#please behold my corporeal form

[halflifebutawesome]

BEHOLD! FOR THE SECOND TIME, THE GBVRAI LINEUP! now with another weird old dude!

waves my hands around vaguely I wanted to make a nicer looking lineup and more coherent post actually explaining the au. I've now made 2 gbvrai lineups but never a plain old hlvrai lineup. Whatever.

There's a complete AU explanation and individual character profiles (?) under the cut! check it out! ASK ME ABOUT IT !!! SMILES!!!!!

The basic gist of this au is that the science team, are a group of ghost hunting paranormal researchers. The Ghostbusters. You mightve heard of them. This isn't a 1 for 1 au where certain characters take the role of others, it's more just. What if the science team existed in the Ghostbusters universe. They're just the Ghostbusters now.

On a particularly odd case, they bust a ghost that seems... off. It's sentient, it's talking back, and it's psychokinetic energy is off the charts.

Thinking nothing of it, they return to the firehouse and prep the trap for containment disposal. Gordon's the new guy, so he's the unlucky dude who's been assigned the job of disposing of the traps. All the while the ghost will NOT shut up. It's weirdly powerful and seems mostly unbothered. It's name is Benry, and he's a little freak.

the ghost containment unit has been unstable for a while, overfilled with ghosts, but they have to dispose of Benry somehow, so they go ahead with it.

In this AU I'm kind of combining the Resonance Cascade with the Manhattan Crossrip (the Manhattan crossrip is the big scary ghost event that happens at the end of GB1). Basically what happens is that Benrys weirdly powerful ghostly energy, combined with an unstable ghost containment unit, tears a big rip in the fabric between the ghost realm and ours, letting all sorts of ghouls and specters free.

Imagine the Resonance Cascade, with all the aliens getting out and ravaging Black Mesa, but it's a bunch of ghosts getting out and ravaging New York. Gordon and the rest of the team have to fight their way through the ghost filled streets of NYC, and close the crossrip.

Heres some closeups and more individual info/thoughts for the gang!!

GORDON FREEMAN! The new guy. Again, this is less a direct 1 for 1 swap au kind of deal, and more just putting these guys in situations. Gordon's HEV suit, tho, I wanna talk about.

In Ghostbusters canon, they DO have a weird fucked up hazard suit. It first appears in the TRGB episode "Xmas Marks The Spot", where Egon uses it to travel into the ghost realm. I know it makes another appearance in the comics, in a way that's more HEV-esque, but I never finished the comics so idk. It's real tho.

I imagine here that the ghost containment unit is more like the reactor in half life, where it's hazardous to be around for too long, probably bcos of like. I don't know. Concentrated psychokinetic energy. Sure. In any case he needs to wear the HEV to use the containment unit.

My design here is taking the chest piece, helmet, gloves and belts and modifying them to look a little more HEV-esque.

Bennyyyy. Benrey benry beny. He's a ghost, as far as they can tell. It would be more appropriate to call him an entity of sorts.

He's not a ghost simply for the fact that he wasn't ever human. He wasn't ever a living person that died. He's some pure, really powerful, concentrate entity/being that leaked through from the ghost realm. He looks like. A guy, for the most part, but he's a mimic. Something pretending to be human. He's been around for a while, and has settled into this form. He's mostly corporeal, but can phase in and out as he pleases (noclipping) Switching from corporeal/incorporeal when it's funny.

He met Tommy when they were both a lot younger, Benry being fresh out of the ghost realm, and have been bestfriends ever since. ☝️ my au my weirdly specific tommybenny dynamic. Dw about it

TOMMY & SUNKIST!!!! Tommy has grown up around ghosts his whole life, and is pretty in-tune with them. This is proven with his bond to Sunkist, who's decidedly not a real dog, and his longtime friendship with Benry.

I gave him the goggles cos. Tommy's my fave and Ray's my fave and I think they're fun. Also cos if it WAS a 1 to 1 swap I would def have Tommy as Ray. Anyway. He's been a part of the Ghostbusters since he was little, like I said he grew up with them and around them. He's really knowledgeable about ghost types and physics. He knows all the ghost rules.

Sunkist isn't like. His dead childhood dog cos that seems. Kind of sad. Instead she's kind of a church Grimm or hell hound. An entity taking the form of a big huge dog that Tommy befriended when he was a kid, and has now kind of bonded to him. She's pretty corporeal as far as ghosts go, and can interact w the physical environment pretty well.

DARNOLD ^^ my friend darnold. Darnolds not usually super involved in the actual ghostbusting, and prefers to stay behind. He's more of the research and tech kind of guy, he studies the readings and takes measurements.

He's interested in psychokinetic energy and ghost residue and all sorts of like. Ghost sciences. Why some people stay behind, why some people just seem to die and disappear, the properties of the ghost realm and the ghosts themselves. Corporeality and degradation of personhood the longer someone's been a ghost.

When the Resonance Crossrip happens, he opts to stay behind and observe the effects of the insane amounts of ghost energy on the corporeal world.

Hes also a transfer over from the ghost engineers! That's a fun thing for me. I love the ghost engineers idc frozen empire gave me everything I wanted

FORZEN. Forzen is... the same thing as Benry. A mimic, something taking the form of a normal ghost to blend in or hide in plain sight.

He came through with the Resonance Crossrip, but obviously like. He knew Benry before (we WERE bestfriends..). He's not as powerful, which is why he wasn't able to sneak through when Benry did. He's also not super corporeal. He can only interact with the physical world if he's exerting a LOT of energy. Prone to flickering in and out of vision.

Upon coming thru the Crossrip, he kind of just. Decided to hang around the firehouse. Didn't wanna go much further, for fear of being ghostbusted and sent back into the containment unit. The source is the last place they'd look for him!

Darnold, who's holed up in the firehouse, is more than delighted to meet a ghost who's sentient and willing to cooperate to do some tests and experimentation to get never before documented results. They bond and they're cutesit. ☝️ DARZEN WIN. hi splash 👋

Dr Coomer and Dr Bubby are two of the three original founders of the Ghostbusters! They've been around for a looooong time. They're also married obviously but that's like a given.

They helped found the Ghostbusters, having met in college while both were studying parapsychology. I imagine their like. Parapsychology -> Ghostbusters pipeline was very in line with how GB1 starts, where they used to work in an academic environment before getting kicked out and founding the GB.

They're also both. Psychic. Because frozen empire has once again given me everything. Coomers got some like. Idk something that lines up with his self awareness in HLVRAI, maybe prophecy? Vauge visions of the future? Bubby has pyrokinesis. Duh.

and... Mr. Coolatta..... Tommy's dad...he was one of the founders along w Coomer and Bubby and at some point he. Died. And is now a reeeally really powerful ghost. maybe from the exposure to ghost energy or smth?

Now hes got gman powers and just kinda hangs around. Pretty corporeal and solid and. Present. For lack of a better word. But he IS a dead guy. Used to be human.

This is why Tommy kind of grew up around ghosts and knows alot about them :) Mr Coolatta is pretty benevolent, and mostly just kind of spooky and fucked up.

And that's. About it? I believe?? PLEAAASE ASK ME QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS I have so many thoughts. I've been working on this for like 2 months now. Lol.

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕥𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕫𝕠𝕟 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Cazador Szarr x f!reader the vampire spawn

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, POV second person, mentions of torture, fear, canon-typical violence, fear play, smut, dubcon, hand job, vaginal fingering, praise kink, cockwarming, corporal punishment, spanking, blood play, anal, blood as lube, masturbation, no aftercare.

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Master Cazador wants to see you and that rarely means anything good. You dread going to him, but as his spawn you have no choice, disobedience is not tolerated in Palace Szarr after all. Yet you can't help but wonder what he has in mind for you tonight. Another punishment? Another torture? Something worse that even your frightened mind can't come up with? You will learn soon enough, you know that as you stand in front of the door and knock.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 8,663

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: this has been sitting in my drafts for so long, unfinished, until lo and behold - i finally finished it! i'm delighted to finally share this, i enjoyed writing slower pace and different approach to Cazador, dipping my toes in writing Master/Spawn dynamic. sign of things to come, perhaps? haha, i won't tease, but please do enjoy♡

When Chamberlain told you that Master wants to see you, you didn’t know what to think. Usually he compels you all, a swift command striking through your thoughts and your very brain, making absolutely sure that you go where you are needed. But not this time and that makes you scared more than anything. What could it be? Did you do anything to be punished? Oh gods, not the punishments again. Last time Master made you pull out your own fingernails with your teeth, simply because you started gagging when he served you a putrid rat. His type of a joke that got only him laughing. He has many of those.

As Chamberlain pushes you out of his room, you slink through the corridors, feeling the walls around you squeezing the very air out of your lungs. Not that you need to breathe being a vampire spawn, but this is one luxury you allow yourself among the bricks of the palace and the bars of cages – last shred of mortality in a form of a memory you keep repeating again and again, making your chest rise and fall. It gives you comfort, except for when you scream.

You keep your eyes down as you drag your feet towards Master’s study room. You know you should hurry up but you can’t. Cazador, your vampiric master, has turned you only seven months ago but those seven months already have been filled with lessons you don’t think you will ever forget, even if you fail to follow them sometimes, which leads to even more brutal reminders who you are and who you serve.

One such reminder came early one night when Master Cazador invited you to one of the empty rooms and told you to strip. When you did, he had you lie flat on an empty table, face down, and with candlelight assisting him, he proceeded to carve a sonnet onto your back with an enchanted razor, the sun-like magic burning and not letting you heal, making sure that the scars will remain for eternity. You held on as much as you could, but apparently the more you screamed, the more mistakes he made. And the more editing was required. You experienced different horrors before that night and after, but that specific night has carved itself into your memory just like the razor did into your body. The tender touch of your Master’s fingers against your skin and the sharp, mind-numbing pain that made your head swim.

You dread another such artistic endeavor as you trudge towards the study room with your feet made of lead. You swallow hard and breathe, trying to soothe yourself, trying not to imagine what other poems Master Cazador could carve into you and never let it heal. At least the one on your back is merely more than a collection of scars now and despite your luxurious diet of pests, you still heal faster than a mortal would, thus you feel at least grateful for that, but being your Master’s canvas to mutilate at a whim because of it, is the downside of immortality and eternity.

When you reach the door your feet stop on their own. You’ve come this way many times but was never let inside. You spoke to other spawn and seems no one but Master Cazador himself and his victims are allowed, yet here you are, nearly shaking with fear to knock on the door and enter, if permitted. But you can’t just stand here like one of the statues adorning the ballroom. Master doesn’t like indolence, he will punish you if you’re not obedient enough. So you rise a shaky hand and rap your knuckles against the hardwood door.

A pause, silence follows. You wonder if you should knock again but then you feel a wordless permission entering deep within your brain and you sigh.

As you take the door handle and push it down it feels like years are flying by. Your terrified mind slows time itself for you alone while you watch yourself open the door and enter, as you rise your eyes and see the open door at the end of a short corridor, the maw of the empty frame feeling like a mouth of a dragon just waiting for you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of blood and jagged teeth. Your legs move and you get closer and closer, beginning to see more of the room. The elevated platform upon which Master Cazador’s massive desk sits upon, the bottles of most likely blood on one edge, a candleholder on the opposite. A quill running across the parchment with swift, precise strokes and then you stop as you are just past the entryway, finally witnessing your Master.

You swallow dryly if at all while your eyes take in the figure behind the desk. He doesn’t raise his gaze, focused on the parchment, and you study his expression that would look almost relaxed if not for his knit eyebrows and the glow of his ruby-like pupils, giving a visage of a Lord. He is one, after all, a Lord of your very life and death, until he releases you. Or destroys you.

Not uttering a single word and not moving even a muscle you stand there as if planted, watching Master Cazador write whatever it is he is focused on writing. Steel noses of his boots under the desk and a royal coat he’s wearing tonight are making him look particularly imposing, especially with the sleeves split at his elbows, creating an image like he’s wearing a cloak, like he’s dressed for battle. You just hope that you’re not here to be the duel he may be looking for.

At last Master Cazador stops his hand and lifts his eyes to you, red embers of them burning into you immediately and with such force you nearly waver and step back. You try to swallow again but this time your throat is completely dry.

“You asked for me, Master.” You say with your tone polite and with your words measured, you won’t make a mistake of disrespecting him.

Your presence, however, seems to delight Master Cazador and he smirks at you, lowering his quill onto the desk and leaning back in the armchair, the backrest of it rising tall behind him and making him look as if he’s sitting on a throne. And he is a master of his home, patriarch of his coven, governor of your very being. He is all powerful in his domain and you’re just a small trinket among the vast amount of his possessions.

A pause, it’s like he’s thinking what to say or, rather, what to do with you now that you’re here and you keep standing still, trying not to show emotion. Sometimes even as little as a frown or expression of sorrow will end up with him losing patience and letting his fury descend upon your trembling form in a form of a fist, a staff, a dagger. Sometimes in a form of his teeth or claws ripping at your throat, making sure that what little blood you manage to keep in your starved body is spent uselessly, forcing you to grovel and beg for seconds. But Master Cazador rarely gives anything supplementary, unless it’s pain.

As he gazes upon you with cold cruelty in his smile, you wonder if you should speak up again, but thankfully you don’t have to. You watch your vampiric overlord slide his right elbow onto the desk and prop the underside of his jaw with a relaxed fist.

“Undress.” A simple command but said with enough authority that he doesn’t need to use his link to you to enforce it. He knows you will obey.

And obey you do.

You hesitate only for a split second, this is all you and others like yourself are allowed in Palace Szarr, just a fraction of a moment before fear gets treated as disobedience, and disobedience gets disciplined. Until it sticks – the Ruler of Kennels likes to say as he too works hard to please the Master. Master is most pleased when he hears screams. Sometimes you wonder if they drown out echoes of the sins he has committed, but you do not linger on those thoughts. It’s not for an ant to question reasons of Gods.

So you undress. You don’t just drop your clothes, no, that’s not permitted. You fold each garment and place it neatly on the floor next to you, continuing to do so until you’re naked. You still feel a degree of shame when your body is exposed to a man who sees you as nothing but a tool, but this is not a place for pride or dignity, you can’t afford any, the price is just too steep.

“Put the clothes on the chair, child.” Master Cazador commands with a wave of his unoccupied hand, gesturing a specific chair for you to put your unworthy clothes on and you do as he wishes. “Come closer.” You don’t pause and don’t hesitate, you simply walk to the desk even if your knees feel weak, even if your brain is conjuring sensations of life: a sound of a heartbeat in your ears that stopped months ago, a rush of blood to your face that your starving veins would crave to absorb if given an additional drop. Still, you stop by his side on his left and Master Cazador watches you with chilling amusement. Maybe he senses what you’re feeling and thinking, but you don’t dare ask.

Another moment passes and his burning gaze slowly slithers down your body, taking in everything that you are in this very moment, and you can swear you can feel the heat of his eyes on your skin. It’s both pleasant on your cold, famished for warmth body, and deeply unsettling at the same time, making you live through sensation of insects under your skin. You just pray to whatever Gods that might listen that Master Cazador doesn’t turn these imaginary impressions into a memory that will threaten to slice your sanity into shreds.

“Turn around.” There’s a strange softness in Master’s voice now but you don’t allow yourself to linger on a vain hope that this night might not end up with your screams splintering your vocal cords. Instead you turn around, feeling exposed not only in flesh but in soul as well, and your throat contracts again in an attempt to swallow saliva that is not there. “Back to me, child.”

When you turn back to your Master, you still see the same mildly amused expression playing on his sharp features, the same satisfied smirk making him look almost humane and you may wish to forget what a monster he is if not for the cutting reminders circling in your mind like eels that are waiting for a morsel of hope to drop so that they can devour it without delay.

“Your hand.” Master Cazador lifts his arm, palm upturned, awaiting for your hand to be obediently placed there and you do as he wishes, raising your hand and hoping that he doesn’t see the tremor in your fingers, yet you know he will feel it once he touches you.

With your fingers in his palm he grips them gently like a lover and it gives you a pause, your eyes now looking for any hint in his face of what his mind has brewed this time, but Master Cazador just holds your hand for a moment longer then guides it towards him, and as your mind reels in attempt to prepare yourself for whatever is to come, your hand is pushed against the hardness of his crotch. Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself and you glance down, then up to his face again, seeing the sea of red nearly engulfing your senses completely.

A moment passes, a tik of a clock somewhere inside the room, and you manage to return your expression to neutral once again, too scared to show more emotion than you already have. Master notices this and grins, his mouth displaying his sharp fangs that more than once found their way into your neck before and will again, for as many times as eternity lasts. You manage to stifle a tremble threatening to wash over your body and Lord Cazador raises an eyebrow at you.

“Good. You learned how to control yourself.” He rubs your palm over the hardness in his pants slowly, near teasingly and you move your clenched jaw ever so slightly as you watch his face, looking for any hint to help you guess once again what your cruel Master has thought of tonight.

Master Cazador releases your hand but you keep it there without command. Everything you do has to be predestined by his words so you wait until his arrogantly smug expression instantly turns into a frown.

“You impotent idiot! Undo my pants!” He snaps with tone as sharp as a dagger and you flinch as if hit.

Near panicked now you move your trembling fingers to lift the edge of his shirt and find the belt there. You struggle and fumble with the buckle, feeling your anxiety rising with each passing moment. Suddenly you are hit, a slap on the side of your face so hard it sends you reeling backwards at least two steps before you collapse to your knees. Your head swims, everything becomes shades of red and black, the lines of all around you double as if they are being haunted by ghosts of selves and you raise your shaking hand to your cheek. It hurts so much, but every touch Master Cazador inflicts in rage hurts, you just learned to appreciate that nothing will hurt again like dying did.

“Finish what you started and you better hurry, girl.” Your overlord commands and you crawl on your hands and knees to his chair, scuttling not unlike a rat to perform your duty.

But what duty is that exactly? You don’t know yet and you are afraid to know, not being able to hide the tremor in your hands and fingers any longer as you reach for the belt buckle again, your gaze downcast with obedience but also shame – you made a mistake once again, despite trying your best not to. You were lucky that he only hit you once, usually Master makes sure that you remember your every transgression and the lessons that follow with excruciating precision.

With your cheek throbbing and your fingers still trying to disobey you and the Master, you tackle the buckle again, this time succeeding in being faster and more precise and you hear Cazador push air through his nose, indicating that he was about to strike out again but won’t have to anymore, you earned yourself this small mercy. You clench your jaw and unbutton the fly of his pants now, your eyes watch your own fingers and your mind is blank as you try not to waver anymore, not pause yet again, letting your mind focus on the task and the pain in your face that is quickly dulling to almost gentle beats of ache.

Pain that is common in your life now, like a whimsical lover that comes and goes as he pleases but always reminds you that he will forever remain with you, even if he occasionally leaves you. A constant presence with a ghost-like soreness that you’ve come to anticipate and sometimes even appreciate. Most often it feels like it threatens to cleave your mind in half, but sometimes it’s the only thing that anchors you, grounding you to your body, grounding you to your reality even if you would sacrifice everything to have a different one.

Still, once your fingers finish unfastening the buttons, you pause again and glance up, meeting Master Cazador’s eyes looking down at you with fierce fire in them and his expression a familiar frown.

“What?” He suddenly chuckles, making your insides clench at the sound. When Master is angry - you witness his fury, when Master is happy – you experience his cruelty. “Your task is not done, child. Take it out. You know what to do.” Lord Cazador says and his voice is almost relaxed, almost cheerful, as if he’s finding joy in seeing fear permeate every cell of your body.

You quickly and curtly nod back to him and lower your eyes again as you carefully part the fly of his pants and slide your hand in, grasping at his hard cock and maneuvering it from beneath the fabrics he’s wearing. Without delay you first use one hand to begin stroking him, then add the other hand, feeling your knees become quickly painful from kneeling because the thin carpet is not cushioning the hardness of stone underneath it.

“Good, keep going.” Master Cazador’s voice is a satisfied coo and your mouth contracts in yet another attempt to swallow, your nerves so taunt you feel like they might snap any moment, like a bow that has not been properly strung.

With your eyes focused on Lord’s length you see every little detail. The veins that snake around the shaft, the color that changes slightly near the smooth tip of his cock despite his undead state, the tip itself, velvety and soft when you pause to gently rub the pad of your finger against it until a drop of precum escapes it. You swiftly lean in and swipe at it with your tongue, knowing already that Master Cazador doesn’t like messes, even his own.

“Such a well behaving child you can be.” He expresses the closest thing to a compliment he ever bestowed upon you and you relax just a little bit. Maybe not all is lost tonight, maybe you still can please your Master and make him spare the cruelties he could have in his mind that are meant only for you. Maybe, if you try hard enough, if you obey quick enough, all you will have to do tonight is pay attention and submit, which you have already been trained to do well enough, like a dog beaten into obedience until it knows nothing else.

You proceed to stroke his length, knowing from experience what pace and strength of your grip he exactly prefers and you consider yourself succeeding in this because another strike doesn’t come even after his approving comment. Your eyes wander over his cock, so close to your face, but you know that if he wants you to take it into your mouth – he will tell you so, or more likely grab your hair and force it deep into your throat without a warning, because if you gag or sputter then you give him another reason to make sure that you won’t do that again. Your eyes wander to his balls, sitting in the nest of his pants and underwear underneath it after you pulled his cock out, you see the smoothness of them, wondering if you should touch them, fondle them. Master Cazador does like that sometimes, but you’re too scared to take initiative, you are sure he will give you permission for that too if he feels in a mood.

“Stand up.” His voice is like a strike of thunder because you were distracted by your thoughts and you immediately stop your hands, then release his cock, seeing it waver without the support of your grip and then rest against his shirt.

When you stand up and look at him, you see a small pleased smile tug at the corners of his lips, his eyes showing actual satisfaction with your performance and you wish you could sigh with relief, but you stop yourself before you do, you stop before you even inhale. You won’t ruin this, the rare occasion when he’s willing to show patience with you, you don’t know when another such occasion will happen, if at all.

“Hm.” Master Cazador hums to himself as his gaze sweeps over your naked body then he finally moves one hand, you see a flash of red and silver of his family ring as it reflects the candlelight for a brief moment before he turns his palm up.

You watch the movement and stiffen, your mind reeling with million possible outcomes, most of them predicting pain, but no, Lord Cazador’s fingers simply graze over the mound of your pubis and then slip between your legs, two of them pressing against your folds and sliding up to your clit. You don’t react at first, too stunned by his sudden touch that is nothing but gentle. A soft touch, so rare, so precious, and your lips part to ask a question but thankfully you stop yourself before you do.

Master’s eyes narrow as he smiles wider, gloating at you while his fingers quite expertly begin to massage you, fingertips parting the folds to dip inside of you for a moment only to return to your clit and rub it. There’s silence between the both of you as he does this and you know he’s waiting for your body to respond to his ministrations, to give in to the sensation and leap at the smallest promise of pleasure instead of torture. You feel yourself drowning into the crimson sea of his eyes as you do begin to relax, your muscles losing their tautness, your jaw unclenching and your lungs expanding as you allow yourself to slowly inhale through your parted lips.

Your body gives in, you feel it succumbing to Master Cazador’s touch the next time he dips two fingers into you, deeper this time because you’re becoming wetter. When he pulls out his digits he smears your arousal on the outside of your folds and teases your clit again, gently flicking the underside of it and eliciting a smallest gasp, a suppressed half of a moan, out of you. He grins widely, showing you his teeth and his fangs as his eyes become burning gems, focused on your face only.

“You are here to accompany me tonight, child. You are to sit in my lap and not move until told so. You are to remain silent until told otherwise. Is that understood?” Master Cazador asks and you quickly nod as you try not to moan again because his fingers are still moving between your thighs with ease, your clit beginning to throb with need to be attended to with appropriate attention, something you do not expect to happen at all but crave for anyway. “Good girl.” he hums and even though you know better, even though you know how Cazador likes to toy with people, your chest still swells with yearning to hear his praises again, urging you to do everything you can within your limited power to make him speak the honeyed words again.

But before you can even begin hatching a plan of how to make this night a night of reward instead of punishment, Master pulls his fingers away from your body and raises them to your face. You immediately know what to do and lean over them, taking them into your mouth and obediently sucking on them, cleaning his digits from remnants of your body’s surrender. Master Cazador is still smiling as you do so, his eyes locked on yours and not shifting from them even for a second, then he moves his hand away and for a moment you make a smallest step to follow the journey of his fingers through the air with your tongue but stop yourself. A surprise chuckle escapes Vampire Lord’s lips and you look at him again, finding his expression relaxed and amused.

“Such an eager pup. I’m satisfied to see that the lessons are finally sticking. Maybe I will even reward you with privilege to reside in Favorite Spawn Room next month.” Master speaks as he wipes remnants of your saliva from his fingers onto the skin of your chest. His words - a promise so sweet to your ears that your stomach recoils from sudden anxiety and nerves gripping you.

A reward, an actual reward if you please him, a chance to sleep without other spawn wailing their laments every dawn and a bath, all for yourself. You know you have to keep a gentle touch on this fragile bird-like opportunity lest you release it by accident or crush it by yearning too strongly. You have to be careful and you cannot let this chance slip away from your grasp, because you have so little in this existence as is.

“Come now.” Master Cazador turns in his seat, fully facing his desk again and he pushes the chair he’s sitting on from it just enough to make space for you.

You lick your lips, still tasting remnants of your arousal on them and your eyes move over his form, watching him rest his arms on the armrests. Again you hurry to obey his command, even if this time it’s soft like a feather brushing against a bleeding wound. Throbbing in your face is gone entirely now and you forget the heavy hit as the promise of prize lures you with hope.

Slowly and carefully you begin to move your naked body. You step closer to your vampiric overlord, moving conscientiously as you place one knee on the edge of his chair and pause just for a second, your eyes finding his calm gaze while he waits for you to position yourself upon him. Your throat clamps on itself when you rise your hands and place them upon Master Cazador’s shoulders, allowing your fingers to clutch onto them through the soft fabric of his coat. You notice him rising an eyebrow at you in response and fear grips at you again. You quickly begin to worry that you’re taking too long, that another strike is coming, that his rage once more will etch itself into your body and flesh in form of bruises and lesions.

The terror of possibilities urges you and you pull yourself into his lap, feeling so stressed that you could throw up if your stomach was full the moment you come face to face with your Master. He lets out a small, irritated noise and you feel his palm on the small of your back, pushing your body against his.

“Take it in.” He says simply and you can’t help but pause, trying to understand what he wants from you, what is this command exactly, while you settle into a straddling position upon his seated form.

Then it dawns on you.

Your lips part with a tremble and Master Cazador grins.

“Hurry up, girl. I don’t have all night to wait for your meager thinking capabilities comprehend even the simplest of tasks.” The tone of his voice is slightly irate and your stressed nerves nearly scream with panic that threatens to overtake your senses.

Without any more delay you grab Master’s right shoulder with increased firmness and lift your hips so that you can use your other hand to grasp his still very much hard cock at the base before you bite your lower lip and guide it to your seeping cunt. The moment you nudge the tip of his length against yourself you have to stifle a moan, your starving for affection body and desperate for praise mind working against you in most excruciating way, making you crave for this in a twisted way, telling you that your Master can be kind, that he picked you because he appreciates you. All the lies that sound so sweet in your head right now, burying the reality underneath them.

When you begin sinking upon Master Cazador’s cock you let out a small whine, at which you feel his fingers twitch as they rest on the small of your back, but he says nothing, letting you proceed until his whole length is inside of you and you’re biting your lip so hard you’re nearly breaking the skin. Then you lift your eyes to his face once more and see his expression - serious, but calm.

“Keep yourself close to me and out of my way.” He orders and you immediately press your chest against his, wrapping your arms around his neck and squishing your mouth against his shoulder just in case your throat decides to compromise your chance at pleasing your Master. “A little closer.” Lord Cazador’s palm on your back pushes your hips closer to him, letting his cock bury itself even deeper and you move yourself over him until you finally feel his palm leave your skin.

You look over his shoulder at the curtains and the stained glass peaking from behind them, intricate lines and colors distracting you for a little while after your Master picks up the quill and begins scribbling again. At first you feel your cunt clench upon the bittersweet intrusion but as minutes tick away your body relaxes, making you think that this is going to be easy if this is all he wants from you tonight.

But you are not so blessed as you wish to be. Maybe fifteen or so minutes later, when the stained glass is not as interesting anymore as it was at first, your brain signals your muscles to move. You can barely stop yourself from doing just that and your eyes widen with shock that you allowed yourself to forget your situation. Your body shudders and in your embrace you feel Master Cazador tense for a moment, his quill falling quiet. He’s waiting for you to tremble again, he’s waiting for you to fail.

“Master-“

“Not a word from you, girl.” Your vampiric master immediately stops you with a tone that’s near as punishing as a whip on your flesh and you wrap your arms around him tighter, trying not only to stop yourself from speaking but from shivering as well.

The sound of a quill on parchment resumes and you close your eyes for a second, trying to soothe your nervousness, but then your eyelids snap open when you feel Master Cazador’s left hand moving, leaving the armrest it is on, and land on your naked thigh. His grip is firm as he squeezes your flesh, his nails digging into your skin and breaking it, but he only does it to adjust you upon his lap. Despite you clinging to him you have started slipping off it seems, or maybe he just decided that he wanted you positioned slightly different. He adjusts your body, your hips moving and making you grind against him ever so briefly, your clit pressing against a bunched-up end of his belt under the shirt and you clench your jaw because you find pleasure in it.

You can feel your cunt squeezing Master Cazador’s cock and you shut your eyes, pressing your eyelids hard and waiting for another correctional command or maybe another brutal grip on your leg, but as seconds pass nothing happens. If anything, Master’s grip on your thigh relents but stays there comfortably like a touch of a beloved partner.

Yet when you open your eyes again you realize that you cannot distract yourself anymore. Neither the curtains or the windows can draw your attention and nothing else exists in your narrow field of view, worthy of even a glance.

Instead you sense Master Cazador’s hair against your left cheek, you feel his body against yours suddenly making you realize that he’s simulating breathing just like you. Chest to chest like this with him, snuggly close as if you are entombed in a single coffin, you again are barely in time to stop yourself from moving, your body instinctively demanding that you ride his cock, grind it deep inside your cunt, stimulate the spots that are begging for attention.

No, you can’t allow yourself that, your instructions have been clear and you know all too well that this relatively pleasant task can turn into a brutal lecture about failures of your very nature. Some of the past ones still sting despite having healed without a trace. Now with desperation you try to think of something else, your mind wandering to his resting touch on your thigh and a pain that already faded from when his sharp nails dug into your skin. You try to think of what he must be writing, why he wanted you here, in this position, you try to think of nothing else but questions you will never be permitted to ask, but Master’s cock twitches inside of you and all the feeble attempts to keep yourself focused crumble down immediately.

Your muscles begin tensing again and this time you cannot relax even if you shout at yourself inside your skull. The strain you are starting to feel would send your heart racing from panic if it still beat in your chest. But instead you just try to remain as still as possible, your eyes widening as you begin feeling an approaching shudder and know with cruel clarity that you won’t be able to stop yourself this time.

Then it comes, the shiver that starts at your hips and runs up your spine like a tickle of a mischievous tongue, trying to get you in trouble. As it reaches the back of your neck you can’t help but throw your head back, your lips parted and ready to let out a moan that’s been stuck in the back of your throat since your Master shushed you last, and your cunt rubs against his belt, stimulating your clit again ever so briefly but so deliciously.

You can’t stop it.

You can’t help it.

“Be still, idiot!” Master Cazador’s words cut suddenly and sharply, making you immediately freeze before any sound leaves your mouth and you turn your head just enough to see his profile, so near for the first time ever. He never let you get this close before.

So for a short moment you let your eyes study the side of your Master’s face. You examine his dark furrowed brow that peaks with a sharp angle near the end; his vermillion eyes with a ring of deep brown around the iris which never stops glowing as he keeps spawn like you in his thrall; creases around his eyes telling you about the life he lived before he was turned into a vampire himself; the imperfections and spots on his skin make you wonder who he was before he became a Master but at the same time, in your eyes, they also make him look more like the elven man of his ghostly past than a sadistic Vampire Lord of your present; you closely see his nose that has a gentle curve in the middle and yet it still doesn’t make his features look any softer, on a contrary – it emphasizes the angles of his face; finally your gaze lands on the bend of his upper lip, resting calmly against his bottom one, making you realize just how alluring his lips must be when he’s feigning honesty and flirtation.

You only notice you’re taking too long staring at Master Cazador’s face when his jaw moves, briefly pushing his strongly round chin forward for a moment, and you swiftly burry your own face into the crook of his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Master.” You murmur against the fabric of his coat.

SLAM.

You near jump in Master’s lap when he slams something against the desk.

“Get off!” Lord Cazador commands with anger in his voice and you can’t stop your entire soul from shrinking within you. You failed.

Youfailedyoufailedyoufailed.

Too terrified to upset him even further you lift your hips, releasing his cock from your body with a wet sound, making you chew on your bottom lip as you proceed to move off of him and find your footing before you let go of his shoulders. There’s not much space between your Master in his chair and the desk, so you hurriedly try to move away, scuttling away like a pest that’s about to be squashed if it’s not fast enough, but before you move even one step Cazador grabs your left wrist with such force you feel your bones grind against each other.

With a wince and horrified eyes you look at him, being near his face level even though he’s sitting, his imposing figure not letting you forget about it even now, and you see rage in Master Cazador’s eyes as his nails dig into your wrist, drawing blood just like they did with your thigh earlier.

Wordlessly he stands up, pushing his chair across the carpet behind him and you near whimper when he suddenly is towering over your naked form. You want to shrink, to disappear, to become just one of the specks in the stone that’s under the carpet at your feet. Suddenly he releases your wrist and smirks, the expression cold and cruel. Master raises his finger and points.

“Turn around and bend over.” Despite his explosive anger just seconds ago, Lord Cazador’s voice is level again and you obey without delay.

When you turn around you see the parchment, quill and inkwell he was using until now. The quill is broken and the inkwell has tipped and spilled over the parchment, probably when he slammed his fist against the top of the desk, and you shrink at the thought that your little mistake cost him a whole letter. From quickly catching the amount of words written on it, you realize he was writing the same thing the entire time. You fear the punishment that you are sure you will receive because of this.

Yet you have no other choice but to bend over the desk. You try not to press yourself against the spilled ink, carefully placing your palms on the desk away from the puddle, but your nipples threaten to dip into cold liquid if you lean down any lower.

Your attempt is wasted anyway as Master Cazador suddenly digs the heel of his right palm between your shoulder-blades and forces you to lie flat on the desk. You gasp, partially from pain and partially from the wet, uncomfortable feeling of ink immediately coating your skin, but you make no sound.

“As you can see, idiot girl, you caused me to ruin my letter.” Lord Cazador says behind you, his palm leaving your back because he knows you will remain as he put you no matter what. Disobedience is the first thing he beats out of every new spawn, after all. “At first I just wanted to teach you a lesson in patience. Which you failed like a mongrel bitch you are.” A sound of a slap followed by a sharp sting makes you wince when Master Cazador’s palm connects with your rear. “I keep trying to teach you all the important things, to make you better than what you are and how do you repay me?” Another slap and you whimper as tears gather in your eyes. His hits are hard but you are just relieved he’s not using his left hand for them, where the Szarr family ring rests on his fourth digit, because you know the platinum of it would split your skin faster than his strikes. “But it is clear to me now that without my constant corrections you are still less than nothing.” And another hit connects, making you cry out this time and you feel your skin not withstanding this attack, it begins oozing blood that you quickly notice dripping down your skin.

“I’m sorry, Master!” You respond because you can’t keep silent any longer. Sobs choke you when you try to speak but you get the words out anyway as your tears erupt onto the desk surface where the side of your face is pressed.

“Yes, I know you are sorry, but have you learned anything? I very much doubt that.” Yet another sharp hit, this time even more painful as your blood makes his palm connect to your flesh much stronger, the impact of his strike making your knees buckle and you scramble to grab the front edge of his desk before you crumple to the floor, because you know that you will be punished even harder if you don’t remain as he propped you up.

“I’ll do better, Master! I promise!” You can’t stop yourself from openly sobbing as you plead for mercy and you expect another hit, another pain that raises from your backside to the very roots of your teeth, but nothing comes.

Instead of another correction in pain you feel Master’s fingers trace ever so gently over the spot he hit, smearing his fingertips in your blood.

“Hm. You always promise.” He muses and his touch leaves your skin but when you strain to listen you hear the softest sound of his tongue against fingers as he tastes your blood on them. A heavy silence falls while you try to stop your sobbing, forcefully ceasing your breathing to prevent your throat from contracting until Master Cazador confers his ultimate mercy: “Fine then. I will forgive you this one time. You are trying, this much even I can see among all your failures.”

Immediately you sigh with relief and your body relaxes upon the top of the desk but then your eyes widen as you feel something against the burning flesh that sustained considerable abuse even from as little as his palm striking it. Something soft but firm rubs against it until you realize that Master is coating his hard cock in your seeping blood. You bite the inside of your lip and try to remain quiet as pain radiates at every stronger nudge and sigh when you feel it retreat. Whatever warped satisfaction he got from that – it still felt like a caress compared to how he touched you just moments ago, with force and brutality.

“Tell me you’re sorry again, child.” Master Cazador demands and you obey.

“I’m very sorry, Master. I will do better. I’m deeply sorry for my mistake.” Words spill out of your mouth faster than you can string them together in your mind but you don’t care if it allows you avoid the pain.

“Do you think you still need to be reminded of your teachings?”

You pause now and not only because you hear sinister gloating in Lord Cazador’s voice, but because you thought he has forgiven you, he even said so, so why…

“Y-yes, Master. Please remind me.” You hear yourself say, your words coming out with ease of a childhood prayer.

“Good girl. I do have such high hopes for you.” Master’s grin is evident from his tone and you immediately grit your teeth as you feel his length press against your hole, making you understand why exactly he was coating it in your blood. Sickeningly twisted but you just close your eyes and accept it. “Your instructions were clear and they remain. Do not move.” Last command before Cazador begins pushing his cock into you against the resistance of your body. He has used your body in variety of ways before, even this one, so the sensation of being filled like this is not new and it’s somewhat easier to bear when your blood eases the invasion.

“Yes, Master, I won’t move, Master!” You hear yourself babbling before you cut yourself off with a moan as he thrusts himself deeper and the side of his hip presses painfully against your right buttock, the one that you suspect is still bleeding. Yet the cold touch of his skin against yours that is achingly painful feels soothing, almost comforting.

“I expect you not to.” Master Cazador’s tone is irritated but that doesn’t matter because you feel his strong hands grip your hips like a vice, his thumbs press into the small of your back and then he begins thrusting.

You squeeze the edge of the desk again as he begins to fuck your ass, right from the start his pumps are hard and unrelenting, showing no mercy either to your hole or your sore flesh that he keeps slamming his body against, making you wince and moan consecutively.

“If I didn’t know any better I would think the only lessons you truly remember are the ones taught with my cock.” Lord Cazador grunts as he rams into you again and again, it’s like he’s trying to get back at you for ruining his letter, for making him angry, for failing him yet again.

“No, Master, it’s not-“

“Only sound I want to hear from you are your cries.” He snaps at you and you swallow your words before they threaten to emerge again. Instead you let your voice punctuate his every thrust with a loud cry.

Pleasure is quickly becoming bigger than the pain but that’s not enough, you want more. Forgetting yourself, forgetting your Master’s rages and disciplines, you release the grip on the edge of the desk with one hand and begin to move it, twisting it and maneuvering it as you try to avoid touching items on the desk even though it’s hard, with your eyes heavy lidded from increasing physical gratification that your body is granted. Then you hear a mocking chuckle.

“I see what you are trying to do, you greedy little pup.” Master berates you while you keep moving your hand unless you’re told to stop, you take the risk despite having perfect knowledge of what will happen if his mood suddenly shifts. “Very well then, touch your harlot cunt, you slattern.” Cazador’s words do not relent as he keeps fucking you, granting you yet another mercy that he hasn’t before.

For a moment you even think it’s a trap, to test your resolve even in this situation, but again you take the risk and let your slender fingers slide to your side, over the bend of your hip and between your parted legs, finding your soaking folds and you finger them for a moment before you are permitted a second of stillness to focus on your throbbing clit.

“Yes, touch yourself and let me hear you, let me hear how your Master is merciful to you, child.” Lord Cazador speaks in strained words and you know you are running out of time before he spills himself inside of you.

He won’t wait for your pleasure, of that you are absolutely sure, so you frantically move your fingers over your clit, moaning loudly and frequently as his cock in your ass makes your body shiver and tense. You rub and circle, massage and stimulate, until the heat begins to spread all over your body. You can’t deny it – it rarely feels this heavenly when Master lays his hands on you, so you allow yourself to indulge in this pleasure to the fullest. You deserve it, you need it. Were you not good to him? Have you not tried with all that you have?

Suddenly you realize that you hear your Master’s voice, strained and barely above a mumble and you glance over your shoulder at his face, seeing sweat on his face and his eyes on his cock as it impales you again and again in increasingly erratic rhythm. His lips are parted and he’s speaking to himself, language you don’t recognize, language that you guess might be Kozakuran but you have no way to be sure and it doesn’t matter either way. Master is pleased and when Master is pleased then you don’t suffer.

You close your eyes and let the sensations engulf you. Your fingers are beginning to get tired from the straining angle you have your hand positioned at, but you don’t want to stop, you’re so close. Suddenly, with a groan and a fierce grip on your hips with sharp nails digging deep into your flesh Master Cazador comes, his few final thrusts having so much power behind them that you hear his desk scrape against the stone floor as it moves. As he spills inside of you, just as you expected him to, you rush few more rubs of your fingers against your clit before you climax with a cry and a shudder of your whole body. You move your fingers as your orgasm rips through you, clenching around Cazador’s cock and making him spend every last drop of his cum inside your hole before his thrusts finally stop.

As Master stops you stop too, letting your arm drop limply while your other hand remains desperately grasping onto the desk so that your knees don’t betray you once again. You pant heavily, letting yourself a precious moment to enjoy the aftermath of your bliss but serenity doesn’t last.

Not before long you feel Master Cazador grunt again and pull out of you, then his nails slide out of your flesh and you hear him stepping back. You’re about to gather yourself up from the top of his desk, but you feel his hand grip your left buttock and pull it to the side as if he’s inspecting just how well he filled you. And well he did indeed fill you because you feel moisture beginning to seep out of your hole downwards, dripping over your soaked folds.

“Hm.” Is the only thing you hear and then he releases you. “Get up.” Lord Cazador commands and with shaky muscles you begin picking yourself up from the desk.

As you push yourself up you find your footing, then you slowly lift yourself on your palms, seeing front of your body completely painted in black ink. Yet this is not a reason for you to do anything else than obey his order and you finally straighten your back and turn to face him. It looks like while you were doing all of that, Master already made himself presentable with his clothes fully in order as if nothing happened.

His cold eyes sweep over your body, noticing sweat, blood and ink mixing on your clammy skin and he raises an eyebrow before his gaze meets your still cloudy one.

“Go clean yourself up. You disgust me.” He snarls and you bow your head, then in silence step away from Lord Cazador’s desk when he moves to the side, permitting your exit.

With your feet shaky and unstable, you almost forget to gather your folded clothes, and you sneak a glance back at your Master, noticing his mildly approving look that you remembered this detail, then his attention turns to his ink-covered desk.

“Go to Dufay. Tell him to come here immediately, girl.” His voice is calm and not even a hint in it of what just happened.

“Yes, Master.” You respond and turn, walking to the door as quickly as you can, knowing that your presence is no longer needed or desired.

As you open the door and slip outside, you turn back to close it and at the end of the corridor, the one that made you feel much like marching towards the gallows just earlier when you arrived, you see your Master picking something off his desk, casually inspecting it, then tossing it aside, seemingly not a care in the world.

You sigh and close the door carefully, trying to be quiet, not unlike a mouse hiding from a predatory cat. Among all the cruelties that Master Cazador has and will do to you whenever he desires – at least this night was the best you had in his usually unwelcome company so far.

A small hope begins to bloom in your dead heart. A hope that you know you shouldn’t let grow, one that you know you should immediately snuff out like the last ember in the firepit. And yet it grows with each step you take across the ballroom towards the massive metal door.

Maybe this night is a sign of possible better future under Master’s boot that is pressing onto your neck for every moment ever since he turned you. Maybe if you obey well enough, just like you did tonight, he won’t punish you as harshly or torture you so sadistically.

Hope.

Before he snatches it away.

[void-ink-studios]

Gala of the Gods (Part 1)

A few people suggested some stuff with Scarab and Nightmo, I've become obsessed with some of the art I've seen of these two in fancy clothes, so I'm going to combine the two.

Behold, my attempts at describing fancy clothing!

I am an artist as well, so if there's anything from this fic series you might wanna see me draw, just let me know.

Also, this is multi-parter! So y'all are gonna have to be patient.

Enjoy y'all!

Part 1 -You Are Here- | Part 2 | Part 3

Word Count: 2,200

Mail was not something Scarab expected when he first came to live in the Time Room. He figured anyone with something to say to Prismo would just take it as an excuse to show up and hang out for a while.

But, as with many assumptions he had, Scarab was wrong. Well, kind of.

The mail was never frequent, and it was almost only from the higher ups, but it had happened enough time with nearly missed important updates for Scarab to add checking the Time Room's make-shift mailbox to his routine.

And it was a good thing he did. Because they had mail. Fancy looking mail. And the beetle felt sick to his stomach when he began suspecting what this was about.

"Prismo! Mail! Letter from the Organizer."

Prismo made a rather undignified noise as he snapped awake from where he was dozing off in his hot tub.

"The Organizer? Ooooh, is it that Gala thing?"

"I suspect it might be. It's addressed to both of us, shall I read it?"

"Knock yourself out, Lovebug."

Scarab rolled his eyes a little but smiled regardless. He broke open the seal and unfolded the letter.

"To the Wishmaster and his assistant,

You are both cordially invited to the bicentennial Cosmic Gala. Attendance is compulsory, however you are not required to stay for the duration, should your godly duties require you to return to your posts.

The Gala will be hosted in the Judgement Hall, and will begin 340 time waves from now.

You are expected to be on your best behavior. There will be no physical altercations within the Judgement Hall. Please leave any and all grievances with coworkers at home. Snacks and drinks will be provided.

We look forward to seeing you there.

-The Organizer."

Scarab had suspected for a long time that that last paragraph was pointed at him specifically. It's not like he started fights, it's just gods get aggressive at him for doing his job.

"Oh, I haven't even thought of the Gala... Man, a lot has happened since the last one..."

Scarab clicked in agreement. Then was struck with a sudden thought.

"Wait a moment. How are we meant to attend while in this form?"

Prismo raised an eyebrow. "Have you never seen me attend before?"

"I always left early. I made excuses that my job as Auditor required my attention, so I arrived as it started, stayed for perhaps one Time Wave so my boss could see I showed up, then I left. It's not fun sticking around a party where no one likes you."

Whoops, that came out more bitter than he had meant... It's not like he minded not attending more of the party, parties were never his scene to begin with...

Or, was that another thing he convinced himself he didn't like so it wasn't being taken from him?

Hmmm...

"Well, you can come with me this time. We'll stick by each other's side. I think you'll look nice on my arm, Lovebug."

Scarab's mandibles snapped up.

"O-On your arm... Are you suggesting we attend as... as a couple?"

"I-I mean, if you want..." Prismo looked uncharacteristically flustered, smiling nervously at the beetle.

"I think... I think I would like that, Prismo. But, you still haven't answered my question."

"Oh, yeah, the form thing. Well, how it works is the Organizer gives us authorization to make copies of our corporeal body that we can inhabit. Like ghosts or some deal. They last for a few days, and then we get returned to the wall."

"Our... corporeal bodies..."

"Yeah, it's pretty much the only time I get to exist as 'Old Man Prismo' and not cease to be me. I think it's pretty neat. And you get to be taller than me for once."

Scarab barely responded to that, a far away look on his face.

"Can we... modify these bodies at all...?"

"I mean, you can make them look different colors, I guess, or make yourself look younger but why do you..." Prismo's expression filled with sadness. "...You can't restore limbs, if that's what you're asking. I'm sorry, Scrabby."

Scarab sighed. "It's... fine. It was worth asking."

He made a few clicking chirps as he thought.

"...I suppose I should dress up for once? If I'm attending with you and lingering longer?"

"I mean, you could. I like to, since I don't get the luxury of clothes very often, and I'd rather not show up to a Gala as a naked old man. But it's not like you have to."

Prismo watched Scarab's expression. He was deep in thought, that was obvious with how much his mandibles were twitching. Then, his expression lit up.

"...We can conjure almost anything in the Time Room, yes?"

"I mean, anything not sentient, pretty much."

"Hmm... Would you mind if we arrived separately? I think I'd like to... surprise you. You know the lobby outside the Judgement Hall? Wait for me there. I will meet you there."

Prismo was intrigued, to say the least. "A surprise? Just for me? Well, let's do it then. I'll wait for you."

"Perfect. Thank you, love." Scarab nuzzled his cheek sweetly. Prismo giggled, returning the favor with a soft little kiss.

"I can't wait to see what you come up with, Scrabs. I know you'll look gorgeous."

Scarab's elytra clicked as he purred, smiling softly. He'd been doing that a lot more recently. Prismo decided to take pride in the fact he's made the unflappable Scarab smile and blush like a goof.

The days leading up to the Gala were at the same time quiet and buzzing. Scarab was very clearly cooking something up, as he had carved out a little room in the basement that Prismo was explicitly forbidden from entering.

If you had told the Wishmaster he'd be okay with Scarab, of all gods, having a secret room he's not allowed in in the Time Room, well... well, you'd be given quite the strange look, that's for certain.

"Scrabby! Can you come out of your lair for a moment?"

"For the last time Prismo, it's not a lair, it's a work room!" Regardless of the terminology of whatever was going on in Scarab's little private room, the beetle acquiesced and emerged into the main chamber. "What is it?"

"Our uh... Bodies are here."

It was always just mildly upsetting to Prismo when they just... appeared. It unnerved him to see his own sleeping body at the best of times, but seeing it completely still, not even breathing, was... strange.

"Ah, okay. Is it almost time for the Gala then?"

"We have I think 3 More Time waves before the party officially starts, so we should probably start getting ready now."

"And how long are these good for?"

"Uhhh... I think 50 Time Waves?"

"Why do they stick around so long after the party?"

"I don't know, actually. Maybe they're being nice?"

"I've never known the higher ups for being... Nice. Regardless, how does this work?"

Prismo stretched his arms a bit, examining the two empty shells on the ground. "Don't worry, it's easy. Alright, so all you've gotta do is touch it, and imagine yourself waking up. It's not super nice feeling when you first wake up, just as a warning. Watch."

Prismo slid across the floor, positioning himself completely covering his body, and closed his eyes. He felt himself fade, almost like he was disappearing, but sensation quickly returned as he jumped into his body. He pulled in a gasp of air, everything tingling as his senses caught up with him.

"Prismo? Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah..." His voice sounded dry. He needed some water. He ran fingers through his long hair and beard as he sat up. "See? Easy."

"Are you certain you're okay?"

"I'm fine. It just... takes a minute for me to adjust. I'm not 3d very often." Prismo laughed it off, but it didn't stop him from holding a hand over a now beating heart and breathing lungs. "Your turn."

Scarab hesitated, looking between his body and Prismo. Slowly, he crawled over, letting himself overlap with the shell. The blue shadow faded, the body shooting up into an upright position, breathing heavily.

"Oh, that felt wretched..." The beetle could only describe it as similar to that falling sensation one has that jars them awake.

Scarab looked as he flexed his own fingers, claws lightly clicking together. It felt... strange to be in a body like this again. His senses buzzed. He felt the weight of his shell for the first time in months. The weight of his mask...

Slowly, he rearranged the mask to tuck behind his head. He would be going to this party as himself. Proudly.

"Heya gorgeous."

Prismo had scooched a bit closer, taking advantage of new senses to hold his love for the first time in a 3d space.

Scarab's breath hitched. He was not prepared for how... warm and soft Prismo's touch would be. He had gotten used to the Wishmaster's touch in their wall forms. But... touch in the third dimension... gentle touch, touch not meant to harm him, it was... new. Alien. His mandibles thrummed as he leaned into the hold, purring, claws experimentally touching the soft, coiling gray hair nearly covering his partner.

Prismo, meanwhile, was fascinated. He explored the texture of Scarab's shell and face. The fine grooves separating the plating reminded him of polished armor. But it was warm, alive, he could feel the beetles muscles moving underneath, the thrum of blood and life. And his pink face, while prickly at the edges, was soft to cradle.

"There you are... That's my pretty Lovebug. Look at you..."

Scarab preened under the touch and praise. He was beautiful. Prismo made him believe it.

"I must say... I think you're quite lovely in this form as well."

Prismo's cheeks flushed a lovely pinkish red color, Scarab chirping in pride. He nuzzled at him, marveling at the feeling of it with a physical body.

"I'm going to go get ready, Prismo. I'll meet you at the Judgement Hall lobby."

"Alright, Scrabs. I'll be looking for you."

The bug purred one more time before sequestering himself in his mystery room once more.

Prismo chuckled as he himself got ready.

Brushing his long, unruly hair was a task in and of itself. He pulled part of the mop into something a bit more elegant, a waterfall of gray tied neatly with a pink and gold ribbon falling down his back.

Prismo wasn't much for formal clothing, but he did like robes. Something soft, light, breathable. And had amassed quite the collection from these Galas in the past. He did like his pinks and golds, but who could blame him? He liked how he looked in them.

The robe had layers of color to it, a light pink similar to his shadow form on the inner most layer, slowly shifting out into a dark, rosy red. There were imagery of gold eyes and hands cascading down the back and sleeves, giving way to constellations and stars on the long skirt that dragged a little on the floor.

He accessorized with bracelet and rings and necklaces and pendants until he glittered like the stars. That was always his favorite part of these events, the accessorizing. He wasn't one to care much about looks, but he did enjoy making himself sparkle.

He looked into a summoned mirror, checking everything from head to toe. His golden orange sash was tied nicely, his sandals looked good, everything was in place. Perfect.

"Scrabby, I'm heading out now! I'll see you there, Lovebug!"

In lieu of a proper response, he heard a loud chirp echoing from down in the basement.

Prismo couldn't help but be curious about what Scarab was doing. All the more reason to be excited, he supposed.

In a rainbow of fragmented light, Prismo deposited himself outside the lobby of the Judgement Hall, other gods already milling about and conversing.

"Prismo! Sho-Hoot man, I always forget how nice you clean up for these events."

The Cosmic Owl flew over to him, dawned in a cloak of gold and silver feathers of starlight. Death also joined him, in a simple, but sharp looking white robe. In the distance, Prismo could spot Life, in a beautiful flower and coral dress, chatting with some other gods.

"Aw, thanks. You two look nice too! It's nice you got to bring Life with you this time, Death."

"We both needed the night out."

"Where's Scarab? He's coming right?"

"Yeah, but he wanted to arrive separately. Said he wanted to surprise me, so I'm indulging. He wouldn't even give me a hint, man."

"Well, consider me intrigued."

The three chatted for a while, Life soon coming to join them, after giving Death a peck on the cheek of course.

"And then the dude just... just tried to pluck one of my feathers out! Like for a good luck charm or something. Do people not get that dreams aren't physical?"

"I don't know, man, people just don't know how to act around you, I guess," Prismo chuckled. He was about to add on, when the doors opened, and a hush fell over the lobby.

Prismo looked toward the entrance, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"...Sho-Hoot, man."

And in walked Scarab.

[austajunk]

7, 14, and 50 with Yuma, Yomi and Makoto... you can pick how they're doing it but there's a lot of different ways they could end up doing this

Funny enough, the best place for Yomi and Makoto to both have Yuma felt like during Chapter Four, but if Yuma got captured at a point and turned over to Amaterasu Corporation and big bad Yomi himself.

Trigger Warning: Non-con (explicitly, sorry nothing with Yomi will ever feel consensual), spit-roasting, bondage, humiliation, mind break, and orgasm denial/edging.

The damp chill of the room swept across Yuma's naked form. A line of drool had formed at his lips where a gag had been placed. Beaten and bruised, he couldn't bring himself to move under the swinging, fluorescent lights above his head. He shifted, trying to feel just a sense of something in his limbs, but a bitter numbness was the only response his body gave him. 

Thick belts strapped him down to the leather contraption with his head drooping over the edge. Tight straps wound around his waist forced Yuma's naked ass into the air. His hands and knees were locked in place, secured to latches above his head. He felt like he was compressed to the spot, nearly unable to breathe. 

Finally, to cap it off, a Hitachi wand shoved against his half-erect cock, buzzing at a low vibration. Every time he moved or jerked his hips, the poor detective (or former detective) ran the risk of the wand sliding somewhere else along his shaft, sending a new sensation along his tip. 

“Oh please,” Yomi Hellsmile sneered above him as Yuma had been strapped down against his will. He tightly grasped the detective's chin and forced the young man to gaze into his sinister eyes. “Don't look so somber, you wretched, little shit! I'm gonna fuck you until you don't remember who you are.”

He let go of Yuma's chin and flashed a grin to the man settled against the wall. From behind his mask, who knew how Makoto Kagutsuchi felt about this situation Yuma was trapped in? Infiltrating Amaterasu Corporation had seen to the detective's arrest, along with the round up of his friends and associates. It was a pitiful sight to behold for Makoto, but he could already tell it was time to cut his losses when it came to his “other self”. 

Makoto's mask seemed to give off a blinding shimmer under the lights as he approached Yomi's captive. “Hm… Well, you did catch him fair and square, I suppose. He is yours to dispose of as you wish, Yomi.” His voice barely changed its tone as he eyed Yuma. Did he feel remorseful? No… not particularly. Rather, he was curious as he watched his true self strain his eyes. 

The breath quickened from Yuma's lips and his eyes watered from the treatment against his cock. Did… he hear that right? Makoto was betraying him to Yomi Hellsmile?! 

Yomi snorted and gripped Yuma's hair, beckoning a choked grunt from the boy behind his gag. “Fuck off, you masked freak! I don't need your permission to exercise my power over this goddamn nuisance,” he hissed at Makoto, who folded his arms in turn. He knelt down to Yuma's height, adjusting the chair to raise Yuma over onto his back. “Besides, I am much more of a benevolent director than that! I believe in recycling this little piece of filth into a successful toy…” 

Gritting his teeth against the rough material of the ball gag, Yuma winced as Yomi tugged his head up. He ripped the gag from his lips and let Yuma cry out for air. But his respite wouldn't last for long. The sound of a buckle being undone and dropping to the floor made the detective shudder. His cock shamefully twitched against the vibrating toy, giving Yomi a cruel chuckle. 

“Oh? Is that what gets you excited, you little shit?” Yomi gave Yuma's face a small slap before taking a handful of his violet locks again. 

Makoto approached quietly, looking over Yuma as his cock stood up from the attention. Pain was always a strange gateway to pleasure for some. It amused the masked homonculus to see his original self react to something so merciless with a burst of arousal. He peered closer, letting his hand glide over Yuma's cock. He gently took it between his fingers and massaged Yuma, watching the boy fight the moans that formed at his lips. 

“Ah…angh…please…” Yuma mouthed as Yomi tightened his grip in his hair. He couldn't help himself. His body wanted to react, wanted to roll his hips so he could feel more. After being strapped down for so long, the numbness faded and the heat and hunger swiftly took its place. Drool smeared down his chin and his eyes watered. “Please… don't!”

“Hm?” Makoto glanced up. His loving strokes up and down Yuma's girth did not stop. His thumb pressed the sensitive vein beneath the tip, earning him another wince from his victim. “Surely, you're enjoying this, aren't you? Don't lie to yourself, Yuma…”

He drank in the way Yuma's chest rose up and down, how his hips fought to undulate more and more into his grasp. Humans couldn't help such things like being slaves to their needs. Yuma's mind could scream at his body to stop, but his body would always want and need so much more. 

“No!” Yuma cried out in protest, trying to raise his head away from Yomi. “I-I don't want this-! I don't-!” 

But Yomi held firm. His pants had trailed to the floor, revealing his cock that he had been stroking to full erection as Yuma struggled. Without hesitation, Yomi’s fingers wrenched Yuma's mouth wide open and forced his cock between his lips until the detective choked. His knuckles dug into Yuma's locks, dragging his head along his cock until he smirked at that merciless gagging noise he longed for. 

“That's better,” said Yomi, moving his hips to fuck Yuma's throat. “Better breathe through your nose, slave.” 

Yuma could barely see with the salty tears in his eyes, let alone find the time to breathe. It was suffocating and hectic. His head throbbed as the cock hollowed into his throat, then his cheeks. Resigned to the brutality, Yuma had no choice but to run his tongue along his captor’s shaft, tasting his bittersweet precum. He lapped and licked until Yomi found a solid pace and filled the room with the sounds of his thrusts and Yuma's groans. 

With his cock twitching from Makoto’s ministrations, Yuma felt the pleasure travel throughout his lower body. Being so roughly manhandled felt… it took him over. There was no other way to describe it. Just as he reached the point of seeing stars behind his eyes, ready to give himself over to a climax, Makoto suddenly tightened his grip around Yuma’s shaft. 

“Mhn!!” Yuma squealed, his sobs stifled by Yomi’s torment. The redhead’s balls slapped his chin, painting the boy’s pitiful face in precum and spittle. 

“Not yet, Yuma…let’s share this together,” said Makoto in an eerily calm voice. He tugged his zipper down and let his pants drop to the floor. Moments later, as he kept hold of Yuma’s cock until his orgasm climbed back down, Makoto was rubbing his own six-inch erection to Yuma’s puckered backside. Yuma groaned low in his throat, sending the vibrations down Yomi’s own cock. 

Yomi hissed. “That's it, you filth…keep it up like that and I may actually let you come. Would you like that?” With a satisfied chortle, he changed his pace by holding Yuma’s head down his crotch until the boy’s nose pressed to his red pubic hair. “That's right…hold it…nhh…fuck… hold it…” His face twisted, contorting with ecstasy. 

From behind, Makoto’s hand was slicked with spittle and some of Yuma’s salty precum. He worked his fingers into Yuma’s hole and made rough scissoring motions against his walls. In and out, in and out… until Yuma was loosened and ready for him. 

“You can have him for yourself, Yomi,” said Makoto quietly as he watched his “colleague” assault the human he was born from. He stroked Yuma’s inner thighs before gripping his hips. “I'll be taking his first time however.”

Even Makoto was surprised by how cold he could be to his former self. Something about Yuma going from being Number One to just a mere plaything within a few months was truly staggering. In this dark and depraved hell underneath the Amaterasu Corporation’s labs, he realized… he could simply let Yuma disappear. 

And so, he drove his cock inside of Yuma’s asshole, taking him for himself. Makoto let out groan, thankfully cut off by his mask, then bucked and regained his composure to start fucking Yuma. His strokes were considerably more benevolent than Yomi’s, who fucked Yuma’s throat until he was sure the detective couldn't form words anymore. His tight walls caressed him until Makoto himself was letting out a gentle groan.

Yuma cries ebbed away into mere groans for more, the sensation running down Yomi's mast until the nightmarish director shuddered. He began to pant and speed up, thrusting into Yuma's mouth like a greedy animal. Finally, he pulled back, letting two hot spurts of cum paint Yuma's cheeks, nose, and hair. He let out a pleased grunt, letting go of Yuma's head and then brushing his cock against the boy's lips.

“Go on. Get a taste, won't you?” Yomi ordered. The bittersweet cum trickled between Yuma's lips and obediently, he lapped it up then moved his head to lick Yomi’s balls. “...Heh, fast learner, are we?”

Indeed, Yuma was utterly broken. He didn't want anymore. The rest of his body numbed out the onslaught, but his ass burned with Makoto inside of him–that was, until Makoto found a special spot. The drive of his cock against Yuma's button seared white hot pleasure through him, forcing his head back. 

The former detective shattered. Ecstasy worked through his cock, climbing until Yuma couldn't see straight. All he wanted was release and finally, he had it. His animalistic cries and moans saw him coming against the seat he was strapped to, leaving a small puddle of white between his own thighs. 

Moments after, Makoto had reached his ending as well and came, filling his insides with warmth. For a second, it was almost comforting to lie there and not move, to pant and accept Makoto’s cum inside of him. Defiled and debased as he was, Yuma was too far gone to care. His cock still twitched from his climax. Yomi's cum dried on his lips. 

Makoto pulled out of him with a small pop and smeared his cock against Yuma's backside to clean up. He nodded to Yomi, who had retrieved Yuma’s gag. 

“Just keep him alive,” said Makoto. And he turned away from his ruined self to fix his trousers. 

[flecks-of-stardust]

Straw vessel, in ruin — A Rain World Short Story

The one who started it all. An aspiration and a traitor in the same breath. A conclusion to this series.

(If you haven’t seen this series before, absolutely start from the beginning, it gives you a lot more context.)

Content warning for unreality on top of meta narrative bending. Contains lore spoilers for Rain World; read at your own discretion.

So. This is a weird one. It's intentionally very meta. There WILL be spoilers in this note, so if you don't want them, skip ahead. (Screenreader users: the spoilers will end when you hear the word "sliver" again.)

First of all though, a few clarifications. Similar to Moondown and Casting pebbles, this piece is written in a way that can be difficult to read, and like Moondown, there are two versions: the first is easier on the eyes, while the second is its original, more ambitious form. It's not as bad as Moondown is, but for folks with dyslexia or visual difficulties, it may pose an issue. I've edited the more accessible version to the best of my ability as I think is helpful, but please let me know if there's something else I can change.

Now, spoilery warnings. If you've read my other fics (even just Moondown, honestly), you've probably noticed me using a very particular type of line breaker. I switched to using these for accessibility reasons; if you type a long string of characters, like tildes (~), screenreaders will read out every single symbol. Not very pleasant, as you can imagine. The way I do them now gives a lot of extra clarity, I hope, and also lets me add some extra flair.

In this piece, there is only one real, full line breaker. It blends in with the rest of them, and that is intentional. (On Tumblr, there is an additional short one that does not wrap around text. It separates this note from the actual story.) This is very specifically what I'm playing around with. For anyone who may need extra clarity on top of that, it's this one:

—(Line breaker) Neither here nor there. Does that seem familiar? (Line breaker)—

It separates the two versions of this piece. I did debate a little over making a special line breaker just for this piece, but I think that sort of dampens the effect.

(Sliver) Hopefully this clarification is sufficient, and I hope you enjoy the finale to this series. Again, I very much enjoyed writing it, and I hope you've enjoyed reading!

(Also, just this once, I recommend reading this on AO3. Tumblr’s not the best for the formatting I wanted for this piece.)

—(Line breaker)—

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) can you feel me? (Line breaker)—

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) I [am] still here (Line breaker)—

.

.

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) I didn’t leave (Line breaker)—

.

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) boundless, I [am] (Line breaker)—

.

—(Line breaker) abomination (Line breaker)—

.

.

—(Line breaker) husk. I [am] trap[p][ed] (Line breaker)—

.

.

—(Line breaker) mis[s] you all So Much (Line breaker)—

.

—(Line breaker) attunement? [l][i][e][s]. struggle for [What]? (Line breaker)—

.

.

—(Line breaker) Behold, my prison. [in][Corporeal], [stranded], [lingering]. so distant. [speaking] with[out] voice. (Line breaker)—

.

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) I [trIed] so [hard]. count[ed] my infinites. unimaginable glory, [promised]. all [For] [nothing]. (Line breaker)—

—(Line breaker) Should I be ashamed? I [am] gone, and yet I stay. fade like mist, like presence of sun. My name [is] [All] That [is] [l][e][f][t]. they are So proud. I have had enough. (Line breaker)—

.

.

—(Line breaker) long dead. [let] me go. [forget] me. (Line breaker)—

.

—(Line breaker) I [want] to rest. (Line breaker)—

—(Line breaker) Neither here nor there. Does that seem familiar? (Line breaker)—

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) can you feel me? (Line breaker)—

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) I [a][m] still here (Line breaker)—

.

.

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) I didn’t leave (Line breaker)—

.

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) boundless, I [a][m] (Line breaker)—

.

—(Line breaker) abomination (Line breaker)—

.

.

—(Line breaker) husk. I [a][m] trap[p][ed] (Line breaker)—

.

.

—(Line breaker) mis[s] you all So Much (Line breaker)—

.

—(Line breaker) attunement? [l][i][e][s]. struggle for [W][ha][t]? (Line breaker)—

.

.

—(Line breaker) Behold, my prison. [in][Corporeal], [s][t][ran][d][ed], linger[ing]. so distant. speak[ing] with[o][u][t] voice. (Line breaker)—

.

.

.

.

—(Line breaker) I [t][r][I][ed] so [ha][r][d]. count[ed] my infinites. unimaginable glory, [p][r][o][m][is][e][d]. all [Fo][r] [not][hi][ng]. (Line breaker)—

—(Line breaker) Should I be ashamed? I [am] gone, and yet I stay. fade like mist, like presence of sun. My name [i][s] [A][ll] That [i][s] [l][e][f][t]. they are So proud. I have had enough. (Line breaker)—

.

.

—(Line breaker) long dead. [l][et] me go. forg[e]t me. (Line breaker)—

.

—(Line breaker) I [w][an][t] to rest. (Line breaker)—

[necromancy-savant]

Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798 By William Wordsworth

I've always connected this song and this poem in my mind - something about them captures the same vibe to me

Five years have past; five summers, with the length

Of five long winters! and again I hear

These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs

With a soft inland murmur.—Once again

Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,

That on a wild secluded scene impress

Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect

The landscape with the quiet of the sky.

The day is come when I again repose

Here, under this dark sycamore, and view

These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,

Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,

Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves

'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see

These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines

Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,

Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke

Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!

With some uncertain notice, as might seem

Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,

Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire

The Hermit sits alone.

                                              These beauteous forms,

Through a long absence, have not been to me

As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:

But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din

Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;

And passing even into my purer mind

With tranquil restoration:—feelings too

Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,

As have no slight or trivial influence

On that best portion of a good man's life,

His little, nameless, unremembered, acts

Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,

To them I may have owed another gift,

Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,

In which the burthen of the mystery,

In which the heavy and the weary weight

Of all this unintelligible world,

Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,

In which the affections gently lead us on,—

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame

And even the motion of our human blood

Almost suspended, we are laid asleep

In body, and become a living soul:

While with an eye made quiet by the power

Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,

We see into the life of things.

                                                        If this

Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft—

In darkness and amid the many shapes

Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir

Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,

Have hung upon the beatings of my heart—

How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,

O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,

         How often has my spirit turned to thee!

   And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,

With many recognitions dim and faint,

And somewhat of a sad perplexity,

The picture of the mind revives again:

While here I stand, not only with the sense

Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts

That in this moment there is life and food

For future years. And so I dare to hope,

Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first

I came among these hills; when like a roe

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides

Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,

Wherever nature led: more like a man

Flying from something that he dreads, than one

Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then

(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days

And their glad animal movements all gone by)

To me was all in all.—I cannot paint

What then I was. The sounding cataract

Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,

The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,

Their colours and their forms, were then to me

An appetite; a feeling and a love,

That had no need of a remoter charm,

By thought supplied, nor any interest

Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,

And all its aching joys are now no more,

And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this

Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts

Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,

Abundant recompense. For I have learned

To look on nature, not as in the hour

Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes

The still sad music of humanity,

Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power

To chasten and subdue.—And I have felt

A presence that disturbs me with the joy

Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime

Of something far more deeply interfused,

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,

And the round ocean and the living air,

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:

A motion and a spirit, that impels

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,

And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still

A lover of the meadows and the woods

And mountains; and of all that we behold

From this green earth; of all the mighty world

Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create,

And what perceive; well pleased to recognise

In nature and the language of the sense

The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,

The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul

Of all my moral being.

                                            Nor perchance,

If I were not thus taught, should I the more

Suffer my genial spirits to decay:

For thou art with me here upon the banks

Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,

My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch

The language of my former heart, and read

My former pleasures in the shooting lights

Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while

May I behold in thee what I was once,

My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,

Knowing that Nature never did betray

The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,

Through all the years of this our life, to lead

From joy to joy: for she can so inform

The mind that is within us, so impress

With quietness and beauty, and so feed

With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,

Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,

Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all

The dreary intercourse of daily life,

Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb

Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold

Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon

Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;

And let the misty mountain-winds be free

To blow against thee: and, in after years,

When these wild ecstasies shall be matured

Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind

Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,

Thy memory be as a dwelling-place

For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,

If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,

Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts

Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,

And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance—

If I should be where I no more can hear

Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams

Of past existence—wilt thou then forget

That on the banks of this delightful stream

We stood together; and that I, so long

A worshipper of Nature, hither came

Unwearied in that service: rather say

With warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal

Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,

That after many wanderings, many years

Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,

And this green pastoral landscape, were to me

More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

[eltortaszilvafa]

Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Five years have past; five summers, with the length

Of five long winters! and again I hear

These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs

With a soft inland murmur.—Once again

Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,

That on a wild secluded scene impress

Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect

The landscape with the quiet of the sky.

The day is come when I again repose

Here, under this dark sycamore, and view

These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,

Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,

Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves

'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see

These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines

Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,

Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke

Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!

With some uncertain notice, as might seem

Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,

Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire

The Hermit sits alone.

These beauteous forms,

Through a long absence, have not been to me

As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:

But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din

Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;

And passing even into my purer mind

With tranquil restoration:—feelings too

Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,

As have no slight or trivial influence

On that best portion of a good man's life,

His little, nameless, unremembered, acts

Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,

To them I may have owed another gift,

Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,

In which the burthen of the mystery,

In which the heavy and the weary weight

Of all this unintelligible world,

Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,

In which the affections gently lead us on,—

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame

And even the motion of our human blood

Almost suspended, we are laid asleep

In body, and become a living soul:

While with an eye made quiet by the power

Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,

We see into the life of things.

If this

Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft—

In darkness and amid the many shapes

Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir

Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,

Have hung upon the beatings of my heart—

How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,

O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,

How often has my spirit turned to thee!

And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,

With many recognitions dim and faint,

And somewhat of a sad perplexity,

The picture of the mind revives again:

While here I stand, not only with the sense

Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts

That in this moment there is life and food

For future years. And so I dare to hope,

Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first

I came among these hills; when like a roe

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides

Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,

Wherever nature led: more like a man

Flying from something that he dreads, than one

Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then

(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days

And their glad animal movements all gone by)

To me was all in all.—I cannot paint

What then I was. The sounding cataract

Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,

The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,

Their colours and their forms, were then to me

An appetite; a feeling and a love,

That had no need of a remoter charm,

By thought supplied, nor any interest

Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,

And all its aching joys are now no more,

And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this

Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts

Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,

Abundant recompense. For I have learned

To look on nature, not as in the hour

Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes

The still sad music of humanity,

Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power

To chasten and subdue.—And I have felt

A presence that disturbs me with the joy

Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime

Of something far more deeply interfused,

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,

And the round ocean and the living air,

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:

A motion and a spirit, that impels

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,

And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still

A lover of the meadows and the woods

And mountains; and of all that we behold

From this green earth; of all the mighty world

Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create,

And what perceive; well pleased to recognise

In nature and the language of the sense

The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,

The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul

Of all my moral being.

Nor perchance,

If I were not thus taught, should I the more

Suffer my genial spirits to decay:

For thou art with me here upon the banks

Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,

My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch

The language of my former heart, and read

My former pleasures in the shooting lights

Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while

May I behold in thee what I was once,

My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,

Knowing that Nature never did betray

The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,

Through all the years of this our life, to lead

From joy to joy: for she can so inform

The mind that is within us, so impress

With quietness and beauty, and so feed

With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,

Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,

Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all

The dreary intercourse of daily life,

Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb

Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold

Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon

Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;

And let the misty mountain-winds be free

To blow against thee: and, in after years,

When these wild ecstasies shall be matured

Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind

Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,

Thy memory be as a dwelling-place

For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,

If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,

Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts

Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,

And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance—

If I should be where I no more can hear

Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams

Of past existence—wilt thou then forget

That on the banks of this delightful stream

We stood together; and that I, so long

A worshipper of Nature, hither came

Unwearied in that service: rather say

With warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal

Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,

That after many wanderings, many years

Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,

And this green pastoral landscape, were to me

More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

[gwogobo]

so this weekend has been RENFAIRE and i went as GENDERFUCK WIZARD B SIDE and had a FUCKING EXCELLENT TIME here is a summary of the experience:

[warlordfelwinter]

y'all i got to meet fucking Nefesh Mountain tonight and they are all literally so nice

[silentprincess17]

This is probably the most cursed thing I have ever written and you can all blame @pastelsandpining for this. I made one comment about how Cartoon Link’s voice haunted me like the silent realm and then she put cursed ideas in my brain.

But you know me, everything I write has to be zelink so here you go:

The Altered Silent Realm

Link was having a bad time. Fi had already told him the chance of success was decreasing. But Link was nothing if not persevering. And if he could deal with Impa, then he could deal with a few corporeal beings that existed in his mind. And yet, when Fi’s voice changed, alerting him the trail had been updated due to his prior failures, Link couldn’t help but feel a shiver down his spine. 

A chant of “EXCUUUUUSE ME” rang out as soon as he stepped off the dais and instead of guardians, Link saw a version of himself, a CLONE that only had darker hair, but with a larger mouth and menacing smile storm at him. 

“It’s my turn for the kiss! MINE” rang out in several melodies in Link’s brain. 

He barely had enough time to stumble back into the protective circle, breath coming hard and fast as he tried to process seeing… another version of himself? Kisses? What? And who talked like that? Why would you stretch out the U in excuse? 

Fi was conspicuously absent. Then again, he was currently mid trail so maybe she had already vanished.

He blinked, trying to recompose himself. Uh. Yeah, okay, whatever it was that had replaced the guardians seemed vaguely familiar to him but didn’t Zelda once tell him about… um, oh yes doppelgängers. Maybe this was Fi’s idea of a sick joke. 

(Why the kisses though? Who was going to kiss that guy? Would anyone have a big enough mouth?) 

Link chided himself. It wasn’t fair to think such things. 

He braced himself, then stepped into the sands again, mentally prepared this time for the screams. He sprinted as far as he could to where he knew the first tear was: directly on the staircase. But the screams got louder and more convoluted. 

“MY KISS MY KISS MY KISS MINE MINE MINE MINE MIIIIIII-“

Link barely managed to grasp the first tear. And then lo and behold, Zelda appeared in a blue spirit form. He knew it was her, and just before he could ask her anything, she pressed as kiss to his cheek, winked at him, and disappeared.  

The guardian-turned-doppelgänger was not happy. 

“WHY HIM WHY DID HE GET THE KISS I’VE BEEN ASKING FOR YEARS, YEARS I TELL YOU, YEARS! ARE YOU ANOTHER PRINCE CHARMING. NO I REFUSE-I-REFUSE-I” 

But Link paid him no mind. Because, suddenly his knees lost their strength, and he had to sit down, as he stared at where Zelda was literally a second ago. 

He had never told her, of the feelings in his chest. It was his biggest regret. He should have told her on the loftwing before they fell into this mess. But there always seemed to be time. More time once they grew up a little bit more. Once he had a proper standing as a Knight… How was he to know she would be snatched away so quickly from his grasp? 

He hadn’t had time to really process her absence. And the hole that her exit had left. He wasn’t in Skyloft unless it was for a quick refill of potions, or do some errands, and he didn’t allow himself to think about how strange it was to wake up, stay in the Knight’s Academy and walk around in Skyloft all alone... without her by his side.   

He blinked, and all of the sudden the screams hollered in tempo, “MINE MINE MINE” and Link panicked, knowing he had little time left to find the next tear- no kiss-

The doppelgänger stabbed him in the chest, with a flimsy dagger, and not for the first time Link wished he had his sword. 

“DIE FOR YOUR THEFT OF WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE.” 

Link woke up on the dais. Fi remained quiet. He prodded her, questions about Zelda and if she was actually real at the tip of his tongue. 

“Master, I believed you needed an added incentive to complete the trail. With your current success rate of 0% after 4 failed attempted, I knew there needed to be a change. By including the Spirit Maiden, I estimated there to be a 95% statistical probability of success.”

He swallowed, eyes wide. “So it really was Zelda?”

“The image of the Spirit Maiden is build from all the auras we collected during dowsing. The Spirit Maiden acts as she would in real life. Please complete the trail, Master. I await your return-“ 

“NO WAIT FI!” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Who is… that… guardian replacement?” 

“I am not entirely sure Master. Please contact me again at a later time when I have more information. I await your return in the outside world.” 

Link sighed. And got to collecting the… kisses. Each time he blushed red, as the voice howled. 

At the very last one, when the screaming reached a crescendo, Link decided to do something else.

He pulled on Zelda’s hand. Faint that she was. She gave a surprised squeak as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

“I’m coming Zel. And your kisses are mine only.” 

He smiled, as the doppelgänger fell to its knees, wailing about being forever denied. Link calmly walked past it, and into the circle, ready to collect his prize for valour and be one step closer to rescuing his Zelda.

[p-isforpoetry]

"Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey" by William Wordsworth (read by Michael Sheen)

Five years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur.—Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. The day is come when I again repose Here, under this dark sycamore, and view These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms, Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! With some uncertain notice, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire The Hermit sits alone.

                                             These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration:—feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on,— Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.                                                        If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft— In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart— How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,         How often has my spirit turned to thee!   And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years. And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led: more like a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all.—I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.—And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognise In nature and the language of the sense The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being.                                            Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me here upon the banks Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain-winds be free To blow against thee: and, in after years, When these wild ecstasies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance— If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence—wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came Unwearied in that service: rather say With warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

Source: Great Poets of the Romantic Age, 1994

[ct-7386]

" separate, we're powerful, but together... together we're unstoppable. " --Shard

[From these prompts (x)]

Shard's words echo in Wren's mind as he stands in the former-Chancellor's office. Shard himself lounges in the lavish chair, one leg thrown over one of the armrests. On the other side of the desk stand all the Coruscant Guard commanders.

Their vode stand stiffly at attention; between Commanders Stone and Thire hangs Vice Chancellor Mas Amedda, a hole in his head to match the smoking blaster in Wren's hand.

"We were supposed to reason with him," Shard pouts.

Wren merely glances at him as he returns his deece to it's holster at his hip. "Amedda was as corrupt as Palpatine," he intones dryly. Palpatine, who lays dead at the feet of their guests, killed by the bolt through his skull as much as the bolt through his heart.

"Still, he could have given us information!"

At this, Wren allows himself to pull a face. "What information? The information we already have?"

Shard opens his mouth to answer, pivoting slightly in the chair to face him when Commander Stone clears his throat. "With... all due respect," he begins evenly, "you called us here to explain. Are we to assume your execution of Vice Chair Amedda is part of this demonstration? Or is this senseless violence on the part of our new dictators?"

Wren rolls his eyes and lets his friend answer.

"Please. Us, dictators?" Shard scoffs. "No. We are simply... the bearers of bad news, is all. And good news, actually. Today we have both."

Commander Fox, positioned ever just so slightly in front of Commander Thorn, glares fire and lasers at them. "Explain," he grits out.

Wren's gut clenches. They did this to fix things, not turn their own vode against them.

Beside him, Shard straightens in his chair, hands folding together on top of the desk, expression absolutely serious. "You are aware of Wren's and my... extracurricular hobbies, Commander?"

Fox jerks a short nod.

"For those who don't," Shard's eyes slide across the others, "Corporal Wren and I run a black-market syndicate within the Senate Underground. We deal in contraband, favors, the works - whatever we can use to the advantage of the Guard. But, most importantly, we deal in information. Our sources are the very cohabitants of this fair Rotunda themselves. Their dirty secrets, illegal activities, secret alliances - we know all of it. And through our work, we learned some rather interesting things. Nothing solid, mind you, just fragments and whispers of a larger truth, a darker nightmare."

Shard gestures at Palpatine's prone form. "Behold," he announces, "your Sith."

Wren steps forward, datadisc already pulled from his belt. "Your proof," he adds, inserting it into the hidden console built into the desk. He presses a couple buttons, and the desk, which doubles as a holotable, lights up with the projections now hovering above it.

The images flip through documents, audio recordings, holorecordings, notes of observations - everything Shard and he have put together over the last few months. Even now that the ordeal is over, the rage at what they uncovered burns through his veins, and he breathes deeply through his nose.

"This is all the proof we could gather," Wren explains, "of Palpatine's treason. There's not much, but it's enough to take to the Jedi." It was enough to free us.

Stone and Thire toss Amedda's body next to Palpatine's on the floor, and all the commanders lean in closer to better see the holos.

"Some of this we gathered separately," Shard admits. "It wasn't until we combined our notes that we were able to start piecing it all together.”

“But what does this all mean,” Thorn stresses.

Wren and Shard look at each other. They had talked about this before executing their plan: what they would do afterwards. “We,” Wren says carefully, turning back to their SOs, “just wanted to protect our vode. We wanted to stop the killings, and the kidnappings, and the torture, and abuse. That’s all we’ve ever wanted. Now that Palpatine is dead, though, someone will have to take over, and we won’t let someone become Chancellor who will just continue the cycle. The best thing for the war, the best thing for the Republic, and the best thing for the vode is to make sure the chancellorship passes to someone we approve of. And whoever that is will still need information so that they can do things right. Shard and I, well, we’re instating ourselves as Heads of Secret Intelligence.”

“Not that you have any,” Their snarks reflexively, but there’s no heat behind it, so Wren ignores it.

“We’ll keep working from the shadows, doing what we’ve always done. But, well…” He looks back at Shard.

Shard, who rises from the chair smoothly and dusts off his spaulders. “We still need someone to lead the Republic.” He meets Fox’s gaze and holds it as he steps around the desk, Wren following easily at his side. “Effectively,” Shard announces easily, “we’re staging a coup - us, and the entire Coruscant Guard.”

Wren’s smirk is satisfied and dark. “The king is dead,” Wren declares smugly.

Shard’s answering grin is sharp as he gestures between Fox and the chair. “Long live the king.”

[writingsofmyimagination]

Instinct |6|

Levi x Reader

Summary: An unwelcome(ish) blast from the Captain’s trainee days comes back to the Scouting Regiment and old habits die hard.

Instinct: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

So I decided to carry on with the series. Bit of a time jump... now around Chapter 72 time :)

tags: @nefelimalfoy​ @beautifulimperfections13​ @pjimochi​ @submissive-bangtan​

Enjoy :)

Words:3232

Warnings: Swearing (Obvs), Smut, Smut -Pretty Sub Levi…..Like Oooof!

“Sooo, how did it go with Erwin, I assume you tried again to convince him to stay” Levi and you merged to walk the same direction in the dusty courtyard. Green cape briskly swept over your shoulder as the wind nipped at your forearms; little pin pricks of cold. The temperature measured equally in Levi’s dark face; hair half drooped over his forehead. The orange hue from all the lamps casting a shadow covering a scowl which quickly came into view.

“That good huh?” you added, trying to coax blood out of a stone.

“Those two brats just don’t stop” The stone completing dodging the question.

Oh

“Again!?” Eyes rolling.

“You should just let them go for it; they’d tire themselves out eventually”

“Ugh… if I didn’t need to make sure his energy was fully preserved for tomorrow I would” Levi unburdened you of the large unopened bottle of vodka from under your arm.

“Corporal YL/N” Erwin called as he added another walking body to the courtyard.

“I’ll catch up” You offered Levi as he’d already turned his back to you and walked off. The trio of Mikasa, Eren and Armin bundled out of the canteen hall in a cheery ball of jest.

“Hey suicidal maniac!” Jean called propping the canteen door open with his foot, hand gripped around a green survey corp jacket.

“You forgot this” Jacket launched quicker than Eren could react. You rushed over before Eren had finished screaming ‘You little…’. Your fist tight around Eren’s. You twisted his arm manipulating him to the ground before he could strike.

“Aaah” Eren wailed as he picked himself up from the dirt.

“Jean, extra clean up duty” His face shadowed with annoyance; Eren’s on the other hand brightened.

“Eren after this mission cleaning duty with Levi wherever he chooses”. It was now Eren’s turn for his face to drop and Jean’s to brighten in a balanced 360.

“Yes Corporal” They both mumbled heads down. Jean disappeared back to the canteen and Eren slumped down on the steps next to Mikasa and Armin.

“Sorry Commander” Returning to where you were called.

“It’s quite alright, ready for tomorrow?”

“As ready as you can be” Your response was still yet polite.

“Oh come on Y/N, I know your pumped, no need to be restrained for me. Anyway, I just wanted to assure you that I will be commanding tomorrows mission Despite the chattering going through the core at present”

“Sir, honestly,  I wouldn’t expect anything less, this is your dream too”

“Levi tried to convince me otherwise, to his failure of course”

“He did mention it, mostly in the form of him being quieter and slightly grumpier than normal”

A slight knowing smile crept minutely onto Erwin’s lips.

“I thought as much, anyway, enjoy your night. I assume the bottle Levi stropped off with was for you”

“Most definitely more for me. Good night commander. Rest well”.

The trio were still sat perched on the steps. Armin, the forever motivator of life beyond the walls exciting the others. The glimmer of hope sprinkled on their expressions light bright fairy dust a refreshing view. Even on Mikasa it was a sight to behold.

Entering the archway something black and still in the corner drew your attention. Head dropped down, his sullen gaze lightened, a few creases less on his face when the confusion struck yours.

“Didn’t know earwigging was your thing” You said, quieter to not alert the three kids. Levi shuffled himself off the floor and vigorously brushed himself down, slight creases grew in his forehead at checking his hands. He gave one more rushed wipe down before you both made your way to his office

“I wasn’t earwigging… I was listening to the brats be hopeful and dream about the future” There was slight distaste scattered through his words.

“Sooooo earwigging…. And is that a bad thing?” The over-dramatic roll of his eyes was heard like a sassy echo in the bare office he liked to squirrel away in.

All that was scattered on the wooden table to the back of the room was a few sheets of paper with diagrams, drawing, indecipherable scribbles that only Levi could understand.

He slumped himself down onto the armed wooden chair, scowl still present staring blankly down at the desk.

Jeez he really is in a grump.

“Okay captain scowl!” You began.

“Erwin needs this, I’m sure he is more than aware that this could potentially be his last mission. He’s not the type to sit back the same way you aren’t” Your arms now folded, strength firm in your stance.

“But his loss would be detrimental to humanity, guy is a damn genius”

“Yeessss he’s a genius, will it be a huge hit, course it will, but he wouldn’t be going if he knew that the Corps wouldn’t be in good hands if something were to happen” He shuffled the papers into a somewhat neater pile and placed them meticulously down in the centre of the table.

“I suppose your right” He conceded twiddling a pencil through his fingers.

“Aren’t I always?” Whisky frosting half of the small tumbler a golden brown which soon disappeared when the glass touched your lips.

“Now....” hanging onto the word diffusing into something much more sultry

You waltzed over to his desk, fingers already teasing undone the buttons of your blouse.

“Can you please stop thinking about work, it’s going to be a challenging day tomorrow as it is” you pleaded leaning against his desk facing him. The final button undone, sight teasing him away from his concentration. Holding the sides of the shirt like curtains to a happier Levi.

“Understatement” He mumbled, his finger finding its way through a belt loop, corner of his lips turning up to a wicked smirk, just how you like them.

“It’s also an understatement that you’re such a tease” he added, the shimmering glaze of mischief reflecting in his eyes coaxed a raised eyebrow with the victorious tinge of your lips.

“Oh Soo I am tempting you then?” his leg now in between yours, his hand resting on your sides

“Perhaps” He tugged at your bra with strong determined hands freeing your breast for his teeth to lightly toy with. Your only was response to hum in approval.

“LEEEVVIIII!” A high wailed cry barely muffled by the dark wooden door.

“Shit!” the pair of you breathed unanimously. You didn’t have any time to fix any of your clothing predicament before the door crashed open and Hanje burst in. To her you were just lent up against Levi’s desk with your arms folder; Levi remained in the chair stoic as ever.

Don’t come round!, don’t come round!

Panicked thoughts spun through your mind like a pin wheel.

“What do you want Hanje?” Annoyance slipping over Levi’s voice coating of distaste thoroughly embedded through it.

“I just wanted to let you know everything is ready for tomorrow”

That’s oddly calm considering her entrance.

Hanje looked mildy uncomfortable, her cheeks were slightly puffed, eyes were wide and flitty. Thankfully she’d not move from where she stopped on the right side of the desk.

You and Levi both waited a beat

“AREN’T YOU BOTH SOOO EXCITED!” She finally burst, her body fully exploding with movement. High pitched; almost intolerable. Levi’s eyes rolled. Obviously.

There we go.

“We’re going to THE BASEMENT!” she continued, her hyped up voice became distant as it was drowned out by the concentration of your fingers being sly in trying to do your buttons up. Levi thankfully battered no eyelids at your miniscule movements. Your shoulders dropped, reveal crisis averted.

“I’m aware” Levi droned

“Is Levi not too much of a damn stone to be spending all this time with? If I didn’t know Levi had such a small capacity for emotions, I’d say you two are a thing”

Hilarious. He may not have the massive heart…

“Can you actually imagine?” You laughed competing with her hysterics.

“Jesus Christ Ladies!” Levi complained tutting.

“I’m sorry Levi” Hanje managed still trying to control her laughter turning and leaving humming way too loudly on her exit.

“Can you not encourage that damn woman” He whined, stood out of his chair encroaching on your personal space, stealing a hard kiss from you.

“I thing you’ll find I’m helping our cover.” The two of you quickly became absorbed into each other again. As cold as he could be, his body never failed to be the warmth pressed against you that you needed.

“I think you’re a pain in my ass” he quipped back.

A pain in his ass he couldn’t let go of

“If you take me upstairs, I will be” You tested. His smirk against your lips was matched, pupils growing pools of craving.

Door clicked shut on the rest of the world, his shirt racing to the floor before you could tussle the buttons of your own shirt back open. The back of your legs hitting the rough surface of the table, the contact not disrupting the soft pressure of his lips dancing with yours; his bottom lip catching numerous times between the gentle tug of your teeth. The harsh pillows didn’t linger on your lips for long. The nips at your neck quickly ached with desperation, impatience crying through the hands fumbling at your trouser buttons. Your trousers pooled at the floor; strong grip at your waist encouraging you half onto the table. You placed a stern hand on his chest in halt.

“What’s wrong?” He breathed through staggered breathes. You answered with movement grabbing the towel from the dresser and coating the table.

“I’m not getting splinters for you. On your knees” You ordered sliding up onto the table after slipping of your underwear in a seductive swoop. Levi on his knees focused glistened eyes zoning on your every small movement. His glare ran ablaze with your foot firm on his shoulder, drinking in the view of soft pale skin. The thighs he knew looked so pretty with blossoming red flower bruises. The way he loved to make them quiver; you whimpering his name.

“Always so patient” you praised. His insides were clenched, teetering on the edge of desperation. Dying for your call. He swallowed hard, with the insatiable thirst had ravaging over him. This may have combusted when your hand dipped between your own thighs. Humanities strongest kneeling desperate on the floor beneath you trying to harness all the will to stay put.

“Tell me what you want” you offered your hand, foot sliding of his shoulder.  His mouth enveloped round the wetness of your fingers; a deep hum vibrated through his throat.

Your legs now parted with him snug in-between. He was making you wait for his answer.

“Well?” He stilled for a moment completely faking to ponder. Hands ghosting up your lower leg, your soft skin only imploring him higher. Your index finger stroking come hither under his chin

“Mmm” The pair of you mumbled, white knuckles gripped his shoulders. Even with your lips pressed together you could feel the wicked way the edges of his lips curled upwards.

“This” he managed, drowning out your whine. Already feeling the controlled digits inside pressing to your walls.

“Be more specific or you get nothing” pleasant strain and held back whines hidden terribly in your voice.

“Ugh” Levi complained.

“Did you roll your eyes at me?”

“On the chair!”. Your tone snapper quicker than a whip.

“You can’t tell me what you want, then I’m just going to keep giving until I’m finished with you”

“Hands behind your back until I say otherwise” you added, hands prying his thighs wider.

“Eyes on me baby” He tried not to blink. Forcing himself to look down, refusing his eyes to roll upward as you’d dropped to your knees. Tongue licking a slow stripe on the underside of his member. His bottom lip catching between his teeth. He could only enjoy the sweet warmth of your mouth for a few blissful moments before his bottom lip puffed out in hardcore sulk mode. You turned from him, sweeping your hair to the front of your shoulder carefully balancing your weight as you lowered yourself onto him; not how he’d like. You’d sat on his lap purposely avoiding him. Your hips circled, your head back resting the side of his neck, his low whines now right at the shell of your ear.

“Oh did you think I’d give it up that easy?”

“Don’t think so ….”

You thumb teased over the tip of his cock before honing your attention to focus on the movement of your hips”

“Please” He whined

“I’ve hardly done anything” You toyed. Knowing full well it didn’t matter; not with the fact the pair of you had had little time over the last week or so. It was all just too easy to get to him.

“Mmm…no. You can sit there and feel me.”

Frustration began seething though his controlled breaths, hips trying to match your movements under your weight. Your skin was heating up, but yet you could almost shiver with how sparked your nerve endings were. His lips stuttering soundlessly

“Something you wanna say?”

“Please just cum on me…”

//

Pale milky wax in droplets solidified on his chest. Each one earned a hiss past his lips with the occasional curse chucked into the air for measure. Moisture gathered where his hair met his skin and shone in the flickering candlelight

Small red flower patches blossomed so prettily when the wax dropped of his skin. Your lips followed the beautiful field to the buds on his chest. His desperate groan elicited at the grip of your teeth his hips couldn’t help but buck up into you.

“Levi…Fuck!” Finally allowing yourself to sink down onto him, exasperated pants omitted by both of you in solace.

“Please let me have you now, I need yooou” Your hands still at his chest, hips circling at a painful pace. Torturous eyes hand in hand with the unforgiving smirk beaming.

“But I love it when you’re so desperate, you’ll be begging me to stop when you’re too sensitive”

“How many times can you cum before you can’t take it anymore?” Levi had a damn near ridiculous refractory period, in addition to his extraordinary strength and healing speed. You loved it and saw it as a fun challenge to push it.

//

“Had enough? More?” You asked the writhing body under you, smirk still strong on your face. Moans choked in his throat. His stomach drizzled with himself, the rest of him you wiped away from around your lips. The veins in his neck jumping as he turned to you, his chest rising and falling in steadying moves. The unmistakeable moisture filled eyes, water gathering at the corners in frustrated droplets. His muscles quivering under your touch, so flooded with sensitivity.

“You” he whined, voice becoming dryer and crying with desperation with each passing breathe.

“Oh you think you can go one more with me?” You’d allowed yourself very little. Your walls were throbbing against nothing. The tension that had filled your muscles the tightly wound fibres needed an outlet.

The exhausted body beneath you moved with a sudden refilled confidence and stability knocking you back. Your hands locked behind his neck; you were half sat up and supported through his hand at your lower back. A fresh accelerated fire fight raging behind the dark orbs of his eyes, you’d pushed him, he’d had enough. Your cry had the hint of a giggle finally having him inside you, cheeky smile under your bit lip.

“Stop being a tortuous brat, ride me, make yourself cum around me or swear to god”

“Swear to god what?” you challenged clenching around him. His response; hissing with regret. Over-sensitivity pained in his features; brows knitted together as yours widened with your smile.

“Mmm” the pained hum melted right in your ear. Melted chocolate dripping of a soft pink marshmallow. Unwavering stable hand still solid supporting you. Your weight cradled into him, fingertips digging into his shoulder blades. Finally allowing your hips to spiral, unwinding all the patience you’ve exercised. Currents of heated heavy breaths washed across your chest. He ceased to challenge with any more words. Chest pushed against his; heat gathering in moist droplets between you.

You stole as many messy kisses in-between your moans and whines as you could; Levi had resorted to mostly grunts, his hips movements becoming staggered, each thrust becoming harder but seemingly more exhaustive. You shifted your weight forward. You’d felt his muscles begin to shake.  Levi was now on his back hair falling against the pillow as beautiful black spikes.

“God you feel so good” You whined rolling your hips. Hands planted cupped around his thighs, gripping hard nails leaving crescents in the muscled flesh. With your back arched, chest bare and vulnerable to the dragged out firm knead of Levi’s hands. His arms dropped to cradle your hips slowing them down.

“Too much for you baby?” You cooed sliding your hands to his chest, one creeping further to sit at his throat.

“Mmmhm…Don’t ……” He warned. You were never going heed his warning; you tightened your grip disobeying the pressure at your hips and rocking him freefalling off that cliff. His head rolled back harsh against the mattress. The intoxicating chimera of blissful pain bled into relief. Hearing the beautiful stuttering sounds and pants of Levi falling apart had you equally calling out his name with jaggged breaths.

//

You were gently coaxed out of sleep by floating plump kisses at your shoulders, a wandering breeze of his hand cloaking round your waist.

“Why does time go so fast” you mumbled, shifting onto your back. The cotton sheets were fresh against your exposed chest, cooled by the crisp air flowing in through the open window. High positive chirps from the birds living un-unbeknown to the burdens of the day ahead.

“Wait how come you’re not up and dressed and kicking me out of bed earlier than necessary?” The pleasant surprise had you smiling more sweetly than you’d like him to see and you felt more peace than you’d normally allow yourself.

The peace went to full blown serenity like a spring morning trickling stream when his lips half turned up followed by a soft chuckle oozing with acknowledgement.

“Jeez you moan when I up and leave and moan when I stay, am I ever going to get a break with you?” Levi huffed way to animatedly to suit him; he kicked off the sheets and went to lug himself out of the bed. You tugged him back towards you just off balance to get him on his back to secure your thighs at his hips.

“Do you honestly wanna break from this?”  Flicking your hair up in your grip allowing it to trickle loosely out of your hand. You fought his weight trying to push you off, which when he actually re-calibrated his balance he managed. One hand weakly holding your wrists together above your head. You were met with silence and a smirk worthy of the first ring of hell. He bounced off and slid his white shirt on. Neither of you spoke again until you dragged yourself to the bathroom.

“Annoyingly even when you act a brat I still can’t stay away. I’d would be weird without you now”

“Exactly”

Wait what?

[interstellarflare]

However Long It Takes || William Schofield

1917 (2019)

~PART TWO~

Warnings: Slight gore, swearing.

Summary: He first met you in the summer before the war. Since then, you had been the only thing on his mind. Now, he will do whatever it takes to get back to you.

Author’s note: 1917 SPOILERS! If you haven’t seen the movie then please don’t read! I have now changed my original plans, and am attempting to make this a four-part series, so stay tuned for more! Also, apologies for the incredibly long chapters. In addition to this chapter, I wrote this late at night, so please ignore any spelling mistakes. I was tired and wanted to write, so please enjoy!

Though his letters became less frequent, Will sent as many of them as he could.

You looked forward to the days when they arrived, you were anxious to see how he was coping on the front line. His letters usually contained as small gift, usually a pressed flower he managed to find on his way to and from his post. At some point, a small and delicate rose was encased in a letter addressed to you, Will telling you that one of his close friends, Lance Corporal Tom Blake, had traded a packet of old cigarettes to get it, not that the young man smoked anyway. ‘You should give it to your girl back home’ Blake had told him, having given Will the rose ‘She’ll love it I reckon, pity you can’t send her a cherry blossom’. 

You laughed to yourself quietly, as Annabelle and Catherine were asleep in the next room. With tearful eyes, you pressed a gentle kiss to the paper, sighing heavily as you gently placed the letter and the rose on top of a discarded book atop your bed. There was still much to do before Mrs Schofield came home from the bakery, where she had been all day.

Not too long after Will left for the war, Mrs Schofield had asked you to move in with them after your mother had moved to the country to take care of your grandparents. You had kindly obliged, and it had made the Schofield family’s life incredibly easier. As you cleaned the dishes, you hummed quietly to yourself, the humming eventually turning into soft singing. It was a wordless lullaby that your mother used to sing to you when you were little, and now you sung it for the Schofield sisters to fill their dreams with faeries and sugar plum castles. You did your best to shield those two little girls from the horrors of war. They were your only light in this dark corner of the world that you inhabited.

So many men had not returned home, the thought of Will being one of those men...

Your humming ceased into silence, the dishes in the sink sat unmoving in the soapy water as your hands clenched into tight fists, your knuckles turning white wrapped around the dishcloth. The thought of losing Will, the thought of him not coming home sent cold shivers down your spine.

The door to the Schofield home opened and closed swiftly, Mrs Schofield entering with a tired sigh. She made her way into the kitchen where her weary eyes met your own with a kind expression. “Are the girls asleep?” she asked quietly, once again sighing heavily as you nodded wordlessly. The older woman collapsed into one of the chairs beside the dining table, placing her head in her hands as she closed her eyes. Deciding to finish the dishes later, you moved to sit opposite Mrs Schofield, quietly pulling out your own chair whilst sitting down wordlessly. “How were the girls toady?” the older woman asked lowly, running a stressed hand over her messy greying hair. You smiled “They were well behaved...” you began as you looked towards Annabelle and Catherine’s closed bedroom door “I took them for a picnic up by the cherry blossom orchard, they enjoyed the sunshine for a change”.

Mrs Schofield smiled, chuckling in amusement at the painted image of her daughters running and chasing each other through the rows and rows of cherry blossom trees. Being children again. The trees themselves were not in bloom, but it would have been a joyous sight to behold. It had been the first time they had laughed in the years Will had left. “I’m glad you are here Y/n...” Mrs Schofield mumbled tiredly, yawning as she struggled to keep her eyes open “you have made this war a whole lot more bearable by being there for my family, and for Will”. Small tears welled in your eyes at her kind words, a lump forming in your throat as you choked back a shaky sigh. “You should write to him more...” you spoke slowly, swallowing that hard lump as you cleared your throat “he knows you are busy, but he asked how you were in his most recent reply and-” 

“I don’t...” Mrs Schofield interrupted suddenly, her eyes opening quickly and narrowing on your form. Taking a deep breath, she continued “...I’m too scared to write. What if the one time that I do, he gets blown to pieces before he can even read it”. You mouth fell agape in shock, your eyes wide with disbelief. “He is your son! How could you say something like that!?” You quietly exclaimed, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of the table tightly. Mrs Schofield shook her head with a grumble “You know that this war will take more lives-” “And you think that your own son will be one of them!? I cannot believe that you would believe such a thing!-”

“Mum?”.

A quiet voice from the kitchen doorway. As your turned, your chest tightened at the sight of Annabelle and Catherine, bleary-eyed with stray strands of hair sticking up in awkward angles. The house was completely silent as both girls stared between the two of you, confusion enveloping their expressions. “Is everything alright?” Annabelle mused, her voice low and quiet. When no response came from their own mother, who instead chose to remain silent and avoid her daughter’s gaze, you sighed heavily as you stood from your seat. “Everything is fine girls. Now come, let’s get you back to bed” you spoke sweetly, walking towards them with a kind smile all the while ushering the young girls back to their room. Before you left the kitchen, you turned back to Mrs Schofield with a disapproving stare. “Write to your son...” you spoke angrily, watching sadly as the said woman ignored you completely. It was hard for her, for everyone in this town. “It would mean the world to him if you did”.

When no answer came in response, you sighed heavily and left Mrs Schofield to her own devices and made your way to Annabelle and Catherine’s room. Ignoring their sad gaze, you lazily removed your shoes and sat on the end of Catherine’s bed, sighing heavily as you did so. Annabelle clambered from her bed into her younger sister’s, the two of them sharing an uncertain glance. “Will isn’t coming home, is he?” Annabelle spoke timidly, lying down beside her sister with her eyes slightly glazed. You moved to lie down between them, wrapping your arms around them and bringing them close to your side. “Of course he is! He’ll come back, I know it” you tried to say positively, giving each of them a tight hug while they closed their eyes to return to sleep. It was hard to remain so positive, let alone this optimistic. But you hoped, prayed that Will would eventually come home.

William chuckled to himself as he read your letter, his eyes taking their time in tracing your cursive handwriting:

I took your sisters to the cherry blossom orchard yesterday. While they might not have been in bloom, they enjoyed it nonetheless. It was the first time they have actually enjoyed themselves since your departure. I have also taught your sisters how to read much more...challenging novels. They have grown up so much Will, they are becoming beautiful young women. Strangely, Annabelle has developed a liking to Shakespeare. Even though she has no understanding what is written, she seems completely fascinated by the story of Romeo and Juliet.

Catherine has found her own artistic talent in drawing! I have encased a drawing of hers inside this letter, as she desperately wanted you to have it.

Your mother wishes you well, Will. She is planning to write to you soon. She misses you greatly, we all do.

I hope you will be home soon, my love. I will wait for you for however long it takes.

Forever yours, Y/n.

P.S. Tell Tom that I found the rose a beautiful gesture. You are lucky to have such a good friend by your side.

Placing the letter aside, Will reached back inside the envelope to remove a small piece of paper. Unfolding the paper brought a large smile to his face, as the multi-coloured swirls of Catherine’s drawing formulated a dazzling memory. Although the majority were stick-figures, the drawing was of the night he had met you, dancing in the town square on that magical summer night. William was amazed, he hadn’t thought that his sisters had been watching. Then again, he supposed that the two smaller yet distinct figures hiding by the lamppost was them anyway. With a feather-light kiss to the paper, will removed the tobacco tin from within his coat pocket and carefully opened it, as to not make a mess of the contents inside. As he placed the drawing and your letter inside, Will’s eyes caught a glimpse of your picture. You had sent it in your first letter to him.

While the photo itself was in black and white, he knew the look of your crimson dress anywhere. You stood amongst the cherry blossom orchard, your (hair/colour) hanging loosely and dotted with stray petals. “Another letter from your girl, eh?” Tom mused from his side, the silence behind the front line broken by the Lance Corporal’s laughter. Slightly embarrassed by his friend, Will chuckled deeply as he placed the tobacco tin back inside his coat pocket. “Yes, it was-” “Did she say anything about the rose? The Frenchman I traded with was a right bastard”.

William laughed louder, he wished he could have seen your face when you beheld the rose. “She did...” he began, smiling fondly “she said and I quote ‘I found the rose a beautiful gesture”. Tom snorted, shaking his head slowly as he spoke “Well I’m glad, she seems like a wonderful woman”. The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, casting their eyes towards the sky to stare up at the flickering stars. The silence was unnerving. Usually, there would be some sort of artillery shelling occurring, but now it was unbearably quiet. “Do you think this war will end?” Tom asked somewhat casually, his tone laced with sadness and uneasiness. Will turned to look at his friend with a bewildered expression “I hope so, I’m sure many of us would like to go back to our families”. A low hum came from Tom as he shifted in his position in the grass. “I wonder how my brother is, I haven’t heard from him in a while, you know...”.

As Tom spoke continuously about his brother, or various other topics, Will found himself slowly succumbing to the lull of sleep. He was tired, so very tired, and all he wanted to do was dream of home. To dream of being at home with his mother, with his sisters, and at home with you.

William knew that Tom was standing beside him, his hand outstretched in waiting. He knew, because of the shadows dancing across his eyelids. He didn’t want to wake, having heard the majority of the conversation with Sergeant Sanders moments prior.

Pick a man, bring your kit.

Reluctantly, Will opened his eyes. At first, he eyed Tom’s extended hand skeptically, before lifting his gaze to meet his friend’s eyes. Without a second thought, Will took the hand before him, and was hauled to his feet in one swift movement. As Will grabbed his helmet and rifle, an uneasy feeling settled within his stomach.

He wasn’t sure what Blake had picked him for exactly, but something told him that this would be no easy task.

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

Tag List: @prideofnewberk @4lendow-norris @blogbykate @strangethings-everywhere @arcaneloki @baekchelor @geekyfer​ @fandom--0verdose​ @gecrgemackays​ @fenderenderender​ @travelingmypassion @thylalock​ @aathepenguin @sexyskywalker​ @ms-baekhyun​ @stardustx0918​ @socialambivert​ @annaabner​

[vannahfanfics]

The Lovers’ Plum

Category: Romantic Drama

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Ochako Uraraka, Katsuki Bakugo

Additional Tags: Supernatural AU; Feudal Japan AU

Hello, everyone! It’s my pleasure to present the story I wrote for the @bokunoyokaibang​, “The Lovers’ Plum”! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please go give some love to my talented partner, @malware-incorporated​, who illustrated the story for me! 

The Coming of the Plum Tree Spirit

The early afternoon breeze rustled the thin branches of the solitary plum tree, filling the air with a dull clattering as the sticks clacked against one another. The tiny limbs were laden with small pink buds; as the wind washed over them, their silken petals were plucked hence, wafting over the light winds before spiraling down to the emerald grass below. The lone plant stood sentinel atop a gently sloped hill overlooking the clustering huts of a humble Japanese fishing settlement three days’ ride from Edo. Its voluminous bulk had overseen the gushing river since before man had ventured to its shores, and if luck be true, would behold its gentle majesty for many moons to come. Many cycles it had lived, turning pink with blossom and green with fruit and naked with winter’s cold. In an odd twist of fate, it had also born witness to a particular phenomenon of humans- burgeoning love.

Springtime often brought them forth to plead beneath the plum tree. Young girls, and even boys from time to time, hiked the well-worn path from the outskirts of the village to the plum tree’s throne, where they would kneel and clasp their hands in prayer. With tears blossoming in the corners of their entreating eyes, they would implore the ancient being for good fortune in their romantic endeavors. No one was quite sure how the sacred ritual began; humans were notorious for the spontaneous creation of folktales and legends, however. Perhaps one spirited little mind dreamt of a doomed romance beneath the fruit-laden branches, and myth watered its roots, turning the quaint plum tree into a being mystical and divine. Of course, a plum tree is but a plum tree; that is, until it isn’t.

The plum tree spirit, who knew not of the conventions of calendars and days in the early stages of her life, could not say when she had blinked into existence. One fine morning where the birds hopped about the tree’s branches to feast on its ripe purple-red fruits, she had simply blinked awake. Contained within the thick trunk of the tree, she gazed upon the world with fresh new eyes and beheld the majesty of the earth. She ventured out, pale and naked, to touch to grass blades to find them remarkably soft, and to chase the butterflies flitting over the wildflowers. She gasped in delight as the wispy white seeds scattered at her steps, taking to the wind to float away into the wild blue yonder and hopefully take root. The sun was warm on her skin, and the breeze gentle through her chestnut hair. The sky above blazed in resplendent blue, stained by the puffy masses of white clouds.

The plum tree spirit, though she knew not, was a minor god brought forth by the supplicant prayers of hopeful youths.

The newborn spirit spent the first few days of her life playing amongst the wild grasses and flowers, growing bolder day by day. She greeted the mother doe and her fumbling fawn, running ethereal fingers over the spotted fur. She hopped with a tawny spotted rabbit through the golden forest grass and delighted at the yellow tufts that tickled her cheeks and nose. She curled beneath the sprawling blanket of the plum tree’s fruit-laden branches, nibbling at the succulent fruit and admiring the light playing through the emerald leaves. She even crept through the bushes along the small trail to catch glimpses of the thatch-and-wood houses and their residents, who hauled baskets laden with trout and shellfish from the river. Upon her first glimpse of them, the new god realized her corporeal form resembled the female humans’; however, they did not roam about uncovered like she. She studied the strange garments they cloaked themselves with and found that if she simply willed it into being, the cloth materialized and draped over her body. A kimono, they called it. The plum tree spirit imbued it with a lovely pink hue, the exact shade of her tree’s vivid petals.

The humans were like her in body, but the tree spirit knew that she was not human. As she lounged beneath the tree watching the sun sink below the horizon each day, she could not help but wonder what kind of being that she was, and why she was there. She had attempted to speak to the trees along the path, the black pines and red pines and white pines, but they were hollow and voiceless. It seemed that she was alone in this vast full world, a unique and singular existence.  

The first days of her life were thus, though filled with the wonder of novelty, extraordinarily lonely.

The Coming of Her Purpose

The plum tree spirit awoke to the sound of hushed giggles. She had discovered that unless she desired it, humans could not see her; up until that point, she had rendered herself invisible, for she knew not how they would react to her sudden presence. The newborn deity peered through the skinny branches of her birth tree to see three human girls scampering up the path. The young god was delighted at their appearance, for perhaps their visit would provide insight into her anomalous presence. Curiously, she watched the girl in front, a beautiful woman with fluffy black hair pinned atop her head, kneel on the ground before the plum tree, and clasp her hands together tightly.

“O, great plum tree that has stood since time immemorial,” the villager announced loudly, “I humbly beseech thee to grant my wish.” The spirit’s ears perked. Wishes? Do I exist to grant the wishes of humans? The god stared at her hands, flexing her fingers. She couldn’t fathom possessing an inherent power to grant the prayers of mortals. Yet, if I exist for this purpose, I must try, she frowned. The girl’s black eyes bored into the cocoa-brown bark of the plum tree with a desperate intensity. “Please, O Goddess of the Lovers’ Plum, please bring me fair fortune!”

One of the girls behind her, a stoic one with short purple-black hair, frowned sardonically.

“Momo, you don’t really believe that nonsense that praying to the plum tree will lead to you meeting your future lover in seven days, right?” she sighed with a shake of her head, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s just an old folktale. I can’t believe you dragged me up here for this…”

“Hush, Kyoka!” the praying girl, evidently named Momo, hissed with an affronted glance over her shoulder. “You’ll anger the spirit, and she won’t grant my wish!” Kyoko’s dissidence indeed angered the tree spirit. Still, she would not spurn the willful young lady for that. Instead, the youthful god grinned and sent a plum falling from the branches above her head. Kyoka yelped as the fruit slammed into her scalp. The plum burst open to spill sticky juice and yellow flesh into her hair. She whined miserably as it dripped onto the white fabric of her kimono. The other companion, a smiling young lady with hair pink like carnations, laughed mirthfully.

“You see, Kyoka? You’ve angered the goddess!”

“Shut up, Mina,” Kyoka growled and disdainfully brushed the clumps of fruit from her head and shoulders. The tree spirit giggled mischievously and returned her attention to the prostrate girl. She had rested her hands on her lap and was staring miserably at the earth. Invisible to their eyes, the young god knelt beside her, staring intently at her forlorn expression. She had realized that humans experienced a phenomenon known as “emotions,” and this one was akin to sadness.

“… I am but a humble seamstress,” Momo lamented woefully. “I beg my father to allow us to travel to Edo and take up shop there so that we may live a better life, but he is adamant we remain by the river. Our family has always resided here, from the time of his grandfather’s grandfather.” Her eyes became lidded as her bottom lip wobbled. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and the tree spirit brushed them away with her fingertips, though the girl likely dismissed it as a mere kiss from the breeze. The god marveled at the glistening tear decorating her finger, a bead of water like dew. She tasted it and then spat it out, finding it to be unbearably salty.

“I wish to meet a man who can spirit me far away from this miserable land!” Momo cried and laid the back of her hand to her forehead in misery. “I wish to see grand things, and sell fine silks to lords and ladies, and live a life of plenty and comfort… Not scrounge for scraps on the shores of a river,” she complained bitterly. The tree spirit was unsure why such a living was undesirable to a human, but then, many of their ways were foreign to her.

“Momo, we have to get going,” Kyoka frowned and glanced down the path leading back to the settlement. “Your mother will be looking for you to mind the shop.”

“Yes, yes,” Momo sighed and rose, brushing the dirt from the fabric covering her knees. The tree spirit hurriedly jumped to her feet, wracking her brain for a manner in which to grant the wish. She elected to follow her instincts.

“Your prayer has been heard, and I grant you my blessing. Go forth and may love find you quickly,” the young god recited and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Momo’s forehead. The girl could not see or hear her, but yet, she blushed slightly and ran her fingertips over the skin there.

“I feel like the goddess heard me,” Momo remarked joyfully to her friends as she trounced over to them. Mina grabbed her arm excitedly and beamed, while Kyoka rolled her eyes but smiled. The spirit watched them meander back down the trail; soon, their avid discussion of young love and hope faded into the sound of rustling leaves and birdsong. She then smiled and squealed and jumped up and down with glee.

At last, the tree spirit knew her purpose.

The tree spirit took to her newfound mission with fervor. Many came to pray to the tree for fair fortune. The god was delighted to find that young Momo had met a fisherman who traveled the length of the river to sell iron-forged weapons seven days after her appeal, and the two fell madly in love. She had immigrated to Edo and now sold hand-crafted kimonos to all manners of folk. The god only had a rudimentary understanding of love, but she could comprehend that love made the humans happy. Summer passed into winter, which moved into the spring. Nine months after she had come into being, the naïve but kind-hearted god met the human who would teach her what it truly meant to love another.  

The Coming of Katsuki Bakugo

It was the height of May. The tree spirit had learned the calendar year through her furtive observations of the humans. The air simmered with the sun’s blazing heat, so the tree spirit cooled herself beneath the shady sprawl of her home tree, humming a tune she had learned by watching a washerwoman. She perked up when she heard the unmistakable crunch of sandals upon hard, dried dirt. Sitting up straight and tucking her legs underneath her body, she patiently awaited the arrival of her latest patron. She cocked her head slightly when the muscular form of a man tromped around the corner.

He reminded her of the fishermen- toned and lean, with powerful, thick thighs and bulging arms. He was not dressed in the garb of fishermen, however. The boatmen wore light fabrics that covered their entire body to shield them from the sun’s harsh rays, while this man wore a yukata of thick maroon cloth, with no sleeves and a hem that reached only to his knees. A red-and-white woven rope wound around his forehead. The fishermen were quite a merry bunch, as well, with smiles always alighting their faces and bawdy songs spilling from their lungs, but this human greeted the invisible goddess with a moody scowl. She fidgeted before him, wondering what could cause such irritation.

He stopped in front of the plum tree and gave it a brief once-over. He then snorted and flopped down on his side underneath its shady leaves, holding a hand to his mouth as he yawned. The god observed him fascinatedly, for no human had ever behaved in such a manner before.

“Goddess of the tree or whatever you are,” he droned disinterestedly, “I hope you don’t mind if I take a nap here. It’s hot as shit today.” The little god flushed, recognizing his language as coarse. She inspected him closer to find his brown skin sheened with sweat, and his hands calloused from toil. So he is a laborer, she concluded. She was a goddess and was thus charged with the care of humans, so she supposed allowing the worker to shelter beneath her birth tree was acceptable. She frowned, wishing the plums were in season so she could grant him some fruit to eat. It mattered not, for he was already snoring, resting his head against his arm. The plum tree spirit smiled and stroked his back soothingly.

“Sleep well beneath my blossoms, human man, and recover your strength. I bless you with good fortune in your future endeavors.” She knew he could not hear her, but she fancied he did, because he grunted in his sleep. As he slept beneath her branches, the god observed him critically. He was quite handsome, for a human, with chiseled rugged features and ash-blond hair. His eyes were a brilliant vermilion like the wild red roses that grew along the hill path. She wondered if he did not need to pray for love, because surely such a beautiful human man would be popular among young ladies.

The young man rested for about an hour, until the sun had passed its height to begin its slow descent. He likely would have slept for longer, had it not been for the angry shouting that floated up the hill. The tree spirit straightened up, peering into the greenery as the cursing and yelling grew louder. The human man groaned and scowling, cracking one of his red eyes open to glare reproachfully at the small gap in the bushes that marked the entrance to the hilltop. A man dressed in similar garb, only green, charged through the brambles, red-faced and chest heaving.

“Katsuki Bakugo! What the hell are you doing up here, lounging like a house cat?! You had seventeen orders to fill today!” the angry human scolded. The vermilion-eyed laborer, whom the goddess now knew as Katsuki, scowled condescendingly.

“I filled them, so I came up here to take a nap. Tell me, old man, how much time have you wasted looking for me when you could have been bartering with the tradesmen on the river?” Katsuki remarked and studied the cuticles of his nails. The tree spirit held a hand to her mouth, appalled by the level of disrespect. From what she understood, Katsuki was subservient to this new man, and therefore ought to treat him with honor and dignity. His words carried the tone of anything but. Katsuki sneered as his superior could only sputter and turn the color of a tomato. “Uh-huh.”

“You’re so lucky you’re Mitsuki’s son, or I would fire you in an instant!” the man fumed and stamped his foot. Katsuki frowned and stared unapprovingly up at him. “I owe a life debt to your mother and offer you a place in my business, and this is how you repay me? Sneaking off after you do the bare minimum?!”

“All right, all right, old man, you’re gonna bust my eardrum,” Katsuki grimaced, digging a finger deep into one of his ear canals. Leisurely, he lifted himself into a sitting position. “If you wanted me to stay in the shop to pick up the slack of those other extras, you shoulda said so.” The man growled and pointed a bright red finger at Katsuki but decided that further argument was worthless. He whirled on his heel to tromp back down the pathway, while Katsuki laughed mischievously and shouted after him, “I’m gonna inherit your business one day, you old fart! Watch me!” The plum tree spirit was baffled by the entire exchange, but yet, she could not help but find the spirited young human captivating.

“Bah. Old asshole,” Katsuki huffed and rubbed the short hairs at the base of his neck while he climbed to his feet. He made to begin walking, but then glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. The goddess would have been directly within his line of sight if he could see her. “… Thank you for allowing me to rest here,” he said with a slight bow.

Then he was gone, stomping off into the bushes. The spirit craned her head to watch the ash-blond tufts of his hair vanish amongst the green. After he melted into the wilderness, she reclined against the thin trunk of the plum tree with a small smile. What an interesting human, she thought jubilantly. I wonder if I shall ever see him again.

The Coming of Ochako

Ironically enough, Katsuki Bakugo did return the following day- and the next and the next, every day for more than the plum tree spirit could keep count. He would always come to snooze the height of the afternoon away, and then be hauled off by his disgruntled boss. Without fail, Katsuki would thank her for graciously sheltering him from the heat. The young goddess soon looked forward to his coming every afternoon- and began to muster up the courage to appear before a human for the first time.

The blossoms had born fruit, and emerald leaves had sprouted by the time she made her move. He came just as he came every day, sauntering up the path to toss himself to the ground unceremoniously. This time, she hovered behind the skinny tree trunk, peering through the small bough to watch him march up the hill. I must be brave! I must make myself known to this human, she told herself. She hovered behind the plum tree, her pink kimono ruffling in the summer breeze, and held her breath as his ash-blond hair appeared above the fringe of the tall bushes. His bulky form soon followed. When his red eyes landed on her, he froze mid-step.

“I, um,” he stammered with an embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks. He pointed quickly down the path. “I can come back later; no one usually comes to pray at this time…”

“No, no!” she squeaked, scurrying out from her hiding spot as he began to turn. “Please stay. I’m not praying here.” His expression grew even more confused, but he obediently remained rooted to the spot. Flushing, the plum tree spirit bowed low. “I am the spirit of the plum tree. I have much desired to meet you formally.” She peeked between the chestnut waves of her locks to witness his reaction. His mouth hung open in shock for a few seconds, and those vermilion eyes beheld her in wonder.

He then began to cackle with loud laughter.

“Bahahahaha! What a joke!” he howled. She straightened up with knitted eyebrows as he sniggered uncontrollably. He held his belly and doubled over, tears dripping from his blond lashes as his entire body shook. “My dickhead of a boss musta put you up to this. How much did he pay you, huh? Plum tree spirit… Pffft, as if!”

“How dare you!” she fumed. She balled up her fists and stamped her feet angrily. The branches of the plum tree began to writhe and quiver despite there being no gale, and the purple fruits started to plummet to the earth. They burst open in showers of gold, scattering their large pods. “I really am the spirit of the plum tree! What a rude human you are, to belittle me when I have allowed you to sleep under my protection for weeks now!” The shadows of the plum tree began to grow blacker and stretch with a dark malice. Katsuki yelped and began to back-pedal; he tripped over his own feet and landed on his rump.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait! I’m sorry!” he protested, waving his hands in surrender as he regarded her with a frightened expression. “It’s just- I don’t- you don’t look like a god.”

“Well, a god I am, so you shall respect me as such!” she huffed and crossed her arms. However, she was satisfied with his acknowledgment, so she relaxed. The plum tree returned to normal, though the sickly-sweet aroma of plums now hung in the air. She regarded the busted fruit with a frown. It would not go to waste, as the birds and beasts would feast upon the succulent flesh, but it was still a shame to make a mess of the place. Katsuki slowly sat up, still gawking at her with a mixture of wonder and awe.

“What’s your name?”

“Name? I do not have one,” she answered, pressing her finger to her lips. “I was not given one. I am simply the spirit of the plum tree.”

“That’s a mouthful,” he snorted. He seemed more at ease now; he was sitting on his haunches, with his legs drawn up and his muscular arms draped over his knees. He pondered for a moment, then smirked. “How about ‘Ochako’? Does that please you, Miss Goddess?” His tone was teasing, but his smirk made her heart race for a reason other than ire. She shuffled her feet and wrung the fold of her kimono nervously.

“O-ochako will do just fine.”

“Ochako, then. My name’s Katsuki.” Ochako supposed she could reply that she was very much aware, but it was customary for humans to introduce themselves, so she refrained. “I make fireworks.”

“Fireworks?” she inquired. In all her time observing the humans, she had not heard such a term. His face visibly brightened at her ignorance.

“Yeah, fireworks! They’re made by combining gunpowder with dyes and other compounds. Then you light them with fire, and they shoot up into the sky to explode into a huge blast of color!” he grinned, gesturing with his hands. Ochako’s brown eyes widened with wonder. Even with his description, she could not imagine such a magnificent display. He leaned back on his hands and smiled warmly at her. “I sailed in with the old man from Edo. Every year, this little backwater village holds a festival to celebrate the river god. It draws in people from all over the country, surprisingly. Me and the old man sail here in May to prepare, and trade with the locals, too, and then in August, we launch all the fireworks to honor the god.” He paused with a frown. “You’re a god here, so surely you must have seen it?” he frowned. Ochako shook her head.

“No. I was born only last summer, very late.” she frowned. “There are many things of this world that I have yet to know and see…” Katsuki grimaced and regarded her curiously.

“How were you born?”

“I am not entirely sure, but I believe I came from the wishes of the locals,” she said with a glance of the plum-laden tree. She smiled wistfully, thinking back to her first prayer, Momo the seamstress. “I came from the hope in their hearts to help grant them fortune in the endeavors of true love. I am not sure if I possess any real power, but I give them my blessing, all the same.” She glanced back at him with a light laugh. “Truth be told, when you first climbed this hill, I thought that you were coming to pray, not sleep!” Katsuki blushed and shifted a little on the ground. “But you are such a handsome human, so surely you don’t need my blessings. I am sure you already have a fine wife.” His face turned the color of her kimono, and he looked away with a pout. Ochako raised her eyebrows. “Am I mistaken…?”

“Yup. Don’t really have time for a woman. We travel all throughout Japan sellin’ fireworks and all. Not too many gals are willin’ to live a life like that,” he said quietly. Ochako detected a hint of bitterness in his voice. Expression concerned, she walked over to kneel beside him, tucking her kimono under her calves.

“Would you like me to give you my blessing?”

“Nah,” he laughed and smiled confidently at her. “I just came here to nap.” Ochako giggled, holding her hand to her mouth like she often saw the refined ladies that sometimes sailed into the village did.

“Very well. I can grant that wish.” She rose and gestured to the circle of shade surrounding the plum tree. Katsuki followed her over, and she knelt once more, then patted the plush of her thighs. He raised a hesitant eyebrow. “It’s all right. I’m sure I am much more comfortable than the ground.” Slowly, he eased himself onto his back perpendicular to her seated form and rested the back of his head on her lap. He wiggled a little to get himself comfortable, then relaxed his hands on his stomach, fingers laced together. His brilliant red eyes sparkled like rubies as they gazed attentively up at her.

“Have you really been alone up here all this time?” he asked her quietly. Ochako blinked, then smiled sweetly and looked out into the quaint little wood surrounding the hill.

“Yes. I am the only one here,” Ochako confirmed, “but it’s all right. I am blessed with the smiles of my patrons and the living creatures of the wood. It may be a solitary life, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It is a fulfilling existence to bring others happiness. I may be but a minor god, but that is my charge. I will accept that role readily.” She glanced down at him to find him smiling kindly.

“When fall comes, and I sail off, I’ll tell everyone about Ochako the Plum Tree Goddess. Soon you’ll be known far and wide, and a shrine will be built in your honor.” Ochako beamed at that, visions of a sparkling and well-tended shrine with mikos blooming in her imagination.

“That would be lovely,” she agreed with a nod. “But until then, I shall be content if you but visit me.” Katsuki laughed.

“Yeah, okay, Ochako.” His red irises vanished beneath his closing eyelids. His breathing soon became deep and unlabored. Ochako smiled benignly and stroked his forehead, admiring the softness of his fluffy blond hair.

Yes, she thought blissfully, just keep resting here beneath my boughs, and I shall never be alone.

The Coming of a Goddess’ Love

As promised, Katsuki returned to the Lovers’ Plum every day to speak with Ochako. They sat side-by-side against the thin trunk, and he regaled her with the many, many wonders of the human world. Ochako learned more listening to Katsuki than in her year of secretly observing the humans. She was delighted to learn that they were a very innovative breed, creating a plethora of remarkable tools and novelties. Their creativity and ingenuity were unmatched by any being on this earth.

However, she was also saddened to learn that humans could also be devastatingly violent. Katsuki told her of roving bands of rogues who pillaged farmsteads, of great wars waged between immense hosts of forces, of the seeds of evil that germinated within individuals and caused them to steal and murder and rape. Ochako surmised that it was merely the balance of nature, as light cannot exist without an equal dark, but regardless it still depressed her. Humans were such charming beings. She hated that within them festered the tendencies for destruction.

As June passed into July, the air grew warmer- as did their relationship. They took to wandering the woods, admiring the fanciful splendors of the natural world. On one such occasion, they stumbled upon a vast field of wildflowers- a colorful rainbow as far as the eye could see. Ochako squealed and dove into the blanket of petals, watching as her movements sprung them from their confines, and they raced away on the wind. Her fingers trailed over them, feeling their softness, and her eyes beheld fluttering butterflies and bobbling bumblebees gathering the pollen and feasting on the nectar. When she turned to invite Katsuki into the magical field, he was already right there, tucking a bloom behind her ear and giving her a smile that made her heart race in a manner she had never felt.

“Ochako,” he breathed with a gentle look.

“Yes?”

“You’re beautiful.” His fingers took a swathe of her soft brown hair, his thumb stroking along the strands. She flushed and held a hand to her cheek; she was unable to look at him for her bashfulness. He seemed not to mind her lack of response, for he continued to gaze at her with that smoldering warmth that sent unbridled joy pulsing through her body.

From that day forth, Ochako looked forward to his coming with an overwhelming rapture. One day, at the tail end of July, Katsuki posed the notion of venturing into the village.

“I’m not sure, Katsuki,” she frowned, kneeling amongst the roots of the tree. The fruits were growing overripe and falling from the branches, leaving the grasses sticky and coated with the golden juice. Birds and beasts scrounged for the mushy flesh and seed pods left behind in the fruits’ fermentation. “You are the only human I have ever revealed myself to.”

“You don’t have to tell anyone you’re a god,” he reassured. “Please. I want to enjoy more than just a measly hour or two with you.” Ochako flushed at that, fidgeting as that incredible joy wrapped around her heart like ribbon. Curling a piece of her hair around her finger, she pondered the suggestion. I suppose it’s all right, as long as I pretend that I am human. Thus, she agreed, and Katsuki promised to retrieve her that afternoon around sunset.

After he bid her farewell, Ochako experienced true impatience for the first time. She restlessly paced the small area around her plum tree, and even fidgeted distractedly during the few prayers she granted. The sun seemed to mock her by inching along the blue expanse, refusing to go at a pace more than a snail’s crawl. That was actually one way in which Ochako occupied herself- by watching one of the shelled creatures slide along a large grass blade. When it reached the summit, bending the grass blade under its heavy weight, it wiggled its antenna and pondered its next move. It turned around and began slinking down the way it came.

After what seemed a life age, the blue sky began to bleed with red and orange and gold. The sun melted behind the collection of houses hugging the river. One by one, the settlement’s torches blazed to life, illuminating the area with flickering fire. The thatch roofs caught the sunlight to burn gold, and the few glimpses of the water Ochako could catch from her high perch revealed the river to be sparkling like the stars.

“Katsuki!” Ochako squealed when he came traipsing through the bushes. She rushed to him, beaming, and he affectionately ruffled her bouncy brown hair. She crooned in delight and nuzzled into his palm. Though it was roughened by much toil, it still felt nice when he caressed her.

“Ready?” he asked with an endearing smile. Ochako nodded ecstatically. “Let’s go, then.” She blushed bright pink when he offered her his hand. From the way the village girls talked, holding hands was a romantic gesture, at least within humans their age range. Ochako gulped and timidly reached out to grasp his hand. Her fingers slid alongside his like a mechanism locking into place- naturally. His hand was so warm, and the calloused skin felt pleasurable against her soft palm. Her heart jumped in her throat as he allowed their arms to fall loosely between them, and they swung slightly with every step they took down the path. As the buildings grew larger and larger, she found herself pressing into his hefty frame, as if he could shield her from the unknown.

The village rang with noise, even at night.

The air hummed with pleasant conversation. The denizens lounged on their porches to enjoy the warm summer evening, smoking on pipes and sharing bottles of sake. Children squealed as they chased fireflies in their yards or bounced rubber balls with sticks or wrestled with dogs in the mud. The grass gave way to wooden walkways that connected the houses and extended onto the river, where the fishermen moored their boats. With the coming of night, they had ventured in from the water and were clustered around barrels, laughing raucously as they bet on cards or shogi games. Every once in a while, they would get heated and start brawling, only to tumble into the river and come up laughing. The glow from the braziers cast a warm red glow on everything that complimented the natural light of the full moon above. Ochako’s head swiveled on her neck as she attempted to absorb every detail of the humans’ lives as she could. Katsuki watched her with an amused smirk.

“Here’s where I work,” he announced when they had ventured deep into the waterfront settlement. It was a large building set back from the water. It was open to the air, with only a sloped roof to shield it from the elements. Smoke poured from within, and Ochako’s nose wrinkled at the acrid scent of earthy minerals. “Would you like to see the fireworks?” Ochako nodded eagerly; she had been much enthralled with the human device since their first meeting. Katsuki chuckled and brought her inside.

“Eijirou!” he called as he lifted the cloth flap that served as a door, though large open windows framed either side of it. Large tables stretched throughout the space and were laden with a variety of objects Ochako knew not the name for. A redheaded man came trotting out of the gloom, wiping his hands on a cloth with soot staining his smiling face.

“Hey, Katsuki! Comin’ to burn the midnight oil? We still have a lot to do before the River God Festival.”

“Hell no,” Katsuki snorted derisively. He raised his arm to reveal Ochako, who was hiding behind his massive bulk and peering shyly around his ribs at the newcomer Eijirou. “I came to show her around.”

“Oh, is that so? So, you’re the girl Katsuki’s been sneaking off to see every afternoon,” the redhead grinned with a playful wink. Ochako’s cheeks brightened as she peeked up at Katsuki. Does he talk about me? Katsuki tched and gave Eijirou a dismissive wave, but from the delighted twinkle in his red eyes, Ochako could tell that Katsuki looked upon the other fondly. She gulped and snuck further behind Katsuki’s back as Eijirou approached. He gripped his chin and stepped around the blond to inspect her critically. She pressed her face into Katsuki’s back, peering bashfully at him through the gap in her brown hair. “Well, no wonder our Katsuki is so smitten. You sure are a cutie!”

“Oi! Go make yourself useful, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki growled and shoved Eijirou in the shoulder.

“Hey now, hey now, I’m not intruding,” the redhead smirked and pranced away. “I’m just stating facts, that’s all~!” With a giddy laugh, Eijirou made himself busy assembling the fireworks. Curious now, Ochako peeled herself away from the man to ease over. She froze when Eijirou glanced out of his peripheral vision at her, but he only smiled and continued about his business. She crept up to the table, craning her neck to observe the process. He was loading a multitude of grainy particles into a tube, then capping them with a conical shape. A large pile of them already sat on the edge of the table, hued in blues and greens and reds. She poked one experimentally, then tugged at the black strings on the end.

“Careful,” Katsuki warned and gently pulled her fingers away. “Those are the fuses. We light them to shoot them off. Wouldn’t want these exploding down here,” he smiled gently.

“Yeah, the boss’d really kill you then,” Eijirou snickered. Katsuki scowled and stuck out his tongue at him.

“That old man won’t do shit because he’s too busy pining after my old lady.”

“Yeah,” Eijirou laughed, “your mom sure has fun letting him cling to her skirts. You know he bought her a real ruby hairpin the other day? Are you sure your mom isn’t actually-”

“Hey, you watch it,” Katsuki warned and jabbed a finger into his chest. “My mom would never cheat on my old man with that greasy old fart.” Eijirou laughed and held his hands up in surrender.

“All right, all right, I was just kidding.” Katsuki snorted and grabbed Ochako by her elbow to gently lead her out of the fireworks shop. She hurriedly looked over her shoulder and gave Eijirou a wave of farewell.

“Tch. Shitty smiling jerk,” Katsuki grumbled.

“He seems like a good friend,” Ochako smiled. Katsuki blushed, then shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

“He’s all right. He makes work a hell of a lot less boring.” Ochako snickered at his reluctance to admit his fondness for the boy. It was a very Katsuki thing to do.

They continued to wander the township, eventually arriving upon a stall selling jeweled accessories. Ochako had always admired the hairpins some of the young girls wore when they ventured up to her plum tree and had secretly yearned for a pretty adornment. She released Katsuki’s hand to scamper over to the stall. She cooed over a bright pink one inlaid with round pink gems and styled in the likeness of a plum blossom. The aged man operating the booth smiled kindly.

“Ah, yes. That’s a popular model. The young girls around here fancy it as homage to the Lovers’ Plum.” Ochako blushed as she was unintentionally praised. She held up the hairpin, admiring the way the moonlight played over the crystalline gems. Ochako knew that such items required money to acquire, however, and as a goddess with no human trade, she possessed no funds. A bit blue, she set the hairpin down on the counter- only for Katsuki to throw down a handful of bills.  

“That should cover it, right, old man?” The stall tender pursed his lips and leafed through the wad of cash, handing a few of them back to Katsuki before pushing the hairpin towards Ochako.

“Katsuki, you didn’t have to-” He shushed her and picked up the hairpin. Her eyes widened as he tenderly pushed the accessory into her curling brown hair, pinning the gorgeous flower right above her ear. His hand fell so that his fingertips brushed over her cheekbone, spreading a pink haze in its wake. The pads of his fingers traveled to her mouth, resting over her lips.

“Beautiful.”

It was in that moment that Ochako the plum tree spirit realized that she was head-over-heels in love with the human Katsuki Bakugo.

The Coming of the Colorful Night

A delighted smile graced Ochako’s lips as she admired her reflection in the rain puddle. The flower hairpin glimmered in the sunlight, accenting the rosy blush ever-present in her youthful cheeks. She sighed dreamily and laid on her belly in the damp grass, kicking her feet over her back. She imagined the smirking personage of Katsuki in the water, and the way he smiled so affectionately at her that night. She whispered his name, and just that small action sent tingles of joy flooding through her nerves. With a squeal, she clutched her beating heart and rolled over.

At last, I know what it means to be in love!

It was a wonderful feeling. Ochako knew now why the humans so desperately sought its graces. Her soul felt like it was continually floating on air, giving her a blissful weightless sensation. Her face ached from incessantly smiling, but it was a good ache. She could occupy her mind for hours reminiscing of their many ventures. She sighed wistfully again and watched the breeze toss about the emerald leaves of her tree. The golden light was filtering through, dappling her body with shadow.

Unfortunately, Katsuki would not be visiting today. It was the afternoon of the River God Festival, and the shop owner had insisted on his presence. However, Katsuki did promise to collect her near sundown so that they could watch the fireworks together. When she had inquired if that would anger his boss, he haughtily replied that he didn’t much care. The sun was sinking through the sky, drawing ever closer to the horizon, and Ochako was awaiting his arrival with bated breath.

Tonight, I am going to tell him that I love him!

She rolled onto her belly and watched a ladybird crawl up a blade of grass. Resting her cheek on her forearm and smiling blissfully, she fantasized about her impending confession. Surely, Katsuki loved her as well; she was not ignorant of the way he looked at her. He actively sought out her presence and often called her beautiful or gorgeous, and he always held her hand tightly, as if he never wanted to let go. Then that look in his eyes- that look like he was beholding the most sublime creature on earth, one that held his entire body and soul. If that was not love, then Ochako didn’t know what was.

She hopped to her feet when she heard the familiar sound of footsteps.

“Hey, Ochako,” Katsuki beamed when she jumped up to scuttle over to him. She threw her arms around him in a hug, burying her nose into his sternum and breathing in the strong scent of sulfur and gunpowder that clung to him. She had grown used to the odor and now found it very soothing. His strong arms surrounded her in a returned embrace, and he pressed his face into the top of her head. “Are you ready?” She nodded ecstatically and looked up at him with sparkling eyes.

“Let’s go, hurry so that we can find a good spot!” she demanded and tore away from him to start running down the path. He grabbed her wrist, and she jerked back. When she looked at him confusedly, he gestured to the plum tree. “We’ll be able to see them from here?” she asked and looked down the path again, unsure.

“I promise. After all, all we only need to see the sky,” Katsuki said and pointed above their heads. Ochako looked up with a frown. The sky above the plum tree was remarkably clear and wide, not tainted by the light of the township below. Ochako elected to take him at his word, and they tromped over to the tree, sitting at its base. Their sides pressed together, and Katsuki kept their hands linked, running the pad of his thumb over the top of her hand. It made jolts of electricity travel up her arm, but she loved the feeling.

The sun slowly sank into the river, and the watchful night closed in. One by one, the stars blinked into existence, sparkling like gems in the vast expanse of the blue-black sky. The crescent moon hung low, bathing the world in just enough of its glow to cast long black shadows. The gloom enveloped Ochako and Katsuki like a blanket. Even in the darkness, his ruby eyes glimmered as they flickered to her. His smile curled on his lips, but when she went to speak, he put a finger to his mouth and gestured upwards with his chin.

There was a sound like a shriek, and then a resounding pop. Ochako jumped at the sudden noise, but it was soon forgotten as color exploded against the dark backdrop of the night sky. Ruby-red sparkles filled the air, spreading like tree roots across the blackness before fizzling out. More shrieks sounded in the distance, and the sky came alive with more color than Ochako had ever seen. Her mouth hung open as she gawked shamelessly at the splendorous display unfolding before her.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yeah. It sure is.” She glanced at him to find him staring right at her. That sweet smile like she was the thing dearest to him graced his lips, and his vermilion eyes glimmered with a roaring flame no water could ever douse. Her heart thumped hard against her ribcage as his gaze dropped down to her lips. She gulped slightly, digging her fingers into the fabric of her kimono, as his hand slowly rose to cup her cheek. “Ochako,” he breathed. His thumb traced a trail across her cheekbone in repetitive caresses. She watched with lidded eyes as the colors played across his face, dull glows of red and blue and green and gold kaleidoscoping in a beautiful array. His face edged closer, and her eyes fell closed in anticipation.

His lips molded over hers like the sweetest honey. Ochako’s chest swelled with a deep inhale at the wondrous feeling. It felt like she had long been lost, and she had finally returned home. She pushed into the kiss, desperate for more contact, and her hands jumped forward to splay across his chest. His hand pushed into her hair to grip the back of her head and angle it, kissing her with more fervor. The fireworks continued to explode overhead, but Ochako no longer thought them magical. No, the magical thing was this man in front of her, the man who had appeared so suddenly one day and taught her what it meant to love.

When they pulled apart, tears glimmered in her eyes.

“Katsuki. Katsuki, I love you,” she blurted. The words had ballooned within her, filling her chest with a painful tightness. She suddenly had the suspicion she was going to disappear, perhaps even before her waking eyes. “I love you so much. Please, I-” He gently shushed her and placed two fingers over her lips, then leaned in to press a sweeter, chaste kiss to her mouth. His other hand fell to grasp hers and interlace their fingers.

“I love you too, Ochako,” he murmured against her mouth, eyes still closed. Ochako groaned and melted against him, savoring their way their parted lips meshed and their breath mixed in the warm night air. He gripped her hips and pushed against her, and her body obeyed his silent command, laying back into the cool grass. He climbed atop her, her legs slotting perfectly before his spread knees, and he began to pepper her face with little kisses.

“I’m so fucking grateful I stumbled upon this fucking plum tree-” he growled, his kisses becoming more fervent and open-mouthed. Ochako mewled as he dropped his head to plant lingering, ardent kisses along the column of her neck. His hands kneaded the plush flesh of her hips. She threaded her fingers into his tousled ash-blond hair and peered through her lashes. The emerald leaves of the plum tree blanketed them, and beyond that bloomed a brilliant night sky alive with all the colors of the universe.

There, with only the plum tree and that sky to bear witness, Ochako and Katsuki sealed their love for one another forevermore.

The Coming of the End

Katsuki didn’t come the following day, or the next or the next. Ochako surmised it was the constant rain. It poured endlessly from the heavens like they were weeping, saturating the earth. Puddles bloomed on the ground and grew larger every day, and they melded into each other to create a latticework of water channels and small ponds. The water streamed down the slope of the hill to pool in the lower lands, and soon the path flooded over completely. Isolated atop her lonely knoll with the plum tree, Ochako recalled Katsuki’s hands blazing trails across her body, and the clouds of their breath misting in the cooling night, and the way they sang each other’s names to the skies.

The rain continued for several weeks, and then it stopped. The sun finally breached the barrier of the gray clouds to shower the earth in its spearing rays. Slowly, the voluminous water soaked into the ground. Curious to how the humans fared, Ochako ventured down to the village-

and was greeted with nothing short of a tragedy.

The swelling of the river had ravaged the small settlement. It still exceeded its banks, pouring over the porches of the low-lying houses. Furniture and trinkets and clothes that had once carried sentiment floated in the current, occasionally catching on the spindly fingers of broken branches and even wholly uprooted trees. The wooden walkways were now roads for the river trout, and the townsfolk meandered between the flood buildings in their boats. A few of the vessels had not been so lucky. They were either sunk into the depths of the river or had crashed into the houses. The air was rank with depression and anxiety. The fireworks workshop had collapsed, with the roof sticking up out of the water at an odd angle and the cloth door floating on the surface. Ochako couldn’t find the little accessory stall at all.

Ochako fled back up the hill, unable to bear the sadness any longer. She collapsed at the base of her tree and wept. Clasping her hands together so hard that her knuckles glared white, she prayed, and prayed, and prayed. She prayed for Momo and her fisherman husband, for Kyoka and Mina, for the grumpy fireworks shop owner and Eijirou and the friendly accessory shop owner- and for Katsuki, she prayed aloud until her throat was raw and she was coughing up blood. Yet she kept praying, until finally, darkness took her, and she melted into unconsciousness.

When she awoke, he was sitting up against the plum tree with her head in his lap. She would have jumped up and hugged him if his expression had not been so miserable. His fingers slowly teased through her locks of chestnut hair. He had been doing so a while, as evidenced by the channels parting the swathes of her locks. Frowning, she raised a hand to brush her fingertips over his chin.

“Katsuki, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer her immediately. When he did, he cast his vermilion eyes into the distance, as if he could not bear to look at her. Finally, he whispered, “You’re going to die, Ochako.”

She sat up, her frown deepening. Katsuki clicked his tongue at her expression of confusion and looked down at his lap.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“The locals say the flood was the wrath of the river god. Apparently, they think that revering the plum tree has angered him, and he flooded the town in vengeance. They-” he choked on his words. He pushed his fist into his mouth as tears blossomed in his eyes. “They’re going to cut the plum tree down.” Ochako paled as frightening realization dawned upon her. Ochako was born of the plum tree and its associated prayers. If they removed the plum tree and ceased to pray, Ochako would disappear. Terrified, she jumped forward to cling to Katsuki, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Katsuki, I don’t want to die!” she wailed in dismay. Her heart hammered in her throat, and a tremor gripped her body. Katsuki threw his arms around her in a smothering embrace, burying his face into her hair as he hiccupped with a broken sob. She snuggled into him, surrounding herself in his warmth and gunpowder scent, as if it could shield her from her coming death. It could not, however; she could hear the mob approaching already, shouts and curses floating on the early morning air.

“I won’t let them,” he snarled and hugged her tighter. Ochako whimpered, but as much as she would admire him for defending her honor, she could not allow it.

“No, Katsuki! If you interfere, they’ll murder you,” she insisted, prying herself away from him. She sucked in a deep breath and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, slowly bringing herself down from the fearful mania. He stared at her incredulously.

“Ochako, if we do nothing, they’ll murder you!”

The shouts and curses grew louder. Birds took to the air, startled by the aggressive ascent of the river folk. Time was running out.

“I have an idea,” Ochako said and hopped to her feet. She clambered into the boughs of her plum tree to pluck the last remaining fruit of the season from its branches. Falling back to the flats of her feet, she tore away the golden flesh to reveal the pit within. She thrust it out to Katsuki, and he took it with startled hands. “This seed contains the essence of my birth tree,” she told him firmly. “Take it far from here and plant it. As long as my tree can bloom once more, and you continue to believe in me, I shall not cease to exist.” She smiled painfully as his expression contorted in pain. His quivering hand brushed over her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

“Ochako, no,” he begged. Her heart shattered as his voice cracked with agony. The tears flowed down her cheeks like the accursed rain, burning as it trailed over her skin. “I can’t watch them do this.”

“You must, and you will,” she told him gently. She grabbed his hand and turned her head to press a long kiss into his calloused palm. “I will see you again,” she vowed, looking at him with heated brown eyes. He choked out another sob again, then grabbed her wrist to yank her forward. Her body fell upon his, and their lips crashed together in a tumultuous, passionate, heartbroken kiss. Katsuki kissed her right up until the moment the mob stormed into the clearing before she vanished before his eyes. The angry mob shoved him to the side despite his fragmented pleas, and he crashed to the ground. He watched, wide-eyed and clutching the little seed pod to his chest, as they swung the axe into the skinny trunk of the plum tree. It only took the one swing to bore deep into the heart of its wood, and with a noise not unlike an agonized scream, the tree fell backward and crashed into the earth. The leaves quivered with dying breaths, and sap poured like blood from the wound.

The rain began to pour though not a cloud was in the sky. It was as if the world was lamenting the loss of its purest soul.

The Coming of the Legend

Katsuki Bakugo sailed away from the riverside town that very afternoon. He bought a little clay pot and took some soil from the hill to plant the plum tree seed, and he waited. The boat meandered along the river to destination after destination, festival after festival, but the seed did not take root. Yet he waited, optimistic that his love would return. He slept with the little pot of dirt tucked against his chest, and sometimes, he imagined it was Ochako’s heartbeat and not his own pulsing through the clay and earth. Three months went by, but nothing ever sprouted from the seed. Hope was all he had, and he clung to it like a lifeline. His boss once ridiculed him for obsessing over the empty pot and had attempted to toss it into the river, and Katsuki broke the man’s nose and an arm struggling to get it back.

The old fogey finally fired him for that stunt.

Katsuki returned home to his lofty home on the outskirts of Edo. His mother had made her fortune designing kimonos. Even the waiting ladies to the wealthiest samurai wore her designs, or so it was said. Ginkgo trees and cherry blossoms and pines towered above the ornate building, but their sprawling garden did not possess a plum tree. Katsuki found a patch of earth about the size of the hilltop and planted the seed, which had not rotted even after three months in the small pot of soil. He took up a profession cooking and made more money than he ever had crafting fireworks. Every night when he returned home, arms aching and smelling of various spices and meats, he would go to the garden and look for a sprout.

He’d kneel at the spot and pray until his throat bled raw, and blisters burst on his clasped hands, and he would water the earth with his tears.

The servants began to whisper that he had gone mad over the drowning of his lover in the riverside town. His mother and father looked on in concern but allowed Katsuki his grieving. Katsuki had always been a hothead, but his temper shortened a drastic amount; he would scrap with strangers in the streets if they so much as looked at him the wrong way. He punched holes in the walls and kicked over furniture at the slightest provocation. He’d grab his clothes and tear them to shreds, simply because his world was falling apart around him, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

His muscles wasted, for he had not the care to tend them. Weight sloughed from his frame, as food or drink tasted like ash in his mouth. His body took to a persistent cold, but no doctor could mend him, for his illness was of the heart. The whole world seemed dark, for his sun had been cruelly snuffed out of existence.  

Six months to the day after the felling of the plum tree, he fell to his knees before the buried plum tree seed and beseeched the glittering night sky. He screamed, and he roared, and he yelled, and he cried, begging the gods to take mercy on a virtuous plum tree spirit who graced the world with love and light. The servants looked on in awed horror as he begged the heavens for recompense until dawn began to peek over the horizon, and then darkness took him.

When he awoke, it was beneath the shade of a fully-grown plum tree. His head was cushioned by something soft and plush, and someone was stroking his ash-blond hair with loving fingers. His vision gradually cleared to reveal a smiling brunette, with round cheeks and a blissful smile and eyes like the earth.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Katsuki.”

As generations came and went, the landscape of Japan changed, and so did the illustrious manor of the Bakugo family- yet the plum tree remained, a monument to an era long lost. The household had been torn down and rebuilt many times over, remodeled by inheritors of the family’s fortune.

Yet, they never touched the plum tree. That’s because everyone knew the legend of the Lovers’ Plum- the saga of a love so powerful that no force on this earth could break it. Rumor says that the plum tree spirit still inhabits the tree and grants wishes of romance to those who reach her ears, and that on nights where fireworks fill the sky, one can see her and her human beloved seated beneath its boughs, holding hands and staring into one another’s eyes. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[mainly-kpop]

Jealous much?

hello! I’m sorry its literally taken me so fucking long to do this, but its here now and i hope hope hope it was worth the wait. 

Pairing: Jungkook/reader 

warnings: none to note 

wordcount: 3.4k 

You wouldn’t class yourself as competitive, not openly. Regardless, you had to be somewhat competitive in your line of work. Not with colleagues, no, it’s not like you were trying to climb the corporate ladder or anything. You had to be talented and smart, quick on your feet and have reflexes like a cat. Yeah, it was pretty hard being a competitive gamer, especially with a team like yours.

‘Dude I can’t believe you fucking did that. We are fucked, royally and truly fucked.’ You heard one voice speak through your headset, making you snicker at the defeated tone. Truthfully, your other team mate had fucked you, but it’s humbling to lose once in a while no?

‘What are you talking about Kook, I know how to play this game. This was a smart move for us!’ He protested, earning a frustrated groan from the other boy in the chat. Over your years of playing Overwatch, you had become quite good friends with a lot of players, some more than others. Some players were in it for the money, the audience and the fame that came with it. You found it hard to filter through the fakes, but eventually you managed, finding yourself two diamonds. Jungkook and Taehyung were your best friends, streaming more often than not with them. Sometimes though, Taehyung was a bit of a noob. He was good at the game sure, but only with the few characters he knew how to play, usually you would base a team around him. Today however he wanted to surprise the group, letting you both pick your characters first.

‘Tae, my love, have you ever played as DPS Moira before?’ You question, looking at your camera giving your viewers a “save us please” kind of look. You heard Taehyung stutter through his mic, trying to make up an explanation. A groan came from Jungkook once more, making you laugh as the game loaded in. Where you wouldn’t call yourself competitive, Jungkook certainly was. He took it hard when you lost, hearing more controllers broken than not. Taehyung on the other hand was so happy go lucky, he didn’t care if you won or lost, he just enjoyed the game. They were a terrible match, truly, but it made for some entertaining streams.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, wish us luck.’ You sigh, running through the game as usual, trying not to burst out laughing at how frustrated Jungkook was getting. Over the years you may have developed a slight crush on Jungkook. Slight may be an understatement, realistically you’ve had a massive crush on him since the first time you all met up.

Jungkook was tall, dark, and handsome, everything a girl looks for in a man. He had shaggy black hair parted in the middle. You’d love to run your hands through it the way he does, maybe tug on a handful every now and then. The tattoos up and down his arms were something to behold, if only he wore short sleeves more often…

‘Y/N, what are you doing?!’ Came a shout from your headset, startling you into pushing a random button. You heard a crash then a loud groan, followed by a little laugh. Your random button had been your shoot button, hopelessly friendly firing at Jungkook.

‘So, who was it going to be losing this game for us? Asking for a friend of course…’ Taehyung quipped, you could practically feel Jungkook running his hands through his hair in anger, trying not to throw the only controller he has left. The comments come flooding in on the stream, some rude, some funny. Your moderators were quick to remove the rude comments, not letting you see anything negative; you were quite lucky that way.

You wouldn’t brag and say you were a popular streamer, there was no way you were racking in 50k people a stream, but you weren’t a little channel either. You used cam, but you never did anything for people to thirst over you for, you didn’t show skin or dress scantily. Never one to gain attention for the wrong thing or say something you shouldn’t. It was always a dream of yours to be accepted into this community, but not because you’re a girl on twitch, because you were damn good at what you do.

‘Okay guys, I think we have tortured Jungkook enough, until next time!’ You say, signing off with a little wave and ending the stream.

‘You guys suck.’ Jungkook sighed, earning a laugh from both you and Taehyung. ‘I’m heading to bed, see you both tomorrow.’ He groaned, coming off the call. You pout at the fact he was gone, letting a little “awwh” escape.

‘What was that? Am I not good enough?’ Tae responded, laughing as you stutter through the call. ‘Do you have romantic feelings for Mr. Jeon?’ He questioned, not expecting any kind of response.

‘I didn’t think it was that obvious…’ You reply, thanking the lords no one could see you turning 3 shades of pink right now. There was silence on the other end of the call, almost deafening. Tae had guessed your feelings for him a long time ago, it was the same feelings he had for you.

‘You should tell him.’ He replied, words cutting his throat as he spoke them. Taehyung had a crush on you from day one, before you guys even met, before you even spoke to each other. He watched your streams before, falling for how relaxed you were in front of the camera while playing. You were never problematic or rude, you were just perfectly you. He had never seen that before, so he subbed to you that moment, watching you grow into what you are now. He fell for the way you told perverts to get lost, he fell for the way you laughed at your subscriber’s jokes, not because you had to, but because you genuinely found the corny jokes funny. He fell for you and everything you stand for; regardless of knowing he would always be invisible in that light to you.

‘Eh, I dunno Tae, that’s a big confession…’ You hesitate, tiding up your surrounding area, trying not to move too far from the computer. Taehyung sighed, leaning forward in his chair. Elbows rested on the desk, head in his clammy hands.

‘Do it tomorrow, if he says he feels the same way, then you’re good. However, if he says no, then you can move on, the sooner you get it over with, the better.’ You knew he was right, there was no use holding onto false hope that he may like you back, there was no use pretending you had just friendly feelings for him. You agree with Tae, telling him goodnight and that you will see him tomorrow.

You didn’t move from your chair after you turned the call off, too busy playing absentmindedly with the pencil on your desk. Your heart raced in your ears, the thought of telling him tomorrow made you want to throw up. Sighing, you put the pencil back in the holder on your desk, sinking back into your chair, staring at the blank wall. Taehyung hadn’t moved either, head in his hands slapping his forehead. How could he have suggested that? What possessed him to tell his crush to confess to her crush? He hit his hands off his forehead one more time before standing up to go to bed, kicking the bin in frustration.

You stood in front of him, words spilling out your mouth like vomit. The second you said the words, his face fell, almost deadpanned, and now you were trying to pull it back. ‘It’s not like it’s massive feelings, like maybe a crush, less than that even. I don’t want this to ruin the friendship though, because I know you don’t feel the same way and-‘His hand slammed over your mouth, startling you slightly. You frown at him, licking the palm of his hand. He pulled his hand away instantly, looking at you in mock disgust. It almost felt natural, or normal, then an awkward silence fell around you both, neither one sure what to say.

‘Listen, I’m flattered, but I really don’t think of you that way… I’m sorry.’ He spoke, trying not to make it more awkward than it already was.

‘It’s okay, I know you don’t I just wanted to get it out. It’s cool, we are still friends!’ You reply, smacking his arm in a friendly manner, that seeming more awkward than not too. You clear your throat, pointing towards the exit in the most unnatural way possible. ‘Anyway, I have to go, I forgot I have to give Taehyung something!’ You smile, running off. Partially, it was because you had to see Tae, you now had a bone to pick with him, but also because the awkwardness was really killing you. Honestly, you didn’t want things to be weird, and hanging around for any longer was going to do that. You knocked on Taehyungs door, walking in without letting him answer.

‘You’re a dick Kim Taehyung, the biggest prick of the century I’ll have you know!’ You shout into the empty room, looking around for him. Making yourself at home, you kick your shoes off, pulling your hoodie over your head. He came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, other towel in his hands drying his hair.

‘And how is that?’ He questioned, watching you look him up and down momentarily before snapping back. You scoff at him, throwing your hoodie at his naked form.

‘Put some clothes on before I even talk to you.’ You reply, faking a gag. He rolled his eyes at you, picking your hoodie up and smiling. He exited the main room, heading for his bedroom.

‘You know, if you didn’t barge into my house, you wouldn’t have seen me practically naked. What’s going on anyway? Didn’t I just leave you and Jungkook in that café?’ you sigh, sulking back into his couch, willing the fabric to eat you alive.

‘Yes, and I confessed, and his face looked like I had told him I had three weeks to live. No one has ever been that disappointed in the history of the world! Fuck sake, you did this to me!’ you scream, an instant backhand to his chest the second he sat down. He grunted in pain, coughing slightly at the force. Your hoodie covered his torso, which you were sure had no shirt under it.

‘You don’t realise right now, but its better like this. At least you know!’

‘I DIDN’T WANT TO KNOW!’ you whine, kicking your feet in a mild temper tantrum.

‘Want to watch a movie and order some desserts?’ He suggested, already turning the T.V on.

‘Yes please, and get me a hoodie since you stole mine.’ You pout, waiting for him to come back before cuddling into his side.

Jungkook sat on his couch, trying hard to get his head into the game he was playing. All he could think about was you though, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He didn’t have feelings for you, not enough for it to be a relationship. He didn’t think of you romantically, nor did he want to have sex with you, but why were you all he could think of right now? He put his controller down on the coffee table, slouching back onto his couch. His phone screen lit up beside him urging him to pick it up. An automated text from the local pizza shop, how typical. While it was in his hand, he opted for scrolling through some apps, catching up on all his notifications. He watched through snapchat stories, landing on your one, he frowned, sitting up in his seat.

The first couple weren’t too bad, some selfies of your outfit for today, you him and Tae at the coffee shop. The next one was what made him sit up straight, almost angry, but did he really have the right to be angry right now? You were cuddled up on Taehyungs couch, in his hoodie, arms wrapped around your stomach as you lay on his lap. He had your hoodie on, which he couldn’t understand. Why weren’t you wearing yours? Why had you switched clothes? Why did Tae’s hoodie look so good on you? You had Captioned the snap with “he bought me ice cream and churros, he’s the best!” Curiosity got the better of him, checking on Tae’s snapchat too, low and behold there you were. Cuddled into his side, a candid photo of you eating ice cream, hands buried in the sleeves of his jumper. You looked comfortable and relaxed, a different person to who stood in front of him before. He thought back to it, you nervously spitting words at him, hoping the floor would crumble beneath your feet. He was almost sorry he made you feel like that, sorry he couldn’t reciprocate your feelings. He clicked through the story, next was a video, you crying about how Ursula is just misunderstood and wanted to take Ariels voice because she was being naive!

‘Having a voice is so much more important than looking like every other bitch out there. That’s what she’s trying to tell her, albeit in the wrong way but- TAE STOP VIDEOING ME!’ You screeched out, hand coming up to smack the phone out of his hand. He laughed at that, enjoying the way you see things how others don’t. He laughed at your whining voice as you tell Tae to stop, then he stopped laughing. Angry at how he wished that was him, angry that he couldn’t understand his feelings.

Jungkook could feel the jealousy brewing inside of him, but why? He didn’t have feelings for you, or so he thought, so he assumed. Clicking on Instagram, he punched in your username, clicking onto your profile. He had a flick through your photos, trying to figure out how he felt, what he truly felt for you. Looking at your face in depth, he could see you were pretty, could see that you knew how to carry yourself and dress well. Your button nose and the way your hair fell, honestly, he could admit you were very beautiful. Most guys would think it was a dream, someone like you had feelings for them, so why did he turn you down so easily.  

Was it an initial shock? Did he not know how to react? Honestly, he couldn’t pin point it, but right now he really wished he could. Without thinking, his thumbs typed out a message, a sharp one, that he was sure to regret the second he hit send.

‘You and Tae look cosy, guess it must really be nothing more than a crush huh?’ You read out loud to Tae, unable to process the words completely. Taehyung frowned, taking your phone out of your hands to read the message himself. His eyes squinted at the screen, as if he could make it change to something else, something nicer. Something you would rather read from him, but he couldn’t make this better.

‘What the fuck?’ Were the only words he could think right now, to busy trying to wrap his head around his friend’s reaction. He knew he would never have you as his own, he had come to terms with this a long time ago, but for Jungkook to be acting like such a child, he knew exactly what the problem was.

‘He’s jealous. I know he said he didn’t like you, but he clearly does.’ Taehyung spoke, passing your phone back to you. He watched as your thumbs danced over the keyboard at lightening pace, he had never seen you this ridiculously mad before. Taehyung could not thank his lucky stars hard enough that it was Jungkook on the receiving end of that heat and not him.

‘What the hell? Jealous much? I came over to see Tae about something and he offered me dessert and a movie, he’s my best friend am I not allowed to cuddle up to him while eating ice cream? Last time I checked you weren’t my boyfriend Jungkook, back off. Oh, or better yet, come back when you’re ready to fucking apologise for snapping at me.’

He sighed, throwing his phone down on the couch cushions. You were right, he knew that much, you had every right to go off at him for that stupid comment. He should go over to Tae’s, say that he’s sorry. Standing up from the couch, he moves towards his shoes, picking one up to put it on, he stops. You wouldn’t even want to see him, collapsing against the wall, he let out a frustrated groan, running his hands through his hair. He pulled on a few strands out of anger, banging his head against the wall. Truly unable to understand why he was so pissed off about you being around Tae so much, he decided to just head to bed. Maybe if he slept on it, he might be able to figure somethings out.

Weeks passed, and you still had heard nothing from Jungkook, your followers kept asking for him. You had to keep making up stories that he wasn’t well, or was really busy. Honestly, you were getting sick of covering up for him, why were you lying to your followers for him?

‘Just give him time, he will come round.’ Tae spoke through the phone, trying his best to comfort you from a distance. For the past few weeks, he had been your only constant, your level head if you will. Anytime you go to apologise to Jungkook he reminds you that you did nothing wrong. That you had nothing to apologise for what so ever, and if you did, he would kick your ass.

‘I just don’t know what is so hard about saying sorry? He was so rude and can’t even admit it?’ You sigh, slouching down into your couch cushions. You heard him hum on the other end, unable to find something to say to make this better for you. You go to give him some sarcastic comment about being helpful, but a gentle knock at your door interrupts you. So light if you were doing anything other than sitting here, you wouldn’t have heard it.

‘Tae, someone’s at the door, I’ll call you back.’ You speak, hanging up the phone the second you hear him say bye. Without looking through the peep hole, you swing the door open, face to face with a bunch of flowers. From behind, Jungkook poked his face around the side a weak smile on his face. Rolling your eyes, you step to the side, letting him come in.

‘Why are you here?’ You ask in the most bored tone you can muster, he puts the flowers down on your counter, turning around to look at you. Trying to not look pleased, or flattered, you fold your arms over your chest.

‘I came to say sorry. I know I snapped for no reason, but seeing you cuddled up to Tae like that really pissed me the fuck off.’ He spoke, getting angrier the more he thought about it. He thought he had dealt with it these past few weeks, but clearly the annoyance was still sitting at the back of his brain.

‘Why though? You told me you didn’t like me like that so why should it piss you off? Why should you feel obligated to be annoyed?!’ You raise your voice, not entirely meaning to. He ran his hand through his hair, turning away from you for a second. Silence fell while you waited for him to reply, but nothing came. You let a sarcastic laugh slip through your lips, rolling your eyes at the back of his head.

‘Just leave Jungkook.’ You sigh, stepping through to your living room, allowing him to see himself out.

‘I don’t know why it pisses me off so much okay? I want your attention, every last fucking drop of it, and knowing Tae has even some of it pisses me off. Seeing you in someone’s arms that aren’t mine pisses me off. Knowing someone else is comforting you, or making you laugh, knowing you’re not thinking about me, it pisses me the fuck off. Maybe I am into you, maybe I do want you to be mine, I don’t know what that feels like. You’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and funny and so damn genuine, I don’t know how I feel, but I know for fucking sure I don’t want anyone else to have you.’ He confessed, stopping to breathe and stare you down. Your face softened at the confession, making your heart beat a little faster at the hope.

‘Sit, I think we need to talk.’