#it feels so damn devoid of life half the time

[vilelittlecritter]

I watched the new playstation direct with my dad and man that was garbage...

[undertheorangetree]

Tantrum

Summary- Art’s girlfriend sucks at tennis. He helps her feel better.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Stanford era Art. Exhibitionism. Body worship. Cunnilingus. Wee bit of fingering. P in V sex. Riding. The fluffiest giggliest sex you've ever seen. Me not knowing a damn thing about tennis.

Author's Note- Hi idk if you noticed but i have Challengers brain rot rn specifically for Art Donaldson :// As a theatre kid I simply had no choice it was always gonna be him. Read the full fic on AO3.

When Art had looked up at her with big pleading eyes, all but begging her to allow him to teach her the basics of tennis, she was in no position to refuse. It had been sweet, how badly he wanted to share his passion with her, the kisses he had peppered across her neck and chest in order to entice her into it, and she couldn’t so much as imagine denying him. Forget the fact that she had never held a racket in her life, that her strengths had always been rooted in academia rather than athletics.  If allowing him to teach her would make him happy, she would do it.

Though not without complaint.

She lets out a frustrated grunt as the ball hits the net- again- before turning her head up to glare at Art when he barely manages to stifle his laugh. He smothers it immediately when he catches sight of her glower, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as if he can physically wipe away his smile and she feels her teeth grind together.

“You can’t laugh. You’re the one who wanted me to do this so you’re not allowed to make fun of me,” she complains, her voice half petulance half hurt and immediately his face morphs into something more apologetic.

“I’m sorry baby.” He makes his way closer but she simply rolls her eyes, turning her nose up when he reaches out to her. He takes it in stride. “I’m not laughing at you, you’re doing very well. It’s just funny to see you so frustrated.”

It’s her turn to laugh, though it is little more than a humourless bark. “I am not doing very well. I suck.”

He makes a sympathetic noise as he attempts to reach for her again. She allows it begrudgingly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as his hands close around her elbows, face dropping into her neck to press a kiss there. She thinks that he’s about to praise her further, try to coax her back into committing herself to the game, but he stays silent, continuing to lavish her with silent kisses.

She’s happy for the odd hour they decided to come here, the tennis court completely devoid of any other life. It’s a colder night than it should be for mid spring, the floodlights and moon the only two things to provide them with any light, and she’s grateful finals have chased everyone else away. She’s glad to have this time alone with him, despite her frustration. To feel like they are the only two people in the world.

“You’re just hitting the ball too hard,” he explains, face still half buried in her throat. “And you aren’t even attempting to aim. Putting everything you have behind the hit doesn’t make it a good one if you don’t know where you’re sending it. There’s more to tennis than just force, you have to be smart about it.”

She scoffs, reaching up to press her palm against his forehead and shove him away, ignoring the shit eating grin that’s made itself known on his face. “Just go over there and hit the damn ball. Before I leave you here by yourself.”

The grin doesn’t fade, his amusement more than clear, but he does as she asks, returning to his side of the court. She lets out another aggravated sigh as she returns to the position he had told her to wait in, knees bent as she waits for him to serve, realizing more and more that she prefers to watch him play tennis rather than do it with him. She finds far more joy watching him from the stands as he chases after the ball, sweat dripping from his curls and grunts echoing in her ears. Here, where she is the one chasing the ball like a damn dog and failing to send it sailing over the net when she does manage to catch it, there is no time to admire Art in his element.

She almost feels bad for her poor attitude, wishing she was less competitive so that she could simply enjoy this quality time with him, but every failure does nothing but enrage her further, sending her spiralling further into frustration.

Read the rest here :)

[spiderman2-99]

Día De Muertos is supposed to be a celebration. When the dead return home, the day is filled with festivals, family, home-cooked food, and the bright smell of marigolds.

But Miguel O’Hara has no family, is too miserable to leave the apartment, and all the marigolds have gone extinct.

They’ve been extinct since 2095, actually. How hadn’t he known? That should've been something he'd figured out sooner, right? But no, he finds out a week before the day itself while he’s trying to make Gabriella’s ofrenda.

What does his beloved baby girl, who he would’ve given the world a thousand times over, get instead? Paper flowers.

Paper flowers instead of real ones, possessions that represented her instead of properly being hers, a half-done altar that was done in a manic, grief-fueled haze.

It’s paltry. Miguel knows it is. But it’s all he can give, and by God, he hates it. He tried to make it up in home-made pan de muerto and fresh fruit and her favorite dinners, in the carefully arranged papel picado garlands, in finding actual copal to burn… but it’s not enough. It could never be enough.

It’s been a long time since he’d last made an ofrenda, actually. He fell out of the tradition sometime when he was in college, when he was young and unburdened and selfish and so, so stupid, and had convinced himself he had much more important things to do with his time than honor traditions.

Sometimes, he wants to reach out to that little twerp and beat him senseless.

No, he wants to laugh, or scream, or pull his hair out. It’s a sick joke; a cruel jab at his expense, that he only started giving a shit about his own cultural holidays again after Gabi died, when he could no longer share the homemade food with her, help her learn about the significance.

It feels so wrong, being unable to share this with his daughter. Having the altar be dedicated to her, instead of her helping him set it up; teaching her how to make the banners and arrange flowers and bake bread, entertaining whatever thousands of questions she’d have about the holiday and her great-great-whoever’s they’d be celebrating. What would she have thought of the chicken and chile rellenos? Of the Calaveritas? The toys he left out?

Hijo de puta. A parent isn’t supposed to outlive their child.

It’s a pathetic altar too, as far as he’s concerned. Miguel hadn't done this in so long that he'd nearly forgotten how to; having to go on the internet just to remember the guidelines. Even then, there were so many conflicting answers that it left him confused and flying blind the whole damn time.

Did he do enough as a father to honor her? Did the ofrenda do her memory justice? Did he do anything right? Is there enough salt to purify her body? Enough water and food to provide for her long journey? Was the copal actually supposed to be incense, or did it have a different meaning? Are the purple candles placed correctly? Would tissue paper marigolds, devoid of scent and life, be enough guide her safely back home?

These worries swarm like vultures to a carcass, picking at and tormenting him to the point where he can barely stand to look at the stupid, thrown-together thing any longer. He should know how to do this— today is much more than just a holiday; Día de Muerto and all of its rich traditions should be a part of who he is, steeped in his identity, his culture. It should be more familiar than breathing.

But now it just makes him ache, seeing how he couldn’t even properly commemorate his own little girl.

In a brief moment of clarity, Miguel realizes he really just should’ve just taken more time to research and plan it out better. If only it weren’t for the constant high-stakes responsibilities, the needs of far too many all on his shoulders, the people, people, people.

Not like he didn’t try; Halloween and all day yesterday, Miguel had been rushing uncharacteristically through work, trying to get caught up enough to take time off. But of course, God had it out for him and practically half the damn Society wanted to barge into his office to badger him about something. He ended up with a shock-ton of random gifts and baked goods on his desk that he’d unceremoniously pawned off to Peter B. (save for a bottle of Don Julio, but the other man didn’t need to know that), enough sanguine well-wishes to last him a lifetime, and high blood pressure.

And the time and effort he scraped up still wasn’t enough to get it done right. It could never be good enough. He could never be good enough.

Miguel can’t stop second-guessing himself, can’t stop that all too familiar spiral of guilt and self-loathing that rots away at his insides like necrosis. He’s a scientist and an engineer, for shocksake— logic and reason should override his emotions, should stop them from clouding him at all. But all he can do is sit there, staring at the sorry excuse for an ofrenda with a lump in his throat and a throbbing headache that won’t go away.

Today couldn’t have gone any worse.

His joints pop viciously as he gets up from the floor just to prove him wrong. Cristo en el cielo.

The only bright side to this whole thing is that… well, no one is here. No one to see his embarrassment, or his failure; no one to question him, or ask him how he’s feeling, or try to give a hug, or any more goddamn food. It’s just him and his ever-spiraling thoughts and the grief that threatens to consume him whole.

Carefully, with a trembling hand, he lights the incense, then the candles, the golden glow dancing around his otherwise dark apartment. It… almost makes it look better. Less like a broken down man’s sorry attempt at repentance and more like a proper ofrenda.

Almost.

Día De Muertos is supposed to be a celebration, filled with festivals, family, home-cooked food, and the bright smell of marigolds.

But Miguel O’Hara has no family, is too miserable to leave the apartment, and all the marigolds have gone extinct.

[kasagia]

Dancing with the devil II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem! royal!reader Summary: The Na-Baron's birthday celebration on Giedi Prime at the beginning of the season makes you realise just how much work you'll have to put into becoming Empress—and even more into avoiding Harkonnen, who's showing you way too much attention. This is something that your almost-fiance definitely shouldn't like, and something that he doesn't notice. After all, there's little you can see in the darkness of Giedi Prime. Warning: kind of royal au!; 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; smut; Inspired by: Bridgerton and "Would've, could've, should've" - Taylor Swift Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART I ~•♤♤♤•~ PART III ~•♤♤♤•~

"Smile. And powder yourself. You look pale, as if we were going there for a beheading and not a ball." Your mother says, adjusting the position of the grid of diamonds decorating your head. You flinch as you feel the cool metal of the gems brush against your cheek.

The damn thing was heavy, but nice. You remember perfectly how Lord Luwael's eyes lit up when he saw you wearing a similar ornament in your hair.

"In a way it is. First we will see the fight in the arena." You are sceptical of what comes next when your ship lands on Giedi Prime. You didn't like this place. It was black and white, barren, devoid of life and any moral principles. It was therefore an ideal place for gossip to arise - especially the spicy ones.

Besides, your... last encounter with Na-Baron was still fresh in your memory. Especially in dreams. On those terrible nights, you dreamed about how, in the darkness of your gardens and under the moonlight, you allowed him to do... more wicked things. Things that even husbands and wives shouldn't do behind their chambers' doors. And as much as you felt aroused after every dream like this, you were also disgusted with yourself and hated the Na-Baron even more for your little fantasies.

This helped immensely when it came to increasing motivation to win the emperor's cousin's heart, but no amount of flirting with him helped you forget the touch of a certain Harkonnen. You found it very interesting. And you hoped that after fighting in the arena, your body would adopt the same attitude towards him as your brain. He was dangerous and should have been avoided by you at all costs, and yet, in every fantasy about him, you enjoyed his burning touch more than the previous ones and wanted much more to happen between you two.

"Better for you. Half of these charpies in silks and sparkles will faint and never set foot in a ballroom. Take this opportunity and stick to the arm of the emperor's cousin." She advises you, licking her finger and twisting a lock of your hair so it rests unruly against your temple and falls onto your cheek.

"Lord Luwael wrote to me all summer. Besides, you saw for yourself that he visited our planet several times."

"It does not mean anything. He could only be bored, so he flew around the planets looking for entertainment. You have to charm him, Y/N. Drive him crazy with a... desire for you so great that he will do anything to have you—only then will he propose to you. It's still a miracle that he looked at you, since we come from a worse dynasty than him." He reminds you dryly, and you press your lips into a thin line. He doesn't wait for your answer. She leaves your room, clearly expecting you to follow her, when the ship announces that you are about to land.

You take a shaky breath, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your home-coloured dress hugged your curves perfectly, showing off the best of your figure, and your makeup highlighted your cheekbones and gave your eyes depth. All of this made you an irresistible sight. Lord Luwael would have to be blind not to appreciate your beauty. You will leave Giedi Prime with a ring on your finger or on the ship of the emperor's cousin. You did not see any other possibility, nor did you want to allow something other to happen.

You put on your soft, genuine smile and leave the room to join your mother on the exit ramp. Moments later, the ramp descends, revealing the black sun of Giedi Prime. You frown and squint as you adjust to the atmosphere on the planet. Your mother and you come down to earth. As soon as you can see beyond the patch of land in front of you, you shiver as you notice the Na-Baron waiting near your ship. You feel your anxiety and nervousness rising inside you, but you try your hardest to maintain your polite smile.

"Viscountess Y/L/N. Lady Y/L/N." He greets you, his gravelly voice sending shivers down your spine. You try to control your breathing and heartbeat, as panic is rising within you.

He looks... even more intimidating than on your home planet. That night, his mask had covered practically his entire face, but now you could see him in all his glory. And damn you, because those tempting lips he had weren't the only advantage of his appearance.

His face looked as if thousands of painters had worked on it, as if it had been lifted from ancient paintings depicting beautiful demons tempting people to damnation. And, oh, what a handsome devil he was. If you believed in an afterlife, you would wonder if he escaped from hell to lead people into temptation.

You couldn't help but wonder if he would recognise you. Does he know that it was you who went with him to the garden a few months ago? You try to read some reaction from his face, but he maintains an emotionless, composed demeanour as he looks at you and your mother.

"Na-Baron. It's a great honour to be here to celebrate your birthday. May fate always be in your favour." She greets him kindly. You shiver in relief as he thankfully doesn't pay much attention to you as his gaze comes back to your mother. 

"I hope it will. The maids will show you the way to the guest wing and your chambers. All celebrations will take place tomorrow. I hope that you will soon get used to the atmospheric conditions in Giedi Prime. Until then." He nods at the maids standing behind him. Bald women come up to you and hand you tiny baskets. "Our guests find it quite useful."

You look at the things in the basket; your attention is caught by sunglasses with black lenses and a strange coat. Your mother reaches for her coat and, with practiced skill, slips it gracefully over herself, along with her glasses, as you stare unsteadily at the strange fabric.

"Lady Y/L/N. May I?" Na-Baron asks. However, he doesn't wait for your answer.

He comes closer to you, takes your cloak from the basket, and hands it to your servants. He wraps the coat around you, adjusting it to your figure and making sure to cover all of your exposed skin.

"We Harkonnens have a special pigment in our skin to prevent the carcinogenic effects of sunlight and burns from long-term exposure. You must remember to wear this coat outside to avoid any diseases, Lady Y/L/N." He says, standing behind you and tying the fabric of your coat together. He uncovers your face for a moment and puts on your sunglasses. "Nor your beautiful eyes to be damaged." He whispers, so only you can hear him.

You shiver, staring at him blankly, glad that your sunglasses allow you the convenience of hiding your eyes from him and whatever you're focused on.

Was it possible that he recognised you? Was he giving you a hint that he knew you were his white swan? NO. Impossible. He probably flirted with every single woman who came to Giedi Prime. After all, he was going to find a wife this season. He had to show his softer side and hide Giedi Prime's brutality from the naive noblewomen so that some stupid and naive one would marry him.

"We thank you very much for your kindness, Na-Baron." Your mother speaks for you, obviously angry that you haven't spoken up for yourself. You just nod, shifting your gaze to the castle behind him, trying to escape his watchful, searching gaze for a moment.

"Your welcome." He responds with a nod to your mother.

He takes your hand in his, making you tense slightly as he leans down and presses a short kiss on it. A shiver runs through you as you feel the shape of his lips through your gloves, and your mind automatically recalls the memory of that night. You smile at him politely and quickly join your mother's side, leaving Na-Baron on the ramp as another ship arrives.

"Do not act like that. Don't show that you're afraid of them. And be careful. It's very common for people here to disappear after showing disrespect to the Na-Baron. You know how, right?" She whispers furiously to you as you are led inside the palace by the maids.

"I... I know. I'm sorry." You say this thoughtfully, turning discreetly over your shoulder to watch him greet the other noble families. This time, he doesn't kiss anyone's hand or help anyone put on their protective cloak. You shake your head. He probably saw that you weren't engaged to anyone yet, and that's why you got... special treatment from him.

"Just don't act like a scared mouse. I raised you better."

Right. Your mother raised you better. That's why you shouldn't have disappeared into the garden with this mysterious stranger from the very beginning. It would save you a headache now that wasn't caused by the oppressive atmosphere on Giedi Prime. You just wanted this season to end as soon as possible. Preferably your marriage.

You walk hand in hand with Lady Y/F/N towards the arena, gossiping about what happened since last night. The Giedi Prime sun is somehow more bearable today; you don't know if it's because of the items given by Na-Baron or because the weather was exceptionally not as cruel as the day you arrived, but you feel much better. (Or maybe it was because you didn't see Na-Baron Harkonnen today.)

"I tell you, Princess Irulan was furious. I heard she destroyed her room, and the maids worked all night to get it back in order. Do you think it's possible? That the Emperor wants to marry her off to Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha?"

"Possible. It wouldn't be a stupid move. After all, Irulan cannot become emperor. She may be the firstborn, but she has no right to rule. It is logical that her father wants to marry her off to the second-best possible party, of course, when it comes to financial and political issues."

"Second best? Who's first?" You just smile at her question, watching the other noblewomen and their families walk towards the arena.

"Of course, as a woman in love, I must say that Lord Luwael."

"Has someone talked about me?"

A faint blush appears on your cheeks. You and Y/F/N turn around to see a smug Lord. You give him an equally mischievous smirk and curtsy, grabbing the arm he offered you.

"I do not think so. You must have misheard, Lord Luawel. Maybe it's the sun of Giedi Prime that bothers you so much that you lose your hearing?" You tease him as the three of you enter the arena.

"Lady Y/N, you don't have to worry about me so much, as sweet as that is. Fortunately, I don't need as much protection as you ladies do. However, I must admit that Giedi Prime is a terrible place. It does not allow you to see the natural beauty of certain things, taking away their colours."

"Maybe there's something… positive to be found here?" Y/F/N asks hesitantly as you pass a group of Harkonnens heading to the arena. The men say something in their harsh, unpleasant language that makes you shiver. You are only further insisting that there is nothing good to find on Giedi Prime.

"Positive? With all due respect, Lady Y/F/N, the Harkonnens have destroyed everything beautiful that could be left on this planet. Including their appearance and behavior." You giggle, careful not to let anyone else but the three of you hear you. But you wonder why your friend's attitude is so... sullen. She plays with her glove nervously as her eyes fall on the baron's older nephew, Rabban. "I don't know who is worse, him or his younger psychopathic brother."

"I think both of them are equal in their madness." You comment, agreeing with Lord Luwael.

Your eyes involuntarily land on Na-Baron, who exchanges a few words with one of his servants. You shiver when his eyes find yours—as if he has a special detector that makes him aware every time someone's eyes linger on him for too long.

He nods to you, looking at you carefully and examining your dress. His lips twitch into a smile when he sees you're wearing the coat he helped you adjust to your figure yesterday. You quickly turn your head towards Lord Luwael and give him one of your practiced, beautiful smiles.

"I… I'm sorry. I should join my family. Lord Luwael. Lady Y/N."

You frown, watching her walk away like a beaten puppy. You decide to question her about her strange behavior later in the evening. Now you had to focus on your lord.

"And you, lady? Are your wonderful mother and father with you?" Lord Luwael asks, placing his hand on top of yours after managing to penetrate the layers of material protecting your skin. He acts as if he wants to pull you much closer to him.

You feel the skin of your hand burn where it touches his, but unfortunately, not from... the excitement of this tiny, forbidden contact. Someone's eyes are watching you carefully, but you are too afraid to look towards Na-Baron to confirm that it is his irises that are staring hatefully at your joined hands.

"My mother had a headache, so she staid in her chamber. Unfortunately, my father couldn't show up at all. I hope you won't abandon me and leave me so lonely in this barbaric place, my lord?"

"I wouldn't dare do that. I am a gentleman. After all, someone has to catch you if you faint, my lady."

You smile sweetly at him, ignoring the sudden urge to kick him in the crotch for his words. You must maintain the innocent demeanour of a cute, awkward, and sweet noblewoman. Even though you hated it...

"Oh, you don't know how much I appreciate it, my lord." You say, wondering if you should actually pretend to faint and let him catch you. It would be very romantic if he carried you out of the arena in his arms and took you to the medic. Plus, you wouldn't have to watch... Na-Baron's entire performance.

You take your seat in the guest box. The arena shakes with the screams and applause of people who are truly eager for their Na-Baron to shed blood. Lord Luwael hands you the binoculars and gently removes your cloak as you both notice that you are protected from the sun's rays by a special black glass window.

You shiver as the Harkonnen's war drums sound and the announcer says something in their language, announcing Feyd-Rautha's fight.

A blush involuntarily blooms on your cheeks when you see that Na-Baron has decided to fight without a shirt or any armour protecting his chest. You hungrily stare at his muscular torso as he shows off his warrior body, which is decorated with paint—probably their war symbols, bringing good luck in battle.

"A real poseur and playboy. He only does it to attract attention."

"Probably. But you can't say, that it doesn't work, my lord." You say and nod towards the other ladies, who are also staring at the muscular figure of a warrior that Na-Baron proudly displays.

"Does it work for you?"

"I'm just a woman. But I prefer… slightly more hairy men." Lord Luwael chuckles at your comment, giving you a mischievous look. His attention briefly returns to Na-Baron, who lets out a belligerent cry after the murder of the first prisoner. You see him shiver slightly and his eyebrows furrow before his attention returns to you.

"So would I also gain your attention if I appeared… in a similar condition?"

"My lord, you would then have my complete undivided attention." You respond equally flirtatiously. The man sitting next to you hums in appreciation. His hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he stares at you, entranced.

"You, lady, have my undivided attention at all times and occupy my every thought." Unfortunately, you can't respond to his comment with something as sweet as Na-Baron's angry, painful scream that echoes from the arena.

Your attention returns to the fight. Na-Baron fights the last opponent, who, surprisingly, is not under the influence of drugs. You watch the fight with curiosity, even more so when you see blood pouring from Na-Baron's side.

"He had to distract himself. So far, he hasn't had any problems fighting him." You hear people commenting around you, but your eyes are focused only on Na-Baron.

You shiver as his gaze wanders towards your box, and it feels like he's looking right at you, making sure you're watching him. You put this idea out of your head. He probably didn't even know your name. He couldn't recognise you; he would definitely show it by now if he did.

You shiver as he lets out a menacing scream and charges at his opponent. His movements are quick, well-aimed and aimed as he delivers slashes, perfectly avoiding the blade of the prisoner he is fighting. You hold your breath as he knocks the blade out of your opponent's hands and stabs him in the stomach several times.

Na-Baron whispers something to the warrior and slowly lowers him to the ground as he draws his last breath. You can't take your eyes off his bloody form. His piercing gaze is still directed towards your lodge as he raises his blade. The crowd in the arena screams, people applaud, and you feel Lord Luwael next to you slowly begin to fall to the ground.

"Lord Luwael!" You scream, attracting the attention of the people around you. Several men help you, and they lift the unconscious lord. They carry him outside, and you want to follow them, but unfortunately for you, the second round of Na-Baron's fight begins, so you can't just leave. So you go back to your seat, thinking hard.

Lord Luwael apparently had another negative trait besides being a hopeless romantic—a firm believer in preserving a strictly traditional, patriarchal system. He fainted at the sight of blood and abhorred violence.

You sigh, wondering how the hell you're supposed to cope with a husband and an emperor who's afraid to draw someone's blood and pick up a sword.

Your gaze falls back on the fighting Na-Baron. If only he was less... Harkonnen... You shake your head at the idea that crossed your mind. No. You are going to become the empress. Nothing could change that plan, and certainly not one night of oblivion and pleasure with a brutal, psychopathic future Baron of a dead planet.

But that doesn't stop you from admiring the way Na-Baron's muscular chest ripples with each rapid breath or the way his muscles twitch with his movements. And unfortunately, you can't stop your thoughts from wandering and imagining him moving into a much more... intimate situation.

"Did she watch the fight?" Feyd asks his servant as the medic stitches up his wound.

He finished the fight a few minutes ago. People were probably starting to gather in the ballroom, but he had to clean up and put things in order before he appeared in public. Before he shows himself to you.

"At first, she was a little distracted by this... lord. But he fainted halfway through Na-Baron's fight, so afterwards her attention was entirely on you, my lord."

"He fainted? Weak spawn. Did she enjoy my performance?" Feyd asks, slightly irritated by the way the medic's fingers are shaking with fear as he tends to the wound.

"She was definitely impressed. I think Na-Baron's decision not to wear the breastplate helped, as did the fact that the guards made sure not to let Lord Luwael into the arena again."

"Very good, you did a great job. Keep it up. I'm going to need you to distract that pet of hers for a while. You can do it, right?"

"Of course, my lord Na-Baron."

"Women like flowers. Those outside Giedi Prime." The medic comments as he finishes stitching up his wound. Feyd looks at him for a moment, then nods at his servant.

"This is a wonderful idea. Order a vase of the rarest flower species to be placed in her chambers. I'll give you a note tonight, after the ball."

Before Feyd finishes his sentence, he already holds the medic's arm and plunges a dagger into his stomach. The man groans in shock as he stares in sheer terror at the Na-Baron.

"Because of you, I'll be late for my own ball." He growls and puts on a black shirt, ignoring the blood on his fingers as he walks out of the infirmary.

He walks through the halls of the palace, hurrying to his chambers to change. His thoughts involuntarily go to you, remembering your intoxicating scent and the softness of your skin under his lips. Damn him if he lets some lesser man have the taste of what is his.

You belonged to him from the moment he killed for you the emperor's dog that tried to bite you. If necessary, he will kill another one to make sure that no man will dare to adore you again.

But Feyd couldn't do it; as much as he dreamed of it, he preferred to gain your... feelings rather than force you to marry him. And maybe he enjoyed the thrill of chasing you, but only as long as his claims for you weren't at risk. And this little... lord was hanging around way too close to you.

He didn't know at all what you saw in this weak man. He wasn't handsome, he couldn't fight, and he couldn't defend you. Certainly not before Feyd. You needed someone strong—someone who wasn't afraid of your true nature or unleashing it. You weren't yourself hanging out with that lord. He watched the two of you closely, and countless times he saw you tighten your hand around a glass, a fan, or in a fist when that lord made a remark that irritated you, but instead of snapping back like you did with Feyd, you smiled falsely sweetly and nodded obediently.

His beautiful, brave swan, instead of hissing at the fools around her, only tried harder to attract them. And this annoyed Feyd immensely. You could be so much more than just a pretty face. You had a character that Feyd admired in you, but instead of showing it with pride, you hid it deep inside, afraid of society's opinion.

You would make a wonderful Baroness. With you by his side, he wouldn't worry about anyone seeing him as weak man. And he himself found worthy company in you during that wonderful night on your planet. If only you hadn't run away from him, hadn't believed the rumours so much, and weren't afraid of him, but rather of what he might do to you, you and Feyd would make a wonderful match.

As he approaches his chamber, he hears the ladies giggling. He decides to hide in a side corridor and wait until the gossiping women leave. But he perks up his ear excitedly when he hears what they're talking about—and that you're among them too.

"Na-Baron put on quite a show. Have you seen these muscles?" Feyd can barely keep from giggling. But he can't help but wonder how you assessed his... muscles.

He did it especially for you—to tease you a little with what you could have had that night if you hadn't run away from him like a scared little mouse. How many nights did he spend dreaming about catching you before that frail lord got you...

"Oh please. He's a cruel brute. Psychopath. Did you see how he treated that poor man? Moreover, most of his opponents were under the influence of drugs."

His hairless eyebrows furrow. He feels his rage rising; he wants to come out of his hiding place and show this royal bitch a real fight, but he knows that his uncle will kill him for laying a hand on the emperor's daughter.

"I'm not surprised at him. After all, he's the next Baron, they won't risk his life for some lame arena show."

"What do you think about it, Lady Y/N?"

Feyd licks his lips, eagerly waiting for your opinion on his fight. His heart beats fast as he wonders what you will say. Will you praise his fighting skills? Appearance? Ruthlessness and brutality? Or maybe you loathe it as much as Princess Irulan does?

He waited nervously, his heart beating fast as he waited impatiently for even one word from you.

"I… think we had a rather… interesting fight anyway. Regardless of the circumstances."

His excitement fades when you limit yourself to such a simple, diplomatic, and natural answer. He doesn't want to hear something like that from you. He wants your opinion; he wants to hear the burning heat in your voice as you express your true thoughts and emotions with great conviction, even if they go against what he wants. He wants your passion—the same passion he has experienced the few times he has had the opportunity to be around you.

"But it's not honorable! How dare they treat prisoners like this?" Irulan growls furiously at you.

"And in your country, how are they treated, my princess? They either end up in a noose or have their heads cut off. Here, maybe being under the influence of drugs isn't the best thing, but at least they have a dignified death for warriors—those who don't fight Na-Baron are fighting in the arena for their freedom and are not under the influence of any substance. I don't think this is the case in many countries. Besides, it boosts morale and entertains the people. Two birds with one stone."

Feyd feels a smirk involuntarily form on his lips. He knew that his little, wise swan would think just like he did. However, I regret that you do not praise his skills as a warrior but only focus on the usefulness of such fights. Next time, he will try harder for you. Maybe he will even give you the heart of the strongest warrior?

"Of course you'll flatter him, Lady Y/N. After all, he clearly has his eyes on you. I saw the way he looked at you the day you arrived—it was clearly love at first sight."

"Oh yes! And I saw him looking across the arena towards your box! He got so distracted by looking at you that one of the prisoners stabbed him in the side! It's so sweet, just like a real romance book."

Feyd freezes for a moment. Was it that obvious? He couldn't, right? Maybe he was accidentally looking for you in the crowd of other people, but... he couldn't be that easy to read, right?

"I would never dream of courting Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, not even in your wildest fantasies my ladies. So maybe let's focus on the real, more likely matches that could happen this season."

At your words, Feyd clenches his hands into fists. How dare you so openly reject his possible advances? It was the best match in the empire. In fact, he could be a future emperor, and he'd damn well do it for you if that was all it took to get his hand in marriage. Seething with rage, his hand involuntarily went to the blade attached to his side. He had to find someone; he had to take it out on someone; but then again, he needed to hear more. Why does the thought that he adores you bother you so much? Did he do something to you? Has he offended you in any way? Was it your reluctance and disgust at the idea of having him as a suitor just because he was a Harkonnen?

"You mean your questionable engagement to my cousin?" Princess Irulan mocks you, fueling Feyd's anger both with the way she speaks to you and with your engagement to that weak piece of flesh wasting air in your presence.

"Why questionable, my princess? I think this would be the perfect match. Lady Whistledown herself devoted several of her paragraphs to it."

Feyd rolls his eyes at you. Have you also read the nonsense of some old lady who was bored enough to comment on events in the world of noble families? And here he thought that his swan was too smart for that...

"My cousin may be stupid and be fooled by a few pretty words and eyes, but he doesn't make rash decisions. He knows what kind of marriage will be best for him. He won't marry someone from a lesser family just because some anonymous writer is having fun spreading rumors."

"Do you have someone special for Lord Luwael in your mind, maybe?"

"I think we all know very well who I mean."

Feyd smiles, and for the first time, he is not hating the princess's existence. If she actually took this weak lord from you, the fight for your hand and heart would be much more enjoyable for him; after all, he wouldn't have to worry that you would marry some other man while he was trying his best to get closer to you. It would definitely make courting you easier if Irulan tried to charm your weak little lord...

"Hmm… possible. But tell us, princess, how's your Bene Gesserit training going? Has the Reverend Mother assigned you any task yet?"

"I believe this is none of your business."

Ah, so you knew. You knew that the Bene Gesserit were planning to marry him to Irulan—something he certainly wouldn't allow. But if he lets you believe it, would you fight for him? Would you try to convince him to stop chasing Irulan? You could. After all, you would see it as a threat to your position as empress. Feyd is curious what lengths you would go to if such a situation occurred—how far would you go in trying to seduce him and leave Irulan?

Feyd is no longer eavesdropping on the rest of your conversation. You pass him, and he quickly sneaks back to his chambers, changing his clothes. His mind races as he wonders what he should do now. And he decides to give you one last chance before he puts his plan into action.

The balls at Gieid Prime are… different from those you usually witness. The ballroom is lit by a thousand candles, the room is kept in semi-darkness, and you are more than convinced that some orgy is taking place somewhere in the corners and recesses of this huge hall.

You are just finishing your dance with Lord Luwael when Feyd-Rautha enters the hall. Na-Baron is greeted with loud applause and cheers. He smiles at the crowd of people, showing a row of night-black teeth. You shiver at the sight. You just don't know if it's out of fear or desire. You realise that every time you think he can't make himself a more terrible monster, he comes in like the bane of your existence and proves you dead wrong.

Oh how you wanted to finally leave Giedi Prime.

"Unfortunately, I think we should wish him a happy birthday. Everyone does it."

You nod at his words, seeing the rest of the guests actually gather around Feyd-Rautha. You place your hand in the crook of his arm and let him guide you towards Na-Baron. The alcohol you managed to drink without your companion's attention and the man's mere presence will give you a bit of courage. Although you know, if a real fight broke out between these two men, the candidate for your husband would probably faint from fear when he saw the first blood and lose it. What a pity he had such an annoying condition...

"Na-Baron. Happy birthday." Your companion says as you reach Feyda-Rautha. His blue, ocean-glacial eyes stare at the two of you, ignoring you for a moment to send an appraising glance towards the man whose arm you're holding. You see a strange tension building in the room between these two...

"Thank you very much, lord…"

"Luwael." He finishes for him, angry that he is not properly recognised and acknowledged by the Na-Baron.

"Ah yes. It slipped out of my mind. Wouldn't you be offended if I took the liberty of asking your lovely partner to dance? It's my birthday, after all." Na-Baron's attention is completely on you, and you wish he and Lord Luwael had spent more time on this little alpha male fight. You open your mouth, ready with an excuse to deny him the dance, but the man next to you speaks first.

"Of course. Enjoy yourself." Na-Baron gives him a smug smirk that only widens when Lord Luwael flinches at Feyd's black teeth.

You suppress a grimace and give your hand to the Harkonnen. He takes your hand with incredible gentleness and leads you to the centre of the room, right onto the dance floor. Before the dancing starts, he has the courage to take off your gloves. You give him a confused look, your heart beating faster, as he leans in to press a kiss on your hand. You shiver as the skin of your hand registers the now familiar shape of his plump lips.

He places his hand on your waist and connects your hand with his, leading you to the rhythm of a rather calm song.

"Such fire… and yet your anger does not reach Lord Luwael. What did he do to deserve this special treatment, my lady? Maybe you're worried about him after he fainted in the arena like some weak, little boy?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." You say, turning your gaze away from him, wanting to spend the rest of the dance in silence. You keep your eyes peeled for Lord Luwael, but unfortunately, you can't find him anywhere. As if he had evaporated.

"Is it so, little swan?" A cold chill runs through you as you use the nickname for you that he used that night. You feel your world freeze for a moment. He continues to lead you in the rhythm of the dance, allowing himself to pull you a little closer to inhale the scent of your perfume, but you don't notice, terrified of what he told you he knew.

"I... no." You blurt out, trying to control your emotions, and put on the mask of indifference on your face again.

"Well... I guess you know. Your heart beats so fast, almost as fast as that night when I tasted your wonderful nectar straight from the source. You know there's nothing as sweet as your juices?"

"How dare you speak to me like that?!" You growl furiously, unconsciously digging your nails into his palm.

"So she can still hiss! And she even has claws. I remember how sweetly you scratched my neck with them before you ran away like a scared little bird."

"Shut up." You growl, feeling like you're starting to lose control of this whole conversation. And not just conversation. You noticed that you had somehow found yourself outside the ballroom. The music from there reaches you in the form of a gentle hum as it presses you against the wall of one of the empty corridors. You swallow, realising what a sh*t situation you are in.

"Or what? Watch your tone, little swan. It's my birthday. You should be nicer to me. I didn't actually hear you wish me a happy birthday; your little puppet did it for you."

"Unlike some, he is a real gentleman, not a puppet or monster."

"Ah, but we know very well that you don't want a gentleman. A gentleman wouldn't do to you the things I did to you, and we both know how deliciously you moaned under my touch and how you shuddered as my tongue tasted you. Do you think your weak lord can do to you the things I showed you in the darkness of your house planet? That he can satisfy your desire? That he can free you from your shackles of social conventions as I can free you? You need someone bigger than the lesser man. I've already told you that. You won't settle for a man like that."

"You do not know anything about me. One night—not even the whole night—spent under my skirts won't suddenly make you know my true desires. You have changed, Feyd-Rautha. You're not the same boy from the Lankiveil I used to know." He hums thoughtfully at your worlds, watching you carefully and curiously.

"Hmm… maybe you're right, little swan. I think I need to do more to convince you that I am right."

You sigh as his lips press against yours in a frenzied, passionate kiss. You punch his chest, trying to push him away, but he presses hard against you, pinning you against the wall. You feel the toned muscles of his body as he grinds against you, demanding full access to your mouth.

You bite his lip until it bleeds, but that only turns him on more. His strong, large hand cups your breast, squeezing it tightly. You let out a surprised moan, and his tongue somehow finds a way to slip into your open mouth.

The material of your dress tears under his strength; his hands pull your breasts out of your dress and caress them as if his life depended on it. His fingers graze over your sensitive nipples, and you can only moan into his mouth as he sends a warmth straight to your core that reminds you desperately of how his tongue was working so well to release you that you had denied yourself.

You come to the shameful conclusion that maybe you could have let him bring you to orgasm before you ran away from him.

His lips finally leave yours, but you don't enjoy this freedom for long. They move to your neck, licking and nibbling madly, as if someone were about to tear him away from you. And the worst thing about it all is that you don't really know if that's what you want.

You scream as his black teeth dig into your skin, leaving a mark in the crook of your neck. You hear the click of enamel against metal as he accidentally catches your necklace, but he doesn't move away; he just sinks his teeth into it, as if trying to split a diamond in half.

He pulls away from you; you see the blood on his plump lips—your blood—and it only makes you more aroused. His hand slips under your skirts and reaches to your core, caressing you teasingly. You gasp, closing your eyes and throwing your head back.

"Such a good little whore when she gets fingers and a few hickeys on her neck. Does your lord know what a shrew you are until someone kisses the venom from your lips? Does he know what fire burns inside you? Does he know what a wonderful feast you have between your legs for a thirsty man? Does he know you as well as I do? Has he seen how beautiful you look in the whirlwind of passion?"

His every question is punctuated by the rhythm of the thrusting of his fingers. You moan softly, holding back tears of pleasure, as he slowly brings you to the edge. You dig your nails into his shoulders, holding onto him with all your strength as he plays with your clit and sucks hickeys on your breasts.

"So sweet… so soft… so wet. And it's for me. Just for me. For Harkonnen. Say it. Tell me who fucks that little pussy so well with his fingers. Tell me who's driving you crazy. Tell me whose attention you really want, you wanton little bitch, and maybe I'll let you cum, despite the way you treated me… and on my own birthday…"

"I... you... you..." You gasp in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers.

"Nah. Not like that. My name, beautiful little swan. Scream my name. Exactly the way you should have done that night in the garden." He whispers into your ear, biting the lobe. You moan as his fingers go deeper inside you, and his other hand caresses your breast, playing with your nipple.

"I... ah... Feyd.... Feyd, please..." You cry for him as your hips grind against his hand, seeking the sweet release that only he can give you.

"Yes…just like that…cum for me. Give me my birthday present and shout my name." You can only nod dumbly as you feel him take you over the edge. You bite down hard on his neck, refraining from making any noise as you tighten around his fingers, finally coming.

You gasp, feeling the metallic taste of his black blood on your tongue.

You move away from him as if burned. Your heart beats insanely fast as you stare at him, trying to process what happened. He pulls his finger out of you with a squelch, and you blush furiously. He puts his fingers in his mouth, sucking them. He moans at the taste of you, never breaking eye contact with you.

"Perfect birthday gift. Although I believe I can get more." Just as he moves to kneel between your legs, you hear the voices of the guards patrolling the halls. You push him away from you in panic and run forward, trying to improve your appearance a little.

This time, he's not after you. He didn't make any attempt to chase you. He allows you to traverse the halls of Giedi Prime without the feeling of his breath on your back, but you are very aware that you have miserably lost today's battle against him. He did exactly what he wanted with you and would have gone much further (and unfortunately, you would have let him) if you hadn't sobered up with the possibility of getting caught.

You told yourself that this was what you needed to get over him. After all, forbidden fruit always tasted the best, and once you experienced the Na-Baron's... undoubted skills, you could move on and marry a man who was the absolute opposite of him, a man with whom you didn't have to worry so much about the future, as with Feyd-Rautha.

Yes, this was what you needed—one last affair before the wedding—to make sure you're doing it right. Because what would await you as Na-Baron's wife, or, God forbid, concubine? Nothing good. The Harkonnens were the harbinger of misfortune, suffering, pain, aggression, and, apparently, good sex.

Whatever you and Na-Baron were doing, it had to end now.

"I'm supposed to be his wife?! This barbarian?! You can't do this to me, father! Feyd-Rautha will destroy the empire and plunge us into the blood of war and senseless brutality. He's a psychopath; can't you see it? Surely there must be another way to keep the throne!" Irulan's screams echo throughout the guest wing. Your eyes widen in surprise, the unpleasant pang in your chest only adding to your daze.

So the rumours were true. The emperor wants to give Irulan to Feyd. You don't like this idea very much. If the Harkonnens married into the Corrino family, your right to the throne of Emperor, or rather the right of Lord Luwael, would be in jeopardy. No one stood a chance against them.

You snap out of your daze when you see the door handle to Irulan's chambers begin to move. You quickly run to your room and close the door quietly behind you as you wonder what the hell just happened in these few hours.

You return to your chambers blushing and with a rapidly beating heart. You can still feel Na-Baron's lips vividly on your neck, and you're sure you'll have to cover it tomorrow so no one will see the hickeys that bastard gave you.

How stupid you were again! How could you let him get so close to you again and corner you when you were alone in his territory?! And what's worse, he knew that it was you who went with him to the garden that night; he knew and he wanted more from you...

You shudder as wicked thoughts enter your mind, all because of Na-Baron's tantalisingly absurd whispers. How could you enjoy his attack on you? How could you moan so loudly in a deserted corridor? How could you shout his name and attract the attention of the guards?

You were damn lucky that no one caught you, that Lord Luwael disappeared somewhere, and that he didn't see you giving yourself to this... this monster like a mindless whore. It had to be the alcohol. They must have put something in your drink; you couldn't just... enjoy the touch of a Harkonnen, a Harkonnen who just a few hours ago had slaughtered you in the arena before your eyes and was enjoying it like a little child enjoys a candy... A Harkonnen whose body was ethereal beautifully...

You are snapped out of your thoughts when your mother enters your room in a state of… extreme daze.

"Mother? Have something happened?" You ask her, worried that your little (another) tryst with the Na-Baron might have turned out to be not such a secret at all.

"Lord Luwael just asked for my consent to propose to you. You did very well, Y/N. You will be an empress."

You swallow nervously and smile, nodding your head. Your mother hugs you, and you feel millions of thoughts racing through your head. You will become empress, but only if Irulan and Feyd-Rautha don't marry, and there was only one way to make sure that would happen.

You had to play a game with the devil himself and seduce and deceive him until the day it would be too late for his marriage to Irulan and you and Lord Luwael would take the emperor's throne. But how the hell were you supposed to do that without getting burned?

Taglist: @iloved1lfs0 @heartarianagran

[willsdreamgirl]

amazon standing lamp ⋆｡˚ — wilbur soot x reader

wilbur soot x fem!reader

will has everything he could ever want, then why does he still feel so empty?

18+ | minors please dni! angst and smut

cw: mentions of sex, different sex positions, descriptions of sex, angst, mentions of anxiety, wilbur is NOT okay and neither is the author

word count: 600+

a/n: finally had the motivation to write after a HOT MINUTE. was inspired by wilbur’s new album, mammalian sighing reflex. angst, just BIG ANGST.

“midday missionary, midnight loathing, midnight cowgirl, morning smoking”

your fingers clutch the cream coloured sheets under you, and you spread your legs wide, as wilbur thrusts into you. the sound of skin slapping fills your shared bedroom, your moans fill his ears. “mm, will, just like that…” you look up at him, and he looks at you like he sees right through you. you search his face, his brows furrowing in deep thought rather than pleasure. you manage to string together a sentence between his methodical, almost calculated movements. “hey will… you okay?” he snaps back to reality, looks down at your body and up at you, with a small smile on his face. yet, his eyes look like bottomless voids. you don’t say anything, and neither does he. he keeps going until you orgasm, and pulls out. you sit up, not caring about the post-sex exhaustion starting to set in your bones. “will… you didn’t finish? you okay?” he looks down at the floor. in that moment, he looks so damn vulnerable, so small, all bare. he sighs and looks at you from across the from as he’s putting his boxers back on. “yeah, yeah. i’m good. just not feeling it right now…” something just wasn’t right. you bit your lip, and smiled shyly, walking across the room. you knelt down in front of him, hands running across the waistband of his boxers. “i can help with that…” he looks and you with tired eyes and pushes your hand away gently. “look y/n, not right now, okay?” he walks away, leaving you on the floor, slight carpet burn making the skin on your knees sting.

you decide to leave him alone for a while, watching his disappear behind the door of his home office. you only see him around 9:00 pm, when he comes out to grab a plate of dinner you’d called him to eat an hour ago. you get up from your chair at the table. “i can warm that up for you, love!” you offer. he looks down at his plate, before sighing. “it’s fine.” you watch him walk away from you, yet again.

you go out for a walk to clear your head. he doesn’t ask where you’re going. you return at midnight, the apartment so quiet as if it were devoid of all life. you make your way to your bedroom. wilbur’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed, fiddling with a half burnt joint between his fingers. he sighs as he senses your presence. he puts out the joint on the wood of the nightstand, and motions for you to sit on his lap. you straddle his lap, your cold thighs resting against his warm ones. he pulls you in by your jaw, and kisses you like a man starved, teeth before tongue. he tastes like weed, and if you didn’t love the idea of it, you’d almost be disgusted.

time passes and somehow, you two end up tangled in each other’s arms. you smile into his neck. he looks at you blankly, before turning his head to the side, looking at the amazon standing lamp sitting on the nightstand, as you ride him. you moan wantonly, throwing your head back, elated at finally having gotten your boy back. meanwhile, a tear falls out of the corner of wilbur’s eye. but he plays along, he could never hurt the best thing to ever happen to him. he’s memorized every detail on the amazon standing lamp, the only constant in his life.

he has everything he could ever ask for, then why does he feel so empty?

[sweetestlamb]

The Art of Realization

Summary: A quiet moment between two beings that shouldn't be.

It's impossible to focus with him sitting too close, so close that the heat of his body encroaches on her personal space and honestly she should kick him out because that damn organ in her chest keeps pounding, but every time she looks over at him she just can't.

Can't say anything that will wipe that soft amused smile off his face.

He'd put on some comedy show for them to watch, walking man or something and every few seconds the ring of his laughter would fill the room and knock all thoughts from her head.

Something was wrong with her and he was at the core of the problem thus she needed to stay away from him until this... sickness passed. But she couldn't because every time she imagined her life without him everything hurt and her chest felt like someone had poured fired directly into the cavity.

She was a demon, a powerful at that and she of all people shouldn't be getting attached to a weak useless human but here she was worried about hurting Daon's feelings.

She screamed in frustration, suddenly pulling her hair and flopped back onto the couch.

"What's wrong with you? Are demons not allowed to watch comedy shows? Should I turn it off?"

His questions are so stupid that she just screams some more instead of answering him.

"Will you stop that, what are you a fish? Stop flopping around!" He yells at her but she can hear the amusement loud as a gong in his voice and she immediately becomes irritated. How dare he laugh at her frustration? Others had died at her hands for lesser offenses.

"Are you laughing at me? Do you want to die?"

Of course she knows that she's being a hypocrite especially after protecting him so many times but she still has a reputation to uphold, damn it.

"Not yet. We still have a lot to do before you can kill me."

And there it goes again.

She clutches her chest in agony at the very thought of hurting him. It hadn't been long ago that she had thrust her knife into his flesh and watched him bleed out without empathy or care but now she was devastated at the image.

She folds in half begging her heart to stop this nonsense.

"What's going on with you?" He shifts even closer, hand reaching out and she instinctively moves away from him, aware he's the only human who has this much power over her.

"Don't touch me!" She tries to command but the fear in her voice makes it sound like plea.

He freezes at her frantic voice, hand hovering before he lowers it onto his own knee.

"Leave. I'm not feeling well." She declares before running away to her room. As she slams the door behind her she feels like a coward, running away from a mere human. She, who should fear no one. She, who is one of hell's strongest warriors has been reduced to this. It's pathetic. She needs to return before it's too late and this disgusting humanity spreads.

She takes a few deep breaths pressing her sweaty forehead against the cool smooth wood of her door.

He's gone at least for tonight and she doesn't need to confront whatever is going on.

Seconds pass like molasses and when she hears no movement or sound, she finally opens the door intending to watch dramas until she falls asleep refusing to let herself think about him.

"Are you done with your little meltdown?"

He's right in front of her door, his face devoid of any emotion and she almost slams the door in his face but he's too quick for her.

She's still stronger than him but she doesn't want to hurt him so she doesn't use her full strength and she knows the he knows this is the case from the quirk of his eyebrow.

"Shut up." She demands harshly pushing him in the chest.

"Ow. I didn't say anything."

"Your stupid face said enough."

"Stupid huh? You called it handsome last time. Has it changed that much since then?"

She gapes at him in shock.

"When did I ever say that?"

"Oh you don't remember? When you were touching my lips and--"

"Shut up!"

He mimes zipping his lips but that has the adverse effect of making her look at them. Those beautiful full lips that she shouldn't be so tempted by. Demons didn't kiss, some had sex but she had never been interested in anything like that. She would never make herself so vulnerable in front of anyone.

But she had already done that with him.

Cried in front of him.

Cried because of him.

It was unacceptable but she couldn't stop doing it, couldn't get her heart to stop breaking when his broke in front of her.

"There's that look again."

She swiftly looks away but it's not fast enough.

He cups her cheeks drifting her eyes back onto his own.

"That look. You look like your heart is breaking."

He sees right through her and she hates it, hates him and what he's done to her, she's Justitia the third most powerful demon but in front of him none of that even matters.

"I'm a demon. I don't have a heart."

"Then why do you look like you're going to cry?"

As if waiting for his permission, a tear slips down her cheek and then another and another until they are falling in a rapid stream.

"Stop crying in front of me. Do you know what it does to me?" He pleads wiping her tears away with one huge thumb and then his own eyes pool with tears as they stare at each other.

She shouldn't ask how her tears affect him. Because she shouldn't care about him or anyone.

"What does it do?" Her lips defy her brain.

"It makes me want to burn the world at your feet, to do any and everything to make you stop. It makes me want to do things I know I shouldn't, things that humans and demons can never do."

Her eyes widen in surprise but that isn't the only emotion fueling her thoughts, she feels blood rushing to her head and her face starts to heat up as well.

"Are you blushing?" He questions in awe.

And she opens her lips to respond but he beats her to it, "Beautiful. You're beautiful."

She raises her hands to push him away but his skin is so warm and his chest is harder than she expected and before she can control herself, her hands begin to cautiously explore him. As her palms drift from his abdomen to his shoulder she see his Adam's apple bob in anticipation.

The hands on her cheek shift until one is cupped around her neck and the other tightens on her waist, tugging her closed until they are chest to chest and she has to look up to meet his dark eyes.

"We shouldn't."

She begs but he barely reacts to her words, staring at her like a man starved.

They both know that she can stop this at any moment and he waits to see if she will run away again.

He licks his lips and that's all it takes to break her resolve.

She thrusts her head forward powerfully until their lips meet in a hard clash, she even hears a muffled groan of pain. She uses her strength to tug him down and press her mouth even harder into his, it hurts a little but this is how she's seen them kiss in all the dramas she's watched so she presses on.

"Wait--"

He speaks in between their lips and she starts to retreat, realizing what exactly she's doing and with who.

"We're not stopping. Just... softer. Like this." He leans in again and presses his lips against hers delicately like she's something precious. Every time she tries to increase the intensity he moves away before returning with another air soft kiss, it's driving her crazy but she can't deny it's efficiency. It makes her hungry for more.

"Isn't that better? This doesn't need to be a battle."

Oh. But that's all she's ever known. All she's good for. He should know that.

"Don't think. Just feel me."

"Okay. If you want my full attention, then you need to do something to get it."

She's bluffing of course, his swollen red lips, rising chest and flushed face have her full attention already. Her thoughts are nothing but Han Daon.

But he accepts the challenge as usual never backing down from her.

He leans close again, dragging a thumb to her jaw and then pulling down and she lets her mouth fall open in curiosity and confusion wondering where this is going.

His eyes darken even more and she has no idea the image she makes standing before him with her eyes filled with emotions and mouth obediently agape.

She only has a second to catch her breath before he's diving in and pressing his mouth against hers but this time it's different, it's wet and searing hot. His tongue is doing things that she's never known about. Dancing with her own in a dance that's too sinful for someone like him. She starts to lose her head with him pushing his tongue deeper into her mouth.

She feels like she's being eaten alive. Devoured.

Desperate to regain some semblance of control she moves them backwards until she has him pressed against the wall. She's never kissed before but she's a fast learner and she's eager to taste him in return.

Using her superior strength she shoves him up against the wall and pries his mouth open so she can fill her taste buds with a flavor that is distinctly him. Her heart is pounding in her chest but she can't stop, one taste and she's already addicted.

But she can feel him smiling into their kiss and she pulls away to glare at him.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I've never had a woman manhandle me like this."

"Well I'm not a woman really. But do you feel weak? Does it bother you that I'm stronger?"

He shrugs easily shaking his head.

"No. It's kinda hot."

"Idiot. You think everything I do is hot."

He doesn't deny it. Instead he drags his large hand down her waist to briefly cup her ass before blushing and moving it away.

"Did you just grope me?" She demands glaring up at him harder even as her cheeks burn and something between her legs tingles.

"Um...no?"

But she can still feel the sensation of his hand on her rear.

"Who knew you were such a pervert?"

He blushes harder, "Well you were right. I've never had a pretty girl take care of me before."

And possessiveness flares in her chest. She likes that he's never done this before with anyone else. And now he never will with anyone else unless they want to burn for all eternity in hell.

Mine.

She shouldn't be having thoughts like that. But she can't stop herself from thinking it.

So she does she does best, deflect.

"What's this? Are you that happy to touch a woman's ass? Did it get you that excited?" She teases dragging one finger up the inseam of his pants, right next to the pronounced tent forming in front.

He wriggles but doesn't move away like she expected, freaking brat.

"Are you that happy to touch me there? Have you ever seen a human.... naked?"

She blushes brightly, pulling her hand away as if she's been burned.

"You pervert!"

He chuckles at her indignation, shifting to tuck himself away.

"And you're a tease. An adorable innocent tease."

"I'm not innocent, I'm a demon."

"Yeah but you're a demon who's never seen a dic--"

And before he can finish his sentence she hits him with a pillow causing him to fall onto the couch.

And maybe later tonight when she's alone what she's done will terrify her beyond belief but right now she can only think about this beautiful human who has broken down all her walls.

She wants to stay with him.

She wants Han Daon.

Fuck.

[sweetchildcloud]

One.last.time.

Late writing Blade x you,long writing

Warning: death,blood,angst,no comfort,crying,regret,desperate,losing it,bittersweet

P.s: I just tought "what would be Blade reaction if he lost someone who helped him rehabilitate into living and feeling but is dying in his arms?" >:3

I'm writing this at 3:48 am so sorry for some errors

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia

"Blade..." you mumbled shaking,you were afraid to die,to leave him alone.

Blade shakes his head, fingers trembling as they press into your wound. “No…no…please…” he pleads. He keeps repeating it, like a mantra, over and over again. He looks down at you, eyes wide. “Don’t you dare” he manages to get out. “Don’t do this to me…”

"I'm scared" you whimpered choking in your own blood "I'm scared Blade"

He feels sick. This can’t be happening. “Shut up” he hisses weakly. “Stop talking like that…” He pulls you closer to him, desperate to keep you close. “You’ll be fine, just stop talking like that…”

You smiled weakly as blood dripped down your mouth as you cupped his cheeks in your cold hands,your eyes were looking past him devoid of life "k..kiss...me.." you managed to say as tears fell down your cheek.

He can barely keep himself together. But he can’t refuse you this one request. Your cold hands against his skin bring him back to reality, albeit briefly. He leans down and crushes his lips against yours. The kiss is desperate, frantic, as if it’s for the last time.

Your eyes were half lidded as you slowly passed away during the kiss looking at Blade for one last time before you went limp in his arms,arms falling on the ground with a soft 'thud'

Blade feels his heart shatter. His hands tighten around your body, refusing to let go. “No…” he whispers hoarsely. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “No…” He repeats it over and over again, tears spilling down his face.

He shakes his head, tears welling up in his eyes as the reality sinks in. “Please…come back…” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, as if that would make you wake up. “Please…” He knows he’s being pathetic. He doesn’t care.

He pulls you closer to him, burying his face in your shoulder. “Please…” he whispers again, voice completely broken. “Don’t leave me…don’t leave me…” He’s lost. Completely shattered. He’s been through a lot in his life, but losing you destroys him like nothing ever has before.

He cradles your body in his arms, refusing to let go even though he knows it’s pointless. He doesn’t even notice the blood staining his clothes, as if your life is the only thing that matters. “Damn it…” he growls weakly. “Damn it…come back…”

He just holds your body against him, rocking gently as if you'd wake any second. “Please” he begs again, voice hoarse. He’s beyond caring if anyone is watching. He doesn’t feel anyone’s eyes on him. He only sees your.

His grip tightens around you as his shoulders tremor with silent sobs. “Damn you…” He has never felt so weak before in his entire life. “Damn you…” He buries his face in your shoulder again, tears staining your skin. “Damn you for leaving me…”

“Why?” he spits out. “Why?” He looks down at your face wet and tear stained, grip tight on you. “You promised you wouldn’t leave…”

Why did you have to break that promise today of all days?

He pulls your limp body closer, burying his face in your hair. He can’t stop the tears from falling now. He doesn’t care how he looks. He’s too far gone. “You…promised…” he whispers, voice breaking. “You…promised…”

If someone had told him he’d be crying over your dead body, begging you to come back, he would’ve laughed in their face. Blade never showed this kind of weakness. But here he was, crying over you like a child, like he had lost everything.

And worst of all,he had.

Blade’s gaze falls on the necklace around your neck, still intact. He’d given you that necklace on your birthday. He can’t help but feel a lump forming in his throat as his fingers reach out to touch the charm. It feels like a taunt.

He can’t help but feel a pang of anger, that you had the audacity to die while still wearing his necklace. As if you had betrayed him by going against your promise, and now this necklace was just another reminder that he couldn’t have you anymore. He closes his eyes, trying to push the thought away.

Then his eyes go wide as he sees you smiling. It’s the same smile. The smile you used to give him whenever he was upset or angry. He can’t help it — he laughs. It’s a broken, shaky laugh, like he’s on the verge of sobbing again. “Idiot…” he mumbles, shaking his head incredulously. He had half a mind to pinch your cheek for smiling like that. “Stupid…idiot…”

He takes in your face, memorizing every inch of it like it’s the last thing he’ll ever see. His fingers reach out again, gently tracing the outline of your cheek and your smile. “You’re still smiling…” he mutters, his hand trembling as it caresses your skin.

He tries to speak, but the words lodge in his throat. It takes him several tries before he can manage to speak again. “You’re still…smiling…” He laughs again, a bitter, broken sound. “Even now…” He doesn’t know if he should find it comforting or not.

Part of him wants to laugh again, to tell you how foolish you are for dying while still smiling. But the other part of him — the part that he tries so hard to ignore — just wants you to wake up. To hear your voice, to feel your touch, to see your eyes open and look at him again…

He’s torn. Unable to decide if he should be angry at you for dying, or just grateful that you died with a smile on your face. “Idiot…” he mutters again, voice shaking as he continues to trace your face with his fingers.

︶⊹︶︶⠀୨୧⠀︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⠀୨୧⠀︶︶⊹︶

He also keeps your necklace with him all the time, always within reach. He’ll hold it sometimes, fingers gently tracing the charm as his thoughts drift to you. Other times he’ll press it to his lips, like he’s hoping he might feel your touch again if he just wishes hard enough. He’ll even bring the necklace close to his face, inhaling deeply as if he could still smell your scent on it.

It’s stupid, he knows. But he can’t help it. This necklace — "this one, stupid necklace" — is the only thing he has left of you. And he’ll cling to it like a lifeline, even if it’s a weak substitute for the real thing. He knows he’ll never have you back. But he could almost pretend — almost.

He can almost feel your presence when he holds it, and it both comforts and tortures him.

He’ll sometimes talk to the necklace, like he’s talking to you. He’ll berate you for dying and leaving him alone, one minute. And the next, he’ll be begging you to come back, to hold him again, and that he forgives you. He’ll apologize for every harsh word he ever said, for being so cruel to you, for taking you for granted. He’ll promise anything if only he could have you back.

Sometimes he’ll swear and curse at the sky, asking whoever is listening why they took you away from him. Why they didn’t take him instead. Other times he’ll be completely silent, just sitting there and staring at your grave. He’ll sometimes reach out and brush his hand over the headstone, like he’s hoping he might feel your hand instead of cold, hard marble.

Blade visits your grave almost daily. His heart clenches every time he sees the flowers on your grave, mockingly cheerful and bright. He hates it. He hates how the flowers look so alive in comparison to you, who was lying cold and motionless underneath the earth.

The worst moments are the ones when he thinks he sees you out of the corner of his eye. He’ll turn, heart filled with hope, only to be met with crushing disappointment when he sees it’s just a trick of the light. It tears him apart every time it happens.

The worst moments are the ones when he thinks he sees you out of the corner of his eye. He’ll turn, heart filled with hope, only to be met with crushing disappointment when he sees it’s just a trick of the light. It tears him apart every time it happens.

He knows it’s meaningless. He knows you’re gone and you’re never coming back. But he can’t help but cling to the memory of you. The memory of your smile, your touch, your voice… He doesn’t want to forget. But as the days go by, the memories start to fade, and it scares him.

He’s afraid he’ll forget what you sounded like, what you looked like, the feeling of your touch. He’s afraid he’ll forget your smile. That’s the thing that scares him the most. He has to look at the necklace, to hear your voice in his memories, to stare at your grave, just to keep your image alive in his mind.

Blade is sitting by your grave when he sees it. It’s a small thing, a single crimson flower, and it’s so vibrant against the dull grays and browns of the surrounding area that it almost seems to glow.

He’d almost forgotten about that conversation you’d had about the red flower. How it reminded you of him and his name. He almost laughs, a hollow, bitter sound. Leave it to you to still be finding ways to tie yourself to him, even in death. He feels a pang in his chest as he stares at it, a mix of longing and bittersweet sorrow.

He reaches out and touches the flower with the tips of his fingers. The petals are soft and velvety, and for a moment, he can almost imagine that it’s your skin he’s touching. He lets out a shaky breath, feeling his throat tighten as he grips the flower's stalk almost desperately.

"Blade?" A voice echoed in the garden grave

Blade’s eyes go wide as he hears your voice. For a moment, he thinks he’s hallucinating. He slowly turns his head, half expecting to see you standing there.

But of course, no one is there. The voice was probably just his imagination. A cruel, trick of the mind. He lets out a shaky breath, fingers still gripping the flower stalk.

"It is you! Oh my God I'm so happy" the voice repeated

Blade’s eyes go wide again. That voice…it sounded so real. Like you were really there.

He stands up slowly, head whipping around frantically as he tries to find the source of the voice. But again, there’s no one there. He starts to doubt his own sanity.

"Blade over here look" The flower glimmed whenever it spoked

Blade is completely bewildered now. He looks down at the flower, stunned. Could it really be…?

He leans down to get a closer look. And sure enough, the flower is *glowing*. And as if that isn’t unbelievable enough, it starts to *speak*.

"Oh my God Blade! What happened? Why are you so big?" You asked

Blade’s heart skips a beat as he hears *your* voice coming from…the flower. “Y-You…?” he stammers, barely believing his own eyes and ears.

He reaches out a trembling hand to touch the glowing flower, half expecting it to burst to pieces at any moment. “Is…is that really you?” he asks hoarsely.

"Of course its me you bone head,who else do u think it is?" You chuckled

Blade can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s like a dream come true. To hear your voice again, to see you again…

But as happy as he is, a wave of anger washes over him too. He feels tears stinging his eyes as he remembers the pain he’s gone through these past few months without you. “What took you so long?” he snaps harshly.

"Excuse me? What do you mean? I don't talk to you for one day and you act like this? You told me to leave" You crossed your arms well your leaf arms

Blade feels his irritation rise as you cross your leaf arms at him. “One day!?” he snaps. “You’ve been gone for months!” He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to calm down. “And I didn’t tell you to leave *forever*” he grumbles.

"W..what doyou mean for months?" You asked confused

Blade can’t help but scoff at your obliviousness. “I mean months” he repeats, the anger in his voice slowly giving way to frustration. “You’ve been gone for *months*” he repeats, each word laced with hurt and loneliness.

"Gone? But I was out with a friend and ...and.." you folded your petals shaking "Why.. I can't remember what happened,why are you so big and why.." you eyed at your grave "why I can't feel my legs and why there's my grave?"

He watches as you start to falter, realization slowly starting to dawn on you. His frustration gives way to sympathy as he sees your confusion and distress.

He kneels down next to your grave and reaches out a hand to touch your petal. “You don’t remember anything?” he asks quietly.

Your hands leaf wrapped around his finger "N.. no..just ...pain and...black.."

Blade winces as he hears the way your voice trembles. He hates hearing the fear in your tone. The sight of your leaf wrapped around his finger stabs at his chest.

He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “That’s because…you died” he finally whispers, the words like a physical blow.

"I died? But I was...I was and then you were...I mean" the flower started hyperventilating in a cute way before you cried your tears dew

Blade’s heart clenches as he watches you hyperventilating, tears streaming down your flower petal. It’s the most ridiculous and most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

He wants to comfort you, to hold you and tell you everything will be alright. But he can’t do that when you’re just a flower. So he does the only thing he can think of. He brushes his thumb gently over your petal, trying to soothe you.

“Hey…” he says, voice softer than usual. “Hey, shh…it’s okay…”

He tries to calm you, trying to ignore the pang in his chest as he watches you cry. It’s so hard to believe that just a few minutes ago, he was just talking to a flower. But now, with your petals trembling under his fingers…he can’t deny that it’s really you.

"Is that my necklace?" You asked as you looked at Blade hands

Blade looks down at his hands. He had been gripping your necklace without even realizing it. He had subconsciously reached for it as soon as you started crying. He hesitates for a moment before slowly nodding his head.

“Yeah, it is…” he replies quietly. “I…I’ve been holding onto it, ever since…” he trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

"You need to let go Blade"

Blade’s eyes go wide as the world suddenly returns to normal. The birds chirping, the wind whistling, and the flower…just a regular flower once again.

He stares at it for a moment, stunned. It was like you had never been there in the first place. Like it was all just a hallucination. But the feeling of your petal against his hand still lingered.

"Let go...?" he murmured, still staring at the flower.

He felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. He had just had a conversation with you — or what he thought was you. But now it’s like you had never even been there. He clenched his jaw, feeling a mixture of confusion and anguish.

He reached out and touched the flower, his fingers trembling. It feels solid, tangible. Not at all like the fragile, ephemeral being that had just spoken to him moments ago.

"Let go...how can I let go...?" he whispered, his voice raw and shaky.

He feels like he’s going insane. He had just heard your voice, felt your petal under his fingers. He had been so sure it was you. But now…he can’t help but wonder if it really was all just wishful thinking.

He runs a hand through his hair, his breathing ragged. He can feel a lump forming in his throat as he stares at the flower, as if he could somehow will it to talk again.

"Am I losing my mind...?" he whispered to himself, his voice shaking.

Blade grits his teeth, frustration and pain welling up inside him. How can he just let go? How can he just forget about you, when he can still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin, when he can still hear your voice in his head?

"How can I let go...when I still love you?" he mutters hoarsely.

The words sound so pathetic, even to his own ears. He knows he’s pathetic, holding on to a flower like a lifeline, like it could bring you back to him.

He reaches out and touches the flower again, his fingers tracing the delicate petals.

“How can I let go, when I still love you so damn much?” he repeats, his voice breaking.

Blade feels like he’s on the verge of breaking. The thought of letting you go, the thought of forgetting about you, is almost too much to bear.

He clutches the flower in his hand, his grip so tight that it nearly crushes the delicate petals.

“How can you just ask me to let go?” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. “You were my whole world.”

He feels tears stinging his eyes as he continues to grip the flower, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“I don’t know how to let you go…” he whispers hoarsely, his chest feeling like it’s being squeezed in a vice. “You were everything to me…how can I just forget about you?”

Months passed, and slowly but surely, Blade found himself starting to let go. It was a painful, slow process filled with tears and heartache.

But he couldn't bring himself to get rid of your necklace. It was the only tangible reminder he had of you, something solid to hold onto when the memories got too painful.

He found himself touching the pendant frequently, tracing the familiar shape with his fingers. It was like a comfort, a small piece of you still with him.

He still loved you, of course. The thought of you still haunted him, and sometimes he would still dream of your voice, your touch, your smile. But he tried to keep moving forward, to live his life without you.

And he knew he would never forget you. Your memory was etched into his heart, like a tattoo he would never be able to erase.

Blade was sitting alone in his room, staring blankly out the window. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, haunted by memories of you and the life they had together.

Suddenly, he felt a gust of wind blow through the room. He looked up, startled, and saw something that made his heart skip a beat.

It was you. Or rather, it was your ghost. You were standing just outside the window, your figure glowing faintly in the moonlight.

And then…you smiled at him.

Blade feels his breath catch in his throat as he hears your voice. His heart aches at the sight of you, even as a ghost.

And then you spoke, and he feels like he’s been punched in the chest. “I’m proud of you” you say, your voice echoing in his ears.

Tears prick at his eyes as he stares at the spot where you had just been standing. You were really here…or at least, part of you was.

"I’m trying…” he whispers hoarsely, even though he knows you’re already gone.

He sits in silence for a few moments, his heart heavy with emotion. He can still feel the ghost of your presence, lingering in the room.

But slowly, he starts to feel a sense of peace wash over him. You were proud of him. Even after everything, even from beyond the grave, you were still proud of him.

Blade lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumped. He knows he still has a long way to go, but for now, he feels like he can keep going.

For you.

He looks down at your necklace, still hanging around his neck. He grips it tightly, feeling the cold metal dig into his palm.

"I won’t forget you…” he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I won’t stop loving you…”

He sits there for a moment longer, letting the weight of his words sink in. He still misses you, more than anything in the world. But for the first time in months, he feels like he can face the future.

He takes a deep breath, standing up from his chair. He knows he can’t keep living in the past, but you will always have a piece of his heart, a piece that only you will ever touch.

He walks quietly to the window, resting his forehead against the cool glass. He closes his eyes, imagining that he can still feel your presence just outside the window.

For you…” he murmurs, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’ll keep living, for you.”

[diazsdimples]

can you please tell us more about the Dr au?

I sure can! Dr Au is actually more of a James' Life AU but much cooler 😅 Eddie is an Obstetrician (I'm not sure how the USA's hierarchy for surgeons works but he's what ever the US equivalent of a Registrar is, so like not quite the boss but still more senior than an intern or a resident I think) and Buck is a Pediatrician (same level as Eddie). They meet in the NICU for the first time after Eddie's had a difficult birth, and Buck comforts him in the hallway. I have a small snippet of that here for you!

“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta – I need to go,” he says hurriedly, his voice cracking, and he turns on his heel. He doesn’t run from the room, but it’s a close one. He barely even registers Dr. Buckley calling after him as he briskly walks down the corridor, practically throwing his swipe pass at the door, and then he’s in the stairwell before he knows it, drinking in the crisp, cool air as he slides down the wall and comes to a rest on a step. Fuck. Eddie presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and shudders as a sob rips through his throat. It’s been years since he’s broken down at work, usually able to tuck away the emotions and let them out when he gets home, but today it hits him, and he can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s because the baby had reminded him so much of his son when he’d handed the limp body over to Hen, before she whisked him off to the awaiting pediatricians. Eddie had seen the look in the father’s eyes as they’d transported their baby off to the NICU without so much as a goodbye, and it was like stepping back in time, watching the birth of Christopher all over again. Eddie is brought back to the present by a soft clunk as the door to the stairwell opens, and moments later a gentle hand lays itself on his shoulder, exerting the smallest amount of pressure. “Hey man, a-are you okay?” a soft voice asks, and Eddie realises Buck must have followed him. Eddie swipes furiously at his eyes, attempting to hide the tears tracking down his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he tries to sound casual as he speaks but his throat is tight, giving his speech a strained, garbled quality. He clears his throat and tries again. “Just allergies.” “Weird,” Buck says as he settles himself next to Eddie. “The index wasn’t elevated this morning. You must have some damn persistent allergies.” Eddie laughs, quiet and devoid of any real humour, and he hangs his head. They sit there for a few minutes in silence, and Eddie finds that he doesn't mind the company. It's not uncomfortable, even though Buck is practically a stranger, and the warmth emanating from the man's body is soothing. Eventually, he feels a soft poke at his thigh, and looks down to see a tissue held in Buck's left hand. Or at least he thinks it's a tissue. It's probably been sitting in Buck's coat for hours, and resembles a wispy ball of something more than a tissue, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. He takes it gratefully and blows his nose. "Thanks," he croaks, bunching it up in his fist. He half wishes the stairwells had trash cans – there’s nothing he wants less right now than to hold a soggy tissue, but he’s not about to pocket it either. That would be gross. "Don't mention it." Buck's tone is serious, and his eyes are full of concern. He nudges Eddie with his shoulder, the brief point of contact enough to send a blaze of warmth through his arm, making the skin beneath his coat tingle. “And hey, I know we’ve literally just met and I’m a complete stranger, but if you ever wanted to talk about it, I’m here. This job is brutal and we see some awful shit. We need support systems.”

Tagging some friends who have shown interest in this

@hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @watchyourbuck @neverevan

@bibuckbuckgoose @spotsandsocks

[literary-motif]

Part 2 to “You’re So Hysterical” please! Your writing is so damn good 😭

Thanks so much! I'm glad you like the silly little things I type <3

You're So Hysterical II

Alex x Reader

Part I

You handed Alex a steaming cup of tea, which he accepted with a slight upturn of his lips. He still looked utterly worn out, but now his eyes were red from crying, and the ambitious twinkle in them you had seen as he assessed the pictures he had taken was gone. His gaze was vacant, devoid of any feeling other than overwhelming exhaustion. 

“Thanks for this,” he said quietly, cradling the cup in his hands. They were no longer shaking. “You didn’t have to— uh, help me,” Alex cleared his throat, averting his gaze and sinking deeper into the cushions as if trying to disappear, “I mean, after what you said— I expected you to just keep walking.”

You took a sip of your tea. “That would have been rather harsh, wouldn’t you say? I mean, you were breaking down on the sidewalk.” Alex flinched, sinking deeper into himself. “But that’s— It doesn’t matter now,” you said hastily, turning beside him to look at Alex directly, “Just— What’s going on, Alex? You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’m here to listen if you want to share. From how you clung to me, I can tell something’s wrong.”

It was obvious in the way he pleaded not to be left alone.

“It’s just been hard,” Alex sighed, his eyes welling up with tears again, “the job— it’s not what I expected. Although I love it, you know I love my work, but I’ve been stretching myself thin for the company and they just reassign me to this associate who wants me to take pictures of them all day as if I’m some paparazzi and I—” he choked, his voice breaking as a sob tore through his chest again.

You gently took his cup of tea, setting it down on the coffee table.

“I’m so lonely,” he sobbed, burying his face in his hands, “I— I never thought that would be an issue for me. I’ve made new friends in the industry. I have! But it’s not the same and I’m so far away from everything I knew and loved. I feel so untethered from reality as if I’m drifting through the days while I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time and— and seeing you again just— broke me.”

Alex looked up, tears running down his cheeks again as his eyes settled on you. They held so much pain and regret, tearing at your heartstrings and almost leading you to gather Alex into your arms again. You fought the urge, reaching towards the blanket beside you and draping that over Alex instead. 

He nuzzled into the fabric and only cried harder. “You hate me,” he choked, “And I know it’s my fault because I broke it off, but I’ve spent every day regretting it and missing you because I— you— you are the love of my life and— and I just don’t know where we went wrong.”

“I don’t hate you, Alex.”

His head turned to you hesitantly, as if afraid of what truth he would find in your eyes. Slowly, he lifted one of his arms in silent invitation for you to scoot closer. After a short moment of deliberation, you sighed and gave in to his pleading eyes. Alex settled against you immediately, melting into your side. From how close you were, you could feel the slight tremble wracking his frame and you began running your fingers through his hair. He shivered, leaning into you further and you wondered how long he had gone without someone touching him like this. Probably as long as you.

“Listen,” you sighed, placing a kiss on the crown of his head out of habit, “We were good while we lasted— honestly, it broke my heart that you just discarded me when it was convenient for you as if all the years we spent together meant nothing—”

“That’s not true,” Alex interrupted, his voice slightly muffled from being nestled against your side. “I never said that—”

“You didn’t have to. It was obvious in the way you ended it,” you answered gravely. Thinking back to how Alex had shattered your heart and left you alone hurt more than you wanted to admit. 

For the past months, you had praised yourself on moving on, taking the energy you had previously invested in him and pouring it into your work. You had practically flown through your cases, excelling so much that you made heads turn when you walked into court. Your career was going splendidly, yet sometimes you went to bed and thought about Alex, wondering how he was, wishing he were there to hold you close until you fell asleep.

“It felt like my actions and baseless accusations — and I apologize again, I’ll never stop regretting them — were only an excuse,” you said, feeling Alex tense against you, “a pretext so you could blame it all on me and start your new life on a different continent with nothing holding you back and no one tying you down.”

Alex inhaled sharply, but you continued, feeling that if you did not voice your thoughts now, you never would.

“Can you imagine how horrible it felt to be reduced to one mistake you made? Just the one, in four years? The one time I let my worries and anxieties get the better of me, the one time I couldn’t fight them off and trust you blindly because they were eating away at me and I couldn’t be strong. The one time I was unable to stay level-headed and gave in to how I felt and you—”

“That doesn’t excuse what you did,” Alex said, moving away into a sitting position to look at you properly. 

“Of course it doesn't,” you reasoned, “And I’m not trying to justify myself. I’m telling you that it hurt. I’m saying that when you kept holding it over my head, treating me like someone impulsive and childish, when you very well knew I wasn’t — I never was, in four years, Alex, come on — and then go on and mock me—”

“I never mocked you! What are you saying?”

“‘Are you ready to have a mature conversation now?’” you quoted his words back at him, “I— maybe you were just overwhelmed, so was I but still you kept treating me like I was some petulant burden you couldn’t wait to get rid of because I let my fears take the better of me and made mistakes because of it. I’m just saying it hurt me, Alex. It made me even more afraid to make mistakes now, to let down my guard, and, truthfully, I never expected you to give us up without even trying to work through this.”

Alex looked at you for a long moment before exhaling deeply and sinking back into the couch. All the fight seemed to have left him, leaving him looking miserable and lost. He wound the blanket around himself again and glanced at you. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” he said slowly, “and I’m sorry I left. I think I was still processing what had happened and— maybe it seemed easier to end it than to try if long-distance would have worked for us because my trust in you was shaken. I can’t explain how I felt back then, but I realized that I was wrong to give up on us because my love for you never wavered and—” he reached out his hand, taking hold of yours, “and I miss you, I want you back in my life and I’d like to be part of yours again if you’d let me and— maybe we could try long-distance, maybe I’ll give up the new job and come back to London— I’ve got my connections now, I can work on my own again. We could—”

“Alex,” you stopped him, and the tone of your voice made the sliver of hope in his eyes vanish immediately. “I don’t think we’ll work this out,” you hesitated, making sure that you meant the words you were about to say, “and I don’t want to try again.”

He nodded sadly, wiping at his eyes which filled with tears once again. “Can I—” he began, clearing his throat as his voice broke, “Can I stay the night? I could— if you want, I could cook something and we could reconnect, maybe?”

You hesitated, remembering how Alex had pleaded not to be left alone. In the end, you reasoned, both of you could use the company.

[daiki1k]

“I’m so sorry that you have to have a body.”

TW: very very very much implied S/a, drug use, Daiki gets drugged??, Daiki in general. yall wanted the angst.

<scene one: 戯け者>

heart carefully beats against ribcage , blood feels painfully cold within a warm body. ears pick up on the sound of a crowd. talking, music, glasses being set on tables, a heart pounding against a chest that suddenly felt too thin.

calm. make a mess and you’re sure to be punished.

was this not punishment enough?

“Daiki.” a cold and robotic voice calls out from behind the woman, startling her. still, not enough for her to show it.

“Guardian.” her own voice is steady, devoid of any emotion. there was no need to put up an act, not infront of EXO.

two of six ‘hands’ find themselves on the humans shoulders, head leaning down to whisper into her ear.

“give them a good show.” that’s all that needed to be said, such a simple sentence to have Daiki sweating bullets.

there’s silence as the alien walks off, leaving the pet behind. hands ball into fists, careful not to tear into palms with grown out nails despite the urge - the need to do so. for she knew what was to come, to give a good show is to present herself to the highest payers.

it was humorous in a way. it had been years since she first began preforming. in her head, when she had sliced through thick hair it would defile her - make her appear less attractive and unworthy of the ‘grace’ being bestowed upon her by the superior race. those damned aliens. no. no no no.

cutting her hair was the worst mistake, that blade should’ve been used to cut through artery’s in the neck. that would be infinitely more merciful than what was to come after that. infinitely more merciful than was was to come during her show.

inhaling sharply, eyes remain half lidded as a smile finds itself on pale lips. curtains are drawn and lights are turned to her direction.

<scene two: 星>

Daiki observed the crowd of wealthy aliens, winking to the individual who sat front row right where she would be singing. anything to get them to pay attention.

cheers, applaud, fulfillment.

once again, a job completed. the easy part, at least.

this was a premium show.

the performer descends into the crowd, it was time to converse, to entertain further.

somehow, somewhere, a pill is slipped into the disgusting drink in her hand. sips are taken, substance quickly working itself into an empty system.

I feel sick. it’s too bright. it’s too much.

hazy eyes glance past the creature before her, the exit was across the room. but she couldn’t move, limbs refused to work and even her mind began to turn against her.

noo. . . pleassse. . . Tina. . please. your handss. . Tina. . .

drug induced hallucinations begin to warp her reality, hands clenching into fists again as eyes roll up. heart speeds and slows, painfully, Daiki loses control of her own body. but she feels it.

she feels the hands, the mouths, the unwanted attention.

was this her punishment? for existing? for enjoying the single thing she had in this life?

in these situations, Daiki had always cursed the fact she was fully conscious. but being under the influence while knowing (or, in reality, not knowing) what’s being done to her body was much worse. all sense of control is lost as mind is plagued with horrific illusions. for once, DAIKI KONDO had not a single thing under her control. not the aliens, not the entire base of technology that ran ALIEN STAGE.

and then black.

<scene three: 強い人>

eyes flicker open, sitting up too fast causes the room to spin uncomfortably. it was empty. quiet curses escape chapped lips, standing up despite weakened body calling out to collapse.

she couldn’t. she had to get back, back to her. back to her Tina. to have her hands over the tainted flesh, to purify disgusting skin. Daiki longed for her savior, her reason for living. she needed Tina to right the wrong of recent events.

but first, she needed to return to Guardian EXO. to report a job ‘well done’.

how she wanted to tear its head off, stab those stupid eyes, bite into and rip apart the bastard creature that kept her enslaved. but, even now, as she stands before it. nothing happens, normal conversation plays out before she’s permitted to return to her personal room. personal room shared with her beloved.

immediately something is off to Tina.

a smile doesn’t greet her, only dried tears and bloodshot eyes. hands fall to her side, sheet of music fluttering to the floor.

for Daiki, if Tina didn’t know about her true performances, she wouldn’t care. she wouldn’t care what would happen to her. but Tina did see, she witnesses the aftermath and she frowns.

Daiki won’t let anyone or anything make Tina frown. not without punishment.

so she will get her revenge. she will get them both out of this cage, out to live their best lives. to be together without any sorrow. to paradise.

but first. . . she needed to get through her first round. who was her opponent again..? Tallis, was it? yes, the harp player. she wouldn’t allow herself to lose to him, not to anyone.

for Tina’s sake.

Tallis : @lookatmysillies

[cheesus-doodles]

The Flag We Serve Under: Chapter 3

Yandere Azur Lane

Masterlist

‎‎

<< Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

took me longer than expected to get this finished, but glad its done regardless! look forward to something else being posted soon as well (secret heheh)

The sudden wave of silence that washed over your pounding ears as you closed the door behind you was a relief in itself; you didn’t think there had been a time since you graduated from Officer school where you have had to meet so many new faces. Even the few steps you staggered to the comfort of your well-worn office chair was hard fought; it wouldn’t be an exaggeration if you stated that it took every ounce of energy you had left. Slumping down into what was once a plush, comfortable seat, you were completely drained and utterly exhausted, commander cap laying abandoned atop a scattering of reports and maps across the large wooden desk. How many new girls did you meet today? Was this just a taste of what was destined to be your life going forward? An endless crushing cycle of strategic meetings and paperwork, trapped by your sense of duty to those under your command? A question neither you nor the quiet world had neither answers to, yet one you couldn’t simply let go just yet.

Letting out a long sigh, you reluctantly pulled yourself up, bringing your tired attention back to the mess in front of you - where was it again you had left off before you had been summoned to Naval HQ? The words only seemed to blur together in defiance, tap dancing across the paper when you tried to will yourself to focus. Seconds ticked by feeling more like hours, and your eyelids only felt more and more weighed down by the neverending senseless papers. You let out a groan, throwing up your arms and the report along with them, though you were quick to grab them before the loose leaves of papers could fall out of order; the last thing you wanted was to have to sort through what you had already packed previously. Not while you still had so many other papers to go through and pack. Curse your unordered past self.

At least you could be grateful that your office was mercifully quiet, devoid of any other soul save for your own (a stretch, given you felt pretty dead at the moment), and that the rest of your schedule laid empty and unoccupied; the heavy wooden doors and its creaky hinges that you had to fight everyday to open sealing off the hustle and bustle from the busy outside. You remembered a time when you hated every moment you spent in this damned place, the light flooding in through giant windows you had your back to only reminding you of the open ocean that you lost the chance to experience; never would you have ever expected this place, usually associated with a long, hectic day, to suddenly become an elusive paradise on your former peaceful base. 

It had already been a long day, surely (with a nice helpful side of crossed fingers), surely the world wasn’t going to not end if you left work a little early for the day as a well-earned break. Finally taking notice of the now cold, abandoned cup of what you were sure was coffee sitting at the corner of your desk, you grimaced as you chugged it down in one go; it was still the ghost of what was left of your drink for one, and for two, you didn’t want Alabama to see all her hard work learning how to operate the coffee machine go down the drain. She would never forgive you. 

The shuffling and crinkling of papers was all that filled the last few minutes of your work day as you tried your hand at some last minute organization for your future self, though a knock at your door quickly distracted you from stuffing files and maps alike into your briefcase for some nighttime light reading (or so you hoped at least). “Come in,” you called out, though it was clear whoever it was that had just burst into your office hadn’t even waited for your response. 

Two white ponytails tossed backwards in her draft as Alabama wandered into the room holding several files, her half-lidded eyes and neutral expression giving little clue as to her mood beneath, though you did notice those red eyes scanning your table. “You’re leaving already?”

“Ah, Alabama. For the day, yes,” you replied, before continuing to struggle with sliding the papers into your bag in tact. Why wouldn’t these fit? “Did you need anything before I go?”

But it wasn’t the answer that the tanned battleship girl was looking for. “I meant on that…trip.”

Your gaze snapped up, sharpening as it met Alabama’s. “Who told you about that?” 

But the other wasn’t the slightest phrased from your pointed question. “So it’s true. You are going somewhere.”

“Alabama, you might be my secretary but that’s classified information. Who did you hear that from?”

She once more ignored your question. “So where are we going?”

You threw your hands up in exasperation for the second time - you really weren’t going to get any answers around here that easily, huh? “I,” you emphasized. “Am going on a classified mission. Which you will not be able to join me on. You will be staying here with everyone else.”

“When?”

“We’re setting sail tomorrow, late morning.” Looking over your desk one more time to make sure that there would be no need for a return trip, you finally lifted yourself up from your office chair, the worn chair rolling back with a groaning protest to make space. The other simply nodded along as she turned to face the door, waiting to leave with you as she always did.

And then something clicked behind Alabama’s crimson eyes, your words only just registering - you swore that the tanned girl would have broken her spine with how fast she whirled around if she was just a human like you. “Wait, what do you mean I’m not going?”

You picked up your briefcase, and in one smooth move, swung it over one shoulder while lifting your commander cap off the table and back onto your head with your free hand. “It’s what I said. You can’t come on this one.” 

“So who’s going?”

“That’s classified.”

“Where are you going?”

“That’s classified.”

A few paces were all you could take till you were face to face with Alabama, the other refusing to budge. “Then you aren’t going,” she stated, as if it was enough to resolve the matter. The tension in the air was palpable, what was essentially divulging into a standoff between you and her; not that you could blame the battleship girl. After all, it would be the first time since you became a full-fledged commander, the first time since she joined your ranks, that you would have ever traveled anywhere without her. 

You sighed, shaking your head as you side-stepped her, waving at her to walk with you. “If only it was so simple, Alabama,” you said willfully, the evening rays having just started to dance through the closed windows that framed the deserted corridors outside of your office. The bustling sounds of life from the sudden influx of new girls under your command still echoed down these hallways, their chattering merging and muffling into the new normal background sound of the once quiet forward base out in the middle of the ocean you called home. “Orders from the top, unfortunately.”

Alabama seemed to instantly know what you were referring to, looking mighty unimpressed. “That call?”

You nodded. Stepping out to the sight of a pink sky, you squinted in the direction of the setting sun, taking in the beautiful glittering ocean that stretched infinitely into the distant horizon against the glare. You shouldn’t, but you wanted to. “It’s a lot later than I had thought. Would you like to get some dinner, Alabama?”

“Dinner sounds good,” she instantly agreed - it was at least clear to her that you were extending an opportunity for her to probe this matter a bit more deeply. You didn’t like to leave your closest friend out to dry. “Now?”

“How about thirty minutes’ time?” You patted your briefcase. “I'd like to go and drop these off first.”

‎

‎

“Enterprise?!” Akagi gnashed her teeth, eyes narrowing dangerously, knuckles turning white how tight her fist was. “How dare they?!” Of all the possible minders those fuckwits at Naval HQ could send with you-

“That’s enough, Akagi.” Nagato ordered, though the solemn expression on her face at the news was as clear as day, with Yamashiro all but quaking where she stood, attempting to hide behind the figure of her older sister Fusou. There was no doubt the higher-ups at Azur Lane knew of - and were absolutely taking advantage of - the rocky history between the Grey Ghost and the Sakura Empire; it seemed like those clunkerheads had finally awoken to the value you brought as a full-fledged commander and had the incentive to keep you safe. 

Kaga seemed to be simply caught in the middle, glancing back and forth between her sister and the Sakura Empires’ Combined Fleet Flagship and Emperor with much uncertainty. Despite the moon having already hung amidst the starless skies for several hours now, the dim, flickering ceremonial fires that warmed the court were still lit, though the usual bamboo partitioning curtain that obstructed the view of Nagato having been raised to fully reveal the small figure of the girl with the fox ears, dwarfed by the riggings of her battleship around her; a highly uncommon sight on top of the late night meeting, she determined. 

She wasn’t certain what was going on at the moment, what with this…obsession (if she had to term it) they had with you, an unknown “Commander” she had never met. Was there something so special about you which would warrant such fanfare? But no doubt it wasn’t the right time to investigate this matter, the tension already weighing heavy in the air, almost too heavy to breathe. The white-haired dared not even shift should the wood beneath creak.

The single minute that passed before Nagato spoke again was agonizing. “Is there nothing we can do?” Her child-like voice echoed throughout the otherworldly silent room.“Yamashiro, Fusou, did they say anything else?”

The two black-haired mikos snapped back to attention, glancing at each other before Fusou responded. “I think they mentioned that the Commander was already underway with her escort, Nagato-sama.”

“Did our contact say anything about a limit of stay for the Commander?”

“No, I do not recall such a message being passed along.”

Akagi and Nagato shared a look, a simple meeting of eyes that communicated so much. It seemed that they had a plan. “Everyone except Akagi is dismissed. Thank you for your time.” Nagato ordered, a final dismissal that warranted no further questions. And so the younger of the two from the First Carrier Division was forced to leave her older sister behind, following Fusou and Yamashiro as they excused themselves with a deep both, the silhouettes of both shipgirls left in quiet discussions disappearing behind the rising stairs as Kaga returned to their shared abode alone.

‎

‎

Letting out a yawn, you stretched out across your deck chair, lazily adjusting your sunglasses before they could slip off your face. It wasn’t something you should be doing per se, openly relaxing in front of those under your command, and you were sure to receive hell if upper management caught wind of it, but you were really too winded to care too much. Safe to say, last night’s talk with Alabama hadn’t gone as well as you had hoped, though fortunately neither had it turned into the worst case scenario that you had replayed over and over in your mind. You did have to break some of the confidentiality agreements to tell Alabama who you were sailing with and to let her accompany you part-way, but it was the least you could do to ease her anxiety.

The late morning sun was warm through your uniform, the whip of the ocean breeze as the aircraft carrier slightly glided through the water cool enough to stop any perspiration from forming. It was amazing to sail the great blue again; no matter how many times you made the journey, the vast ocean would never cease to amaze and humble you. Two distinct sets of heels clicking across the wooden deck caught your ear, and you looked up to meet two sets of eyes glancing down at you.

“Commander.” “Commander.” 

You had of course heard of the legendary Big E from your colleagues back at Naval HQ despite having never had the opportunity to work alongside her, and no one - not even Alabama - would have ever gotten you to admit to the internal fangirling you had allowed yourself to indulge in in the privacy of your own room the night you found out you would be sailing with the famed aircraft carrier. After all, she was almost a mythical figure among the commanders, a capable, reliable and battle-hardened shipgirl whomst tales you had relegated to you time and time again by the veteran commanders. But your white-haired battleship friend was already narrowing those crimson eyes at you in suspicion, and so you swallowed your excitement. 

Reluctantly pulling yourself up from your exceedingly comfortable position, you acknowledged the two arrivals. “Enterprise, Alabama,” you returned their greeting with a firm nod. Lifting your arm to take a glance at your watch, you stood up, adjusting your cap. “It’s about time?”

It was about time to part ways with Alabama - she couldn’t accompany the two of you any further without risking exposing the destination of your mission, and that was a part of the confidentiality that you couldn’t risk exposing. The white-haired battleship girl already had her rigging on, one tanned hand firmly wrapped around that signature red scythe. But it was the look of uncertainty behind those tired eyes that had you sighing. You couldn’t just leave your bestfriend hanging. “Enterprise, if you could give us a minute?”

“Of course.”

A moment of silence as the Eagle Union carrier strolled off purposefully in the opposite direction before you turned to face Alabama once more. “Alabama-”

“You’ll stay safe?” She interrupted, pulling you into a tight hug that underlaid the worry absent from her expression. “And come home quickly?”

You broke into a smile, reassuringly patting her arm. With how tight this hug was and how much your face was being pushed into her chest, you were sure that Alabama was all but trying to merge you into her. “I promise. I’ll be back before you realize it, take care of the girls for me, alright?”

The reluctance as the battleship released you from her grip was palpable, but Alabama finally moved to leave. “See you later,” she mouthed, before leaping off the deck of Enterprise. You waved at her as her much smaller figure skated across the water till she disappeared from sight, before collapsing back into your deck chair. The things you would do just to keep your girls happy - you could only hope your one-up never found out. 

‎

The large Torii gate that seemed to stand atop the shimmering water greeted you as the manifested aircraft carrier sailed into the territorial waters for the Sakura Empire, the bow of the enormous ship cutting through the waves silently. Looking down from the command center nestled near the top of the superstructure, you bit back the sigh you felt emerging from your throat, with Enterprise standing just to the right of your shoulder, violet eyes scanning the world outside through the large glass panes. You had been hustled inside the moment the two of you had crossed the line between No-Man’s Sea and the Sakura Empire waters, and you had no doubt that Enterprise took her job as your bodyguard very seriously - who knew what she had been briefed on by Naval HQ? 

But you were sure that no harm would come to you.

From a distance, you spotted two figures approaching - shipgirls, one you identified as Kawakaze, and the other who you didn’t recognize, skating across the water towards the slowing carrier with a small boat in tow, signaling with a handheld light for permission to approach. Clearly they weren’t looking for a fight, you reasoned, glancing back at Enterprise. “Let them aboard,” you ordered, standing from your commander’s seat and grabbing your coat. “I’ll head down to meet them.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Commander,” Kawakaze greeted, bowing slightly, waving her hand towards the girl next to her with a set of horns protruding from beneath her black fringe, dressed in what seemed like a modified set of school uniform. “This is Noshiro, an Agano-class light cruiser. We’re here to accompany you to the main island.” 

You noted amusedly that they were very studious in ignoring Enterprise’s presence, but seeing that the other hardly seemed bothered by the slightest, and was instead studying the two Sakura girls, you decided not to bring it up. “Thank you for the warm welcome. I didn’t expect Lady Nagato to send her handmaiden just for little old me.” 

Kawakaze broke into a rare smile as she beckoned for you to follow, helping you gently into the small boat that the two towed, but said nothing more. A distance away, you watched with awe as the enormous aircraft carried de-manifested, Enterprise landing on the water surface with her rigging now attached to her, bow in hand. The waters nearer the main island were too shallow to dock, but you weren’t complaining. No, you were happy to watch the ocean speed by as the island neared, the pink of the evening sky a twin match for the lightly swaying cherry blossom trees that grew larger and larger as your group approached.

The little girl with the enormous riggings, decorated with red and white-banded shimenawa, stood out amidst the golden beach.

“Commander!” Nagato cleared her throat, straightening up as best she could as you were helped out from the boat and instead doing a little curtsy, her equipment following the graceful movement with nay a creak. “I mean- Commander. Welcome to the Sakura Empire.” 

“This is a much bigger reception that I thought I would receive.” You chuckled, instead spreading your arms in an undeniable invitation. And in an instant, all pretense of formality evaporated, Nagato flying forward to accept your offered hug, careful to avoid smacking her rigging into you - goodness knows how fragile you were next to shipgirls like them. “I don’t think I ever was your commander, Lady Nagato. But it is good to see you again.”

Enterprise looked curious, you noted, but you didn’t explain any further, nor did any of the Sakura Empire girls elaborate. None of your fleet knew of your past before you became a Commander, and despite you thinking that it wasn’t a big deal, telling Enterprise before any of your other girls might stir a storm that you rather not have to deal with. 

“Please, just Nagato.” The black-haired girl mumbled into your ear, a light flush brushing across her cheeks for a fraction of a second before she cleared her throat and pulled away, the redness of her face already gone. Lightly tugging at your hand for you to follow her, no one mentioned anything that she never did let go. “Follow me. I’ll show you to your quarters.”

“I assume we will be sharing the same accommodation,” Enterprise spoke up for the first time since her arrival, though her even and surprisingly soft voice carried the authority and weight of a ship of her might.

Nagato simply nodded. “Of course.”

They had to get you away from your chaperone and somewhere private, but that was a plan for a later time. For now, it was to get you settled in, nice and comfortable, and everything else would fall into place.

‎

‎

Back at the forward base, Alabama let off another volley of shots into the open ocean, letting out a huff of frustration. How could you, she fumed, the whirl of her guns as they reloaded barely audible over the sound of crashing waves. More so, how dare you?! How dare you leave her behind to run off with Enterprise, of all people to god knows where?

So what if you had a “classified mission” from Naval HQ? Those clowns barely knew what they were doing from their high throne, you should have just turned them down and ignored it. Was it that you liked Enterprise, what with her legendary status? She saw the admiration in your eyes, and it made her blood boil. Was it that she had white hair too? Was it because Enterprise was an aircraft carrier and Alabama was just a battleship?

She was the one who had served you loyally all these years, standing by your side through thick and thin, protecting you from the fuckheads at Naval HQ. She was the first ship in your fleet, your secretary ship, your bodyguard. She should be your only.

Gritting her teeth, the firing of her large guns temporarily overpowered the niggling voices in the back of her mind, the smell of gunpowder clearing her head. Alabama took a deep breath. No, she wouldn’t be letting you go so easily.

‎

From a short distance away, South Dakota simply observed. Like the rest of the Eagle Union ships, she had recently been transferred under your command, where the youngest of her sisters had been part of your fleet for a substantial amount of time. But this was most unlike Alabama - the battleship had been stewing for the past day, as difficult as it was to believe, her bad mood written across those half-lidded eyes. Alabama had always been the easygoing, lazy sister in the South Dakota-class, and to see her this worked up; it was worrying.

SIghing, South Dakota shook her head, turning around and heading back to base, leaving Alabama out alone on the waves. There was no doubt your secretary ship was plotting something, seeing how protective she was of you - but as to what, she would have to wait to find out.

‎

tags: @lexthetiredstudent, @bbbexee, @noncon-photobomb

[gtraccoon]

final part. i’d be lying if i said this didn’t take forever oh my god, i needed a half good way to end it because of how much time i’ve spent on this. it’s lowkey sad it’s ending but i didn’t wanna over do it too much, like how much they did with the simpsons. (i’m sorry i love the old episodes but it’s getting to be a lot) between the lack of sleep and spraining my wrist i hope this is good enough, here yu go

His breathing hitched, and he pushed back a binder. No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

“Stan?” He exclaimed, frantically shoving his hands through his messily assorted backpack. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He whipped around, moving back. The kid’s eyes were wide, like he was shocked that Kyle was so quick, so jittery. His light blond hair moved in the wind, his hands pressed against himself. A light colored scar lined through his eye, the actual iris pale, a hint that the boy was half blind.

“Butters?”

“Uh… Yea… I uh, saw you lookin’ around for Stan. He’s not in there, I saw him, uh, some kids grabbed him up.” Butters said, holding his hands together, lowering his eyes nervously. Kyle quickly stood up, grabbing Butters’ shoulders, ignoring his attempt to pull back.

“Who?”

“I don’t know!” Butters shook his head, leaning back as a counter to Kyle’s hold, but ultimately getting nowhere.

“Butters, this is serious!”

“I-I know! Um, I just saw them go into, uh, the locker room. Boy’s.”

“Shit!” He exclaimed, letting go of Butters. The kid fell backwards, but Kyle wasn’t even paying attention anymore.

“Well—Wait!” Too many emotions. They coursed through his veins like lightning, dancing across the gloomy sky during a storm. His mind was storming, it felt like. His body was numb, and his head was light, but he had to get Stan back. He had been too worried about the possibility of Cartman getting to Stan, that he hadn’t payed attention to his backpack.

Where the kid actually was.

He dug his fingers into his skin, slamming the doors to the locker room open. A group of kids were huddled around a bench, crowded together like a cluster of trees. Their silhouettes were lit up by the light behind them, the stagnant and buzzing locker room light.

They turned to face him in unison, looking like robots with their dull eyes.

“Hey, you want your little friend back?” One of the kids said, his scratchy voice lingering. Kyle knew damn well he couldnt fight, he had literally used all of his energy to beat the shit out of Cartman less than an hour earlier.

Bluffing?

“Didn’t you see him beat Eric’s ass back there?” A sudden voice spoke behind him. He didn’t even need to look to know who it was. He shrugged, pushing it off like it was easy, when it definitely wasn’t. Why was Butters doing this? He had been rooting for Cartman, hadn’t he? It doesn’t make sense. But he wasn’t going to let this opportunity burn itself out, and this literally was his only chance.

“Just give him back and you won’t end up like that fatass.” Kyle muttered. He did mean it, he just wasn’t sure he could take on that many people. And he knew Butters wouldn’t help. Before he could even do anything, a violent knock at the door behind him shocked him.

“Hey! Teacher trying to get in on our fun!” One of the kids giggled, then cupped his hands around a tiny figure. Stan.

“Let’s just finish the doll up here.” Another kid, one with light blond hair, smiled. A smile completely devoid of any remorse for human life. Just because Stan wasn’t the size of a human didnt mean he didn’t think like one, feel like one.

He was lost in his thoughts. They grabbed at Stan’s limbs, the tiny boy’s screams dying into the stale air of the room. The flourescent light reflected off of his glossy eyes. He was sobbing.

He looked behind him, seeing that Butters had moved further away. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Two insanely strong arms clamped around his, holding him in place, pinning him against the wall. He knew he couldn’t fight back. His arms felt like every atom in them were falling apart, falling asleep. He needed to wake up. Firey red hair draped infront of his face and tainted his vision, but he still saw their grotesque smiles.

How can they be so cruel? He wondered lightly to himself, feeling more and more emotionless about the entire situation. I mean, sure, he cared about Stan. But his reality was melting around him.

“Not fighting back? Makes it easier for us.”

The pained cries, the teachers outside the door. He had to make a decision.

Scream. Let them know. Let everyone know what happened. Stan would be potentially safe, but then again, everyone would know, so that could put him in even more danger.

Or sit here. That gives 0 chance for survival, considering at the hands of a bunch of middle schoolers Stan—who with anyone else, wouldn’t have survived this far—wasn’t going to live. Even if the kids changed their minds, found some mercy in their corrupted heads to understand that this wasn’t a toy or an animal but actually a human, they could squeeze too hard. Drop him. Step on him. Crush him.

Kyle really didn’t want to do this. He glanced up, watching them. They were going to pull him apart. They were pulling him apart.

Squeezing his eyes, he wrestled his arm free, after latching his teeth onto the boy’s arm. The metallic, warm taste of blood filled his mouth. Grabbing onto the lock of the door, it cracked open. Everyone sat in silence and confusion for a few moments, before the door flew open, a bunch of kids watching the commotion from behind the doors. A few adults came in, pulling everyone apart from each other.

He wanted to apologize, but he couldn’t see anymore. The last thing he actually felt was his head cracking against the cold damp tiles of the wall.

.

“Kyle. This behavior is very unprecedented, especially out of you!” His mom said, her tone so stern it could silence anything or anyone. His dad stood beside her, just disappointingly glaring at him. He didn’t know which one hurt more. “Hiding your friend from your family, from his family? Getting into a fight?”

“I was just trying to help him.” Kyle muttered, avoiding eye contact.

“Your friend was in an accident, something nobody can explain. That’s not something you deal with. It’s something you let adults deal with.” His dad’s expression was deadpanned but it was clear how pissed he was.

“Well, sorry. My bad. I want to talk to him. Where is he.”

“At the hospital.” She said, and he stood up.

“Why? He’s not hurt?”

“They’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with him.”

“Nothings wrong with him! Jesus Christ, you’re sounding like something’s wrong with you.” The words poured out of his mouth like bitter molten lava, but he didn’t have time to apologize. Turning around, he slammed the door shut behind him.

Those people who call themselves doctors are going to kill him. They’re gonna tear him apart like a piece of paper, then stitch him back together and call him fine. Their needles…

He grabbed his skateboard, and just as he was about to leave, his dad stepped outside. He turned around, narrowing his eyes.

“Don’t. The hospitals miles away… I… I’ll just drive you.” He said, nodding Kyle towards his car. He didn’t smile, or thank him, or show any kind of gratitude. His mind was occupied, so he just jumped in. The ride there felt like hours, his anticipation building inside him.

What if Stan doesn’t want to see me? What if he’s mad because of what I did?

He rested his head on his arms, looking out his car window. He could see the reflection of his own eyes in the window, but he forced himself to close them. He needed to calm down.

Every time he looked anywhere he just pictured Stan’s terrified expression.

The car suddenly stopped, and his head hit the side of the windowsill, jolting him awake.

“I’ll wait in the car, okay?”

“Yeah.” He looked back, lowering his eyes. “Thanks.” He muttered, as he hopped out of the car. His old converse hit the ground, oil and water splashing up the sides. He half considered turning back, getting in the car and just leaving, but he couldn’t.

The hospital doors creaked open. The air was still, and it smelled musty. The area was so clean, so white, it burned his eyes. He walked up to the reception desk, pressing his hands into the counter so hard it felt like his fingers would break backward.

“Um. I need to see, uh, Stan.. Stanley Marsh, please.” The worker looked up at him.

“Relative?”

“I-Huh?”

“Are you related to him?” She asked, and he froze. They wouldn’t let anyone but family visit, right? But what if she checked? He shrugged, then nodded.

“Yes. I’m his brother. Got it? Okay?” He anxiously rocked back and forth, watching as she clicked a few buttons on her computer.

“Sure, just go. 2nd floor, 3rd door on your right.” She muttered, her dark eyes cutting through his lies, but it seemed she didn’t care enough to call him out for it. He wrapped his arms around himself, turning on his heels and leaving. This was such a bad idea.

The stairs were loud, the tapping of his footfalls sounded more like the ticking of a clock, which didn’t do much to make him feel better. The railing was ice cold against his palms.

I just want to hold him again. Know he’s safe.

He stopped outside the door, pressing his hand against the wood. His arms were weak. His knuckles were numb from the fight, his arms aching from the kids who grabbed him.

Cmon. Cmon, why the hell are you so nervous? Just open the door.

And he did. His heart stopped as his attention turned to the boy, his black hair covering his face, messed up and frizzy. His eyes were dark, staring at nothing. He wore his normal clothes, no hospital gown was really small enough to fit him.

“Stan?” He muttered, his legs feeling weaker than ever. Stan turned his head, and as soon as he saw Kyle, his eyes lit up.

“Kyle!” Stan cried, and before he could even comprehend, Kyle’s hands were around him, holding him against his chest, shaking.

“Dude. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault—I shouldn’t have got all pissy with Cartman, did they hurt you? I swear to God.”

“No. They— well, nottoo bad. The doctor looked, and said, um, they can’t do X-rays because at my size it’ll be dangerous, or something. They dislocated my leg, but that’s really just it..” He looked down, and Kyle pulled away, shifting him slightly while being extremely careful, setting him down on the parchment paper that covered the hospital bed.

“Are… are your parents gonna let me stay friends with you? Even after… you know, you shrunk at my house and I hid you for a few days..”

“I’m not letting them say no.” Stan responded, seeming more dedicated than he’d ever been for anything.

“Kyle?” A soft voice spoke, and he whipped his head around so fast he almost fell over. Stan’s mom, her hands were pressed against eachother. Randy leaned against the doorframe, chugging down alcohol. Kyle really couldn’t blame him, after seeing something like this he kind of wanted to down pure alcohol. Just to forget. To blame it on hallucinations from being drunk, the next day it’s for a hangover.

“You protected our child, and you could’ve just left him there.. but you didn’t.” She said, tears welling in her eyes. He stood up, immediatly feeling her arms wrap around him in a tight hug. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this. We owe you so much.” She pulled away, her hands still firm on his shoulders. “Anything.”

He looked back at Stan, who seemed helpless just sitting there. His mind wandered. Everything, from Kenny to Cartman to those kids, beating someone up for him, bluffing, lying, even getting Butters in on it. That was a lot, even for him. And all in a few days. Not to mention doing it all while Stan was 2 inches tall. He looked back at Stan’s mom, her expression soft. He exhaled.

“Just let me stay with him.”

“Of course. Anything.” She said, letting go of him and holding her hands infront of her. His dad set the bottle down.

“You sure you’re gonna be able to deal with him like that? Won’t be too much?” Randy asked, slurring his words slightly.

“I’ve made it this far by myself,” He shrugged. “And, besides, nothing’s ever gonna make me stop hanging out with my super best friend.”

[oddygaul]

The Boy and the Heron

God damn this movie is a hot mess. The pacing is all over the place; the tone is all over the place. It feels like it’s trying to be a metaphor for a dozen different things, but none of them come through particularly well, and it ends up being a big, unpolished jumble of ideas. Plus, in its eagerness to foreground those deeper themes, fundamental things like character motivations, goals, and narrative cause-and-effect are left by the wayside, leading to much of the movie feeling like a disconnected series of events with little tying them together.

I understand the desire for an artist to make something that’s solely for themselves, or to write a story with the primary goal of deeper thematic resonance; in my opinion, though, if what you're writing has gotten to the point where the basic A to B plot of your story doesn’t really make sense, I think you may have gone too far.

Now, a work that’s all subtext, no plot can work if the vibe is there - that’s pretty much the definition of a tone piece, and I fuck with a lot of tone pieces. In this case, though, I did not think the vibe was there. The tone bounces from a measured, somber meditation on grief, to a wondrous journey through a strange land, to a fast-paced goofy caper when the parakeets get involved… I didn’t feel much of a coherent tonal throughline.

Okay, so fine, the themes?

A lot of people are saying the whole movie is about Miyazaki’s struggle with leaving behind his legacy without a direct heir. While that’s a compelling idea, that subplot is introduced roughly… *checks notes* 5/6ths of the way through Boy and the Heron, so you wouldn’t exactly call the movie a very effective vessel for that message, would you?

Was it about Mahito seeing his mother again, to move on from her death? She miraculously appears but they barely talk. Is it about accepting his stepmom into his life? Well, she’s gone for half the movie. Is it about rejecting fantasy / escapism to live in the real world? Well, okay, but the stepmom is the one that went in there in the first place and Mahito hated it from the jump, so no one really changed their minds here.

Speaking of the stepmom, it’s weird as hell that Mahito’s process of accepting his dad immediately marrying his dead wife’s sister is treated like a personal journey. No, that’s a weird fucking thing to have happen to you, and you better believe a kid is gonna be fucked up about that for a while. I understand this isn’t out of the norm for the setting / time period, but it clearly bothers Mahito. I don’t see how a lonesome, magical journey to another world is the right salve for those feelings as opposed to like, a frank and open conversation with his dad.

—

Miyazaki once famously said that the problem with the modern anime industry is that no one draws from real life anymore - that character designers learn how to draw anime girls only by copying other anime girls, turning the entire industry into a grisly moe ouroboros devoid of any authenticity.

What the fuck is this, Hayao? Did you design this by looking at a real human being? Or is this a baachan based on a previous Ghibli baachan which was itself based on another Ghibli baachan? The moe ouroboros tolls for us all, Hayao. It tolls for us all.

—

Having vented those frustrations, there’s a lot of gorgeous stuff in this movie, of course.

The stepmom’s house is so neat - the modern, western-style house built straight onto the classical Japanese architecture, Winchester-mansion style.

As opaque as Mahito was to me, it’s funny as hell how aggro the kid is. It was fuckin on SIGHT with the heron, bro.

Everyone is so stoked about these birds shitting on them all the time

The world of the tower had a very different vibe to Ghibli’s classics that was pretty cool - a very Greek / Elysium feel to much of it, a place stuck between life and death.

This is the bougiest way I’ve ever seen someone drink water

these weird fucks

—

When taking the lore at face value, it’s wild how this movie is basically an Annihilation + Bloodborne lovechild. So basically an extraterrestrial meteor crashes from the sky, and begins terraforming the area around it; as it does so, it distorts not only space, but time itself. Much like the wildlife in Area X, the parakeets enter the tower and are drastically altered to serve their environment’s needs. The way the tower seems to hold onto alternate versions of people that have entered and keeps them there, stuck outside of time, is reminiscent of what happens to the Southern Reach trilogy’s research team.

And then on top of that, we have the great uncle calling Mahito’s stepmother inside the Nightmare of Mensis, excuse me, the tower, so that she can give birth inside, allowing the child to ascend and become the ruler of the realm?

Oh Amygdala, oh amygdala! Have mercy on the poor heron.

Just saying, ‘the Heron isn’t actually magic, it’s merely a lookalike biological simulacra of a heron created by the reality-warping crash-landed U.F.O.’ wasn’t on my bingo card going into this movie. lol

[tiianwens]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆: @xiianxias — YĪNG JIĀ

in the end, it's all yīng jiā's fault: being sick in the first place is a divine punishment, a sign from the heavens above that he must be a fundamentally flawed person --- because if he were good and worthy, he'd be rendered whole again; the fact that he hasn't been is a damning one. he should've known today was going to be a bad day --- he'd woken up drenched in sweat, was too nauseous to eat anything, and had gotten lightheaded even during his morning meditation. his chest is aching and burning, like something is trying to claw its way out of his lungs. yīng jiā holds a hand against the wall for support, vision clouding over with each shaky step he takes. it feels like he's dying. this time, he wonders if he really is. he tugs a bloodstained handkerchief from the sleeve of his robe and coughs into it, but this time, there's too much blood --- it soaks through the fabric and splatters down the front of his robes; in between fits of agonized coughing, he struggles to suck down even half a breath of air. the world tilts, and he steps wrong; with an uncharacteristically graceless stumble, he falls as if in slow motion, slumping on the ground. yīng jiā doubts his master is nearby; even so, to call out for him feels instinctual. after all, his master is the one who's going to teach him the cultivation techniques he needs to get better ... ! "shizun," he manages feebly. blood dribbles down his chin. he coughs again, and his vision nearly whites out. "shizun, please ... help me ... "

THE PRISTINE WHITES of his robes always shied away from the dirt and blood of worldly affairs — such is the nature of a man devoid of warmth, a wildfire raging without a spark. Disgusted at the thought of being stained, of being tainted, afraid of being too exposed, yet the gut-churning sound of such violent coughing adds vigor to his step. Chu Wanning allows it to get under his skin. He allows the words to pierce his heart. So similar to the gentle, childish voice from years ago, so vulnerable to trust. 'Shizun, please pay attention to me...'

So he lowers himself, catching the other in his arms. A glowing trail of spiritual energy flows through his fingers pressed against Yīng Jiā's chest to place a temporary seal and hold back the damage. White sleeves are so easy to stain, fresh crimson soaking through delicate fabric — there's not enough time to take out his own handkerchief, embroidered with a flower of haitang, and this amount of blood would never wash off completely, it would never–

His hands are shaking but his voice is cold. ❝ Breathe, ❞ it commands, and the glow of golden light still lingers, as soothing as he can muster, as gentle as his hands know how to be. Brows knit together, blade-sharp, nothing but collected hollowness and familiar disapproval behind his phoenix eyes — the healing spell is superficial, too weak to save a life but wilful enough to drain the life force of its caster until the flow of blood subsides. ❝ Focus on my voice and keep breathing, ❞ Chu Wanning instructs again, but with his chest pressed against the other's back, wouldn't the violence of his heart be too obvious? It's pitiful, almost, how he cannot find it in him to muster a gentler 'I'm here'. How he listens to the frantic, ragged breathing, a hand resting briefly upon the burning forehead. How he wishes to find a way to never see so much blood again.

❝ You shouldn't have exerted yourself this much, ❞ there must be a way, there has to be a way... ❝ Don't move, just breathe. I'll take you to your room when you're able to walk. ❞

[luvp-music]

Mr. Schadenfreude [English Translyrics] Mr.シャーデンフロイデ

Original Song by Hitoshizuku × Yama△ Translyric reference from Official Upload

»»————-　♡　————-««

To bring salvation to an old sin, a revenge for new life to begin As if a devil is playing games, curtain calling SCHADENFREUDE Despair that cannot fade with kisses, hanging on the edge with short wishes Embrace your life as it’s always been (INFINITE)

I have decreed, a devil within one of thee Brought to life through a power you shan’t see For blood he thirsts, a corruption of worse beyond the worst As a vessel he’ll choose one of you fiends

A voice devoid of life, the priest reads out what the harsh words endowed As the 5th cries out painful tears, the mortician starts embalming This is only the start, this game of life or death begins here There’s no end unless the human race or the devil disappears

It’s one of us?! This is a joke, no?! The 1st is dead! Who hurt her so? Whether the game, my death, the devil or what, I don’t give a damn HUH? So who did it, show yourself this instant! This devil you speak of, its nonexistent Don’t worry, I, the knight, will protect you with all I am

Creating false truths and deceiving? Not half a day and there’s a GAMBIT Where’s the reason within us asking: ARE YOU MR. SCHADENFREUDE? Who’s fate resembles the Hanged Man card? Who’s being swayed by the devil’s part? We’ll make sure this ends no other way! (MASSAKER?)

I have decreed, a devil within one of thee Has brought down your dearest knight you shan’t see For blood I thirst, corruption of worse beyond the worst As punishment I’ll slay all of you fiends

A voice devoid of life, the priest reads out what the harsh words endowed As the 2nd’s anger flares, the mortician starts embalming Isn’t this salvation for everyone who’s suffered more? If this damned cruel plot continues, then what was all this for?

I’ll have that dastard hung dead by the next sunrise I’ll kill that bastard, I will bring his own demise! Why does it matter? This kind of talk is mediocre! Oh, please shut up! You want someone to blame?! Then you can blame me, hang me if it’ll end this game! Humor me for a moment, but our dear 2nd, why did the Knight have your choker?

Even if we suspect in cruel ways, giving our say revokes our Buße (busse) Bring down the devil no matter cost, fall to your knees SCHADENFREUDE! Pray as much as your hands can handle, tickets to life lit by a candle Until the curtain falls, we won’t stop (RICHTEN)

The bell of dawn chimes out without a sound in the air As if protecting the Priest from the depths of despair

Outside the church’s gates, lays the 4th drenched in her blood In the note she left behind it says “CAN SOMEBODY SAVE,” no, “KILL ME PLEASE?”

You would rather save our human souls While feigning ignorance in your childish devil game? The cruel joy in misery singing out “How euphoric this all feels, other’s pain!” Can’t believe this is someone’s desire They would take the devil for a fool Who’s the one who decided to place their faith in “tools”

The mortician holding the dead licked his lips Satan hidden in a necrophiliac’s dry kiss How could we be so foolish when the devil was truly him all along! So? You should’ve guessed, since I’m a professional I’d find corpses carnally exceptional And all those bodies that made me an animal Were breathing once, you know?

What blatant lies and quick excuses! The more you speak, more you turn FOOLISH May the one behind this please stand down: YOU ARE MR. SCHADENFREUDE! After the punished have deserved most, the two that lived cheer and make a toast But I think I’m the one deceived… Oh, my closest 3rd, oh, may you now rest in peace…

The Devil’s world with no salvation, let us dance a dance of your damnation It is time for the final act, I will wish you all a GOLDEN SLUMBER This graceful dream, the curtains aglow, I will now be the last one to go No matter where you may look, none will remain And the story ends with no one saved…again.

[angie-long-legs]

Okay, you may be right. That's a flaw. By a show of hands, who the fuck cares? There's a flaw there, sure, what else is new? Can you point at one person you know that has none of those? I don't think so. Take a good look around you, love, there's flaws around every corner. So what?

It's human nature to be flawed. And it's human nature to hold on to something familiar just because it feels right, even when it's not. But since when are humans deserving of being mistreated simply because they are human-like? If you line up every flawed human being and lock them up, there will be no one left walking around free. What point does that prove? Let's go around hurting everyone because they're all their unique brand of fucked up? All that self-flagellating cannot be good for you.

What I know for sure is that it's difficult to assess a situation and come to the conclusion that it's harmful from the inside. It takes guts and it takes strength of will, and yet, you've done it. And in my books, guts and strength of will are the exact opposite of flaws. So why aren't your good qualities enough to balance out your flaws in your eyes? I've seen you be mean before, but I don't think I've ever seen you be as mean as somebody else as you are to yourself.

I'm not gonna lie to you and say that it's easy to detach yourself from a damaging situation. I'm not gonna lie to you and say it's quick, like ripping off a bandaid, either. But I can tell you for sure, that it is possible. It takes guts and strength of will, but I know damn well you don't lack those. Don't you think it's better to play a game where there's no losing? That's possible too, you know, you just have to associate yourself with better people than that fucking blind-ass bug.

You aren't flawless. That's a fact. That doesn't make you undeserving of safety and comfort. But both of these are constructs. I could offer you all the support that you wouldn't ask for but I'll give anyway, but at the end of the day, no wizard is going to materialize out of pure light and save you with a swing of their wand. You have to forgive yourself, and you have to move on, and you have to start using all those good qualities that you do have and improve. Because nobody can be flawless, but everyone can make an attempt to minimize the impact their flaws have on their life.

You think you deserve this now, cause you're flawed? Well, let me tell you, nobody can change the things you dislike about yourself but you, and eternity is a really long time to be fucking miserable, so I strongly suggest making an effort. You owe that to yourself, cause you've been too harsh on him for too long, and he really doesn't deserve that. He's a pretty great dude from what I've seen.

Angel was a stubborn creature. It wasn't in his nature to back down from an argument, especially not one that threatened the very foundation upon which his reality settled. Even when defending his own faults and failures, he found himself clawing mercilessly to be believed, self-deprecating all in the name of being right. It was getting harder and to stand his ground when he fighting against both his tormenter and himself.

"Sure," he replied flatly, voice devoid emotion. "Maybe yer right. Maybe I don't deserve it just cuz I ain't... perfect. But-" But. Always but.

"What difference does it make?" A half-hearted retaliation. None of his usual ferocity, just emptiness. "I'm still stuck with him. Whether it's cuz a' the contract or... me... This ain't exactly a 'light at the end a' the tunnel' situation, sunshine. Puttin' it plainly, I'm fucked."