oh? You are a…servant of the Lord then? How generous he is.” Generous is the last thing you would call him but you can't find the words to correct her.

Curiosity pokes at you. “Numachi-san, sorry if this is too much for you, but what was your husband like? Was he kind to you?”

She bursts into laughter, and the sound of it is so sudden and bitter, your eyes widen. She looks at you with something like pity, like you’re some young thing.

“Kindness is a rare thing in this world, honored guest. That's why we call it graciousness– because it always comes at a price. No, my husband was not kind, but he was gracious.” Her eyes seem so far away, and she sighs in ages past.

“He helped me with the hotsprings and the fish traps upstream. Getting firewood and supplying the inn with whatever we needed, rice, grain, barley, herbs, meat.  My sons, when they were young, preferred to help me inside, at least until the younger twin started joining his father outside more often. They both didn't like people that much, busybodies. It was very crowded in those days so I understand.” And her eyes flick to the sides.

“But my husband…I cared for him, and he protected me. I’ve always been a frail thing, so I think he took it as ensuring my safety. I wasn’t madly in love with him as I was in my youth, but we enjoyed each other's company, which is more to be said then most marriages. Even so, after my sons were born…My duty as a mother overrode my duties as a wife. Not that it ever amounted to much, now that they all left me…” Another sigh, just pushing a small sob, her lipid eyes wet.

Wife. You’d never be a wife, in this era at least. Much less a willing mother. The chance of finding a decent partner that won't try and force you into domesticity is low, and lower still with the chances of Seshoumaru ever letting you go. 

If you asked him, would he let you go? Maybe as you get older. Maybe if you ever found a way back to your world. But what about Rin? It's not like you could take her with you. 

That night, after Rin has fallen asleep after another tale, you go wandering to the end of the hall, where the more opulent rooms lay. It's been unoccupied, but waiting a few minutes in the room yields results; Sesshoumaru appears as if he teleported, face forever calm and blank.

“What are you doing in my room?” The room you haven't been using? You want to snort, but rein that particular response in.

“Forgive me my Lord,” you incline your head. “I just had a bit of an…inquiry I wanted to bring to you.”

“And what ‘inquiry’ do you bring me?” 

To your credit, you only hesitate for a second at the infliction in his voice. Almost a challenge, but with none of the wariness to suggest he expects any real threat from you. You press.

“Why do you send us to an inn during my bleedings?”

---------------

It's not a particularly shocking question, but he wonders why you asked it. And why his pulse spiked ever so slightly.

“The blood scent attracts demons.”

“...Forgive me my Lord, but you are strong enough to deal with them; The corpses you leave behind are plain evidence. And I suppose it's more than that…” So you noticed. You bite the nail of your thumb, already red and agitated like it's a habit, which it is. He wants to tell you to stop, you don't need to lose any more blood than you already have. 

“It's just…We always stay at an inn towards the end of my period, always. If it's the blood that attracts predators, why not shut me up while I'm bleeding then? I know you…scout farther ahead but I bet you can tell when or before it starts, with your superior senses. We can plan better for this, y’know.”

How nonchalant, so self satisfied you seem with yourself that you meet his eyes head on. But as he stands there, holding your gaze like water in his palm, some shame finally finds you, its red flush crawling over your neck and ears and face. 

How lovely. “You don't know, do you?” Your shame, that is.

“Huh?” Even now, honey wafts throughout the room. It's all he can smell–blood residue and earth, honeysuckle and moonlight. He inhales so slowly, so carefully, to not disturb it, lest it spreads throughout the room and stick to everything.

“I don't know…what?” He doesn't answer you. He looks about; certainly one of the better rooms, still paling in comparison for his tastes. The futon has not been brought out, good. He doesn't need any more temptations. 

How clueless you are to his yearning, desire let sit to simmer for gods know how long.

Maybe from when you first stumbled onto his path, or how he noticed you never cowered near Jaken nor A-un, or even him; Cautious, but never fearful. Perhaps when your scent mellowed out with the addition of the child, or when you handed her flowers to braid in his hair. He wonders what the both of you would have done, had he dropped the farce of sleep, content to breathe in milk and honey. Would you jump back in shock, the child in your arms, or would you have grinned cheekily, teeth and all?

You're going to be the bane of his existence.

As he gazes about the room, he strides over to you in that way that makes you falter; Too swift and smooth to look like anything more than gliding, the illusion of being too fast to track as he stands before you; He tilts his head at the little squeak that leaves your lips as you stand eye to eye with his shoulder pauldron. 

Everything about you screams acquiescence, submission, fertility. Your smell, the extra luster to your hair, the extra plump to your face and hips….

He sighs. He finds himself pressing the flat of his tongue against his fangs, the roof of his mouth, to catch that cloying fragrance. There is a sort of fondness he holds for you that he is not sure is wise, nor gentle; It's a kind of fondness that demands both your tears and your desperation. 

“Attend to me.”

------------

“Attend to me.” 

You mind blanks, before you spring into action. He walks over to the low table and seats himself, while you try to figure out how to take off his metal shoulder pad..thingy. It's attached by these red ropes, which are attached to that other black metal petal…thingy–wait, you should probably undo that yellow sash first. And that fluffy cape (it's sooo fluffy. But also literally alive? What is it?)

Sesshoumaru doesn't aid nor correct you, he hardly sighs as you fumble about, shutting his eyes as you work. He inhales deeply, once. He must be tired. Maybe that's why he’s entertaining you and not throwing you out the room. There's been a few close calls of that, so you know the warning signs- he emits none of them. He’s calm.

Finally, you get to that cherry blossom patterned Kimono, a crisp white and red pattern. Expensive. Hm. You wonder what his thread count is. Must be high. He lifts a hand as you hesitate for his undershirt; He just loosens the collar (and, skin!), and gestures towards the sake on the table that just suddenly appeared, a single cup to match.

As you pour it, a thought pops into your head.

“You can repair your armor and clothing with demonic energy, yes?” He actually raises an eyebrow, but only by a few millimeters. “Yes. And?”

So you couldn’t just like…Magic it all off?

You only shake your head and pour the alcohol into the flat sakazuki cups. He takes it from you and drains it immediately, and you refill it quickly. He drinks, and you look him over.

Your eyes trail down his form, not for pleasure, (because yeah, he’s beautiful, but he’s so beautiful it’s kinda scary, you know?), your eyes fall to the empty sleeve of his left arm, and you sober. 

He had dropped you off in some village one day, where you stood for a few days. Jaken was the one to retrieve you, and you came back to a demon lord with one less arm and a tiny child with matted hair. You did your best, but you were only able to fix one of those.

He catches your gaze before you can tactfully retreat, and his eyes narrow, daring you.

You cringe back. “Okay, okay, no need for the death glare. Just…curious.”

His unspoken question prompts you to answer.

“Just…um…Does it feel any different?” It's stupid even before it leaves your mouth, and you see the growing irritation in the set of his mouth, You set down the sake to wave your hands.

“No, no, I mean…! Like, there's stories, from my era I mean, and other stories from before obviously, but amputees each recall their experience differently. One thing that's common though is this thing called Phantom limb; It's like…they have the feeling of still having their limb, even though it is not there. I was just curious if you had…experienced that…” Your voice trails off, meek.

When you look up, he’s looking at the loose sleeve. His hair covers whatever expression he wore before he turns back to the lowrise table.

“Oftentimes, I could swear my hand would be curled, but when I look it is still gone.” A clawed hand raises itself, and removes the shoulder of his undershirt, revealing the ragged scar marring the milkiest skin you ever saw. 

“It aches, and not just the old wound. Phantom limb is accurate. I have to look and remind myself of what I lost.”

You try not to wince. “At least you have your life. I wouldn’t say you lost.” Nobody said anything of what happened to him, how he got so injured. You had to bribe Jaken with some rice cakes to even know it was another inu youkai, or hanyo, as Jaken sneered, so it's kinda scary to think there are demons stronger than the Lord in front of you, whose face and skin is smooth, but his eyes stony, like gilded marble.

“No, I lost that battle.” Sore loser then? You shrug.

“Well, I count it as a victory if I’m still alive at the end of it all.” And your impassive Lord actually snorts, closing his eyes.

“Spoken like a true loser then. Weakling.”

“Yes, and a coward. But alive still.” Silence threatens to fall, so you rush before it. 

“Could you, possibly, regrow it?” He is a demon after all…

But his fist unclenches, settles back in his lap. His face is calm again, like a freshwater lake.

“There is something halting that.”  And still, Silence falls like a dull knife.

This time, he takes the sake bottle and serves himself, quickly downing the drink and serving himself another. Are…demons impervious to the effects of human alcohol or…?

Maybe he’s just trying to get plastered???

Slowly, an idea forms in your head, so slowly, solidifying like fog. You act on it before you can lose the courage, opening your mouth to recite.

“Countless,

My Lord, are the years

That stretch before you;

In such an illustrious house,

A dewdrop is what I would be”

…People in this era are big on poetry, right? They’re not supposed to look at you like you just spoke in a dead language, right? 

“That is Ise no Miyasudokoro. You know of her, in your modern era?” You ignore the snide.

“I was in college, working on getting my Master’s degree. One of my electives was a poetry course.” You shrug. “So yes, I know of her.”

He affords you a look, an actual look; He checks the planes of your face and the depths of your eyes, and you don't know what he's looking at exactly, but he responds,

“The everlasting (moon):

Growing in its midst

Is my home, so

In its light alone

Can I place my trust.”

Oh! You perked up at the mention of a moon, y'know, people here really like using it as a metaphor, another poem ready at your lips;

“As a general rule

I would not praise the moon

For it

Piles upon men

The burden of increasing age.”

“And now Ariwara no Narihira? Was he also part of your curriculum?” You notice it, the regard in his voice, like a drop of paint in a glass of water, settling.

“Anyone interested in literature can't skip over Ariwara. He’s a classic.” Again, bluffing a little; your teacher passed him over very briefly, and you hate leaving any stone unturned, so you did some research on your own. (And thank goodness)

“I know of him and his work, but he is far from my favorite. Do you, perhaps…hold any favor to a poem in particular?”  

A nail, long and sharp, trails the flat rim of the sake glass. He seems to be contemplating, before he answers you in that impassive voice of his, even and toneless.

“In the summer mountains

From the treetop heights

Cuckoos’

Calls fill the sky

As does my love.”

Oh wow… “Ki no Turayuki? That's oddly…passionate.”

“Do you think I'm incapable?”

“Of passion?” What a loaded question. “No my Lord just…restrained.”

“I prefer…longanimous.”  You laugh at that.

“What adversity do you face to show such restraint then,  Lord Sesshoumaru? The world is already at the tips of your fingers.” He doesn't answer, but drinks. The silence that sails in is more weighted than you expected, and you regret your choice of words, already. Maybe he would have spoken of these ordeals. Was it the alcohol, or is the Lord being more…indulgent this night?

You turn your head, and notice the shoji door left ajar. So you stand, and draw it back, letting the night breeze filter throughout the room. It's nice. The perfect temperature, and the moon is just short of a perfect waning crescent. Soon there will be a new moon, and there will be no demons attacking this month. How lucky.

“Poems from the Sengoku era focus mostly on the tanka and renga format. In my era of modern technology, there is access to many forms of poetry, from all over the world. It's hard for me to pick a favorite.”

“Indecisive as always.”

“Oh, is that mirth I hear? I consider myself enamored with the written word. Even if I can only remember bits and pieces, from here and there.”

“Then what can you remember?”

“Bits and pieces,” you repeat, “lines and quotes. And if I must recite them rapid-fire I  fear I’ll only prove redundant.”

“I want to hear you, nevertheless.” You have to calm yourself, otherwise you fear your heart will leap out instead of your words if you speak. You wrestle it back down your throat, but there's still a tremor in your voice.

“Bits and pieces, hm?...It is late now, I am a bit tired; the sky is irritated by stars. And I love you, I love you, I love you – and perhaps this is how the whole enormous world, shining all over, can be created – out of five vowels and three consonants’, by Vladirmir Nabokov. Nizar Qabbani, ‘Because my love for you reaches higher than words, I've decided to fall silent.’ Venetta Octavia, ‘I say your name and it feels like aching, feels like paradise’. Andrea gibson, ‘come teach me a kinder way to say my own name.’  ‘Will you remember that i existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?’” 

“That last one was by Haruki Murakami,” you sigh. “...You can imagine, I got high grades for my poetry  elective.” You try to laugh, to make light of this moment, but it feels stilted and awkward.

The cool air stings a little as you breathe, but you hold it in, and exhale. And when you look up, you jolt.

He finishes closing the last bit of distance, looks down at you from his imposing height. How old is he…? His face you wouldn't call youthful, despite its softness. It's those eyes- they’re too pointed.

“Do I displease you, my lord?”

“No, you do not.” A knuckle taps at your head. “But your denseness frustrates me.”

“You mean…?” He rolls his eyes, a soft snarl building in his throat.

“You are not one for subtlety, are you.” His nails, like razors hovering closer. You could shiver, and not from the cold. Not from fear. Even when that strange hesitancy of his melts beneath a scowl, and he reaches forward more assuredly, yes, but rougher too. You speak before he touches you.

“You don’t have to hurt me, y’know.” His eyes streak back to yours, breathless and bright at your own boldness.

“You don't have to hurt me to justify touching me. You can just…”

Slowly, you tip your face into the open plane of his palm, cool, like all the rest of him, you’d imagine. His fingers flex, his hands so large that his nails brush your hairline. 

His hand isn’t smooth, it’s rough and calloused and cold, but the coolness feels nice. So you press your face closer and use your hands to hold it there.

You don't expect the sharp exhale, or for when he pulls you closer, and you jolt at the suddenness. A finger strokes at the hairs on the back of your neck and you shiver, again.

“I’m disciplined enough to restrain my desires, not curb them when they are released.” And just as quickly as he pulled you close, he let you go. “Tell me now. I won't have a tearful servant girl in my bed; You must be willing or not at all.” He almost sighs the words, continuous and melodious in that voice.

Is it taking advantage, if you give in? Lust was easy, easier to indulge.

You aren’t going to deny the butterflies you stomp down, in these quiet moments. And these moments aren’t infrequent– whether you continue to talk around a dying fire at a campsite, or taking shelter for a storm within a cave. It was a bit of a girl crush you had on the Lord, and you could give in, very willingly.

But should you? What would the ramifications be…?

“I…” And you pause, because you hear something. You perk up, turning back to the door you came from. You listen, both of you, and then you hear it again–muffled cries. Rin is having another nightmare.

“My Lord, Rin is…” You hesitate to go, the moment clinging to you like a mist, but then you hear your name.

You’re already detangling yourself from his hold and making your way towards the door when you remember yourself, and turn to bow towards your Lord.

“I’m sorry, I have to go make sure Rin is…” He waves you off, turns towards the open window where you can't see his face, see him gather himself.

“Yes. Go. See to her.”     

You nod and step back, but a part of you feels off, leaving him like this. What timing.

“I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, but I haven't told you my favorite poem yet, my Lord. I hope we can continue this conversation at another time.” You bow, one last time, before you hurry out.

------------

Sesshoumaru sighs, viscous longing in his chest like hunger pains.

How dense are you? Must he lay out each of his desires for you for you to understand? You speak words of affection so easily, that when he does the same they fall upon deaf ears. He is not one to be overt. You are horrible at looking in between the lines, though.

It is wrong to feel this way over a human. Weak things, inherently inferior, yes, but perhaps you are all the more enchanting for it. It would be more unnatural if he were to let you be, to not taste the salt of your skin or the honey that wafts from you. The hint of arousal he caught, when he towered over you. You are an Omega in heat. He is an Alpha. What else is there? You serve him anyways, should you not be rewarded so?

His skin crawls, where it has touched yours.

And still, that honeyscent sticks throughout the room.

A/N: Was the poetry a bit too on the nose? I feel like sesshoumaru isnt the type for grand dispalys of affection or confession, he's way more lowkey lol. But here are the poems I used in order.

Ise/ Ise/ Narihira/ Ki No Tsurayuki/

[a-v-j]

Its the time of the year again

[desultory-novice]

"Evigheden"

"...I'm sorry..."

.

-

"...Hee! Noir, you smell kinda moldy." "Yeah? And now you're going to smell that way too."

"...Because I'm not letting you go for anything."

-

Sometimes, the collar is a metaphor...

-

[Apologies AU Masterpost]

Also sorry if the first panel is unclear. Adeleine isn't trying to clumsily remove the visor, she's reaching in to touch his face to let him know she's there, as Noir is blind and deaf in this particular form, outside of what information the petals take in and transmit to him. They can't recognize qualities of the voice, ie, that it is his beloved little sister, simply that "some" voice is talking to him. They are also what transmits his "voice" (more like a droll, ghosty monotone) outwards.

-

Anyway, I was revisiting some of my favorite fairy tales, including HC Andersen's "The Snow Queen" (where the title originates) when I realized just how well parts of that story fit Adeleine and Noir.

In seconds, I'd written up a fresh script and was drawing this. It's a little rushed/uneven because I pushed myself to finish as quick as possible so that this could be my official last art post before my surgery tomorrow, figuring it was a good note to leave things on.

Call it ~fairy tale magic~ (although I imagine this is set sometime AFTER the Dark Matter Trilogy rather than during. Perhaps after Zero's "favorite tool" was discovered to be broken beyond repair and with Zero itself destroyed, 02 and the rest of the Dark Matter cut him off from the hive and left him to starve to death in the ruins of Shiver Star, where Adeleine eventually discovers him after revisiting her journey with the others) ...but at least we've got x1 Noir saved now!

(...How many more to go...? ^^; )

-

Because I know you folks care about lore, drone-type or unhatched Dark Matter "feed" off energy provided from the Hive Queen and they will burn in the light without their queen's protection.

Main game Shiver Star is actually MANY years removed from the Shiver Star Adeleine and Noir grew up on. (Adeleine fell through a dimensional rift halfway off planet and wound up on Popstar YEARS later than she left. It's a...complicated...story I'll tell later, while Noir has been Dark Matter for much longer than it seems) So, in addition to there being no more people there, there is significantly less of the kind of light that harms Dark Matter. (Is it, in fact, DUE to the lack of living creatures on the planet?? Dun-dun-dun?!)

Speaking of lore: "Wasn't there a literal parasite inside this version of Noir?? Like, an eyeball in his chest? Is that just gone now?"

Fufufu...

It is not GONE, for no one goes through life without some consequences. Though it was starved into hibernation and made further dormant by ~the healing power of love~ Noir does retain some piece of Dark Matter living inside him. A creature inside that grows stronger feeding off his negative emotions. 

He will simply have to learn to control it instead of giving in.

...Just like the rest of us humans. ^_-

[exposingmyveins]

what do they call this ? is it lovesickness ? ah, such a precise word. i have a fever.

v. || exposingmyveins

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Only Wanna Be With You

At last my long-promised (emphasis on long) Priest/Flora fic is finished. I wanted to write a deep-dive on what their hidden relationship would look like if he got sick while preaching, and I think I accomplished that pretty well.

There are lots of religious elements in this story. Worship services, prayer, mentions of the saints, etc. There is a lot of "priest doing priest things" here, and I won't be offended if that doesn't suit many of you. But it's what my brain wanted to write, and I think it's important to the themes of these characters.

That being said, I might start writing things further down their timeline, so if anyone has any other ideas for these two (non-church encounters? free time? smut? sick Flora?), my ask box is open! Thanks for reading :)

Coming down with a cold is never convenient, especially for someone who makes their living by speaking. However, when Father Luc began to feel the telltale signs of burgeoning sickness the Wednesday before Palm Sunday, it was more than an inconvenience. In truth, it felt akin to a death sentence. 

Holy Week is the gauntlet every liturgical minister must run each church year. Palm Sunday was only the start. Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday would follow close behind, meaning Luc had to oversee and preach a total of six special, important services within four days. All of this of course was on top of the hundred other things a minister is expected to do each week. Even thinking about it was exhausting, and now he would be sick on top of it all.

He had been so careful, too, or he had tried to be. He took extra care to stay healthy in the weeks leading up to Holy Week so he would be equal to the huge task before him. He talked to so many people and shook so many hands every week, though. There was no way to say for sure when or where he picked up a bug. All he knew was that after the final Lenten service that Wednesday his throat felt tickly and scratchy, which he initially chalked up to dryness from preaching. However, by the time he went to bed that night he was chilled and sporting a headache, and he feared he was in for the worst. 

The cold had officially set in by Saturday night, and it was a doozy. His head and ears were packed tight and aching, his sinuses felt like they'd been filled with concrete, and his throat was raw from postnasal drip and the resulting persistent, irritating cough. Every few hours the nasal congestion transitioned from running out of his nose to swelling up in his sinuses, then transitioned back again (and he wasn't sure which was worse) but either way, this cold was noticeable and persistent. There was nothing to be done for it, however, and there was no hope of taking a sick day. Every priest in the country was just as busy as he with the upcoming week of services. Brutal head cold or no, he would be preaching Holy Week. 

Palm Sunday morning arrived right on schedule, and if anything his cold was worse, not better. Yet when the bells began to toll for the opening of the service, Father Luc was standing before the congregation just as he had every Palm Sunday since he was ordained. He may have been loaded with decongestant and DayQuil, but he was present, and that was a win as far as he was concerned.

He hadn't spoken to Flora since he'd come down sick. They didn't chat much as a rule in their day-to-day lives. It was safer and easier that way, with fewer messages to hide and fewer opportunities for others to ask awkward questions. Luc and Flora’s lives were already too intertwined in this small town, and the more they could avoid scrutiny, the better. Whenever he was sick, though, he wanted to be with her more than ever, and he knew she felt the same way. Still, he couldn't afford to be sneaking around with how much he already had on his plate this week. And what if he got her sick? No, it was better to stay safe. Until service time, Flora would have no idea he was under the weather. 

For that reason, he couldn't help but watch her out of the corner of his eye when he opened the service that Palm Sunday. She was easy to spot, sitting with her parents in their normal row. It would be obvious to her from his voice that he was sickly. How could it not be, between the dulled consonants and hoarse voice? And sure enough, before the end of his first sentence her head had snapped to attention and her eyes were boring into him. He flushed under her scrutiny. He longed to meet her gaze, but had to refrain, not knowing what his face might betray.

Somehow he made it through the service without incident, though he wasn't certain how, between his fixation on her and the demanding cold symptoms. Soon enough he was making his way to the back of the church to greet the people. Naturally, Flora and her parents were almost the first to reach him. His lover rushed to shake his hand, throwing nonchalance to the wind. At last he was forced to look at her, and the air rushed from his lungs in a moment of rapture and yearning, leaving him speechless. She was more focused, though, and her gaze probed his. 

“Are you feeling alright, Father? Your voice sounded a bit different today,” she said levelly, revealing nothing. 

“I've picked up a spring cold, I think. Nothing too serious,” he replied, hoping he seemed equally calm. 

“Oh dear. I do hope you feel better soon! We can't have you sick for Easter,” Flora’s mother tutted. 

“I'm sure I'll be fine in no time. But I appreciate your concern.”

Flora hesitated another moment; she was holding up the line now. Finally she squeezed his hand tightly. “Be well, Father.”

“Thank you, Flora,” he managed, flushing again. 

There was a text from her waiting on his secret phone when he arrived home after Sunday luncheon. “Why didn't u tell me u were 🤢?”

“There was nothing u could do,” he replied. “Just a cold. Has to run its course.”

“I could’ve kept u company tho.”

“I was busy every night this week. There wasn't a good time.”

“I'm guessing ur busy the next few days too?”

“Holy Week. Busy doesn't even begin to describe.”

“😞 Miss u. Meet up a week from tomorrow? Hotel on me.”

“👍 Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“❤️ it's a date. Try not to be too sexy until I'm with u, ok?”

He was grinning like an idiot as he replied: “I'll do my best ❤️”

With a sigh he locked the phone back up in his cabinet. This cold had come a week too early. There was nothing he wanted more on earth than to be lying in Flora’s lap as she stroked his hair, but he'd have to wait eight more long, exhausting days. Time couldn't pass quickly enough. 

~~~

He fully expected the cold to clear up by Holy Thursday for sure, but to his horror, it was holding on as fiercely as ever when that day dawned. The week of constant low-level headache, sneezing, sniffling, and coughing had sapped his energy stores, and he was going into his longest four days of the year running on fumes and feeling like garbage. There was prayer on his lips the whole day through to any saint who might be listening for strength, endurance, and perhaps a miraculous healing. 

Thursday's work day and evening worship service passed in a haze. He must have said the right things at the right times, but he felt disconnected from what was going on due to the sensation of his head being stuffed to bursting with cotton. He wasn't even excited to see Flora for once. There were still several days to go before they could spend some interrupted time together, and seeing her at a distance made the wait feel that much longer. He kept his eyes away from her all through the service to minimize his yearning. As he spoke the closing words at the end of the hour and made his way to the back of the sanctuary, he prepared himself to simply smile and nod at her like any other parishioner and avoid revealing how pathetic he felt. When she was several people back from him in the exit queue, though, he unintentionally caught a glimpse of her. Her eyes were full of tender love and concern, and his heart fluttered. He hadn't realized how desperately he needed to know she cared. She reached him a short time later, ducking in front of her parents to clasp his hand in hers, subtly scrutinizing him.

“You look tired, Father. And it sounds like your cold is still bad. How are you feeling?” 

The care was obvious in her voice and his heart fluttered again, but he almost chuckled at her frankness. She was close to going past the line of what they had agreed was safe to say in public to one another. Still, he couldn't bring himself to mind. 

“I AM tired, and my cold isn't any better. But I'm doing as well as can be expected.”

Flora’s forehead was furrowed with worry as her mother chimed in: “Oh dear, what an awful time for you to be sick. I'll pray even harder that you recover quickly.”

“I certainly appreciate any prayers on my behalf, and thank you for them gladly.”

“Do let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I'll bring ‘round some soup tomorrow if you're still not feeling like yourself.”

Like mother, like daughter. Luc almost laughed at the irony, and he could see Flora holding back a smile too. “I'll be sure to reach out if there's anything you can do. Thank you so much.” 

“Take care, Father,” Flora said, with one last meaningful look. He'd been chilled for a week now, but that long gaze warmed him for the rest of the night with a heat no sickness could touch.

~~~

Luc was not well come Friday morning. The congestion was lodged and unmoving in his nose and the back of his throat, making his whole face feel swollen and raw. The aches and headache had increased significantly. His cough had gotten worse, and now any time he inhaled too deeply or quickly he would spiral into a coughing attack. In short, he was in rough shape and all he wanted to do was wrap himself in an extra blanket, take a heavy dose of NyQuil and sleep the day away. Instead he got up, aching, shaking, and miserable as he was, and began to shower and dress like always. The goal for the day would simply be to survive. He couldn't manage any more than that. 

Just as he was about to leave his house, he heard the secret phone vibrating in his file cabinet. He unlocked it to find a text from Flora:

“Any better today?”

“No. Worse :( “ 

“Hang in there. I'll see you later and I'll make sure I get a chance to hug you somehow ❤️”

Luc couldn't think of a response that wasn't outright pathetic so he left it at that, locking the phone back up before getting the last of his things together and dragging himself out the door. 

He arrived at his office close to his usual time, and was glad to have accomplished at least that. Resisting the urge to immediately lay his head on the desk and fall asleep, he instead pulled out his notes for the day's service and tried to get himself in the proper mindset. He would lead worship services at 1 pm and 7 pm, but other than that, today he simply had to be present for any questions the staff members or parishioners might have, and do his duty as the church figurehead on this most sacred of days. There were a dozen other things he needed to work on in preparation for the upcoming weeks, but working ahead wasn't part of survival mode. The only thing he cared about today and tomorrow was trying to rest as much as possible so he was able to stand upright and speak come Sunday. Everything else would have to sort itself out.

His eyes were on the order of service and homily notes in front of him, but his mind was unfocused and he was comprehending maybe one word in ten. An unknown amount of time later, his secretary Rhonda‘s knock at the door startled him out of his stupor. 

“Come in,” he called, trying to make his voice sound normal. 

The matronly woman pushed the door open with her hip. In her hands was a to-go bag from Starbucks and a drink. She wore an amused expression as she placed the items in front of him. 

“You should've told us you were DoorDashing Starbucks. Jan and I would've gotten something too.”

Luc had not ordered DoorDash, but he had a good guess who had. He flushed and stammered for a moment, trying to cover his surprise. 

“Oh it was… a spur of the moment thing. I didn't even think to tell you. I just… really needed coffee, I guess.”

Rhonda raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Well you certainly look and sound like you need it, so I won't hold it against you. But that means you're treating next time.”

“Sure, sure. Thanks, Rhonda.” 

She gave him a last, searching look before making her exit, and Luc had a flash of anxiety. Rhonda was sharp, which made her very good at her job. He couldn’t help but wonder how much she knew about Flora and himself, or at least guessed.

He forced his thoughts away from such worries and turned his attention to the meal delivery. It was his exact Starbucks order, Irish Cream cold brew and egg bites, and he knew of only one other person who would know that. This wasn't the first time they had sent one another anonymous deliveries, though they couldn't do it often to avoid suspicion, but today he wanted to weep with gratitude. Those first few swallows of coffee might as well have been the nectar of life, because he immediately felt more awake and alive, and the egg bites were exactly the sort of simple food his body was craving. Dear Flora… she always seemed to know exactly what he needed whether she was present or not. He wondered if this was what she meant by giving him a hug today.

The sustenance (and the love behind it) gave him the boost he needed to push through until the afternoon service, and he actually managed to get a few easy things done that morning to boot. He ducked into the sacristy extra early, though, to avoid having to talk to anyone unnecessarily and hopefully save his voice. 

When the time came for him to emerge for the service, he couldn't help but scan the crowd for his girl. She wasn't present, but her parents were. She was working, then. At first he was disappointed, but that meant he would see her in the evening service instead. Leaning on that hope, he launched into his greeting, trying to display energy that he didn't feel, and hating the hoarse, congested sound of his voice and everything it revealed. 

The service was far from smooth, but he made it through. It hurt, though. His head hurt and his throat hurt and his joints hurt and his nose hurt. He was shaking by the end, but at least he didn't have to greet the people after this solemn, mournful service. He could slip quietly into the sacristy and remain hidden until everyone had departed. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief as the sacristy door closed behind him. Four more services to go. 

There was a single chair in this tiny room, and not a very comfortable one, but his body was screaming for a break, so without even taking off his robe he let himself fall into it, tipping his head back against the wall. 

He startled awake almost two hours later, completely disoriented. He staggered out of the chair, groaning as he freed himself from the sweaty, wrinkled robe. Less than ideal didn't begin to describe the situation, and the worst part was, he felt worse after the nap than he had before. He let himself out of the room and hurried through the dark, silent hallways of the church. He saw no sign that there was anyone else in the building. He had informed the staff that they could take the afternoon off, so this wasn't surprising, but he hoped they hadn't needed him for anything before they left.

He went straight to his desk once he was back in his office and dug out his phone. Sure enough, there were several confused texts asking where he'd gone, as well as a handful of new sticky notes from Rhonda on his computer. He quickly responded to the texts and made sure none of the notes were urgent, then collapsed into his desk chair, holding his head in his hands. He felt wretched in every possible way. Sick during Holy Week… this was his personal hell. This was punishment for what he was doing with Flora, he was certain of it, and, worse, he knew he deserved it. 

Thinking of Flora made his heart flutter in yearning, though, damnation notwithstanding. He needed her cool hands on his face and her soft lips in his hair, and her arms around him. There was nothing else on earth that would make him feel better at this point. 

After a while he lifted his head, and his eyes fell on the low bookcase across from his desk. Sitting on top of it was a travel mug and a canvas bag that didn't belong to him, and he went over to investigate. In the mug was hot green tea sweetened with honey. In the bag was an insulated container full of beef chili. What little he could smell of it made his mouth water. On top of the container was a note: 

“Get well soon, from the De Luca family.”

Luc was grinning like a fool as he sat down at his desk with his afternoon meal. 

“Flora De Luca, you are a lifesaver,” he whispered. While Flora’s mother Barb may have been responsible for the chili, he had a hunch her daughter had suggested the tea. He wasn't sure which part of this second "hug" he appreciated more, but either way he felt notably better after eating once again. He sipped at the tea for the next several hours, right up until he was dressing for the evening service, trying to help his abused throat in any way possible. 

With a feverish sense of Deja Vu, Father Luc was once again standing in front of the church at 7 pm that evening. His legs were already trembling beneath him and wished he was in bed, or really anywhere but here. He was sure he looked and sounded as sickly as he felt, but he was beyond caring. As the bells ceased pealing, he found Flora’s eyes in the crowd and clung to her gaze like a drowning man, drinking her in. Refreshed, he took a careful breath, being sure not to cough, and opened the service. 

He looked at Flora far too often during that service, but it was the only thing that kept him going, like sips of water in a trek through the desert. He wasn't sure what kept making him think of water metaphors, except that his throat felt like it was on fire before he was halfway through, and his voice grew more hoarse every minute. Also he was craving a shower after being covered in sickly sweat all day.

After another agonizing hour the service came to a close, and he could once again quietly escape to the sacristy. He was careful not to sit this time lest he sleep the night here, but snuck back to his desk by cutting around the outside of the building. He kept the shades drawn and the lights off in his office until the sounds of people departing had totally faded, than waited a further fifteen minutes to be safe before creeping out to the sanctuary of his truck and the road home. 

Of course there was a car parked beside his truck in the otherwise empty parking lot, and he almost turned around and went back inside, but then he recognized the vehicle. He quickened his pace until his open arms met Flora’s in a desperate embrace.

“I thought you fell asleep or something,” she whispered in his ear as her fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head. 

“Nearly. I'm beyond exhausted,” he croaked, letting his head fall onto her shoulder and nuzzling into her neck. 

“You poor, sick baby. I can't believe you're still preaching like this. You're burning up.” She let the back of her hand rest against his forehead to further confirm, tutting in concern. 

“I don't have a choice. I literally cannot imagine what would happen if I canceled church during Holy Week. I'd probably be burned at the stake and sent straight to hell.”

“They'd have to go through me first,” she said fiercely, giving him a possessive squeeze. “Oh, Luc. What am I going to do with you?” she sighed. “Only you would get this sick during your busiest week of the year.”

“Only me,” he agreed with a wheezy sigh of his own. He could feel himself starting to doze off on her shoulder, so he reluctantly stood straighter and pulled away from her, even as his legs shook. “But I've gotta get home. I'm honestly about to collapse right here.”

“Then you definitely shouldn't be driving. I can–”

“It's too risky, love. I can make it three miles to my place. I'll be alright.” 

Her face was crumpled in frustration, but she nodded, staring at the ground. “I hate this so much– all the hiding, everything being ‘too risky’. The only thing I want is to be with you, and you want that too. I shouldn't have to stay away. It's not right.”

“Nothing is right about this,” he whispered. “But it's all we have right now. I wish I could give you better. I'd give you the world if I could. But all I've got to give is me, holding your hand in the dark.”

“You're enough, and always will be. But I reserve the right to be upset that my guy is sick and I'm not allowed to take care of him.”

“Granted,” he chuckled, which turned into a cough. “As long as I can reserve that right too, considering I'm the sick guy in question.”

“I'll allow it,”she murmured, pulling him in for another long hug. After several moments, she sighed again. “But you'd better get going before I change my mind and kidnap you after all.” 

“Don't tempt me with a good time,” he groaned, pulling away from her warmth reluctantly. “I'm going, but I'll have our phone nearby tonight and all day tomorrow, so call and text whenever you can.”

“Will do. I'll see you Sunday okay? You better be feeling better by then. You're seriously worrying me….” she added. He imagined it was because he was visibly swaying where he stood. He had to brace himself against his truck to keep from buckling, but he hoped she didn't catch that part. 

“I just… need to rest,” he managed. “I have all day tomorrow to recover. I'll be okay… I think. Love you like crazy. I'll talk to you soon, okay?”

He blew her a kiss, then pulled himself into his truck, barely making it. He tried to catch his breath as he started the engine, waiting for the dizzy spinning in his head to stop. Three more miles, he chanted to himself as he put it in drive. Three more miles until he could collapse. 

Collapse he did, nearly as soon as he was in the door of his house. He didn't even bother to change or take a much-needed shower, just stripped down to his undergarments and staggered into bed, falling asleep almost immediately. His final, conscious thought was gratitude to Flora for convincing him to install a doggy door for Charlotte the golden retriever so she could let herself out whenever she needed to. 

~~~

Luc slept for a long time, but he was haunted by fever dreams all night. He couldn't remember the details other than a sense of rising panic for his loved ones that would bring him just to the edge of waking before shifting and changing again. He was also very hot, to the point that his dream-self was sure he was boiling alive because hell was coming to swallow him up for his sins. 

He woke up gasping around noon on Holy Saturday. He was shaking with chills yet simultaneously drenched in sweat, and for several moments he could only lay in bed and try to breathe. Charlotte was pressed against his side, and focusing on her solid presence helped to ground him. Eventually his breathing and heart rate stabilized, but this only served to show him how truly awful he felt. He couldn't even pinpoint what was worst–the respiratory symptoms, the sore throat, the fever chills, the body aches, the malaise–all were equally unbearable. He needed to take some medicine immediately, and probably drink and eat too, so he dragged himself out of bed though his deepest instincts screamed against this.

He pulled on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, then his robe and slippers when he couldn't stop shuddering, before making his staggering way to the bathroom. He had a well-supplied medicine cabinet, so he took a concoction of things that he prayed would do some good before continuing on to the kitchen. It was then that he remembered his promise to Flora and groaned when he had to double back to retrieve his secret phone. Sure enough, she had texted him several times and called him twice. He quickly pushed the button to dial her. She picked up on the second ring. 

“Luc, finally! Where were you?”

“Sorry, love. Just woke up,” he croaked, digging in the fridge for milk to make instant oatmeal.

“I was honestly about to come check to make sure you were alive. I’ve never seen you sleep so long.”

“Not sure I AM alive. I feel awful.”

“Worse than that chest cold when we first got together?”

“... Yeah. Worse than that,” he mumbled, leaning heavily on the counter as he stirred his cereal. He needed her, and he needed her now. He didn't know how he would survive the day otherwise. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to come take care of him like she had been begging to do, consequences be damned, but then he registered the background noises of her "Getting Ready" playlist, her quick footsteps, zippers being pulled, and a water bottle being filled. He recognized the cadence, and his heart sank.

“You're breaking my heart, Luc,” she was saying with a groan. “I can hear how much you're hurting from your voice. And of course I got called into work. But you need me. I can still cancel. I'll call them back, tell them I'm sick–”

“No, don't lie for my sake,” he cut in quickly. “They need you, too. Go save lives. I'll be okay.” The words sounded like a lie even to him but he forced them out even as a miserable tear or two rolled down his cheeks and his legs began to tremble. 

“If you're sure… If you want me to come get you, though, you have to promise to tell me. I have no problem leaving. I'll just tell them I got food poisoning. I can be with you in minutes.”

Luc couldn't help but smile as he dragged a kitchen stool over to the counter and sank into it to wait for his breakfast to cook. “Okay, hon.”

“And I'll call you on every break to check on you.”

��Maybe text instead of call,” he croaked. “Trying to save my voice for tomorrow.” Every word currently felt like a dagger in his throat. He tried not to imagine having to preach in his current state.

“Oh gosh, of course. Okay, well then I'll let you go. I'll be praying for you. Be good and take it easy and get lots of rest. I love you.”

“Not sure I can do much else. Love you too. Do good.”

“Bye, babe.”

“Bye.”

Luc let his head fall into his arms on the counter until the shrill beeping of the microwave roused him. He couldn't ever remember feeling so poorly. It was going to be a long day. 

~~~

One way to make a day feel shorter is to sleep through most of it, as everyone knows, and Luc embraced this solution willingly. After eating and showering and changing his sheets, he went back to bed and hardly moved for the rest of the day. It wasn't a light sleep, either–he was out cold for long stretches of time. He felt bad for Charlotte, knowing he'd hardly paid any attention to her all week, but she was faithful as ever, keeping him warm by staying cuddled up against him. When he did wake, usually to take more medicine, he made sure to send a few texts to Flora. Looking at the screen for long made his headache worse, though, so he kept his replies simple. He knew he was probably letting her down, too, but there wasn't much to be done about it, and he felt too horrendous to care much. 

He woke close to midnight. After getting water and meds yet again he returned to bed but found for the first time all day that he couldn't get back to sleep. He felt overly rested, in fact, and dread started to creep over him at this realization. He would need to be up in less than five hours for the sunrise service. Right now he should absolutely be sleeping, disgusting sickness notwithstanding, and instead he was wide awake and still feeling awful. Panic started to build in his chest.

Thankfully Flora’s shift ended at midnight, so he quickly fired off a text to her: 

“Please pray for me. Slept all day and now I can't sleep when it matters most. Very worried about tomorrow. I don't know how I'll manage preaching. My voice is basically gone.”

He had been sparingly using his voice, just talking to the dog every once in a while, and he had heard it declining all day until it was barely a hoarse whisper. 

Flora replied quickly: “Absolutely praying. I'm believing everything will work out. Just do what you can and leave the rest in His hands.” 

She also sent instructions for a throat soothing rinse, which he made and used right away. He wanted to keep texting her, but he knew she would get ready for bed and crash as soon as she got home, and he didn't want to keep her from sleeping even if he was wide awake. Mentally he wanted to watch TV or read but physically he knew this wasn't wise, so he lay in bed and tried to will himself to sleep. 

Time passed slowly, but he refused to look at the clock. There came a time, though, when he couldn't stand to lay in bed for a minute longer. After pacing a few aimless laps around the house, he found himself in the bedroom again. Instead of laying down, though, he knelt at the side of the bed, pressed his face to the sheets, and began to pour out his heart in prayer. He sensed the listening ears of the saints and was comforted immediately. He expressed his worries and fears and asked for any and all help they would be willing to give. As he closed his prayer a sense of deep peace settled over him, and he noticed the illness symptoms seemed a bit better. He was also sleepy again, so he crawled back into bed, closed his eyes, and was out like a light in moments. 

~~~

When his alarm went off a few hours later, he was more painfully aware than he had ever been before of how early it was. He dragged himself out of bed as the weight of his illness crashed over him yet again. However, he felt fairly steady on his feet, and his head and lungs seemed okay. Charlotte jumped down behind him, wagging her tail in greeting. 

Luc swallowed, noting the mild pain in his throat. “Good morning, Charlie.” 

To his surprise his voice was… okay. He still sounded sick and congested, but the strained whisper from the night before was replaced by something resembling his usual tone. He wanted to weep with relief. He could stand and he could speak. He could preach the Easter services. 

In a strange twist of fate, though he would never forget the circumstances of this particular Easter, he couldn't remember much of the detail of what transpired that day. He knew from the beginning that he was still running a decent fever, though he didn't bother to check how high it was, and he attributed his lack of awareness and memory to this. His body was almost moving of its own volition, taking him where he needed to go and doing what he needed to do with little external input needed. The one conscious decision he remembered making was to tell Rhonda that he would be taking a sick day tomorrow and to please clear his schedule. Other than that, he simply let the day unspool before him. He preached three services, presided over two Easter breakfasts, spoke to dozens of people, sniffled or coughed or wiped his nose hundreds of times, and somehow, though he would never know quite how, survived the whole ordeal. By 1 pm the church had emptied, his duties were complete, and there was nothing left for him to do except pack up and leave, which is exactly what he did. 

He had been invited to several Easter gatherings this year (including the De Luca’s), but between yesterday and today he had politely declined them all, stating his poor health as the reason, and of course everyone understood and wished him well. He was free to retreat to his quiet home, take a long shower, make a huge mug of hot tea, and not move or speak for the rest of the day if he chose. When he sank into his couch after the aforementioned shower and tea, the relief of this washed over him like a tsunami. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, allowing himself to simply breathe. 

It didn't take long before loneliness and self-pity set in, however. He was still sick and miserable and all he wanted–all he'd wanted for days on end–was for someone (well, one person in particular) to hold him and kiss him and take care of him. It seemed cruelly unfair that this wouldn't be possible for another twenty-four hours, and that he would only get maybe twelve hours of coddling out of the deal. He needed more than one night with Flora. Deserved it, in fact, after the horrible week he'd had. With this in mind he began to concoct a desperate plan, praying it would work. 

~~~

That Easter Sunday evening found Luc sitting in front of a rest area Starbucks, nursing a coffee and watching the door. He had been dropped off here by a confused Uber driver thirty minutes ago, and he'd been waiting ever since. Flora’s last update put her arriving any minute now, and he would have been bouncing up and down with anticipation if every joint didn't ache. 

Luc tried to distract himself with his phone, but he felt very exposed here, like every eye in the nearly-empty rest area was on him, a clearly unwell traveler sitting by himself. He was shivering worse than ever between the fever chills and the anxiety, and this made the aching, whole-body soreness nearly unbearable. Every moment he waited for her was agonizing on many levels, so when beautiful Flora breezed through the doorway, he leapt to his feet, almost sending his chair clattering, and ran to meet her, weak with relief.

“My Flora, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!” he murmured in her ear as she pulled him into an embrace. 

“You just saw me this morning,” she giggled, burying her face in his chest. He was glad he'd decided to wear a spritz of cologne at the last minute.

“Yes, but under very different circumstances. I couldn't even touch you then,” he whispered into her hair. 

“True enough.” She pulled back slightly to scrutinize him in her usual way. After a moment she stretched up to press a hand to his sweaty forehead, frowning at the obvious heat she felt. The frown only deepened when her hands brushed over the huge lymph nodes in his neck. “Come on, sick guy, let's get going. Meeting here was a brilliant idea, but I'm not wasting another second of our day together in this creepy place. I've always hated rest areas.”

She took him by the hand and tugged him out the door to her car. After making sure he and his luggage were secured, she climbed into the driver's seat and pulled out onto the freeway, heading toward the next major city, about an hour away. 

“So how are you feeling, love?” Flora asked once they were underway. “You look awful, no offense.”

“I feel pretty awful,” he agreed in a hoarse whisper, already fighting sleep. “But I'm already a bit better now that I'm with you.”

She gave him a concerned, sidelong look. “Is that really all that's left of your voice? You sounded fine this morning.”

He nodded. “I prayed hard last night that I would be able to preach today, and my prayers were answered. But I took a nap while I was waiting for you to be ready and this is how it was when I woke up. I think my body has reached its limit.” 

“Then shush, you don't have to talk anymore. I can't even imagine how sore your throat is. Just rest and let me take care of everything from here, especially you. For the next thirty-six hours, you're mine and mine alone.”

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Luc mumbled with a smile, already drifting toward sleep. 

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 2 - Sweat

Some sheep spot a lone lamb in distress

TWs: collapse, illness

Sweat rolled down Mariano’s face as he readjusted the bundles of wood over his shoulders. The village they were staying in had been attacked just days before–he wasn’t feeling up to helping rebuild, but no one really was. Everyone was hurt. Everyone was sick. The mages who had swarmed had been crafty and wicked. 

Only Mariano’s previous training had kept him on his feet during the fight after he’d been hit by one of their curses. Even with a fresh fever roaring through him, he’d sent them off with fresh, blackened burns and visions of white pact rings glowing in the dusk and smoke. They'd won, even if the victory didn't feel sweet.

That morning, Bastian had flown out to help gather supplies. A few of the villagers rode on his back clutching fabric and containers for food and water, anything to sustain them while they figure out the full extent of the damage. Mariano’s current job was to help secure some sheep for one of the farmers.

Mariano stumbled as he made it to the field where the sheep were kept, only just managing to stay on his feet. The fluffy, still-skittish animals eyed him as he carefully lowered the bundles of wood to the grass. Their fencing had been destroyed, and they were almost done repairing it. This was the last of the supplies that they’d need.

He wiped at his forehead, breath coming even more shallowly than it had only hours earlier. “Maybe…I need to loosen my bindings.” He muttered to himself, reaching beneath his shirt to give himself more room to breathe. It didn't help, so he turned to go find the farmer and move on to the next step of the fencing, unable to remember the preferred knot to secure the fence together.

Mariano didn’t get very far. His knees gave out and he crumpled, hitting the soft, sun-warmed grass hard. He blinked, whining as he unsuccessfully tried to get his hands up under himself. He just couldn’t get his arms to move. They felt like lead, his leather gloves seeming to weigh as much as Bastian. He couldn’t even get to his knees, not with how heavy his boots felt.

The sun beat down on him, soaking into his hair, into his skin, warming him further. It was like it was trying to outdo the lingering curse. He needed water. He needed shade. He wasn't going to get either on his own.

Sweat rolled down Mariano’s face as the sun traveled along its leisurely arc. It dripped down his hairline as the sheep grew curious. It rolled along the bridge of his nose as they laid down around him, nosing at his shoulders and hair and face.

That was how one of the villagers found him, hours later. He lay half curled in the grass, surrounded by sheep, sun-flushed and only half-aware. The sheep never scattered as they approached–all eyes fixed on them as they ran forward.

The sheep stayed nearby instead, as calm as if Mariano were a hurt part of the flock that needed tending. Odd, the villager thought as they tried to rouse the Kingslayer, starting to drip water between his lips. The sheep weren’t ever this calm around strangers. 

@bxtterflykxisses @whumperofworlds @honeybees-125 @inscrutable-shadow

[ianthewife]

my head quite literally hurts i need to lie down asap this was such an amazing scene, the writing has me in such a chokehold, the writing is crushing my windpipe with its bare hands like of course OF COURSE this is how it goes ohhhhh the tragedy of a reached out hand not getting grasped onto, the tragedy of not being able not only to turn around but even to stop, the tragedy of believing that there has to be something more and better for all the suffering you weathered (and caused) and that the only path left for you is the one forward and so you just keep plummeting down and down to your death while telling yourself that you’re actually soaring high in the sky god im so unwell

[heal2ninjagogirl]

Do you guys rememeber this YouTube channel back in 2017??? I think??? Where the creator would post animation memes of the movie verse ninjago but like they were shipping lloyd with the other ninja and also some characters in the movie and they even posted a video showing that they made a lloyd bodypillow and it was like a valentines day special video thing and they were going on a date with the bodypillow and feeding it chocolate or something

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Paradise | kinktober 2024 | “the faceless one”

prompt: voice kink

pairing: alex/one of my many girls

word count: 3142

song: “change (in the house of flies)” by the deftones

contains: mentions of cliff burton’s death and funeral, alex’s birthday, confessions, said voice kink, food kink, a walk on the beach

The day that Alex turned eighteen came directly after the dark specter that was Cliff’s funeral, and a day that Sam couldn’t help but wonder why to herself. It was difficult enough to think that Cliff had slipped through her broken fingers like the sands of time itself, but now she had to watch this boy turn into a young man in the wake of the dark shadow of loss. She had seen him outside of the door on the other side of the room, seated out there on the concrete step with Lars with the sun on their heads, and she had gone over to him to at the very least check on him.

The boy was chilly, and those deep eyes locked onto her. The ends of his bangs caressed the top of his brow from the light breeze, and more so whenever Lars spoke to him. Sam lingered right behind the two of them, such that she could look right into Alex’s face whenever he looked on at Lars. When he turned his head the other way, she noticed the black and blue knit yarmulke rested upon his crown, a little shadow upon his head to give her a sense of a new world; every so often, he took a glimpse up at her, that is until Lars finally peered behind him to look up at her. He showed her a small, melancholic smile.

“What’s going on out here?” she asked them as part of her greeting to them.

“Tomorrow’s his birthday,” Lars replied with a gesture to Alex.

“Aw, happy birthday,” Sam told him, and he showed her a crooked little smile filled with buck teeth.

“I’m eighteen,” he said to her, and his voice seemed to float in on the breeze.

“I was just telling him that Chuck, Eric, James, and I are all going to get him an erotic cake,” Lars told her. “Because, as we all know, eighteen is a christening of sorts.” But Alex wasn’t all that impressed, and he shook his head and rolled his eyes at that. But he still laughed at that, regardless. At least the mood was light out there in comparison to the rest of the funeral party.

“Imagine if you actually did, though,” Sam pointed out.

“If I actually did what?” Alex asked her, slightly puzzled.

“If you actually received an erotic cake for your birthday,” she clarified. “Lars-ski here could pop out of it and sing to you like Marilyn Monroe singing to the president.”

Lars laughed at that as well, a loud hearty laugh.

“I come out of a pair of boobs and sing that to him!” he cackled, and Alex bowed his head: his face was as red as a cherry tomato, but he still raised his head and laughed to himself. Lars then stood to his feet and turned to Sam with a playful grin.

“I will be right back, I have to use the boys’ room,” he advised her, and he sidled past her to the rest of the reception hall. Sam stood on the step next to Alex for a moment, and then she took her seat next to him. She tugged on her skirt a little bit lest it billow up against the wind: she looked over at Alex and the fact that he left his tie undone around the collar of his neck.

“But no matter what happens, I really hope you have a good birthday,” she told him, and he showed her a little smile. “I hope that the loss of Cliff doesn’t affect things too much.”

“Aw, thanks for that,” he replied to her, and he kept his voice down low; Sam craned her neck and spotted Zetro and Gary of Exodus on the far side of the courtyard having some smokes. Luckily for her, the smoke clouds themselves were blowing the other way. “Yeah, you know, I hope I do, too. I’m turning eighteen so I’m going to be running with it from here on out.”

Sam glanced up to him with a thoughtful look on her face.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, but you have a really nice voice,” she remarked in a gentle tone. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he replied, and he turned his head in her direction; the sun hung low over them, which in turn cast a shadow on his face but gave her a full on sun bath. “My parents and a girl whom I used to go out with, too. I would get told to be a speaker at conventions or a teacher or something. Something that lets me use my voice.” But Sam was being serious about that: something about it made her think of molasses, in its warmth and full timbre and the way that he seemed to be talking to her as if they had climbed into bed with each other. There was something so tender about it, such that she could listen to him talk for hours on end.

And she wanted to listen to him talk for hours on end as well.

“I wanna do something special for you,” she stated with a clearing of her throat. He raised his eyebrows at her, and his entire face seemed to light up at her.

“Like what?” he asked, taken aback, but then she shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, and she glanced over at him with a slight squint to her eyes from the afternoon sun on their faces; “but I kind of want to make all of it worth your while, though. I want to do something that will take the pain out of losing Cliff. He was Legacy’s friend and he was my boyfriend, so it should be just between you and me.” In the corner of her eye, she noticed that he kept his hand down atop the surface of the concrete step right between them; she couldn’t actually see if his fingers remained all that close to him or not, and she would rather not bring attention to that, either. She and Alex barely knew one another, and she had no idea if he even liked her so to speak.

“Get me a drink?” he joked, and Sam burst out laughing at that, complete with a clap of her hands.

“A drink! Not for a few more years, big boy.” She ran her fingers through her hair, and she returned her gaze to him and the little twinkle in his eye. “I could get myself a cocktail but I dunno about you, though.”

“I do like me a good beer, though,” he confessed to her, much to her surprise.

“Like… I could go in and get you something nice and then go to a different place for something myself,” she suggested in a single breath.

“I like the way you think,” he confessed to her.

“That was just one thing,” she assured him. “I used to surprise Cliff all the time with this.”

“I could stand to get out of here,” he confessed. “I think everyone else is wanting to part, too, that is if they haven’t already.” He gestured over to Zetro and Gary, both of whom looked to be walking to one of the cars in the lot next to the reception building. “Besides, if we stay here, I’ll feel the sadness coming on again.”

“Agreed,” Sam said, and she stood to her feet first, and then he followed suit right next to her. He towered over her, complete with that head of long black curls, and one hand rested upon his yarmulke to keep it steady against the wind.

“Oh, wait, hang tight, I have to get my purse,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.”

“And I’ll be right here,” he vowed to her in a low voice. Sam could feel the blush sweep over her as she fetched her purse from the table on the far side of the room: no one seemed to be paying any attention to her. She doubled back to the door and Alex who awaited her with his hands tucked into his pockets. He showed her a little smile as she slung her purse over her shoulder, and they walked together to his little dark blue car parked outside of the building itself. He handed her the key.

“You want me to drive, really?” she asked him.

“Yes!”

Once she unlocked the door, Alex took to the passenger seat while she slid behind the wheel. He stuck the key into the ignition; once she shut the door, she turned the key and the car hummed to life. They strapped in and she drove them through the hills north of Oakland with the sun at the sides of their heads; Alex leaned back in the seat with his sunglasses on over his face and his tie tucked into his front pocket like a pocket protector. He kept his yarmulke in his lap, and Sam wished that she knew how to knit just so she could make him a yarmulke for every occasion.

She couldn’t explain as to why she thought that but she thought it anyway.

They rolled into the northern end of town, whereby she spotted the liquor store.

“What do you like, actually?” she asked him.

“Umm… surprise me,” he declared, and she drummed her fingers on the rim of the steering wheel. She pulled up to the curb and switched off the car.

“Wait right here,” she advised him, and he sank down in his seat a little bit to remain out of sight.

Sam bowed into the small shop which smelled of hops and yeast. She figured it would be best to take a can of ale, especially while she still wore that black dress. The grieving widow and she needed to relax with something cold.

The clerk asked for her card, and she obliged.

She thanked him and headed back outside to the car. She kept it between her legs as she started up the car again and drove ahead. Once they were out of sight, Alex sat back up in the seat.

“Here you go—” She showed him the can of pale ale, to which his face lit up at the sight of it.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever had a pale ale before,” he confessed, and he cracked open the can and took a small sip. The unmistakable smell of hops wafted throughout the car, much to Sam’s surprise.

“That actually smells really good,” she confessed.

“It’s delicious, too,” he remarked.

He nestled the open can in between his legs, and he rested an arm on the top of the door. The afternoon was pleasant and the sun kissed the sides of both of their heads; it wasn’t until she braked when she noticed him bowing his head a little bit as if something was on the top of the can.

“You okay?” she asked him.

“I feel like a total idiot,” he confessed to her as they pulled up to the stoplight.

“Why?”

“I had you go and get me a beer. Why did I just do that. You’re a nice person and you’re Cliff’s widow to boot. I took advantage of you because I wanted a freaking beer.” He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Alex, I’m actually more than happy to do these things for you,” she assured him. “Mainly because I’m only doing it because tomorrow’s your birthday. I wanted to do some special things for you. If I go into this bakery here—” She pointed out the windshield to the bakery on the other side of the street. “—and bought a pie or a bunch of cookies, I’m going to do it for you. As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m just doing a little shopping trip.”

He cracked her a small, but slightly unsure smile.

“You know, I’ve had a few girls do that for me in the past, when I was like thirteen and fourteen,” he confessed to her. “But with pot, though. They’d go and get me a bag of weed and then I’d pay them back with oral in return after we got high.”

Sam gaped at him.

“Wow, and I thought my life was fucked up,” she admitted. “I dealt with things like wanting to cut myself and anorexia. My father’s a recovering addict and their marriage has been stormy on and off throughout the years. My extended family wants nothing to do with us.”

Alex raised his eyebrows at her.

“Now, that’s fucked up,” he said. “I was just a hedonistic bastard who did it because he wanted to try it out. And that feels even weirder to say out loud.”

“Question, does anyone else know this?” she asked him, and he nibbled on his bottom lip. The light turned green, and they rolled forward. Sam pulled off to the curb before the bakery, and she thought about what else she could buy for him, all for him, just to pay him back for it being his birthday.

“Alex… does anyone else know about this.”

The next curb up and she looked over at him and the thoughtful look on his face.

“I’m afraid not,” he replied in a low voice, and he fetched up a sigh. “In fact, it feels good to say that out loud to someone else.”

Sam leaned back and rested her hands on the steering wheel. Alex bowed his head a bit and kept one hand wrapped around the crown of the can.

They sat there in silence, and yet the bakery beckoned her in, especially since it was going to be closing soon enough. She bowed out of the car and into the front part of the bakery. She took a loaf of sourdough bread for herself and two ginger snaps for him: something to balance out the mellow nature of the ale.

Sam returned outside to the car to find that he hadn’t moved a muscle. She looked over at him right as he closed his eyes.

“And I should tell you,” she began again, “that I actually really like it when you let your voice go low like that. It makes me think of silk.”

She handed him the ginger snaps, enclosed in parchment paper, and he took them with a puzzled look on his face.

“Ginger snaps,” she explained. “They’re like a harder version of gingerbread. I figured it would go good with the ale.” He opened the parchment for a whiff of the ginger and cinnamon.

“They smell amazing,” he said, and he held them back from the mouth of his beer can. “With the hops from the ale, it smells even better.” He turned to her again as well as the loaf in her lap. “What else did you get?”

“A loaf of sourdough,” she replied. “Good thing to make breakfast with.”

“You actually want to make me breakfast?” he asked her, slightly surprised by the offer.

“Yeah. Scrambled eggs with some sourdough toast with butter and lingonberry jam I bought the other day for Cliff before he left for Europe.”

“Do you have any sausage?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do!”

They began onward, back to her hotel room on the southern edge of Oakland, but after another sip of his pale ale, Alex took a glimpse into the side view mirror.

“I have an idea,” he started again.

“Go ahead.”

“Let’s go to Half Moon Bay,” he suggested. “Go to the beach and be near the big waves.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, it’s still early and it’s only thirty minutes from here. I wanna be down on the beach as the sun’s going down on my childhood.”

“That’s beautiful,” Sam remarked. “And again, I love the way you said it, too.”

Alex flashed her a wink, and they proceeded onward down the block to catch up to the part of the freeway which would in turn take them down to Half Moon Bay. He guided her all the way down to the one part of the Bay Area which she soon found out was the one part of California that received the biggest waves.

“You’d think you were on the north shore of Hawaii,” he explained to her. “They’re literally that big.”

He never finished the can of ale as he placed it in the cup holder between the two of them, but he did indulge in one of the ginger snaps as the road brought them to land’s end. Indeed, Sam glanced out to the glimmering ocean waves beyond the crest of land, and she could see right away that some of the waves did in fact swell to of significant size way out there in the open water.

The road dipped down towards the beach itself, but she took to the parking space behind the ridge of a sand dune.

“Let’s take a walk over to the beach,” he suggested as he finished the rest of the ginger biscuit. He smelled so much of florals, and when paired with his tender voice, Sam couldn’t help but let her mind wander with him.

“Watch the sun set on your childhood,” she followed along as she switched off the car. She locked it up for them, and they began up the trail on the face of the ridge.

“Take my hand,” she beckoned him in a breathy voice. They reached the crest of the hill right as the high winds reached the summit as well; Alex’s long black hair twirled behind him, whereby the roots of his gray streak showed itself to her in the form of a flash of pearlescent white. His eyes seemed to radiate that royal blue accentuated by the late afternoon sunlight all around them. His long fingers locked with her fingers, and they curled around the back of her hand. Sam’s heart pounded as she led him to the top of the ridge that overlooked Half Moon Bay. He was old and young at the same time, and she knew that the feeling would be with him forever.

“This is perfect,” he told her, and his voice hung down into the breathy territory as well, even with the winds as they picked up with the induction of evening. He held close to her, and Sam couldn’t resist putting her arm around the small of his back.

“This is… really… everything I could ever want if I’m completely honest, Samantha,” he added, and she raised herself up onto her toes to give him a kiss on the side of his face, and just for his saying her name alone in that velvety voice of his.

And for a moment, she had forgotten all about Cliff.

[alastors-radioshow]

The heat was increasing with each, passing day. It was getting disruptive. He felt as if his body was burning up from the inside out. His skin felt as fire, his breath scorching.

It was starting to hurt. His skin was so sensitive that the clothes on his back was starting to be a bother.

He knew what he needed. He knew what he should do.

Ah, but it was never an easy task for him.

Slowly, he'd reach up to unhook his bowtie, exhaling a shaky breath.

"Merde.."

[brokendreamscreation]

@hells-musing-along liked for a Lil Lucid Verse Starter!)

Even as a cherub, the little angel baby already has begun to discover his powers. Created from the same stardust and starlight, and crafted into Lucifer’s image, no doubt Lil Lucid will be as gifted and talented as his predecessor one day, and even now. The reveal of the infants powers start subtle, creating little sparkles of magic that glitter or bouts of small light conjuring. But when his ability to teleport and open portals begins, almost none catch it happening in the process. Simply the child vanishes and usually reappears nearby.

This time is not the case. Having come across one of Lucifer Morningstar’s old top hats from his days as an archangel, Lil Lucid plays with the accessory, crawling inside to explore this new little “cave”. Old, musty and dusty, the infant sneezes, stirring old magic still clung to the fabric along with his own budding skills. In a flash both hat and baby are teleported from Heaven and down to the palace of the hats former owner. The hat tips over upright, trapping the baby angel beneath. He chirps and whines, pushing the inside of the hat which scoots on the floor. This musty old thing is no longer fun to play with and the infant wants out!

[undermine-the-instinct]

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 (Then I Intend)

Sesshoumaru x reader Part ||

Masterlist.../ Previous part.../ Next part....

Summary: The Lord Daiyokai often shuts you up in an inn, every few days of the month, for the demons that are attracted to your bloodscent. It is one of the few graces he allows. You would think its for your safety, and truly it is. Because not only do you seem to forget that he is a demon, but also a man.

Rumors of a bloodhungry demon arise, one that prowls the edges of this ghost town, devouring its residents under the shroud of moonless nights; Of which steadily approaches. Under the dark viel of a new moon, all desires will be brought to light.

Content warnings: Misogny, A LOT of it, era apropiate sexism, (physical) assault, dismemberment (a little and not reader) non graphic.

A/N: A lot of the misogyny here is just characters reiterating what women of this era were expected to do, i.e be homemakers listen to men and whatever. However, the physical assault part will be put under a bar if you need to skip.

Length: 15.8K (This one got away from me bois gn)

Part 2 of 4

What I'm trying to say is that, in this universe which sculpted itself from a baptism of fire, I am the moon swept up by your tendernes. You got me dreaming foreign words: gravity, ellipsis, perigee, until all i can think about is becoming ancored into orbit around the saltwater green landscape of your laughter.

You had another strange dream that night, when you fell asleep.

Rin fretted, so you swung between a light and deep slumber, and the images that flashed behind your eyes were strange, to say the least. The remnants you remember play like a movie.

It's dark, the cloud of your body floating away from you like a mist in the darkness. White scales glow. Another man’s voice, frantic, angry almost. A familiar blade. Tenseiga flashes like the cold white edge of the moon, and then, silence.

And then warmth.

Were you just stressed? Was your mind just filling itself with nonsense after what happened– What almost happened last night?

You’re up before the sun, dawn just a lavender-pink bruise on the horizon.

Numachi-san must still be asleep, because no one stirs as you make a pot of tea, ginseng and ginger, like the old apothecary had intended. You’re not sure if they’re meant to go together but oh well. The earthy, warm drink is also spicy, and does wonders to help finish waking you up so early.

The slightest shuffle in the dim dark, and you whirl. Your Lord steps into the foyer, and you try to ease the sudden pounding of your heart.

He lifts a hand when you bow to greet him, barely sparing a glance and striding past. The breeze of his pace cools the sweat on your brow, and you reach out.

Figuratively of course. “My Lord, would you not stop for a cup of tea? It's…ginger and ginseng. It will help reduce stress for you.”

“I am not stressed.”

“Still, it wouldn't be, uh, very good to start the day on an empty stomach, my Lord.” He turns on his heel. And in the pastel colored dawn cringing its way across the sky, his eyes almost glow. They could be glowing, for all you know. The moment feels too trepidatious to really ask.

Your voice is soft. “...What are you doing today, My Lord?”

“...It is none of your concern.”

“I’m not concerned, I'm just curious. Will you tell me?” And you step forward. Just one tiny step but he tracks it.

“The demon, stalking this village.”

“So they’re real? Not a rumour?”

“Yes. It must have some measure of strength, I intend to test it.” A hand on his blade, not Tenseiga. That is for emergencies.

“So that's why you’re gone throughout the day. Are we... Will we see you at dinner?” He sighs harshly, suddenly, and turns where the foyer leads to the front doors.

“What is the point? Does it bring you some added comfort, my presence?”

“Yes, it does.” He meant that rhetorically, or sarcastically, you only realize. And you answered far too honestly. You backtrack.

“And Rin, too, as well. It would do her some good to know that you are still around. The last time she saw you was early morning yesterday; You leave signs of yourself even when we are on our travels, so I suspect she’s worried. And, that that's why she had a nightmare.” You wring your hands, you’re babbling too much.

Why are you nervous…? This isn’t new territory, not really.

There's always been some odd kind of tension between you and the Lord, even if you were hesitant to call it so. He’s been more lenient though hasn’t he? Besides the night before. He doesn’t really force you to walk on foot anymore when you forgo honorifics, and he’ll just ignore you when you get too obnoxious. Nothing crazy, but he’s already used to you!

You always just figured he wasn't used to company before, especially one such as yours, and there has always been some feelings of safety and attraction on your end. He is rather beautiful, though you wouldn't call yourself vain. Yesterday just breathed to life the embers that have been left smoldering for too long. 

Above all, you just want things to flow naturally.

He sighs. “You so readily coddle the child.”

“Should children not be coddled?”

“No.” He pivots, eyes eerie and pointed. “How will she survive, if you spoil her so?” 

“That is different, she is a child, and the adults have the responsibility to care for and protect her. That is different from coddling.”

“That sounds exactly like it.”

“But it's not. She is still being taught what she needs to learn. And if you're so against this ‘coddling’, why did you let me leave to take care of her last night?”

And just like that, the breath in the room is sucked away at the slightest mention. Sesshoumaru goes still, still in that way that reminds you that yeah, this isn't a human. He isn’t a bomb, steadily ticking towards explosion. No, he’s a mountain, a breath away from a landslide.

But he doesn't say anything. The way he looks at you seems to be daring you to make mention of that again, and you’re not sure that that is such a good idea anymore.

“...It's just…she's a child, and I believe all children deserve a happy childhood and… I'm just eager to please her, My Lord.”

“And not I?” You both catch that at the same time, because when your eyes meet, you see the slightest, just the slightest  shock in them. A reprimand, for himself.

Huh.

He clicks his tongue, sharp and flat. “Nevermind. You are–”

“My Lord,” You’re bold enough to cut him off, gods be damned. “I can’t even begin to imagine what I could do that would begin to please you, with our…differences. Should I start? You have to be clear with me.” You take another step closer, and when did you become so bold? His eyes flit to yours.

The silence doesn't just fall, it crashes, like a boulder landing, like a current pulling you under.

That came out… much more bold than you were intending. But you don't backtrack, you wait.

There are no distractions now.

“I ‘must be clear’, with you?” He steps forward, in that all too familiar way. It's like he’s gliding more than walking, and the proximity makes your heart pound. You hold your tea closer.

It's still a touch too warm, stinging your hands, but it doesn't seem to affect him when he takes it from you, sets it down; With his one hand he grabs your wrist, his hand large enough to dwarf yours, a thumb pressing into the lowest thrum of your veins.

“Your pulse is quick.” He murmurs, head dipped. He’s so close to you. You drink in those regal features, the way he’s so fixed on your hands.

He rubs over your wrist, slow, deep circles that slow your heart under their prudent care. You don’t say anything, you just breathe as he works, oddly…focused.

His nails, his claws, are hued red at the points, fingers long and defined and pretty. Not soft, calloused and rough, he is a samurai…but pretty.

He moves to rub his wrist against yours, and a slight shock of static makes you jump, but he’s too close for you to get that far. Not that you want to go far. You’re reminded of when your mother would rub lotion on your hands, or scented oil into your wrists. He does it once, twice, on both wrists, sliding his skin across your wrist, the inside of your forearms, before he moves to the delicate skin behind your ear.

You laugh and jolt away. “That tickles.”

“Just stay still.”

“I’m trying.” Not hard enough, you jitter away from his touch with breathy laughter, and with a breath of a mutter he cups the back of your head, and replaces the slow drag of his wrist with his teeth.

That stills you. It's…barely a bite, what he’s doing. But his teeth are there and you’ve never felt anything so sharp so close to your neck before. You quiet, under the conscious threat of being near something so sharp. But he wouldn’t do anything.

You're 80% sure.

He murmurs against your skin. “Are you going to keep still, now?”

“Uh, yeah?” you breathe. “Your fangs are at my throat, duh.” He doesn't rise to the bait, he just drags his teeth over the soft column of your throat, his claws tangled in your hair.

“What... are you even doing?” 

He clicks his tongue, and you can almost feel the wet heat of it. “Dense as always.”

“I am not ahh-” a staggered breath, just pushing a moan of your lips when he bites down, just above your collarbone. It's gentle, not even breaking skin, and that's what surprises you.

You’re clinging onto him, you realize, strands caught between your fingers. You lean back, but there's nowhere to go between where you were and him.

He just sighs against your skin, and leans into you more, so your back is arched and you’re melded against him, like a pressed flower.  There's a rumble in his throat you can feel when you squeak. 

Well, two can play at that game.

You reach, press into him with your body and return the favor; your mouth tracts the pointed shell of his ear. When you reach the pointed end you bite down, and he jolts. He actually jolts. 

Not away, mind you. But his teeth clamp down before he moves, leaving an imprint around that plum colored bruise.

You look at each other, caught in this twilight moment. And he draws away. You want to cling, but you have your pride, and reluctantly you let him out of your hold, white strands of silk slipping through your fingers.  His face is smooth but you sense a contentment? There, the slightest sense of smug satisfaction. 

You press your fingers to the spot his teeth were in, just seconds ago, when he leaves. There, just above your collarbone. If you had a mirror you could see it, but you’re certain.  A lavender pick bruise, delightfully sore. 

You press down, hard.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Breakfast is a normal affair, or abnormal, as you were the first person up which happened almost never. Breakfast was served anyways, and it didn't take much cajoling to get Numachi-san to sit down with you again, even if she only accepted a cup of tea, which she poured herself, after she served all of you. Must be a tendency of hers.

“Hey, Numachi-san, have you lived here in this town your whole life?”

“Hm? Oh, no, I moved here when I was quite young, no older than you, actually,” she tells you as she sits. You pout a bit.

“Oh, I was going to ask you some things about the Demon haunting this place. Like whether it's been here longer than you have or something.” She looks at you oddly, with her dark bangs. Her eyes and her hair.

“They've been here a few years before I came here, and the attacks weren’t as bad. They got worse over the years. This used to be a popular spot for a resting Daimyo on their travels, as it was a good spot to rest travel wise. One was eaten though, and his entourage, that's what made people stop coming here. If even a Daimyo isn't safe, no one is. People are too poor and sentimental to move. And some others were eaten, trying. Most don't bother anymore.”

“And…yet you chose to stay? Your sons were able to leave, why didn’t you go with them after you're husband passed, since I'm sure you don't get many customers nowadays…”

“Oh, because when I do get customers, they’re amazing ones, like you honored guests! There's the occasional weary traveler–but I get monks, samurai, swordsmen, hunters looking to take down a fabled demon…those folk hardly return though.

“I…you could say, inherited this place when I came to this town, after I left my village. It was when the Daimyo had been eaten, along with the samurai who protected him and the old inn keepers. I worried it would be too hard a job for me to fix, but my sons helped me. It’s only as furbished as it is now because they helped me with the more tedious things.” She delicately raises her cup to drink.

“How helpful of them. What are your sons like, Numachi-san? They’re visiting pretty soon, right? You must miss them a lot. ” She looks up from the tea in her hands, tilts her head.

“Oh, well, yes of course…I had twin sons, one would have been ideal, but having two...You might not know but twins are an ill omen. When I gave birth…It was either leave one or be banished. So I was driven from my home, and found my way here. No one cares about ill omens in a town that's already cursed,” she shrugs. “Now I’m here.”

“You said your husband stayed with you?” Her smile turns sour.

“Well, no, he…visited. He too believed in the ill omen of twins…and he was a very reclusive person, even at his most affectionate. So the visits dwindled until…he eventually passed away.”

“I'm…so sorry for your loss?” Even though he sounds like an asshole?

“Don’t be, it's a relief in some ways...” The bitterness surprises the both of you, she pauses, and then covers her mouth in horror.

“I-I mean…It's just–”

“You...don't have to explain anything to me, Numachi-san.”

“I don't want you to think I’m ungrateful,” she presses, daring to inch closer to you. Her hands tremble.

“You’re so kind, honored guest, and I’d hate to spoil your image of me. I am grateful for both my sons and my husband when he was with me. I'm grateful for this Inn, and the people in this town who are kind enough to not have chased me out like my birth family. Truly, I am.”

“You don't have to be grateful for the bare minimum.” 

“Hm?” She looks so confused, and the expression she wears nettles at you. You’re not irritated with her, just her attitude. She’s so….timid. Mellow.

“Of course you can be grateful for the blessings, all the good in your life. But it's okay to…not be okay with just the barebones. You don’t have to be thankful for the scraps.” You can be angry too, you know, you want to tell her.

You think of a girl, with twin boys, being driven from a village by her own family. Traveling alone for goodness knows how long, until she reached a cursed village and a dilapidated inn she would painstakingly restore. A husband who only visited ‘sometimes’. 

You would be livid. 

Maybe that’s why you’re always so hesitant when it comes down to the new, the change. A chance of failure is never completely zero. 

Maybe that’s why you’re always so hesitant to take a step forward.

But Numachi-san, unfreezes, and laughs, waving away your words like more than a too cool breeze on an autumn day.

“You’re such a strong-spirited person, honored guest. I admire your strength; and I am a bit envious too.” She rises, and takes the teapot with her.

“I think I’ll go brew a new pot, this one is no good cold. Excuse me.”  Even though her hands on the pot flush pink from the heat, you watch her leave.

Jaken shakes his head at the woman, bug eyes closed.

“That woman is far too meek and soft-spined for a town like this–no husband, no sons…Though, her attitude is the proper one a woman should have, nothing like your brashness and lack of manners and respect.”

“Jaken, can you kindly shut the fuck up?” 

“See! That's exactly what I mean!” 

“Rin.” Rin looks up  from the table she’s been staring intently at. People think just because she’s mute, she is also deaf. She hears much of the world around her, more than people realize. Her eyes are young and wide as you speak to her.

“...You don't have to rely on a man to define yourself. You can do what you want to do, anything at all, alright?” She nods but her eyes drift back to the table. You tap it with your knuckle to get back her attention.

“I'm serious. You have me. You have Sesshoumaru. A-un and Jaken too, I guess. If you need something….”

Jaken cuts in. “Go to the Lord, he’s much more capable.”

“For like...intimidation and murder and money. I got everything else.”

“Like?!” You shrug.

“Well, she’s going to grow into an adult one day..."

‘Like you’re a proper example.”

“I am!”

“Of course you are-’ And Rin breaks out into laughter, snickering behind her hands, eyes crinkled in delight.

You feel your heart warm, swelling three sizes and all, before you reach over the table to tickle the girl.

“Hey! What are you laughing at?!”

You might not be a parent, but Rin is the closest thing you have to a child, and you’re going to do right by her. Coddling and all.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

In your musings it takes more than a full hour to traipse your way to the rice paddies from the inn. You've gotten faster at walking, during your travels with your little group, but it was still away, at the other end of town, at the bottom of a small mountain which a stream ran down from, and fed into the rice paddies. Behind that mountain, miles and miles past, you could just see the peaks of a mountain range. That was where Sesshoumaru wanted to go after all this. It was pretty far, on foot it would take at least…a week, or two? With A-Un, and the Lord, only two or three days.

When you went up to the little house on the hill overlooking the paddies no one answered, and you looked about for any signs of the oldman. 

Rice paddies spread out below you, and you look down the hill to check for any signs of life. Luckily, you did, a group of people working close by in the fields below. You went to meet them.

And promptly fell down the hill.

And oh no, you couldn't just trip and roll down like a normal person, or even bonk your head on a rock and pass out, which would be merciful. Instead, you do this stupid half trip, half wobble and catch-yourself-but-still-very-much-falling dance down the hill like a demented horse, before gravity finally lets you go; You collapse like a maiden struck by a curse.

‘Gods, are you there? Why have you forsaken your most devoted child?’

With an audience to boot. Well, at least you didn't fall into the water of the paddies, you landed barely a foot away from where the grassy hill turned into mud, and sloped down. A guy, thigh deep in the waters gapes at you. Three identical versions of him you see in your swimming vision as he steps forward and nudges you with a wet hand. You give him a thumbs up to show you’re alive. You think he calls back to the others you saw with him.

Some of the words swim in and out your hearing, your head too dizzy to focus on them, so you can only squeal as your world tilts, and you're suddenly held in the arms of the first man (or three) you saw, the world flashing in colors of blue and green and brown.

You try to protest as he starts carrying you up the hill but he doesn't listen to you.

“Excuse me?! I said put me dow–” 

“I can hear you.” His tanned hands are wet and warm from the sun and work, black hair pulled into a ponytail. He looks around your age, if only a few years older.

“So then put me down.”

 “No, that was a long, erm, fall.”

“It was nothing, please put me down.”

“Nope! What if you rattled your head and your brain comes spilling out your ears if you move too fast?” A beat of awkward silence, and he tries to laugh off that crazy ass sentence like it was a joke. 

You have to get out, you're in the hands of a madman.

“Uh… that, wasn't a good thing to say... sorry? Really though, if you’re hurt we should get you checked out–the Doctor is actually here for our father today, so she can just look you over real quick and then you can be on your way.” Finally at the top of the hill, he sets you down on your feet gingerly.

“Actually, what are you here for? Aren't you those fancy guests at Numachi-san’s honjin?”

“Uh, I guess. We’ll only be there for a few days, since we’re there to...recover.” Yeah, you’re not telling him the real reason. But he nods, looking over you, assessing.

“Traveling on the road, even with such a powerful Lord, must be exhausting for you two. Of course you should rest while you can!”

“Us two?”

“You and the child, of course.”

“Oh yeah, of course…”

The tense silence doesn't seem to bother him, in fact, he just waits…and waits. When no one tries to break it, he perks. “Yes!” He shouts and you jump. “How about I help you with what you need? Did your Lord send you to buy an order…?”

Couldn’t have asked that quicker? “No. I’m just running some errands for Numachi-san. Though that's not a bad idea, some rice would be good for our travels…”

“Our rice is grown from the melted caps of the mountain streams, you won't find anything better. Fit for your mighty Lord's tastes, I should say.” And he leans in, eyes gleaming. “Hey, please indulge me, for curiosity's sake… he wears a kimono with two sleeves but he’s missing an arm…did he lose it fighting some horrible demon?!”

He is a horrible demon. Technically. “I…suppose so? He left me in a village so I didn’t see the battle.”

“What about those markings on his face?”

“He was born with them, I believe?”

“And his chinese robe, very strange fashion, but he’s a demon right? Where did he get it, his sword, his armor?”

“The sword came from his father…? And I don’t know about the robe and armor, I’m pretty sure that's a result of his Yoki energy.” Did he make it with yoki or does he acquire it and then have to put it in his inventory, of sorts?

“I don't really know what I can divulge to you…?”

“Oh...” And, damn, the sad way he deflates endears you, like a kicked puppy, so you offer something else.

“I’ve seen other battles though, though they can hardly be called that with the strength of my Lord, if that would suffice.” 

“Yes! I am Takashi, by the way, forget the honorifics.” He bows, and when he rises he winks, ushering you inside.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“...So he swiped out with his poison claws, and the demon fell to ribbons. It was so quick, so precise, that no blood stained his hand. It careened in an arc in the air, the slice so clean it took a minute for the demon to start bleeding out. We just continued on our way then.”

“Amazing…” He breathes, awestruck. The tale is practically playing behind his eyes and you laugh.

“It must be amazing to be able to serve a Lord like that…”

“Honestly? It is.” Despite your troubles and woes, there are sights that have taken your breath away and moments that are seared into your memory. Even in your world, you doubt you would have ever seen as much, ever.

Takashi-kun, as he cheekily insisted you call him, tilts his head to the side in question.

“You serve him?”

“Yes, it's tedious, but I’m glad for the work, it keeps me busy.” Never let him hear you say that, he would hold it above your head forever.

“...No, I meant being his disciple, not his servant.”

“Yeah, that's what I meant.”

“You are his disciple?” 

“Yes…? The Lord is much too…dignified and proud, to name any disciples of his own. Still the imp wields the two headed staff, and Rin carries a tanto.”

“And you?”

“I can take care of myself, I have to,” you shrug. “I'm a woman, traveling. I’ve asked the Lord to teach us how to wield the naginata, but every weapon’s master we’ve seen never meets his specifications, so he won't teach us until we get the right weapon. ” you pout.

“Seriously, shouldn’t he put more priority on teaching us, if we’re to be traveling on the road with him?”

But Takashi fiddles with his hands, running fingers over some age-old scar there, looking down at it with a pensive expression. “Well why should he? Why would he? You’re a woman.”

“...Excuse me?” He gestures.

“I mean, even in this kinda’ place, we’ve heard of the Lord of the Western Lands. Such a strong and disciplined leader, it would insult him if you continued to pester him about teaching you how to wield an actual weapon, as if he weren’t capable of protecting you and the child.

“It's already awfully gracious of him that he allows the child the tanto, or that he allows two women to accompany him; I assume he provides you shelter and food and the like. Shouldn’t you be more grateful?”

“Huh?” There's this odd look on Takashi-kun's face, just beneath the surface, and the mischievousness that was present there is gone.

“No. No, I'm appropriately grateful. And there's only one woman; the girl is still a child.”

“Yeah, I guess you're more his type.”

You slam your fist down on the table. “Repeat that.”

You forget though, the men in this era haven't ever been taught to heed a woman. So he just looks at you oddly and says,  “I assumed that you served him as steward or maid, though I guess I was wrong.” He points towards the table, the pot of tea that has been sitting there.

“The pot has been sitting for a few moments now, and you have not served. I figured you were enraptured by the grand stories of your Lord, which is understandable. You are a guest here, yes, but as eldest son here it would still be rude for me to serve. Your Lord must be an odd one.” He sighs.

“Were you a sacrifice, from your village? Is the child yours? Oh, is she both of yours? Forgive me for my earlier comment then…Maybe that's what the Tanto is for–I heard Samurai give the Tanto and Naginata to their wives and daughters to defend themselves and the home from enemies. That must be the reason, right?”

“...”

“But again, he is a demon. Who is he to follow human conventions? Perhaps you aren’t a ‘wife’, exactly–” You stand so quickly the table is jostled, and he reaches out a hand to steady it, looking up at you unperturbed and confused at your outburst.

“...Do you not think before you speak?”

“Excuse you?” He frowns. “I’m making basic observations. You are really pretty, and not too old, so you must have been with him for some time, if the child yours. Are you his concubine? Your teeth aren’t black, obviously you’re not a wife,” he sighs.

You want to smash the chipped cup into his face. You want to pour the hot tea into his lap and burn him. He looks so satisfied with himself for this genius conclusion, not even considering the truth of the matter. You are a companion–not concubine.

But you breathe, you reign in your temper. Calm down, he doesn't know any better.

“I…am not a concubine. Nor a wife. No, I do not serve him in those…ways.  I am simply a traveling companion. Nothing more.”

“But you are a woman. What else do you offer?”

Just before you throw the tea pot into his face, an old frail frame strides into the room with purpose–and when you look up you stare right into the hard eyes of the apothecary, and the wrinkled face of the man who walks in with her.

“Oh, Father! Doctor!” Takashi-san rises to feet like he’s going to embrace one of them, but she just looks at him and he backs down. Her gaze turns to you.

“Ah yes, you, young lass. Put down that pot before you spill it. What are you doing this far from your hotsprings and futons and mochi?” You’re ready to snap at her but the old man speaks before you do.

“Oh, you’re that girl who came in with that Demon Lord, right? How about you sit back down and tell us what you came all the way here for.” His wrinkled face is spotted in moles and cherry, and you can’t help listening to the old man.

“Father–”

“Shh!” The old man hushes him, and Takashi-san rolls his eyes, playfully, but you see the exasperation in them. You all sit, and the apothecary is the one who pours. Takashi looks at you.

“I’m just running an errand for Numachi-san, I don’t feel right just sitting still and relaxing when she has so much to do.”

The old man gives a precious wrinkled smile. “Oh, what a kind girl you are. And what a generous Lord to allow his servant to help others.”

“I don’t think he did allow it, Father,” Takashi cuts in. “You weren’t there but I saw him; A Lord of that caliber wouldn't allow his… servants, to run off to do manual labor.”

“And what were you doing so early in the morning, before even dawn, that you saw them go inside the honjin, hm?”

“I…I wasn't! I was here, sleeping! I saw him after, when I was in town delivering!”

“Sure you were.” Old man Taiga, as you know he is, looks up at you, and so fast you almost miss it, winks. “Must have been taking mighty long if you had time to ogle at some demon Lord.”

“He's the Lord of the Western Lands Father!”

“Yeah, yeah, how about you go now and gather up that rice now for the good lady, and pack her an order too, for that Lord you so admire.” You like this old man. Takashi-san doesnt even look at you, he just grumbles under his breath as he shuffles from the table to go to fulfill his father’s orders.

The apothecary grins. Her teeth are white and straight as a US military cemetery. “One good thing about being a haunted town–at least we don't have to pay any taxes! We can eat all the rice and mochi we want and not have to worry about any Daimyo coming to raid the town.”

“A bad thing is that we don't have that many workers for the fields, so we often work more than we eat.” Taiga sighs, patting his back. He looks at you.

“The last Daimyo came to collect taxes since we had not paid for some time, and stayed at Numachi-chan’s inn– Well, it wasn't hers at the time. But he came with some few samurai, which were more than enough for a town like this. But not enough for the demon.”

The apothecary huffs over her tea cup. “I bet he ate well that day. And hasn't eaten that well since.”

“‘He’?”

She shrugs. “Female demons aren't so voracious. Or maybe they are–maybe she’s got a brood she needs fed.”

“What kind of demoness still feeds her kids for thirty, forty years? They’re grown and out now, if they exist.”

“If they exist. I'm betting it's a male demon though.”

“And how would you know?”

She slaps the table. “I’ll find out when I get eaten of course!”

“With how bitter you’ve become over the years? Ha!”

“And with how sickly and tough you are? You got a few good years before your time Taiga. And it won't be by demons!” They laugh, while you look at them over the rim of your cup. They seem to be pretty old friends, if the way they talk is any indication.

“Ah, I still wanna see my son and daughters get married though,” Taiga huffs. “Four daughters and one son…I wouldn’t mind if Takashi was sneaking about to meet a Lady,  but instead he’s training, like the next Samurai that comes in will notice his potential and take him on,” Taiga shakes his head.

“He thinks he’s gonna be the one to slay the demon of this place. He has more luck minding his business and keeping his head low. I’m still here after all, my children and all.” You notice no mention of a wife though, and tamp down your curiosity.

“Does…anyone know anything certain about the demon? Like, what type, or how old?” The apothecary and Taiga look at you, look at each other.

“Only the dead,” she supplies unhappily. “Though, we have seen the marks they left behind… the ones who fight back. And the wreckage the demon leaves behind, like the wrecked buildings in town”

“The demon seems cocky, to openly go into town and just into random buildings to eat people.” Like knock knock, delivery. Oh! You're the meal.

“Arrogance, yes, but no ones seen nor caught em’ yet. Been here for years and will probably move on when we’re all gone or eaten. A mighty demon to be sure, most definitely.” 

“But stronger than her Lord?” Taiga points his cup towards you.

“Lord of the Western Lands…I grew up hearing the myths of this Lord, never thought I’d ever be so close to him… You must be honored to be able to serve such a Lord.”

“Uh…I guess?” What was he, some God? “He’s actually pretty frustrating and pretentious but to each their own.”

That didn't give you the reaction you thought it would. Instead of chuckling, they gape at you, moon eyed.

“...I don’t think it would be wise to talk about such a Lord in that way… Imagine if he heard you, girl!”

“I’d say it to his face.” Again, that doesn't give you such a good reaction. They both just stare at you, though the apothecary’s eyes narrow.

“Hm, well…he must be lenient with his servants…very lenient! Maybe he just is unaffected by a human’s words!”

“No, he’d just tie me to the back of A-un, our demon steed, if you will, and make me walk a few miles. Or cut my food rations. But honestly, he needs to be taken down a few pegs. Everyone is walking on eggshells around him, singing his praises, he needs a dose of reality.” You grin sneakily. “Just a small dose though, so he doesn't realize I’m just blowing hot air and he really is all that.” The old man looks like he could choke, poor him, and the Apothecary shoots to her old wrinkled feet.

“Come on now,” the apothecary grabs your wrist, and with more force than you expected, drags you up and out. You’re only able to pull your wrist back when you’re leaving the front doors of the house, leaving old man Taiga behind.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

“No, what are you doing?” She throws your hand back. “You’re dumber than I thought if you think you can get away with talking like that in front of that kinda folk.”

“What do you mean-”

“The only reason they’re not ganging up on ya is because they think if they butter up the Demon Lord’s concubine, then maybe he’ll slay the demon for them. Do you even know how rare it is for travelers to actually arrive here, intact, this close to a full moon? It's either intentional or luck, and I'm betting on the former, in your Lord’s case.”

You scoff, but you can't really argue with her words. You’ve seen this sort of thing play out before, so it's not implausible. 

You’ve seen plenty of desolate towns, both with and without your Lord, you’ve been driven out of a few of them. But with your lord, they always beg aid, offering up their most valuable goods, resources, wares…people. Your Lord has always rejected them all. It's very rare if he decides to take them up on their pleas.

Now that you think about it…wasnt it always whenever you were running low on something?

There was one time a rather prosperous village asked for aid in a demon that kept eating its women. Sessoumaru refused, and you nearly left, if not for one merchant, who offered some sweets amongst the things he could trade. You and Rin had perked, Jaken had scoffed, and your Lord...accepted. You and Rin were feasting on mochi for days.

The Lord had killed the demon quickly—but still called it a waste of time.

“I’m not his concubine…” She clicks her tongue at you.

“Yeah, it figures. I assume he wouldn’t let ya wander around on your own if you were.”

“He hardly lets me do that now,” you gripe. “He just always avoids me during these times so I got some leeway now.”

“You mean you can't let yourself get caught out here like this.”

“...It’s not that serious, I just don’t want to deal with him, that's all.” She coughs out a laugh, and slides a hand down her face.

“Oh girl…you might not be a concubine, but you must be something to have the courage to talk about him like that. Out or to his face.”

“Yeah, I’m a traveling companion.”

“Dense as a rock too.” Why do people keep saying that about you?! It's not true.

She waves a hand. “I know haughty types like that, and they’re not the type to take your kinda attitude girly.”

“How would you know? You know nothing about me.”

“Of course I know you, I used to be you.” She sighs and leans back against the walls of the house. You’re staggered into silence, and she takes the opportunity to talk again.

“Same attitude, same talk, same naivety. That's why you ought to take advantage of the things you have, and not leave them to chance. You got something going with that Lord of yours. Do something before he changes his mind–if not for yourself than that girl you got.”

“Rin? But he…” You know he cares. He brought her back to life for goodness’ sake. “He wouldn't do anything.”

“But he could. And if he could then there's always a chance he will.”

But you remember. The look in his eyes as you and Rin feasted on mochi. The almost teasing way he nettles at Jaken, who is none the wiser. The golden shade of his eyes in the lantern’s shine, in moonlight, the dim gleam of dawn. They way he murmured and breathed against your skin, like he wanted to–

You stop that thought right in its tracks.

Your fingers rush up to press against the bruise. The sore throb is a reassurance.

“But he wouldn't.” 

She pauses, and she coughs a little in her incredulity. “Oh, girl,” and her face twists in sympathy. “You’re in love with him.”

“...It's not that serious.” Was it?

“Well, so much for your bluffing, you’re already too far gone,” she scoffs, like you didn't say anything. 

She clicks her tongue, something lighter, and almost…fond? She walks closer, and starts fixing your clothing, like a grandmother would, adjusting things this way and that.

“Did you try the tea?”

“Huh? Yeah, I had some this morning.”

“Take some when you go back, It’ll be good for you.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Hm. Then take this word of advice too girly,” and she wipes her hands down her front. “Besides talking about your Lord of course. Don't get too chummy with that innkeeper. You don't like being called a concubine, fine, whatever, you can afford that. But some people aren’t given that choice. She’s one of them.”

“What? She’s a widow. Her husband died.”

“By her own design. Why do you think her sons left her? Normally I wouldn't fault her–do you know how many potions I sold to all sorts of women? But her? I can’t forgive her. I won’t. ” With those ominous words and her hawk gaze, she walks away.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Takashi-san, whose Father insisted on ‘assisting’ you, who had insisted on carrying the rice bag because’ it’s much too heavy for you, you’d probably make it to the inn by sunset!’, nevermind that it was barely noon now, is annoying you. Damn chauvinist.

You didn't let slip the change in attitude he had, since you mentioned the Lord and the tanto thing. Before was the politeness and cordial attitude of a person talking to the servant of a nobleman or something. And yeah, you were used to that. That attitude, and even the cloying, patronizing way that this boy spoke to you was better than the outright venom that people spat at you with, when you dared to call yourself his travel partner…

It was still no less frustrating.

“Shouldn't we head to the inn as soon as we can?” he called to you, as you left him near the bottom of the stream.

“I wouldn’t want to upset your Lord because you’re not where you’re supposed to be.” A vein could pop from how tightly wound you are.

“I have chores to do, and then you can ‘escort’ me back. You followed me, so we’re going by my schedule.”

“Did your Lord grant you permission for you to be on your own?”

You pause, and turn to him slowly to show your displeasure. “...He doesn’t care. What does it matter?”

“But still…I should at least accompany you on your way.”

“You really shouldn’t. I'll be fine on my own. I've lived nearly the same amount of days on earth as you have, and I’ve definitely traveled farther. I'm good.”

“You’re very audacious for a woman.” And he wants a rock to his head, doesn’t he. “I'm offering my help. Even if you were being bashful, trying to deny me, you could be more pleasing.”

“...You have a shallow ego don’t you?”

“What?”

“....Takashi-kun, I appreciate how kind you are, but I would be remiss if you were to aid me any further. I want to please my Lord by bringing something pleasing for dinner, but if you help me it would just ruin all my efforts. Please wait here for me, please?” You make your voice sickly sweet, and bat your eyes. Though his brow twists, he doesn't offer a rebuttal, struck dumb by whiplash.

…Is it really that easy? “That…does make sense. He’s already letting you stay at a honjin, you should do something to thank your Lord.”

“Yes of course. Now, I have to hurry so I’ll be quick, alright? I’ll be quicker on my own anyways, and then the Lord will praise you for your efficiency. I’ll call you if I need you Takashi-san!” And you scamper away with your basket and a wave, letting the wide smile you put on drain away as you roll your eyes. You were sooo fake, did he really not notice?

Twenty, thirty, forty or so paces upstream, just underneath a few big rocks, nestled in the low current, the traps lay. Just where Numachi-san told you. The current was lazy, about waist high as you hopped along the rocks dotting the banks. You set your basket on a tall rock. There, you strip to your innermost layers, and stride in to catch your fish.

You have to be quick, and careful, odd high waves often rolled over, Numachi-san warned you. There were also other animals that came here to hunt, so you had to scurry.

There are only three or four bright red snapper fish as you checked, and pretty young by the looks of it, barely over a foot long, and weakly trying to swim free; despite your sympathy you know it was your job to bring them back.  Alas, why must so many of the tasty foods come from things alive?

And then you realize something. Beyond the bumbling stream, you can't hear anything.

And no, the water isn't loud enough that it blocks everything else out, no. It's just silent. No birds, no shuffling, no wildlife. Silent.

Somethings here.

Your hair stands on end as you reach for your tanto. There's nothing on the banks, and no movement in the undergrowth but there– 

For a second, a blur races out of your peripheral vision. Cold dread followed by a flush of heat under your skin. You bring up your knife and whip your head to chase the sight, but it runs quickly and you only see a dark smear slither into the trees.  

A few moments pass in tense silence, before you hear the birds again. You untense, and lower your knife. The blur was pretty large, probably…a bear cub, wandering from its mother.

But that silence… Still, you need to hurry, lest you want to wrestle with some bears over fish. There's a specific way to untie the part of the net that would free the fish-of course, you grab onto the tail of one so it can’t slip away, already flipping around in your hold. But you can't pick at it.. You’ll have to go under to do this.

 So you hold your breath, and plunge.

The water is just hitting the edge of too cold as you go under; It's rocky and craggly under, and quickly you untie the net and grab your fish, one by one; The first two you grab by the tails and stride over, hurriedly tossing them into your basket and closing the lid after. The other two are harder. With extra room to move they fight, and you barely get the third in before you notice the water receding.

You’ve read enough to know when an incoming current is gathering. Quickly, you duck back down to untie your last fish, fumbling your fingers over the knot. You get it loose, but the fish, smarter than its brethren and slippery, darts around your hand and tries swimming off.

‘Oh no you dont–’ you turn under water to chase it, just grabbing the ends of its tail and holding on, but your foot gets caught in a crevice between rocks.

You get your face to break water right as the current comes in, knocking you back, hard. You don't land on the rocky bedfloor, but you’re thrown off balance, your foot stuck. You’re left floundering, you don't know how you don’t let go of the damn fish, but you don’t.

You try to reach up again, lungs burning, only to snort water as another wave smacks you dead in the face, pulling you back under. You’re losing air, and fast. You reach a hand, trying to break the surface, and kudos to your incredible luck, someone grabs it.

You are yanked out of the water, ankle scraping painfully against the rocks, choking on air on your way up.

“What are you doing?”

“Takashi-san?!” He pulls you up, your arm socket protesting the movement; He gathers you into his arms and drags you onto the banks.

“You followed me?!” 

“What was I supposed to do, leave you on your own?”

“Yes, that's exactly what you were supposed to do.” You wrestle in his arms, they way he just lugs you over to the banks like…like a bag of rice. Of which he had, now you cannot see. You look around and reach for your basket that teeters dangerously on the rocks.

“You thought you could sweet talk me into acting like some…some–!!”

“Some what, Takashi-kun.” You wipe the droplets from your brow. Takashi-san sees this, the inner robes you wear. You’re still in his arms. He goes red. 

“I knew you were just faking that demureness. How shameless.”

“Oh? And what gave it away?”

He drops you like hot coal.” You called me Takashi-san. Normally I wouldn't question this, it's only proper, but you’ve been calling me Takashi-kun. You slipped up.”

“Oh darn,” you roll your eyes. “And here I was thinking I could ditch you.”

 “I couldn’t just leave you be, you know there's a demon lurking around here–”

“Like you can fight off a demon?” You rub the hip you landed on, and grab your basket. Seems he tossed rice to the side, presumably when he went to rescue you.

“I’m more capable than you are?” 

“I'm not in danger of drowning now, am I?”

“Listen woman,” he hisses, his mirth replaced with irritation. He reaches out to grab your arm but you dodge out his way. “You’re a stranger here, you don’t know these parts. No one comes up here to fish, it's too far away and if you screamed, I wouldn't have heard you over the water.”

If you scream now, no one will hear you.

“Then fine, let me just grab my things and we can head back, alright?” 

But his eyes narrow, and he shakes his head.

“No. We’re going back to my father’s house, it's closer. Then you’re going to wait for your Lord, or that Imp to escort you back.”

“I am not a child, nor do I need a chaperone–”

“You were taking too long!” He keeps advancing and you keep retreating. “I was waiting, and the woods went silent. That’s never a good thing. I had thought a demon had gotten to you, and then what would I say to your Lord!”

You roll your eyes. “Glad to see you’re so worried for my well being.”

“Good! You’re welcome!”

A harsh sigh drags its way past your teeth. “I did hear that odd silence, that’s why I was rushing. But maybe if I didn't feel so rushed, I would have waited until the high wave rolled over.”

“But you didn't, instead you almost drowned. Should you even be out? I mean, hunting surely isn't your strong point.”

“And keeping your mouth shut sure isn’t yours.”

“Excuse me?” You know that drop of voice. You could recognize it in this century or the next. So before he could get on with his next tirade, you snatch your outer layers, hurrying them on and making your way back down with your basket.

“Where are you going?!” you hear him fumble with the rice, but he decided to carry it, so that’s his fault.

“Back to the inn, where else? Are you following me or not.”

“You need to do as you’re told! You're not going to–”

“Listen Takashi, you're a rather pretentious prick, so if you have nothing of value to say, then be quiet.”

“You are supposed to–” you whirl around and he stops in his tracks, brow furrowed and one hair away from a full blown scowl.

“I didn't ask you to be my escort, protector, or chaperone. You were the one who decided to take the roles on yourself, so don’t get upset that I'm not playing into your little fantasy of being some noble village boy helping the poor maiden. Who are you to tell me what I'm supposed to do? You, some village boy?” You would poke his chest to emphasize the words, but you’re not getting as close as needed for that.

“And for the record. The Lord isn't going to acknowledge you just because you ‘escorted’ me. I’m not his pet.”

“But you are a woman,” he grits. “And you are his. There are basic rules you must follow for order–”

“Rules are meant to be broken.”

“You shouldn't even be wandering out on your own. Look what happened when you did, you nearly drowned!”

“I didn't nearly drown because I'm a woman idiot, my foot was stuck in a crevice.” Your ankle which, now that you’re on land, smarts. You can feel the blood dripping, not yet clotted over.

“Thank you for your aid in getting me out of that, honestly–Your attitude could use some work though.”

“My attitude?” And you turn away from him. That is your mistake.

A hand yanks you back by the back of your collar and you choke, dropping your basket. Your instincts kick in when he tries to wrap his arms around you. You drop, and while he fumbles with your dead weight you grab his ankle and topple him over. 

He must fight with his sisters a lot or something though, because it's hard keeping him down, even as you claw red lines into his face and skin, making sure he doesn't pin you instead. He seems to know where you’ll kick, the vital points you try and dig your fingers into. But you persevere, you get the upper hand when you get him face down in the grass and pin his arm behind his back, a knee in the soft dip of his spine.

He huffs against the dewy grass, a soft angry-laugh. “I'm going to make you regret this.”

“Oh yeah?” Your tanto knife looks deadly against the skin of his throat, and he stills. “Repeat that for me.”

“Your Lord–”

“Can you not imagine any woman’s choice or actions being independent of anyone? What about my Lord? If you've  forgotten, he’s a demon. He’d care less about me killing some human than whether it’s going to rain in the coming days.”

“Guess you don't know how crucial rains are for rice growing.”

“Save me the metaphors.” You huff. You tap the knife against his neck as you speak, if only to make him flinch.

“You know? I used the little blade on more men than I have demons. Isn't that something?”

“...I bet you don't even know how to use that.”

“That's for you to figure out. Try me. And do I really have to know how to use a blade to be able to stab you?” 

“Your Lord-”

“I call him that out of gratitude and habit, but he is not my Lord.”

“You still must obey him.”

“Because he offers me protection, shelter, food, whatever else I could need. Mostly, because he is a demon.

“ou and I are on two very different boats, in two very different waters. So. you’re going to get up, and pick up the things you dropped. You will walk in front of me. You will not speak and if you even try to pull a stunt like that again, I will make you bleed. How much depends on what you do, but you will bleed. Understand?”

And it takes him a moment to quell the hate in his eyes and swallow, but he jumps as your blade digs in, red dripping down, and stutters out a “Y-Yes.”

“Good. Thank you. You can do just that.” You stay close, in case he tries to get some distance on you for a hit or grab, but he just does as you told him, hateful eyes cast to the floor, and starts walking.

You follow him back down to the inn. You don't sheath your tanto.

You don't parade Takashi through the streets, but enough people stop in their tracks to stare at the way Takashi walks in front of you, face stormy and pace brisk. He probably did that to spite you to run after him, but again, you’re used to traveling so it is no issue for you.

In no time at all you reach the inn, and Numachi-san is already pacing the entrance, wringing her hands in worry, she rushes up as she sees you two approach.

“I’ve had a few people come up to the inn already to tell me something odd has happened. J-Jaken went with the Lord into town and should be back soon. Rin is here…So is everything alright?” She rubs at the side of her neck, like theres a kink there. You shake your head.

Word does travel fast in small places. “Everything is fine.” You had long put away your tanto when you entered the village, but kept it in your sleeve, flashing it whenever Takashi looked back.

“We got the rice and the fish–”

“I would like to sit inside and rest, if I may, Numachi-san,’ Takashi cuts you off. His face is cool and he doesn't look at you.

“I’m tired from walking all the way from my home to here with such a heavy load. Will you let me inside?” Her dark eyes flash between you two, her hands worrying that spot on her neck. She meets your eyes, and you shake your head, warning her with your eyes. 

But she looks back to Takashi-san, the tense way he waits like a coil about to spring, and sighs. “Perhaps… just for a cup of tea, before you go?” You throw your hands in the air, and stomp after him as he walks in.

He settles down, and Numachi-san is ready with the tea quick enough. But he goes on talking, or stalling rather, and you’re not stupid enough to wonder what he is stalling for. You glare at Numachi-san, who only has the courage to meet your eyes for a few seconds at a time, keeping her head bowed to the young man.

For someone who might’ve killed her husband she sure is meek.

“I’ve never seen the inside of this place, but it's wonderful, Numachi-san!”

“Thank you, Takashi-san.”

“I mean, I was just a child when the last owners, erm, moved on, but the building seemed damaged beyond repair. The fact that you restored it, and ran such a thriving business before the demon attacks increased–just proves what a dedicated woman you are.”

“You’re much too kind Takashi-san.” She refills his cup and he sends you a pointed look, like you’re supposed to feel something other than annoyance. Out of the corner of your eye you see Rin poke her head into the room. She’s not sly though, and Takashi catches note of her.

“Is that the child that accompanies you? What's your name girl? You don't have to be–”

“You have no right to speak nor look at her, and I suggest you leave before you dig yourself in any deeper,” you shut that down real quick, and Numachi-san’s shoulders hunch up to her ears. 

But he just tilts his head at you, like he’s looking at a bug.

“Speaking without being spoken to, such base manners. I’ll be sure to bring this other point up to your master. I hope you’re teaching the girl to be better than that.”

“Am I supposed to be scared?” You take the pot closer to your side so Numachi-san can't refill his cup, knowing he wont do it himself.

“And it's still better than a prick who derives his worth from how well he can be served by a woman. Or one who attacks another from the back because their pathetic ego was injured.” 

Takashi-san slams his cup down. “Better than one who doesn't know their place or lot in life.”

“What place? What lot?” You laugh. “If anything, take your own words to heart. You just can't handle seeing someone else living your dream while you waste away in a place like this. You can't handle your fragile ego being challenged by a woman, no less. That's why you attacked me.” 

You grin as he leans forward. Your voice drops to a hush, a loud whisper. “I'll be sure to savor it more in your place when we leave.” You see Rin dart away from the corner of your eye, gone like a leaf in the wind. Good. Better she doesn’t see this anyway.

“You are so insolent. Your Lord allows this?”

“And you're a simp. Always mentioning ‘my lord’ this, or ‘my lord’, that. It’s like you’re the one that’s in love with him.”

“I’m going to–”

“What? Try me, make my day!”

“Please!”  Numachi-san cuts in, waving her hands between you two. “Let's just settle down now. There's no need to get so agitated. Look, the tea is getting cold.” She tries to take the teapot back from you but you don’t let her.

“I would love to Numachi-san, but someone has to tell this one that their manners are uncouth,” He grits, “Befitting of a low class sow.”

“Aha, you’re mad,” It's childish but you poke your tongue out. “And jealous too. It's not a very pretty look, you know?”

“Be quiet!”

“Make me!” 

“What is going on here?! ” Both of you turn, and Jaken stands there in his bug eyed glory, that eerie two headed staff in his hands, eyes narrowed. Takashi immediately gapes– for a resident of a town stalked for decades by a demon, he acts like he never heard nor saw one of one until this very point.

“Human.” He points the staff at you, and both Numachi-san and Takashi flinch. “Explain.”

“The boy overstays his welcome,” you drawl, “though he was never welcome to begin with. He took it upon himself to be my chaperone and insists on staying to meet the Lord.”

“Ha!” He squawks, and Takashi’s eyes dilate at the sound.

“You? Meet the Lord?”

“I just…I-I just wanted to, to explain! Yes, explain what happened today. His servant nearly drowned in the streams–”

“I did not–”

“And t-the silence… I just wanted to advise the Lord that maybe it's best that she remains…here. Women aren’t suited for manual labor, you know…?”

“I know?” Takashi pauses, gulps. “So I just…wanted to offer my services, is all!”

Jaken doesn’t look impressed, but he rarely does. “You’re trembling in front of an imp, and you think you can be of service to the Lord?” Takashi shoots you a baleful glare as you snort, and draws his shoulders up.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

You see Takashi-san tremble when Jaken smiles, perfectly too wide and uncanny, and on purpose. “Well good. You can plead your case to the Lord then, he is here.”

“What?”

“And that's my cue to go.” You rush to your feet, and don't bother with bowing or muttering your goodbyes.

“Wait, excuse you?! Where are you–”

“Human–”

“Don't forget to tell the Lord how you tried to pin me down on the banks. And everything that we’ve said to the other. Everything.”

“Running, are you?” He grins. It shakes at the edges.

You just smile, really smile; Wide, and with your teeth, gleeful and mischievous, pulling at your cheeks and crinkling your eyes.

“You know, you’re much more tolerable, and cuter, when you keep your mouth shut. Remember that.”  And as the confusion settles on his face you go. 

You hear the sliding door rushes open, and you disappear around the corner quick enough not to be seen. You can hear the muted, frightened, greetings of the two you left, but that's none of your concern anymore. Numachi-san should have never let them in and he shouldn't have been such a sexist prick.

You bathe first, the day's dirt and sweat sloughing off your skin in the water, and you wash quickly, eager to soak in the hot springs. You clean off the dried blood on your ankle. You dip your toes in when you’re ready, it's a touch too hot, but nothing unbearable, and you dip into the water with a wince, then a sigh. The heat smooths away your aches and pains, and you sit in the spring, content.

You don't know how long it is, but moments later, you hear banging, and rushing, yells. A man’s voice, Takashi-san. It doesn’t sound like he’s being murdered. The Lord is efficient enough you wouldn't hear him scream. Maiming it is then. Takashi-san sounds high pitched and afraid, and you listen to the sounds of crashing and screaming throughout, and then, silence. Nothing. 

Nothing else. Rin appears, comes over to the edge of the pool you're in, toiletries in her hand.

“...You okay?” she nods. “Where did you go earlier?” She points back inside. “Went to get L-Lord Sesshoumaru.”

“That was you?” A nod. “He was actually c-close b-by.”

“...Okay. Okay, thank you Rin.” She hums when you pet her hair. “That guy was being a j-erk.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t stop going on and on about what I should or shouldn’t do, because my Lord,” You groan and roll your eyes. “What happened after I left?”

“That guy told on you,” her breath is hardly above a murmur, but steady.  “You were in trouble at the stream. Wood went silent so he followed. Fought with you. He said you, y-you shouldn’t be on your own. No common sense. He said he could h-help.”

“Ha! Stupid.” You roll your shoulders as she lays out the towels.

“And what did our noble and regal Lord say to all that?” She gives you a look like you don't know exactly what he did. 

“Are you alright?” She nods again, then thinks, shrugs. “The Lord l-looks upset. He took his ear.”

“...I asked about you. Did you eat, bathe already?”

“Yeah. A-And Numachi-san gave me snacks. So it's your turn n-now.” You smile at your girl as she reveals what she hid in the bundle of towels, a cup of tea and some mochi.

“Wow, wonder where Numachi-san got Mochi from in a place like this.”

“She made it.” Oh. Maybe that's what the rice was for. Rin supplies. She sets down her wares and pats your arm. 

“Don't take too long, or you’ll faint. Dinner w-will be ready soon.” And her feet pitter patter away.

You don’t know how long you speak there, but the light dims from what peaks under the rag, oranges and red slowly bleeding into evening. You hear nothing save the water and crickets and the wind, Jaken on the inside scurrying to do who knows what. Rin said that dinner should be done soon, so Numachi-san is fine, and the Lord was either in his room, or long gone, back to find whatever demon was plaguing this town. You sink deeper into the water.

When you open your eyes, Sesshoumaru is there at the brim of the spring, staring at you.

You gasp, and choke, consequently.

He watches you flounder, as you hack up the water you inhaled.

“Almost drowning twice in one day. A record for you.”

“Not on purpose!” you flick water at him and speckle his cheek with water drops. But he’s unperturbed.

“I heard,” he drawls. “That something happened at the stream.” and his eyes, so they dilate?

“Tell me.” He leaves no room for rebuttal or refusal. So you tell him what happened at the Old man Tianga’s place, at the stream. You don't mention the odd silence, mainly because he didn't ask yet.

“....The boy is not wrong in what he said. But he put hands on my belongings; That warrants punishment.”

“Belongings?”

“You are my servant, and he deigned to put his hands on you.” He takes your wrist and pulls your arm, gingerly, out the water. He turns it, this way and that, and only now do you see the faint marks from your scuffle in the banks.

“They’re not that bad.”

“The problem is that they are there at all.” His eyes are bright, and angry. You only know that lookin passing–whenever you would annoy him too greatly. This is ten times that.

“Not only that, he insulted you, b y extension me. And to have the audacity to ask to be my disciple? I should have taken his hands and his tongue, not two simple fingers.”

“And an ear. Which I wonder about…you were lenient with him, my Lord.” 

“I was,” he lets your arm slip back into the warm waters.  “The child was watching.”

“Ah.” Rin was no stranger to gruesome sights- they were unavoidable with a demon samurai Lord for a master, but at least he had some discernment, if not compassion for the young girl.

“So why the ear?”

His jaw is tight, as is his voice. “The boy didn’t heed his senses. He continued to spout nonsense.”

“Haha! That's what you tell me all the time.”

“Yes, those inane tales you drivel on about… at least they serve a purpose.”

You cross your arms on the lip and rest your arms in their cradle, looking back at him. “What, entertaining Rin and staving off her nightmares?”

“No. Beyond that. You speak of the future–that I will live to see.”

“Like, wait what? That's… hundreds of years in the future, Seshoumaru.” You almost slap a hand over your mouth over the lack of honorifics, but he doesn't correct you.

“I will still live to see it. These things you speak of, skyscrapers, electricity, automobiles, public parks and libraries and sprawling cities. I will be witness to it all.”

You didn't think he paid any attention to the things you rambled about. You didn't think he listened. Or cared. “So what am I, like, your seer?”

“Exactly.”

“...I never thought of it like that.”

“Dense.”

“Stop calling me that! I am not dense.” You huff and pout, but he ignores you, as he often does, choosing instead to lean over, looking into the waters for…something.

“You’re injured.”

“Huh?” What? He just saw your arm. It takes you a moment to realize he probably means your ankle.

“Oh yeah.” How did he know? You almost forgot. By now the wound wasn't so fresh, not yet scabbed over and just starting to heal. Soft and pink and shiny.

Sesshoumaru looms over you.. “Show me.”

“...?” How? Are you supposed to do a handstand underwater? He sighs, annoyed, and reaches down–

And suddenly he has you by the collar, pulling you up and out of the water to sit at the brim. You splutter, but he pays it no heed, just crouching down so he could inspect your ankle closer. Despite the furrow to his brow he sets you down so gently.

“It's fine, it's already started to heal.”

“That's for me to decide.”

“Oh really, of course, of course. Tell me when to breathe too, I’ll keep your words in mind.” And, quicker than you could blink he reaches for your ankle, pulling you forwards a bit. You almost topple back into the waters, your third drowning of the day, but right yourself in time, casting a glare at Sesshoumaru. Your ankle is bird thin and fragile looking against his pale hand. This touch too, is careful.

You're still technically in your underclothes. If he lifts your leg up any higher he's going to see something.

He just…stares at the wound, soft from the water, something pointed and uncanny in that gaze. He looks at it, this way and that under the mellow torchlight, evening deepening into a darker hue of blue, sunlight gone.

“I should have taken both his hands…”

“I think that would have been a tad too much.” Yeah, he's a prick but you didn't want his life ruined.

Sesshoumaru hums under his breath, a light note. “You defend him?”

“Like any good samaritan will do,” you respond cheekily. “Plus, he’s the only son of old man Taiga, so he stands to inherit the rice paddies.”

“So?” The tone he uses is still light, but dangerous for its levity. 

“If there's no more rice how will they make any mochi? This is the best we found in recent months.” You reach behind and snatch a piece from the plate Rin left you, humming at the treat.

“I can forgive any slight so long as I’m awarded treats in return.”

“Glutton,” he pushes out a breath. “I knew you were never loyal.”

Oh, was that a joke? You laugh. “What can I say? I have needs that must be satisfied.”

As he looks over your ankle you take the moment to look over the contours of his hand, the elegant wrist disappearing underneath the robe, the crips collar of his Kimono. Even here, like this, he looks so unruffled. 

“Needs?” And he lifts your ankle higher. “Do I not account for them all?”

“...My most pressing and immediate ones.”

“Hm. And seeing as those are met, which others might I satisfy?”

Oh.

And your heart pounds into overdrive.

He brings your ankle closer to his face… and licks.

You flinch back in reflex, but that only amounts to an inch within his grip. His eyes flash over to you, but when he meets no more resistance his tongue darts out again, lapping over the wound. 

It doesn't hurt– his tongue is wide and flat, and thin, like a dog, you think, and just swipes over, cleaning the skin almost. But it feels weird, and you’re puzzled, and his grip tightens as you flinch back. 

You’re trying not to tremble, but when his mouth moves to the thin part on the back of your ankle you gasp. There's a pause he takes, before he bites down. It's just a nip really, but you gasp again, and then his teeth are trailing, up, up your calf– then he stops.

Well, only for a second. His hand moves, smoothing along the soft skin of your leg, underneath the wet cloth. It slides to your thigh, and he pulls up and back. He slots forward in the open space between your thighs, leans forward, and suddenly you're folded up tiny against the grass and his chest, one leg on his shoulder and the other pretty close.

You squeak, hands flying to his shoulders, while his nails trail softly over the back of your thigh, raising goose flesh, creeping on dangerous territory.

Something soft rumbles in his throat.

“You still smell like that boy…”

“O-oh?” you squeak, breathy.

“I don’t care for it.”

“Well, it wasn’t like it was on purpose.”

"I should hope not." And he moves even closer. The spikes of his armor press into you and he's all around you--His hair a curtain that blocks off the outer world, a few strands dipping into the springs. Like earlier, he goes straigh to your neck. He trails the tip of his nose along the conturs of your neck, the under curve f your jaw, dipping down to your collarbone and starting the journey over again. Almost like he's nuzzling you.

He takes slow, deep breaths through his mouth. He breathes in, holds it...and releases it steadily, like he's trying to make your scent stick to the back of his throat. You smell nothing on him but cold, and metal, and silk. But beneath that frigidness is something...softer. Not gentle, more refined, almost. fresh, not unlike linene, or fresh cut greenery. You like it.

But you can't really move, and it's getting hot, and not in a good way. You feel his weight, yes, but it feels more imposing thatn comforting. The gurgle of the water is all you can hear; that and the blood in your ears.

If you scream now, no one will hear you.

"Wait, wait," you gasp, your voice a pitiful breath. "I can't...wait a moment." For a second you think he's not going to move, he presses closer into you, further pushing the breath from your lungs. But with a growl deepening in his throat, he moves away.

You can't help feeling like his gaze is accustaory when he looks at you

"You breath is scarce. Calm yourself."

"I am calm."

"Hm." And he takes your wrist, presses his thumb to your veins. For a minute you think he's going to slide his wrist across yours in that soothing motion, he moves to, but he doesn't. Its disappointing.

"No. Your pulse is too quick." He lets you go. "I can smell your lust. But above that, your fear. I told you, I wont have a tearful servant girl in my bed. You must be willing or not at all."

He rises to leave, but you panic, leave, dont leave---you're confused between the two. But you grab onto his sleeve, and he stops.

"Im not...Im not scared of you, not exactly...not really."

"I can--"

“Just--!! I don't understand. Why do you want me? What do you get from me?” You scoot back.

“Everyone keeps calling me your concubine or wife but I want to hear you. You said I was your seer, but what is that? Is that all you want from me? I don’t think it is.” Beads of water stumble down the cradle of his jaw, and you watch them instead of his eyes.

“You said 'willing or not at all'… Why do you care so much if I'm willing? You can just take.”

“There's no pleasure to be had when it’s forced,” he says. “And there is no need for force. You wouldn’t have come to my room if you weren’t enticed.

“And are you enticed?”

“I am. But that's not the issue here.”

And you think he’s going to sigh harshly, glare, or worse yet, leave. You don't want him to leave now. You see his furrowed brow and his waning patience, and you want to huddle into yourself against the brisk cold he’s sure to blow your way.

And he does sigh, but he doesn't leave. He lends back, and lands you back your space. “Then what is?” 

"You're going to listen to me?"

"Yes."

"...Why?"

"Because I want to."

The emotion that swells in your breast makes you duck your eyes, if only to hide the tears that have suddenly, embarrassingly, sprung. "Does a mountain need to heed the clouds?"

"The clouds dictate the skies. Even mountains are weathered by storms, and thrive in sunlight." He extends an open hand to you. "No more of this timidness. Speak plainly."

And so, you try.

“....I know this world is different from mine. In just the way I’m perceived. I am not your servant, your steward, or a disciple. I am not a companion, but a concubine. A wife if I’m lucky.” You snort.

“....But I’ve always been more than just my body, my Lord, and I do have my pride, meager though it may be. I've never belonged to anyone but myself. Whether this pride is at odds with you depends on your answer,” you sigh.

“I’ve named so many titles already. But what exactly am I to you?”

—------------

Torment. Lovely. Inferior. Endearing. Mine. Mine.

Damn instincts. Instead he asks, “...What need is there for specifications?”

“Forgive me my Lord, but…it is needed. What I am dictates what I can give.” You fumble with your hands, before clasping them together and holding them between your thighs, where he was moments prior. He should be back there, lapping at the slick dripping from your core, tasting it, tasting you but--- Ah, you're speaking. You said something. He has to listen.

“What do I give that is of value to this group? To you? Actual value, not those silly stories. I can neither set up camp quickly enough nor forage, fish or hunt better than the others can. My etiquette, or lack thereof is obvious. I'm much too insolent, in Jaken’s words. I take care of Rin and I love the girl to death but she’s mostly independent... She prefers Jaken anyways.”

Rin, who you took under your care and nurture, The same girl who could barely look him in the eyes or utter a sentence running in the middle of a dilapidated, haunted town to find him, for you.

“...So what do I offer you, that makes it so that I’m pulling my weight here? I don’t want to be useless.” And I don't want to be coddled either, he hears the unspoken words. So he answers you.

“Spring wears

A cloak of mist.

A thin fabric,

For the mountain breeze

Would, doubtless, disarray it.”

Your brow furrows.  “I don’t–”

“An exercise in subtlety,” he remarks. “And an answer to your question.” He gestures. “Go on.” Ariwara again? So you reply,

“In my yearning

I am fading completely as

The morning dew;

This morning to arise

Was beyond me.”

He ‘tsk’s’. “Again, with the dew?”

“I mentioned it, what, once last night? You can't fault me.” You say it a bit too defensively; You wish he would just answer you, or leave you be, but he does not. You just have to stay there and listen as he recites, your breath stuttering when his hand moves to your face, a finger over a cheekbone, nothing more.

“More even than the dew

From an illustrious house come

This chrysanthemum, so

The flower’s Mistress

Will live longer still, I believe.”

Chrysanthemums… Sunlight?

“The colour of this flower

Has already faded away,

While in idle thoughts

My life goes by,

As I watch the long rains fall.”

He responds back, just as quickly, 

"At Yoshino River

Waves crash high above the rocks

The rushing water

Swift as your

Lodging within my thoughts."

“...I nearly drowned today my Lord, is that not inappropriate?” 

“Something more tasteful then,” he comments.

“If it be so, Then so be it

I thought once, but

As white snow falling,

With the passing day

My yearning grows ever stronger.”

There's no mistaking the context of his words. But also not the roiling emotions in your heart. You reply,

“...An ancestral home

It is not, so

Towards me why

Is his heart

So cold and distant?”

His body language goes stiff, the ease in which he held himself something you hadn't noticed until it was gone. You are sorry to see it.

“...Don’t respond so hastily if you don't want to be answered in the next breath,” you exhale. You could wonder at your own audacity, and you might have imagined it, but he pauses before he recites another.

“A secret it is, but

When I feel love rise,

From leg wearying

Mountains, the moon

Sets out, and so do I.”

“...My Lord, please, don’t.” You don’t even know what he’s asking,  but he’s running his fingers over your neck, the dip at the base and pressing onto the mark he left. It makes you shiver. You notice it for a soothing habit, and it makes you wonder. But he continues.

“This world of men

Is such a place:

The gusting wind,

Invisible, as she I’ve never seen

And yet do love.”

“My Lord, w-wait--”

“Do you wish to reply?” He’s just petting you with that stray finger, and stuck between your passion and hesitance, you can't speak.

“...I, I just…” he hums a note, too low to be anything more than a vibration in the air.

“Night deepens

With the sound of calling deer,

And I hear

My own one-sided love.”

“It's not!” You rush, your hand coming to the one at your throat. You lean forward. “It's not!”

“Then why this hesitance? Why do you care so greatly for the words of others?”

How do you explain that kind of fear, that kind of insecurity, just like that? “...I’m scared that their words will prove right. That I'll just be another woman of circumstance.”

“You’re unlike any woman nor demon I’ve encountered in this era. If I haven’t killed you yet, what makes you think I would now?”

“...I’m scared of more than just death, at your hands any less. I’m wary of your ire, and the slow rot of my self under domestic subservience,” you admit. It feels like being flayed alive.

“You were never subservient,” He shuts that down. “Why would you start now?”

Why would you start now?

…Yeah. Wait, why would you?

"What...?" Wait...

“I can barely keep you tethered and quiet in one place for an hour, or keep enough sense in your thick skull to keep you out of danger. If anything, this is more work on my end,” he drawls. “So again, why would you start trying to be competent now?”

You start laughing, big, belly shaking laughs that have you holding yourself together. Yeah...yeah! Why would you?

And that, that realization, that relief, is like a breath of fresh air. What were you even worried about?

“What is this–”

You rush forward, laughing still, lacing your fingers in his hair and pulling him down into a kiss.

>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>

You rest easily, in his futon, under his sheets. He has no pressing need for slumber, now or otherwise, so he’s never used the bedding here. He regrets it almost–There so much you’re missing, that you don’t know. You deserve a nest–full of pillows and quilts and whatever strikes your fancy. Clothing articles, his, naturally. You don't have the same sense of smell but he’s sure it would be just as effective. Because even now, you burrow into his side and sigh contentedly in your slumber. 

A new bruise sits above the one he first gave, darker, and larger. They’re joined by others, varying colors of bruises. It's not a mating mark–not yet. He plans to give you it when you mate, so that the pleasure could override the worst of the pain. 

It doesn't matter if you're human or not. He has decided that he wants you. He finds the emotion is reciprocated, and thus, you are his. Honeysuckle scent and annoying behavior and all.

He smooths over the faint marks with a finger, under the curve of your jaw and your parted, kiss swollen lips. Your lashes flutter under his touch, ghosting over your skin and the scent glands right beneath your ears. He bit here too. Not as deep as he'd like.

You just sigh deeper, but dont wake, a steady wash of honey over him as he presses against the glands. He can still taste your skin on his tongue, the way you shuddered.

“Sleep here,” he demanded. But it was not forceful, because he knew you would agree.

“And what about Rin?”

“Tell her, and come hither after she falls asleep then.” He clicked his tongue. “You and your fretful worries…”

But he doesn't mind it. A faint scent of milk lays over your skin, and it’s endearing, for how familiar it is. It doesn't vex him as greatly as it should.

Alpha children are born with more mild versions of their scents, which mature quickly with age. The mild sweet milk scent fades a few weeks after birth. For betas, it stays a year or so, before settling into something bland and weak. For omegas, the scent lasts up to teenhood. Rin has barely finished her first decade.

Two omegas under his ward. What are the chances? He dreads the day of her maturing, twice as many demons following their trail. Perhaps you were right in wanting you both to learn swordplay. If anything, a person should be their own last line of defense.

And you two are especially weak.

He has to tamp down on that dark satisfaction that builds, in your case particularly. Rin is a child, he will ensure her safety and comfort. But you…He has to remind himself despite his instincts. You are not some soft, pampered omega mate he keeps in his abode. Your weakness is not what draws him to you. And neither will it ever, he detests the weak and aimless. It's your fearlessness he favors. Your mind, thick as it is.

A man threatened you and you didn't simper, you pinned him down and drew your blade against his throat. He’s disappointed in you that you didn't decide to draw blood, but he’ll take care of that on your behalf. The thought of the boy and his murky, spicy scent over yours makes his eyes bleed red. He insulted you. Put his hands on you. He cannot let this insult be.

He needs a proper lesson. So he slips away from your lovely warmth, your aroma, and slips outside.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It's easy to find the salt and musk trail of the boy, even easier to walk his way to the rice paddies. But the boy isn't there– He hears the struggling breath of an old man, and four sets of gentle, even breathing. Not there. There's a hidden path leading from the house, down to the streams and into a secluded area. It looks like only one set of feet made this nothing trail, and it's exactly who he’s looking for. Though, It's still close enough that should he scream, people will hear.

He plans to be quick.

He’s training, with a bamboo sword that must have been hand made, decent, despite its crudeness. Sweat and blood and the stressed scent of pain lacerates the air, his skin flush with exertion. He practises a basic set of moves, efficient, but lacking proper stance.

He stumbles, and when he pauses, Sesshoumaru notices he leans towards the side missing an ear, bloody bandages around his hands, gripping onto the makeshift weapon. He lacks talent, and manners, and dicipline, but holds no small amount of tenacity. Which unfrtunately will remain unrewarded.

Sesshoumaru stalks. He doesn’t crouch nor hide–he moves too fast for the discernible, human eye as he circles his victim, looking for the best angle to slice him. His nails and teeth lengthen. 

The wind stills and the animals silence themselves. Insects no longer cricket or tribble, and the birds still, ready to burst into flight at the slightest movement.

The night is at standstill. But he is not the reason why.

He steps away. His blade slips out its sheath like water poured out a glass. It rests above the pale throat of its target, the faintest red line rising underneath its honed edge.

The demon raises its hands, a Naga; White scales that would stand out in the pitch darkness, he must use demonic energy to hide himself. The scent of it is thin and acrid, rot-sweet. An alpha, but a weak one.

It spreads it's raised hands, not in surrender, but supplication. It tilts it's head down the slightest bit, even if it digs its throat deeper into the blade.

“You are the demon hunting this town.”

“That is I,” He expected a thin, hissing voice, but the naga sounds like any normal human male. Again, weak.

“And you are the Lord of the Western Lands, the Great Daiyoukai Sesshoumaru. I am honored to be in your presence.”

“And foolish.” Skin parts like butter under the blade, dripping a thin red.

“I let you live so long as you stayed out of my sight. Now you lose your head.”

“Ah ah!” It tries to placate. “I truly apologize, my lord, but If anything, I was hunting here first. You came to me.” It hisses low as Sesshoumaru presses. “And you came to meet your end.”

“Didn't you come here for the boy?” The naga points back. “I’ll, I’ll back off! I was planning to eat him and one of his sisters, or two, but I’ll go! You need not see my face again!”

He seems a pretty weak demon.

But the luminosity of those teeth and scales belied the cowardice It had shown. The wreckage left in the town discredited it further.

Strangely, there is soot over the wrecked buildings, like something had been burned. This would not be difficult to believe, if a demon trespassed into a home and knocked over lighted oil, but there is no sign of fire damage around the buildings; The grass is still fresh and green around it. The buildings are a few years old, yes, but if there had been a fire there would be more pressing signs, Jaken stressed.

“The female head of the staff spews water, and the old male head spews fire, so I know the destruction both could wreck,” the imp pondered. “All the buildings have soot, but very slight burn marks. With how close and tight the community is, there would have been more obvious tells. No one in this town seems to have any breathing problems, or limps, and with these many ‘fires’, this town should have been burnt down, no matter that they live so close to a mountain stream,” He squawked.

“Something is suspicious with this town…”

And he was looking at that something.

“Tell me, why should I not kill you now and ensure that future myself?” A hiss slithers in the Naga’s throat, but It doesn't bear It's fangs. It's tail slashes the air anxiously.

“Because…Because I have done you no wrong nor do I intend to.” The blade presses in and It fights, Sesshoumaru sees, not to lash out. It knows attacking means earning his ire, which is certain death.

In most cases, not yours.

“B-Because I have information!”

“Lower your voice,” he says in low tones. “What information?”

"You, you must swear not to kill me afterwards. I want your word as a samurai!"

"You have my word I wont kill you if its not useless." He gripes. "Now speak or lose your life."

“That, that innkeeper…she's an omega as well.”

“The hag?” He can't even recall the color of her eyes, her head always bowed, let alone if her scent had the telltale sweetness of an omega.

“She’s human, and a widow.”

“Yes, and old, so the scent withers off to nothing. If some desperate alpha re-mated her, it might make a reappearance.”

“Re-mated,” he said. “She was mated by a demon?”

“Well, humans couldn’t mate with each other even if they knew how. Yes. That's why she was driven out her village, and came here.”

“And you made her a widow when you killed her husband.”

“I ate him for power, yes, he was very strong. And delicious."

Hm. She does show all the typical signs of an omega, if he recalls. He just can't imagine her paired with a demon. She should have more a backbone, if so. She seemed a pretty meek thing when he confronted her after the boy had ran from the inn.

The boy drips blood and tears, sobbing pitifully as he staggers from the inn, holding his parts. When Sesshoumaru turns the innkeeper is kneeling in seiza, trembling, head to her hands on the floor.

“M-My Lord–” He tosses her the cut off ear, still warm and dripping.

‘You stand to lose much more if you allow anyone else inside.”

“M-My sons are coming to visit me, tomorrow or the day after, my Lord.” More nuisances.

“I don’t want to see them. I don't want to catch a scent nor sound. Understood?”

“Y-Yes, yes, my Lord. Of course, My Lord.” And so he goes to you.

"And what of her children?"

“Her sons?" The naga's nose wrinkles. "They are hanyo’s, half bloods…disgusting, I know. One of them is a beta, and the other is an alpha.” It casts a knowing look. “So I suggest you keep your little omegas from wandering about too far.”

His blood spikes. Yes, he has the demon of this town at blade point, but it was a weak and a coward, and now there were two others, no matter that they were the innkeepers' sons, heading straight for the lot of you.

So he sheathes his blade. He turns and shows his full back to the demon, a blatant insult.

“The next time I see you will be the last. You have my word.”

“Well, I sincerely hope it wont be,” he can hear the relief in it's voice. “And, were you not stalking the boy…?”

“Take him, his lack of situational awareness is his own undoing.” He thinks. “But leave the rest of the family be. Just the boy. That and your life is the reward for your information."

“The only thing better than a daughter is an oldest son,” the naga laughs. He bows where his waist tapers into scales.

“And it's always good to live one more day. Thank you, my Lord.”

“I intend to know the name of the next demon I kill.”

“Oh, my name?” the naga grins, each tooth pointed sharp and gleaming.

“It’s Shingetsu Numachi.”

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Taglist: @tanspostsblog . @xmenteria,

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Poetry links

Ariwara no Yukihira / Ariwara no Yukihira / Fujiwara no Masatada / Ono no Komachi / Ki no Turayuki / Ariwara no Narihira / Ise / Tsurayuki / Tsurayuki / Ono no Komachi

A/N: I used a lot more poetry in this one, but can you believe I cut it down? I wanted to add more but stuck with the ones that lent more to the plot. So I stood with the really romantic 'era accurate' poems (smh Sesshoumaru has to confess via poetry bc our mc really is that dense) lol.

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[knightofleo]

Fever Ray | Dry And Dusty

Never leave me, walk close beside me Your hand, my hand, fits so easy No tomorrow, let us stop here We did some great things, or didn't we? Work as I've been told, in return I get money Small feet in your hall, and I long for every moment Dry and dusty, I am a capsule of energy You speak softly, we are capsules of energy