#something something feeling like a guest or a prisoner in a place that's supposed to be yours

[lymericslimerick]

I've been devoting myself to You, Monday to Monday and Friday to Friday | 𝖶𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

"Have you heard? The Duke has been way more vicious lately."

warnings .ᐟ smut(?), grinding, humping, biting, blood, fighting, wrio is described as wolfish a lot, continuation of this fic, vaguely vampiric reader, mild torture, begging to be 'eaten', yandere

2.7k words | she/her pronouns

The smell of blood was thick in the air.

Shouting, cheering, bet wagering filled the air as the inhabitants of the Fortress of Meropide surround the makeshift boxing ring laid in the center of a room hidden by a maze of pipes. The warm lighting of the arena was undercut by the endless sea that shone through the gaps in cold metal, shining onto the opponents in the arena like a frigid spotlight. Criminals, horrible and benign alike surrounded the two stars of the show, hungry eyes glued to the cowering figure of their fellow inmate stuck to the corner of the ring. His shaking form is contrasted by the hulking figure of Their Grace stalking towards him, bringing with him the promise of something sinister.

The inmate was bloodied and beat up, face slowly turning red as blood gushes out of his mouth and nose. His swollen eyes unable to see the panicked looks on the guards, who glance between themselves and whisper, “Isn’t this too much?”. He struggles to sit up on his arms, but cold metal meets his hair and slams him onto the floor. He hears the whirring and hissing of the components holding the Duke’s Cryo energy at bay, cold to the touch. He had only heard this noise once before, reverberating through the walls of the fortress as he ran away from The Duke’s office that fateful night.

He supposes this was a long time coming, he thinks as his head is slammed back onto the floor. The inmate always felt The Duke’s eyes on him, stalking him. He was high priority prey for a rabid wolf intent on protecting what's his.

Another slam to the floor. He thinks his nose is broken. The inmate’s mind wanders back to what got him in this mess in the first place, that figure he saw in The Duke’s office looking down at him. He had been summoned in there by The Duke himself, who told him with an easygoing smile that he “had a job for him.” That job turned out to be disposing of a garbage bag full of things he recognises as Fontainian research tools, all coated in something he hopes isn’t blood. As he lugs it over his shoulder, grumbling about how unfair all of this is, he hears a noise. The inmate looks up and he sees a shadow retreat from its place above the stairs, deep into the office. He gulps. He’s heard stories of the Meropide being haunted by vengeful ghosts eager to take revenge on the upper management whispered by some particularly looney prisoners, but he had paid them no mind. Ghosts? Oceanids were more likely.

Though, he knows ghosts don’t have footsteps and Oceanids don’t even have feet. So, if one plus one was two, this was…

“Hello?” The inmate’s voice reverbs through the walls of the room, echoing. He hears something bristle, like whoever was up there paused what they were doing to listen to him. He takes this as a sign. “Are you a guest of the Duke’s?”

Silence. Not even any rustling.

He doesn’t know why, but he drops the bag on the ground and walks towards the stairs. The inmate feels like he’s being lured, snared like a fish on a hook being reeled to its doom. His footsteps are slow and careful, like he was scared to even move. He approaches the steps and starts climbing up them, heart beating fast with such pressure his ribcage felt like an actual cage. Anticipation grows, his heart beats faster.

The inmate opens his mouth. “Don’t be sca-“

The door opens, and the atmosphere becomes frigid cold instantly. The inmate can feel the temperature drop to freezing as The Duke’s gaze threatens to sear the skin off his neck. A beat. Silence. Maybe he isn’t dead mea-

Whirring, hissing, and a sharp clang of The Duke’s gauntlets clamping onto his bare hands, Cryo storming around his clenched fist with as much intensity as a snowstorm on Dragonspine. He feels his heart drop into his stomach completely as The Duke utters with barely concealed white hot rage, “Start running. Now. I catch you, you’re fucking dead.”

He had never ran harder in his life.

The inmate is brought out of his daydream by the impact of The Duke’s gauntlet-clad right hand slamming onto his stomach. He faintly registers blinding pain coming from the side of his stomach. Hah, he punctured him like a balloon. Behind him, he could hear the very real screams and gasps from the usually performative audience. They were used to being entertained by the fights that happened, watching it like they would court hearings up in the overworld. Safe, but real displays of human drama and savagery.

But this? This was a real bonafide hunt. This was a certain and slow death being played out right in front of them.

He hears the Duke whisper something into his ear, but all he sees is a wolf snapping at him and snarling a promise of death. The Duke’s eyes look terrifying, cold and animalistic as he smiles a toothy grin, fangs shining like steel. He’s eyeing his neck like a hawk, The inmate saying a prayer as he realises.

The Duke opens his mouth and bites.

The screams turn to shrieks, and the guards swarm up behind the Duke pleading and screaming at him to stop. The inmate’s body falls with a thud as he closes his eyes, feeling the blood from the open wound on his neck trickle down his skin like hot lava as he feels himself drift into unconsciousness, the sound of panic increasing in his wake.

__

This haunt feels more like an assault on the senses than the Palais Mermonia, what with the merging of the warm, almost old lights of the lamps patterning around the table, and the cold, with the unforgiving cold of light streaming down onto the center of the office like it was waiting to reclaim the office into the abyss of the ocean.

It certainly felt like the ocean wanted to reclaim this place, the dripping of water from the window above a constant rhythm in your ear. It was a cloying presence, much like a low tide trying to consume the beach it rose up upon. Meek, scared it was going to cause the beach to up and leave, but unabashedly desperate to get to her by any means necessary.

You look up at the window in contemplation, that sounds familiar.

A water droplet almost falls on you but you avoid it, turning to look at the papers on the desk. All reports of inmates benign and monstrous alike, but none of the inmate you’re most curious about. You sift through the reports, eyes darting about for a title familiar to anyone and everyone who dares call themself a warrior. A presence that makes itself known wherever and whenever any huge fight happens, eager to throw his hat in the ring at a moments notice.

Childe, Tartaglia. Whatever he calls himself, the 11th harbinger.

The mess he had made in Fontaine, from his brief stint in the Meropide to the fall of his monstrous form at the hands of the great whale (described in The Steambird with great enthusiasm by miss Charlotte), made national news. You, ever eager to find any and all people who had some sort of connection with the primordial, naturally decided to seek him out after getting what you wanted from the Chief Iudex. Maybe taking what you wanted from him would burden your heart less than it would you taking from the draconic man, the storm that followed your leaving weighing heavy on your mind.

Getting to him was easy enough. You just had to make your way to his case files and use them to track where he is now, since the fortress had a mandatory 4 week surveillance on all prisoners in which they had to report their status and current place of residence at the end of every week. Mighty convenient. The only caveat was that you had to get close enough to the top to even begin to see his files for yourself, and well..

The sound of the heavy metal door scraping against the floor making a hideous noise that scrunches your noise in irritation. He’s back.

You prepare yourself for his return from another hunt, positioning yourself on his table like you had just sat down and pushing the case files back into his drawer. Well, not like he wouldn’t let you read them but appearances are everything. His shadow starts huge at the end of the stairs and dims with every step he takes, finally emerging at the top of the stairs with bloodied gauntlets and an even bloodier mouth, red staining his lips down to his roughish jaw. The perfect image of a wolf on the hunt skulking back to its den with signs of victory, eager to display it to the rest of his pack.

In this case, You raise your hands and clap in mock praise. It lands all the same with Wriothesley who practically buckles under the weight of your perceived approval. His mouth pulls into a gleeful, toothy grin and his teeth are bloody too, but you guess he’s grown to want it this way. His gauntlets come off in a hiss, deconstructing and falling at his sides to reveal black bandage wrapped hands and rough fingers shaking in anticipation. He had gotten better at controlling himself over the week, trying to stop himself from acting like an overexcited puppy in your presence, but something must have gotten him really excited today.

You say as much, and his smile turns sweet and almost bashful. He walks towards you, still not saying a word until he stops in front of you with his chest rising and falling with a vigour. He looks down on you with blown out eyes, smile still on his face but shaky and barely contained. You blink at him, “You have anything to say to me?”

Immediately, “I got him.”

You raise an eyebrow as he drops to his knees in front of you, grabbing onto the sides of your thighs like a vice as he nuzzles his head into your thigh. This was an impressive amount of restraint for The Duke. “What do you mean?”

“Him,” He says into you. “The it you’ve had on your mind lately,” He pushes his face harder into your thigh and you feel his teeth talk against your skin. “The thing that’s keeping you away from me.”

You say nothing. What imaginary beast has this man conjured up yet again? He senses your thoughts and looks up at you, looking more pitiful wolf cub than the terrifying Duke of Meropide he was supposed to be. “Him! Th- The man.. That man who you… That pest who..” He was tripping over his words, slurring them together as if the thought of even uttering them terrified him to his core. Like if he spoke it to you, this man would once again claim his place in your head. You take his head in your hands and he keens, cheek nuzzling against them. Your eyes give him an order, and he takes a deep shuddering breath before finally saying. “That inmate who intruded you, Us, a few days back. I handled him, My Love.”

You sigh. This again. Since that poor soul had made the mistake of being curious, Wriothesley had been acting more wolfish than usual. Skulking around the main level of the Fortress, eyes blown in anger as he tried to sniff him out and ordering all high level guards (At least, those who were unfailingly loyal to him) to organise some sort of grand fight with the inmates, with him and the fool who had tried to steal you away at the center of it all.

Of course, you wouldn’t know head nor tail of this plan had he not confessed all of it to you like a prayer after a particularly steamy embrace. You still remember the weight of him on top of you, muscly chest pressing into yours in desperation as he whispered it in your ear. His hands were clamped on your waist, somehow still cold against the warmth of your revitalised skin.

“Darling, Baby, I promise you a hunt like no other.” He whispered as you felt him push against you, his still clothed bottom half rubbing against yours, which was barely clothed. Not quite enough to make you excited but more than enough for him, his hips stuttering in anticipation for something that isn’t going to come anytime soon. “I’ll bring you proof, a sign of my devotion, very soon. You’ll never have to doubt me ever again.”

Your silence must have been enough for him, as he buried his head into your neck and continued warming your bed.

In the now, you remember what to say. “This was the hunt you told me about?” His nod elicits a contemplative hum from you as you make a decision on where to bring this next. His heart was in your hands and you had the choice between crushing it under your grasp or making it beat faster in your palm, both options gladly welcomed by this beast in your lap. You look at him for a split second, taking in his especially tousled hair that took the form of two wolfish ears on his head, and you’re reminded that the version of him you know has turned more beast than man. And what more do beasts need than simple pleasure?

You bring your hand to tousle his hair and pat his head as he eggs you on with a deep groan, hands gripping the sides of your thigh even harder. “Impressive, Wriothesley.” He nods eagerly into your lap, goading you to continue. “The true extent of your strength always amazes me, leaves me positively speechless.” He whines this time, and you feel a familiar rubbing against your leg. You close your eyes to stifle your laughter at how typical he is. “I might even say that you’re the best I’ve ever seen.”

His movements grow more intense as he looks up at you, face flushed red and eyes wild as he desperately stares into your (e/c) eyes. His voice is a whisper, “Am I?”

You smile, and he reaches his own conclusion. His yell isn’t the most elegant, a guttural, feral thing that gives way to his climax at your feet. His hands slide of your waist ever so slightly and come to grip your hips, no doubt pantomiming what would’ve happened had you not been the person you were. His head comes to rest between your two legs which formed a cage around his face, guarding him from a treasure he’s had his eyes on for a while. He keens and you ‘tsk’, shaking your head like he was a misbehaving dog. He should know better by now.

He does, instead asking you, “Why won’t you feast on me?”

You still, and he hurriedly says his next words. He knows he’s gone behind your back, looked behind the curtain, but he can’t help it. He wants to know you, know all of you. How better would he know to rip and tear all that’s in your way if he doesn’t even know what you’re looking for? “I.. I know of your ailment, Love. I want yo- No, I need you, to relieve yourself with me. Please, let me be of service to you, drain me dry.”

You heave a sigh. Oh, this poor little wolf. He doesn’t know the extent of your ailment, the truth of your depraved actions that leave you regretful and secretive. If he knew only divine, no, ancient blood was the only way to soothe the burn in your veins, he’d be as devastated as you. A mere human couldn’t even dream of quelling the ache in your veins, but maybe, just maybe-

Your gaze drifts to the side, eyeing the case files on the wardrobe. It’s like one of them shines in your line of sight, a gleam of letters that finally surprise you.

Ajax. 11th Fatui Harbinger.

Beneath you, Wriothesley whimpers at your silence with a cowered head. You shake your head as if you were in thought and you gently brush your fingers against the skin of his cheek, some blood making way on your skin.

“Oh Wriothesley, you shouldn’t ask that of yourself. That’s a hunt you can’t hope of winning.”

[kydrogendragon]

Hob hates changing lives.

He tells himself he likes it, a year or so in. He tells himself he enjoys the variety, the meeting new people, and seeing new sights. And he does. Just . . . not now. Now when he's still mourning his old life.

He sits on the couch—a new one, not the one that's formed to him over the last twenty years—and sighs as he stares at the few boxes he was able to bring with him. The small flat in Cardiff was fine, arguably lovely, in fact. He's been excited about it when he's first done the paperwork, and there's a distant part of himself that's still excited. But as he looks up at the unfamiliar walls and listens to the unfamiliar sounds of the street and city below, Hob can't help but feel trapped.

He can't go back. Not for a while. Not until he's forgotten in people's minds. He won't see the New Inn again or any of his friends from KCL or the Chens who knew his order by heart because he couldn't go more than two weeks without craving their food.

Robert Golding was gone to the world. Now he's just Rob Garroway—a nobody who lives in Cardiff who does . . . something. Hob hasn't actually gotten that far into figuring out what job he'll pick up this go-around. Maybe he'll try his hand at writing something other than historical essays for the university. Or maybe he'll buy a boat and become a fisherman. Lots of choices. All of them too overwhelming to even think about.

He collapses into the still-to-firm couch and tosses his arm over his eyes. The day is still young—its barely past one in the afternoon—and already he's exhausted. He can feel that familiar weight settling into his bones, holding him close to the earth. He doesn't even know any good take-out joints yet because Lord knows he won't have any energy to cook for the next week. Or two. Or more.

A problem for future him. For now, Hob turns into the back of the couch, face hidden from the sun and the foreign place he now calls home, closes his eyes, and sleeps.

[papercorgiworld]

The Death Eater Drabbles:

Untie me

Mattheo, Theodore, Enzo, Draco and Blaise

A certain death eater ends up being your prisoner and he is being a bit difficult.

Warning: suggestiveness

A/N: Apparently drabbles are supposed to be exact 100 words long, so let’s call this the drabble+ version because you get extra words for free. Yey!

Also, like technically I wrote a part 2, but I don’t really like it cause it’s a tiny bit angsty and feels boring. But then again, I’m pretty sure there’s a braincell working on part 3. So I really have no idea where this is going. But for now this is just a short fun thingy on its own.

I added part 2: Cuts and bruised egos

The war against Voldemort and his deatheaters was lasting longer than expected. Somehow you had ended up in charge of the top secret safehouse of the order of the phoenix. Only a select few members knew about it. It was a place of refuge in case of emergency, you had permanency there in case of medical emergencies and to study books to find out more about horcruxes.

You were brewing wiggenweld potions to be prepared for the next wounded person that might be brought in. Then suddenly you heard a lot of noise and grabbed your wand, pointing it towards the door. Thankfully you heard Harry say the password and the door swung open revealing the golden trio and someone else whose head was covered.

The mystery person struggled as Ron and Harry dragged them inside. It was then that you noticed their hands were tied behind their back. Hermoine saw your confused and worried expression. “Don’t worry I enchanted the ropes. It’s safe.” The mystery person snorted at Hermoine’s words. You nodded but that wasn’t on your mind at all. “Who is it?” You asked with urgency. Ron pushed the person into the guest room and pulled off the bag covering the mystery person’s face.

Your eyes widen.

“Mattheo Riddle.”

It takes a moment before you proces what Hermoine said and what you’re seeing, but it is true. The golden trio managed to capture the dark lord’s son. “Look (y/n), we gotta leave now. You have to watch him. But be careful. You can’t trust him.” You stare at Harry as he gives you your orders. You would much rather have an explanation. However there seems to be no time for that, because they’re already at the front door again. “Be safe.” You whisper and the three grimace before shutting the door.

You turn around and make your way to the guest room where, believe it or not, Mattheo Riddle is still standing with his hands tied behind his back. His face is bloody, clothes dirty and hair messy. Clearly he didn’t go down without a fight. But, apparently he wasn’t slapped around enough since his arrogant smirk was still ever present. “Aren’t you going to untie me?” He asks like you were being a little slow. You frown. “No. Of course not. I’m not stupid.” You say, annoyed with his attitude. He smiles wickedly and licks his lip taking a small step towards you. “So, does that mean you’re going to feed me? And wash me?” You’re baffled and your mouth falls open for a moment. “Looking forward to it, love.” Mattheo adds taking another step in your direction. You huff and turn around, closing the door behind you. Oh dear, this is going to be something.

“Theodore Nott.”

You turn to the trio with a questioning look. “Long story.” Is all Ron says. “We need to leave now.” Harry announces. Hermoine grabs you while Harry and Ron leave the room. “Be careful. He’s a death eater. You can’t trust him.” You nod and watch as she hurries to follow her friends. When you hear the front door close you turn to your prisoner. Some of the cuts on his face still bleed, but what is utmost worrying is the bloodstain on his shirt indicating he might have a serious injury. Theo just gives you a smug half smile that makes you feel like he’s in charge. “Mind helping me out?” Theo asks as he turns his head as a way of motioning to his tied hands.

You raise your eyebrows at his ridiculous question. “Oh yes. And shall I also offer you my wand.” You return sarcastically. He huffs like you're being childish and difficult. He takes a seat at the end of the bed and you turn around heading to the door to get rid of his demeaning presence. “Are you going to hold my dick when I have to pee then? Because in that case I might make some extra suggestions. I bet you’re real handy.” His grin shows how much he enjoys playing with you. You throw him a dirty look, but decide to leave it at that and close the door. He’s clearly not that hurt. I’m sure he can bleed for a little longer.

“Enzo Berkshire”

You frown confused. All his friends are death eaters but Enzo as well, that’s a bit surprising. “He attacked us.” Harry explained seeing as you were clearly surprised. “This is a big misunderstanding. I’m a peace negotiator.” Enzo quipped, taking a pleading step towards you. Ron pushes him back immediately. “The bloody worst one ever.” Hermoine shifts her gaze from Enzo to you. “Don’t believe a word he says and make sure he doesn’t escape.” With a dumbfounded expression you watch the trio leave. Zero explanation. It’s always the same with them.

As soon as Enzo hears the front door close he walks towards you. “This is all a big mistake. I’m innocent.” His sudden closeness startles you. For your own safety you have to assume the worst, that he just like his friends serves Voldemort. He ignores the fear in your eyes and pushes on. “(Y/n), please untie me. You can trust me.” You take a step back and shake your head. “Not happening, Enzo.” His face gets desperate as he continues pleading. “But what if I get an ich? Or other things?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Will you come help me?” Not really realizing how dirty Enzo’s suggestion was, you nonchalantly answer: “Sure Enzo.”.

He’s a little surprised by your answer but he isn’t going to let the opportunity pass by. “I guess in that case I’m most definitely a dangerous man, you can never let me escape.” He winks at you and it is only then that you realize what you agreed to. His cheeky smile gets brighter as he sees your face fall when the realization hits you. “No. Whatever you’re thinking Enzo, no.” With that you quickly exit the room with a tomato red face. Great! I’m in charge of a horny death eater, just my luck.

“Draco Malfoy.”

All your curiosity was instantly replaced by annoyance. “You brought Malfoy here. What a blessing.” The words leave your mouth with a thick layer of sarcasm. Draco completely ignores you. “You will pay for this, Potter.” Harry looks at you and smiles while wiggling his eyebrows. “Have fun babysitting him. I would say be careful that he doesn’t escape, but I’m pretty sure the death eaters will bring him back.” A faint laugh escapes you and you walk the trio back to the front door to say your goodbyes.

When you turn around Draco is standing in the doorway of the guest room, now a prison room. “Fucking untie me.” Malfoy demands with venom in his voice. You push against his chest and make him take a few steps back into his new room. “Since you asked so nicely: no.” You answer with fake kindness. “Who do you think you are?” He snaps taking a step towards you. Though you’re slightly intimidated now that he’s towering over you, you manage to keep your cool. “Pretty sure I’m the one in charge here.” Draco huffs, but before he starts snapping again you push his side. He winces in pain and takes a step back.

Just as you thought, the dirt on his shirt indicates a bad fall on his side, probably some painful bruises. “How about you calm down and I will come back later to check your injuries.” He narrows his eyes at you in frustration. “You won’t untie me and now you’re planning on undressing me. Sounds like a bad date.” You roll your eyes and leave the room. A bad date is an understatement.

“Blaise Zabini.”

A small gasp escapes you as you make eye contact with the man under the hood. “You brought Zabini here?” You ask, not ready to process what your eyes are seeing. “We kinda stumbled into him. He was difficult to catch but having one less deatheater on the streets was well worth the work.” Harry explained. You scan over Blaise’s face, immediately noticing several bruises. When he looks up to you, you quickly look away. “Keep your distance. He’s no good.” Hermoine says as the trio leaves the room. Ron pats you on the shoulder as a way of wishing you luck. You watch your friends close the front door as you lean against the doorframe of the guest room.

You turn to Blaise and offer him an awkward smile. He’s the first one to break the silence. “I’m going to be honest. Normally I would find this all very kinky but right now I would really appreciate it if you untie me.” You roll your eyes at his playful tone. “How about: no. And I suggest you keep quiet or I'll tape your mouth shut.” Blaise looks frustrated with your lack of cooperation for a moment, but then his smirk returns. “Even kinkier. This should be fun.” You regret saying anything. “Nothing kinky is going to happen, since I’m leaving.” Blaise is annoyed that you don’t entertain him and go along with his joke. However as he watches you leave he panics. “Hey, I was being serious! You can’t leave me all tied up.” You ignore his frustrated voice and close the door. Seven years at Hogwarts and now I’m stuck with him again. Absolutely lovely.

[certifieddilfenjoyer]

Astral Prism, Orpheus & Raphael Theory

So you know how most people in Baldur's Gate 3 fandom make the Raphael joke?

I'm here to tell you that it's extremely hurtful, because his character has a lot more depth than some of you are willing to see.

Behold, my Baldur's Gate 3 theory:

Right before we enter Act 3, we are jumped by githyanki who want to retrieve our Astral Prism. We are summoned to the Dream Visitor - The Emperor, to help him in the fight.

We find out then that our supposed ally is an illithid but there is one more guy, The Gith, the Orpheus, The Prince of the Comet.

You can ask the Emperor what the heck is a githyanki doing there and he will tell you the brief story about the War of The Comet*.

He is going to mention, that he is bound by INFERNAL chains. Hold on? How come?

After we are done with the Royal Guard, we can go to the upper left side from Orpheus's prison and find an ancient Githyanki disc. It will tell us, that Vlaakith had some infernal business conducted with a devil with wry charm. Of course Raphael isn't the only devil capable of being charming, but it feels natural for it to be him when he is already a very important character in game.

Baldur's Gate 3 Wiki says that it is indeed Vlaakith and Raphael.

OK, but why would they exchange the Astral Prism and is it Vlaakith getting it or Raphael receiving the relic?

He is giving it to Vlaakith. But how would he be in possession of such an artifact?

My theory: He is the one who had it created for that trade. (Commissioned from someone else)

Explanation:

If you look at Hope's and Orpheus's prison, you will notice a striking resemblance at the crystals that can be only shattered by the Orphic Hammer. A Hammer, that Raphael is in possession of! How convenient!

(Even Hope's and Orpheus' eyes are glowing in the same way when they are enslaved.**)

The runes and the design of both Astral Prism and Orpheus' shackles are also strikingly similar. It does not look like anything of Githyanki creation, it screams infernal.

But that still doesn't really add up, does it? Who would possibly create such a powerful object which plays such a major role in the plot?

Here, we have to familiarise ourselves with the wonderful post by Bearhugsandshrugs

Em explains above who the people visiting House of Hope are***.

One of them is a crazy, extremely knowledgeable wizard who specialises in creating copies of himself which prevents him from dying in battle.

When we kill Raphael, we kill him in HoH, in his own domain. He should be gone, for good! But yet, upon interacting with the Orb of Infernal Envisioning, we see that he is soon to be devoured by his father. Hells do not split into separate planes - so either Mephisto snatched his soul somehow (which seems impossible because his body is still there and devil's souls are their bodies) or Raphael respawned and his father took one of his clones or something like that. (He's just so cool I had to put it in here, but let me return to my theory now)

Another name on the list points out to Raphael's interest in different planes (even the ones which don't seem to be reachable) but also, magical puzzle boxes capable of holding items inside. As you can see, the name on the list is under the uninvited visitors section, which most likely means that they either fuel his soul pillars or have been turned into a soul coin. So it didn't have to be that particular person helping Raphael with the creation of the Astral Prism, but it points out to his interest in that topic.

Now, when would that even happen?

Karsus Folly took place in -339 DR, BG3 takes place in 1492 DR, around 2000 years later.

The enslavement of Orpheus - so also the Vlaakith trade - happened at around -4000 DR.

It is not impossible that Raphael was already around and scheming at that time. Why? Because Mephistopheles gifted Haarlep to Raphael most likely when Raphael was about to get the Crown before his father snatched it. Comparing their visual age, it seems that Raphael was already a young adult cambion at around the War of The Comet age.

Another thing is the fact that, Kith'rak Voss, the badass Githyanki Red Dragon rider, the sword of Vlaakith, found out about Raphael and contacted him and told us to get our ass inside Sharess Caress. Raphael doesn't mention him having an 'office' there, it's Voss who does it. Only upon entering the place, we can interact with Korrilla who's like, hey girl go upstairs Raphael rented a room hoping you'd drop by. HE KNOWS WE SPOKE TO VOSS, he has to! And also, Voss was around when Orpheus got enslaved! According to Wiki he was inside the Astral Plane when that happened. And Raphael has absolutely 0 interest in trading with Voss, yet the githyanki managed to reach him somehow. In my opinion, when he finally realised the lies of Vlaakith, he was looking for a specific devil, for Raphael, because he might remember him from back then.

(* Justice to my poor Githyanki, the most based and cool race in BG3. Imagine how painful it has to be to realize over centuries of time that you helped the self-proclaimed queen establish her tyranny over your own people because you've been brainwashed to believe that Orpheus is a traitor and Vlaakith the rightful heir of the throne)

(** The eyes, the chains, the crystals. The top of the Orphic Hammer is literally partially built from that same gem/crystal and on top of that, if you use Examine on it, it clearly states that it has been built in Infernal forges.)

(*** headcanon warning: The Amulet of Vigor that is present in the Archive is actually proven to have some... Other invigorating capabilities ☠️☠️☠️ and the old, ancient, crazy wizard has the boudoir privileges. Coincidence? ☠️☠️)

Anyways, to sum up:

• Githyanki disc shows us a deal between Vlaakith and Raphael where the devil gives her the Astral Prism.

• Raphael orders creation of the Orphic Hammer (the name itself, come on, it's such a mockery just like House of Hope) to make sure that he has the means to free him if it will benefit him in any way.

• In exchange for the Hammer, he receives some kind of knowledge of ascension to godhood. (Lae'Zel tells us during the game that ascension is the githyanki's greatest honour but it turns out it is nothing else but ensuring that Vlaakith remains alive and a god, because she just consumes the life force of her greatest warriors)

• Hope's and Orpheus's chains are strikingly similar and the part of the Orphic Hammer is built from the same gem/crystal that seems to be enslaving both of them.

So yea, my humble request is that you start fully appreciating the incredible writing of the game, instead of just focusing on the shallow 'haha bottom' jokes. I could make another post about that itself, but it's pointless. I hope you enjoyed!

[thecommunityfridge]

The Eye Roll

TW: Ageplay, diapers, humiliation, bedwetting, spanking, manipulation

This story was inspired by and costars (with her permission) the wonderful @dearchloe. Go check out her amazing work!

"No, Mister, no way! You have wet the bed five of the last six nights. I am done playing around. Five nights of wet pull-ups in a week means you sleep in the nursery until you can prove you deserve otherwise. No exceptions!" Miss Chloe lectured me as she fought to get me diapered and dressed for bed.

Miss Chloe, the domineering British woman who had shown up at my door one day, declared she was my Nanny, and somehow took over my life like an AB/DL Mary Poppins, wasn't wrong. I had wet the bed five of the last six nights, and I had invoked her prescribed consequence of having to move into my guest room turned nursery until I could prove I could keep my pants dry overnight.

Of course, it didn't matter to Miss Chloe that my accidents had all been her fault.

She had made me drink all that water right before bed every night, because 'I was too dehydrated.' She carefully monitored whether I got out of bed at night, spanking me for getting up before I had 'slept' a full ten hours, because 'I needed to get a good night's rest.'

How was I supposed to keep my pull-up dry when I was spanked every time I made a very necessary midnight run to the plastic potty she kept in her room, the only toilet I was allowed to use?

There was no use in explaining the unfairness of it all to Miss Chloe though. Each time I talked back, I was met with some explanation with infallible logic about how she was right, and I needed to just accept the well-deserved consequences of my actions. It was infuriating.

So, this time, instead of trying to justify my predicament, or talking back as Miss Chloe termed it, I tried a new tactic. I rolled my eyes hard, like a bratty preteen, turned my back on my self-declared Nanny, and said, "Whatever," with as much cool disdain as I could muster.

That was a bad idea.

Miss Chloe immediately rounded on me, getting in front of me, and cutting off any means of escape.

"Oh my! I didn't know my little poppet's eyes were so tired! That was quite the eye roll, Little One!"

I looked at my caretaker confused. Miss Chloe was usually much more in tune with why I did something than this. My eye roll wasn't because I was tired. It was a sign of disrespect and rebellion. It was a manifestation of my frustration with her domineering attitude.

I tried to tell Miss Chloe as much when she immediately cut me off.

"I mean, your eyes ~must~ be tired, because I know that a good little boy like you would never roll your eyes at me on purpose! If that was the case, why, I think you would definitely have to take a trip over Nanny's lap to be reacquainted with Mrs. Spoon!"

I physically swallowed my words. Miss Chloe had proven to be a savant with 'Mrs. Spoon,' and I was not ready to risk her wraith again.

"No! Of course not Miss Chloe, my eyes just must, um, be, very tired! It is bedtime after all!" I responded, backtracking faster than a cat walking in on a room of dogs playing poker.

"That's what I thought, you poor little thing. Let Miss Chloe help with that!"

My Nanny caressed my face as she spoke before placing a hand lightly on my back, leading me into the nursery I had been working so hard to avoid.

"I have just the thing to help those tired, little eyes of yours! Now stay right here!" Miss Chloe directed me, leaving me standing in the middle of the room. Standing there, I couldn't help but feel like the giant changing table, crib, and other furniture was silently standing guard over me as I listened to the warden of my infantile prison rummage through a dresser drawer behind me.

"Found it!" Miss Chloe exclaimed.

I felt her presence approaching behind me before, suddenly, the world went black. Something soft and totally opaque obstructed my vision. I raised my hands to pull the intruding object off my face only to hear as much as feel a loud smack as my hands were batted away.

"Nuh uh, my adorable little poppet. You leave that blindfold on! Those silly little eyes of yours need rest! Covering them and taking a much needed ni-night is the only fix for such worn out little peepers," Miss Chloe's said, her voice circling me as she spoke.

With the blindfold on, I felt so little and vulnerable. Despite this room being in my house for years, it's recent conversion to a nursery made it feel strange and foreign to me. Now, completely blind, I felt more like I was lost in some foreign country than in a room in my own home.

I strained my hearing, trying to catch any details to make me feel more comfortable in the nursery.

From my right, I could hear the soft hiss of the oil diffuser, emitting a soft, lavender scent. Behind me, a light ticking came from the small clock on the wall. From all around me, Miss Chloe's steps sounded soft and muffled by the clean, soft shag carpeting under her feet as she circled me.

"Alright, Little One! Let's get you ready for bed!" Miss Chloe's voice suddenly came from behind me.

Before I could turn, I felt the sharp tug of the shorts and pull-up I was wearing being yanked down from behind me. I felt my cheeks warm as cool air assaulted my exposed groin.

"Step!" Nanny ordered, lightly tapping my right leg.

I complied, lifting my right leg, listening to the crinkle of the pull-up as Miss Chloe removed my foot from my pullies' leg hole.

"Other foot!" Nanny's voice rang out from below me.

Just as before, I raised my leg as Nanny pulled my foot out of my shorts and pull-up. The sound of light rustling of my disposable undergarments my reward for compliance.

"Good job, poppet! You kept your pullies dry all day!" Miss Chloe said with a joy and sincerity in her voice that made her sound more like she was talking to a three-year-old than me, the 30-year-old standing half naked before her.

My blush deepened at her words.

"Thanks, Miss Chloe."

I wished I could see her facial expressions so I could at least guess at what she had in store for me next. Instead, I had to settle for the sharp sound of her hands clapping together.

"Alright, arms up! We're almost ready for jammies!"

With gentle hands, I felt my Nanny lift the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, careful not to knock off the strip of cloth cutting off my vision. I heard Miss Chloe giggle once I was completely naked.

"There's my big boy! All nakey and ready for jammies!"

I felt Miss Chloe's hand wrap around mine and pull me forward. Hesitantly, but trusting that my self-appointed caregiver wouldn't let me hurt myself on accident, I let myself be led to the changing table that I knew from my memory was our destination.

"Hop on up!" Miss Chloe's voice intoned from beside me once we reached the table.

Delicately, I reached out and felt the soft padding and heard the loud crinkle of the plastic covered mattress set on top of the childish piece of furniture. Carefully, I lifted one leg into the table, only to be greeted by more soft crinkles. More confident, I lifted my second leg, getting my whole naked body carefully placed in the table.

I jumped a little as Miss Chloe's soft hands reached out for me, guiding me into the best position on the soft, cold plastic. With each movement of my body, I was reminded of my embarrassing situation by the crinkle of plastic.

Once I was safely on my back, without saying a word, Miss Chloe went to work.

I heard the soft rustle of fresh padding as she grabbed a diaper from under the changing table. The rustle only got louder as she folded and fluffed it.

I heard the sound of skin-on-skin before I felt it. The gentle slap to the side of my ass beckoned me to lift my naked tushy so Miss Chloe could slide the diaper underneath me. Resigned to my fate, I complied with the silent order, listening to the sound of the diaper sliding on the waterproof mattress on the changing table as the babyish garment was placed underneath me.

Still blind to the world, the next sound I heard was the almost imperceptibly noise of powder falling over my crotch. The sweet smell of talcum told me that Miss Chloe intended for me to stay in this padded monstrosity for at least my prescribed 10 hours of sleepy time tonight.

The diaper rustled again as my Nanny folded it up over my loins. The sound of the tapes being pulled and the light pressure of them being pressed flat signaled the end of my humiliating diapering was near.

"Perfect! A perfectly padded and properly protected little poppet!" Miss Chloe announced as I felt her gentle hands help me down from the changing table. "Now to get the sleepy boy into his jammies!"

I listened as Miss Chloe walked to the dresser pulled something out and returned to me.

As she did, I squeezed my legs together, marvelling at the thick feel of the diaper as well as how noisy it seemed in the otherwise quiet nursery. I didn't have long to examine my embarrassing new underwear before my Nanny returned with what was presumably pajamas.

In the reverse of being undressed, I stepped into what I could feel was a soft, fleece footie sleeper. I followed Miss Chloe's soft but firm instructions as she dressed me without question. Being blind to the world adding to my fear of the caring but dominate woman and made me more compliant.

The last noise as I was dressed was the tell-tale whir as the zipper was pulled up from behind me. The familiar noise signalling I was ready to be tucked into the horrible crib for the next ten hours.

"You're so adorable!" Miss Chloe preened as she guided me to the crib, my diaper whispering out my infantile state with each step.

Miss Chloe helped lift me into the tall piece of furniture. She helped me lay down, covering me with a soft blanket, before handing me what was I knew was a comically large baby bottle.

"Drink up!" my Nanny ordered as I heard her slide the side of the crib back in place, locking it with a sharp click.

I lifted the bottle to my lips and filled my ears with the gentle sucking sound that could only come from someone nursing the rubber teat of a bottle. A soft lullaby started playing from above me, signalling that Miss Chloe had turned on the mobile dangling over the bed.

A new click came from by the door, signalling that Miss Chloe had turned out the lights (a pointless gesture given I was already blindfolded).

"Goodnight, my sweet boy! Rest those tired eyes!" my Nanny called out as she shut the door to the nursery, locking me in.

As I lay suckling my bottle, diapered, blindfolded, and locked away in a crib, I couldn't help but relax. Maybe, I thought to myself as I drifted off to sleep and as I had many times before, Miss Chloe was right, and being put to bed in the nursery wasn't so bad.

[yourejinx]

Undeniable Bonds

  Azriel x F. Reader

Warnings: angst, as per usual. Violence, mentions of blood, mentions of death, curse words. Not proof read.

word count: 4k+.

Author’s note: I’m sorry I’m so late with this. I don’t even know what to say anymore, thank you for keeping up with me. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

“It’s alright, just breathe,”

There’s warmth against my forehead, and the words are a soft breath against my skin. I feel like every bone in my body has locked me into place, a prison, and I can’t move, I can’t breathe. 

The dark pit that has opened in my gut threatens to devour me whole and I recognise its numbness. It’s beckoning me to let go, to embrace it. A gentle, soothing  touch at my back it’s the only thing that’s keeping me anchored to reality, red and gold it’s all I’ve been staring at for what feels like an eternity. 

“Easy, dove.”

Cassian. Cassian is here. He’s enveloped me with his wings into a cocoon, a shelter against the world, his forehead is pressed against mine and he keeps rubbing circles between my shoulderblades. Some distant sense of self is returning to me, barely enough for me to turn my head and look at him. Dark hazel eyes stare back at me and the similarity to that other pair of eyes makes it almost unbearable to keep looking at them, my chest aches and I want to pull away. But Cass holds firm, strong hands holding my arms as he inhales deeply, motioning me to follow. 

I took one pathetic shuddering breath, two. My racing heart started to slow down and cool air flowed to my lungs. 

“There you go…” He hummed. 

Once I’m settled back into myself and my limbs don’t feel nearly as stiff as before, he slowly pulls away, allowing me to take in my surroundings. We’ve moved to the balcony outside one of the guest rooms, somehow. When did he even show up?

“Rhys called me, and told me what happened. How are you feeling?” His voice was so full of concern.

I shook my head, how could I put it into words? Was this what he felt every time Nesta slept with someone else? Was this what Rhys felt while Feyre was still with Tamlin? I knew Azriel fancied Elain, and I knew it was reciprocated. So why did it hurt so much to see it now? 

“Cass, he’s my—”

Mate. The word burned on my tongue. I couldn’t pronounce it. 

With each time I thought about it, the word lost a bit more of its meaning. I damned the Cauldron and the Mother for mating us; it was supposed to be something special, something that didn’t happen to most Fae, and if it did you were one lucky bastard. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard. But for me? It meant nothing. The bond only brought me pain and unrequited feelings, unwanted feelings. 

“I know, Rhys knows too,” he whispered.  

“How?” I asked, blinking away the dampness in my eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter now, dove, I need to know if you’re going to be ok” His eyes 

were so gentle, so understanding. 

I swallowed dry and nodded slowly. I remembered then that Lucien was looking for me and guilt tripped up my spine. How was I supposed to tell him what I saw?

“Cass, where is Lucien?” 

“I told him you weren’t feeling right and sent him home. He left something for you.” Cassian handed me a carefully wrapped package. For the looks of it, it was either a box or a book.  

“I have to talk to him.” 

I tore open the envelope, it was an old beautiful book, brown and gold and red. “Myths of the world” read the title, the author unknown. I hadn’t seen anything like this before.  It didn’t belong to Prythian, this book came from the mortal lands. 

Lucien saw this book during one of his journeys, and thought of me. My heart felt heavy in my chest  just thinking about the hurt I was going to cause him by speaking the truth about tonight.

“You can’t tell him anything, Y/N;”  Cassian’s tone was considerate yet firm. I frowned. 

“If it was the other way around he would tell me, Cass. He’s my friend…” 

“I’m your friend too, and I understand, but I’m asking you to wait. Please, let Rhys handle this or it can get really messy.” 

“Things are already too messy.”

With trembling fingers I dive between the first pages, it was a little worn around the edges but well kept, surely a loved book. One  particularly page caught my attention, it had dedicatory written in very polished handletter: 

“I don’t know if there’s proof of other worlds coexisting out there, but I hope you may find exciting ones within these stories.” 

More often than not, Lucien caught me late at night curled around the fireplace, a blanket thrown lazily over my legs and nose buried deep in some book about portals to other worlds, myths and legends, the old history and so and so. That sort of thing that has always called to me since I was a kid, more than curiosity I felt a pull towards it, as if I could feel the history of the universe in my veins. I never told anyone about it before, it seemed silly, I didn’t have proof of anything, it was more like a sense of the otherworldly. I felt ancient and new, vast and empty, all at the same time. The last time I experienced something like that Feyre had still been pregnant with Nyx, I remember feeling like my mind had been split for a moment, allowing me to experience reality both through my own person and through someone or something else’s eyes. I ended up throwing up that night, and Azriel had found me passed out on the floor of the living room. No one asked any questions, but Lucien had noticed. 

I sighed and closed the book, returning my attention to the worried-looking Illyrian in front of me.  “He’ll hate me if he finds out and I knew all along. I can’t have him hate me, Cass.” 

I can’t have him hate me too. 

“He won’t hate you dove, that’s just impossible”.

I shook my head, “Can you just take me home please?” 

“Of course,” He didn’t hesitate to scoop me up in his arms and take to the skies. 

The wind whipped through the night sky as Cassian soared gracefully, his wings beating rhythmically against the air currents. Beside him, I clung tightly to his muscular frame, my grip tightened unconsciously with each passing moment. The journey back to the House of Wind was filled with a heavy silence, as I wrestled with the weight of my thoughts and emotions.

Finally, the grand structure came into view, perched majestically atop the cliffs. Cassian gently landed, his powerful wings folding behind him as he turned to face me. His cobalt eyes searched mine, brimming with concern and curiosity. He paused, probably sensing the turmoil underneath, and waited patiently for me to find the courage to speak.

With a heavy sigh, I took a step back and looked up at the towering residence. "Cassian," I started, voice tinged with a mix of determination and sadness, "I’m leaving the court. I've made a decision... I'm going to accept Helion's offer."

Cassian's brow furrowed, a mixture of surprise and worry crossing his features. He reached out, his hand finding mine in a reassuring grip. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. "You know the risks involved, the dangers that lie beyond our borders. The Night Court is your home, with friends who care for you."

My gaze followed the distant horizon, already feeling that curl of longing and uncertainty in my gut. "I understand the risks, Cass," I replied softly. "But I can't ignore the chance to make a difference, to find my own path and discover who I truly am, what I could do. I've always felt like I'm in the shadow of others, and maybe... maybe this is my opportunity to shine."

Cassian's grip on my hand tightened, his voice filled with earnestness. "You don't need to leave to find your purpose. You have friends here who believe in you, who will stand by your side no matter what. We can face the challenges together, as a family."

Tears welled in my eyes as conflicting emotions tugged at my heart. I wanted to believe in the strength of these bonds, in the safety and comfort of the Night Court. But a flicker of determination remained, whispering promises of self-discovery and growth. I looked back at Cassian, voice trembling but resolute. "I love you Cass, and I’m deeply grateful for everything the Night Court and all of you have given me, but I have to do this. Please understand."

Cassian's gaze softened, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that escaped my eye. He took a deep breath, his voice filled with unwavering support. "If this is truly what you want, then I won't stand in your way. But remember, you will always have a home in the Night Court, we will be here for you whenever you need us. And I can still kick Azriel’s ass for you."

He joked and a small smile broke through my lips despite the anguish. “I don’t want him to know, let’s just keep this between us for now, alright? I’ll tell Rhys tomorrow.” 

“Alright.” He whispered and brushed a kiss to my temple. 

We just stood there for a moment, embraced by the cool night breeze, letting all the events of the night sink in. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week later. 

The frozen landscape stretched endlessly before our eyes, a harsh and unforgiving terrain that mirrored the tensions between me and the Shadow Singer. The mission to track down the slavers had brought us to this desolate place, where the biting cold seemed to seep into our very souls. Yet, it was the icy atmosphere between us that threatened to shatter the fragile alliance.

We hadn’t spoken a word since last Solstice’s party, and I hadn’t seen him around either. I still couldn’t shake the weight of that awful look he gave me that night, it didn’t help that he looked on the verge of ripping my head off. I just didn’t understand, we were sort of alright at some point and then he just went back to hating me, as if some switch had gone off inside of him. 

As we trudged through the snow, our breath crystallizing in the frigid air, the silence grew heavy with unspoken accusations. I just couldn't bear the weight of Azriel's distrust any longer, it was making me anxious and angry. Whatever it was that got him so mad at me I didn’t deserve it, and we couldn’t keep working like that. 

With each step, the tension escalated, until it reached a breaking point. Finally, unable to contain my frustration, I turned to face him, my voice came out  laced with a mix of fury and hurt that I didn’t intend. "If you have something to say, just say it already and be done with this stupid silent treatment."

Azriel's expression hardened, his hazel eyes flashing with a mix of regret and stubbornness. "Why? so you can run and snitch to Rhys about it?"

My hands balled into fists, body trembling with indignation. "What the hell does that mean?” I hissed. 

“You know what it means. I seriously thought about giving you a chance, that I may have judged you wrong. Then I turn around and you pull the bullshit you did on Solstice. I didn’t think you could stood so low as to drag Elain into this mess.” 

“What bullshit? What are you even on about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you called Rhys on us. Are you going to tell me that it was all a coincidence? That you just happened to walk right into the room I was in with Elain, and Rhysand followed you? I see the way you look at her, are you really that envious?”   

A humorless laugh escaped my lips, anger boiling in my veins. “Is this what got you so pissed? You are a bigger asshole than I thought. I didn’t even know you were in there, even less that you were with her. Do you think I give a fuck about who you’re fucking?You're always so quick to judge, to assume the worst of me. You know what? I'm done. Fuck you, Azriel!"

“You’re a cunning bitch, ever so observant, ready to pry into other people’s business; lying is like breathing for you, so why should I believe you? Why else would you happen to be there? Every time something goes wrong you’re in the middle of it!”

“Oh don’t try to blame me for your fuck ups, you dug that hole yourself. We were there because we were looking for you, because I wanted to give you this.” I shoved the little black box against his chest, hard. I had been carrying it with me since that night, its weight had been unbearable. “Happy Solstice, Azriel.” I spat with irony. 

He just stood there, shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping his anger at bay, eyes glued to the object now lying in his hands. 

Silence engulfed us once again as the bitter wind whistled through the barren landscape. Our breaths mingled with the frosty air, hanging between us like an unbridgeable chasm. 

“What is this?” he finally dared to ask, his voice cold and calm, distant but not nearly as angry as before. 

I cursed the slight tremor of vulnerability and turned away, already feeling a headache forming.  "You can throw it away if you want, I don’t care. I’m going to scout the land, don’t follow me. And keep your shadows to yourself."  My own voice came out barely above a whisper.

With that, I stormed off, leaving Azriel standing alone amidst the frozen wasteland. The ache of the fractured connection between us weighed heavily on my heart, mingling with the anguish of this mission and the bitter chill of the land. There was really no hope for us, to believe we could be friends again…that had been a foolish mistake. 

For a long while I walked and walked and walked, there had been no sign of any other living creature in hours. The night was starting to grow heavy and the cold unforgiving, I could barely see anything beyond the frozen forest, the small faelight I brought with me doing little to light up the path but I couldn’t risk giving away my position. It felt like I had been walking around in circles, never finding the exit to the forest. I could’ve sworn I passed the same twisted tree four times now, it looked like a giant claw tearing open the ground. Maybe I shouldn’t have left on my own. I had a bad feeling about this, it was all strangely silent. 

Just as I spotted a clearing, a familiar scent caught my attention. I haven’t felt that in nearly two centuries, but I remembered it like it was yesterday, sweet and strong and dangerous. My heart dropped to my stomach, and dread spread along my spine. It couldn’t be. He was dead. I had killed him.  

All my alarms went off almost immediately, I turned the faelight off and walked as slowly, as silent as a wrath towards the clearing. I had to squint my eyes to adjust to night vision, avoiding the branches and bigger patches of snow. A dim light appeared on the other side of the woods, floating beside a big shadow. As I came closer I could make the shape of wings, huge membranous wings. I wouldn’t mistake those wings in a thousand years. 

“Azriel?” I asked, low. Not entirely giving away my location still inside the forest’s safety. 

His back was turned to me, and he was standing predatorily still. A glimpse of metal flashed in the dim moonlight, Truth Teller was clutched tightly in his right hand, something dark and sticky dropping to the snow. Blood. The copper tang of it hit my nose a second later. It smelled like him. Was he hurt? 

I scanned the land beyond him, searching for the threat. If I had scented it earlier, probably he did too and found them sooner than I did. 

“Azriel was going on?” I tried again, walking closer. 

Past the shadows that engulfed him a figure lay on the ground, they were kneeling. There was so much more blood around them it was hard to tell if they were still alive. Whoever that was. 

I stepped beside him, my own blade in hand, ready to strike if needed be. But what struck me was the sight in front of me, Azriel was kneeling on the frozen ground, wings dropped and bloodied, a gag was pulled tight against his mouth and his eyes were wide, desperate. He grew wild when he saw me, thrashing against an invisible barrier. I turned around, confused and alarmed. The Shadow Singer stared back at me, a sinister smile tugging at his mouth and he launched forward, shoving the blade between my ribs. 

The Azriel on the ground tried to scream against the gag, eyes glazed over with rage. I wanted to reach him, free him from his restraints, but I couldn’t move. The male in front of me twisted the knife still inside my flesh and I let out a cry of pain. It burned like hell and I felt myself starting to get dizzy. Faebane, for sure. 

Hazel eyes turned darker than the night itself, and that pretty face morphed into something half beautiful, half monstrous. Brutal and scarred. I watched in horror as the male of my nightmares appeared in front of me. Demian, Kier’s first born son, alive and here. 

“Did you miss me, wife?” He purred into my ear. 

“RHYS! RHYS!” I tried to desperately call for the High Lord, but the mental channels between us felt distant, my voice sounded like an echo traveling through a never ending tunnel. 

I tried to take a step back but the world started to blur into darkness quickly. The last thing I saw was Demian’s monstrous face smiling down at me. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel. 

The cavern was shrouded in darkness, its oppressive air thick with a sense of impending doom. The flickering light cast eerie shadows across the cold stone walls, as his eyes darted around, desperately searching for any means of escape. Azriel had been awake for a while now, heart pounding wildly against his ribcage at the scene in front of him; Y/N struggled against the coarse chains that bound her wrists, barely conscious due to the bloodlost. 

He had never felt more helpless and stupid. He should have said something, apologize, go after her, make her stay. Azriel still couldn’t believe he fell into  this motherfucker’s illusion, he should have known better. But it had been so real…the look of despair in her face, begging him to save her, as if Demian had known what she looked like, as if he had seen her like that before. Rage boiled in his veins.  Oh, once he got free of this invisible prison he was going to kill him, and he was going to take his sweet time doing so. 

"Azriel..." she whispered his name, her voice barely audible in the silence. The sound carried a mix of longing and worry, it made something crack inside his chest. 

The heavy stone doors groaned open, revealing two figures emerging from the depths of darkness. Demian, a malevolent presence wrapped in darkness, stepped forward with an insidious smile, his eyes glittering with a sinister delight.

Azriel’s shadows were frantic, desperately trying to leak beyond the barrier holding him and reach Y/N, but it was no use. Even his siphons couldn’t break the spell containing him, the strange marks painted on the ground around him seemed to absorb every futile attempt of his power to set him free. 

"Ah, Y/N, lovely to see you again", his voice dripping with malice. "We still have some unfinished business, darling."

Y/N narrowed her gaze, refusing to show her fear and spat on his face. “I don’t know how you’re still alive, but you’re as delusional as I remember.” 

Demian's laughter echoed through the cavern, chilling her to the bone. In his hand, he brandished a wickedly sharp blade, the metal gleaming with malicious intent.

"Perhaps," he sneered, his voice laced with contempt. "But this time I’ll succeed, you’ll pay for what you’ve done, you and your stupid High Lord. There’s no escaping your fate this time."

A weak groan managed to escape Azriel’s bloody lips, and Y/N's eyes filled with dread as she spotted him, chained to a wall, his body battered and bloodied. 

"Azriel!" she cried out, straining against her restraints. "Leave him alone!"

Demian's twisted grin widened, feeding off her anguish and desperation. "Oh, my dear," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "I plan to make him suffer just enough to ensure your compliance."

Tears welled up in her obsidian eyes as she watched Demian approach him, heart breaking at the sight of her mate's pain. Their connection, their bond, was just a whisper of strength and vulnerability.

"Do not yield, Y/N," Azriel's voice reached her, laced with pain but filled with unwavering resolve. "Don't let him break you."

“Enough!” The other presence in the room raised his voice as he approached the light. It was a dark haired male, tall and slim, a bit ungainly. His skin was a sickly grey-ish pale. Y/N’s eyes widened and tears started to flow freely down her cheeks at the sight of him. “Hello, sister. Long time no see.” He smiled wickedly at her as he anxiously played with the blade in his hands. 

Azriel could recognise its signature darkness capable of absorbing even the light of the sun anywhere. Truth Teller. The bastard was holding his blade. 

“Ajax…” she whispered, almost pleading. 

“We thought you had killed yourself. Imagine my surprise when I saw you at war with Hybern,” Ajax let out a humorless chuckle. “tch, father is so disappointed in you, you made mama cry and all for this?” He pointed at Azriel, still fighting to get free. There was something animalistic and ferocious in his eyes as he watched Damien twist the blade into the membrane of his wings. 

“Stop! Let him go. This is between me and you, he doesn’t have to be here.” 

“Let him go? So you can pull the bullshit you did on your wedding night? I don’t think so. But you wouldn’t dare to do so now, no, you wouldn’t risk hurting your precious Shadow Singer.” He smiled mockingly and slid the sharp edge of Truth Teller along her jaw. “Pitty. You would’ve made such a pretty bride… isn’t that right Demian?” 

Demian’s deformed mouth twisted upwards as he looked her up and down, something dangerous darkening his features. He grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him and ran a thumb over her lips. “You could have been my queen.”

She spat on his face again. “Go to hell.” 

Ajax slapped her face. “You’ve always been an ungrateful bitch.” 

Wiping his atrocious face clean, Demian stepped forward grabbing Truth Teller from Ajax hands. There was such hatred in their eyes. “Let’s get this over with.” He threw Azriel a wicked grin and slid the sharp edge across Y/N’s wrist. 

The Shadow Singer watched with a mix of fury and desperation as the blade cut into her flesh, eliciting a tortured cry from her lips. He felt it too, the pain, as if it was his own flesh being torn open. 

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Azriel’s threat echoed through the walls of the frozen cave. 

They both laughed as they carved similar markings to the ones holding him prisoner into her    skin. In her arms, her chest, her legs. She was just a playtoy for them to feed their morbidity. 

There was so much blood everywhere. Demian’s filthy mouth closed around one of the wounds, drinking from her. Her blood, her power, her very essence, while Ajax recited something in a tongue Azriel couldn’t understand. 

The Shadow Singer saw red. Something primal took over his senses, the urge to protect Y/N was stronger than anything, determination surged through his weakened body, and with every ounce of remaining energy, Azriel fought against his restraints. He summoned whatever hidden reserves of strength he possessed, his determination overriding the debilitating effects of the faebane. Sparks of raw power crackled around him as his unyielding rage fueled his desperate struggle for freedom. 

Ajax's full black eyes fell on him, sensing the upcoming battle that was about to be unleashed upon them and slit open Y/N’s other wrist. 

“Let’s go, we got what we need” He urged the blonde male beside him. 

They retreated, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Y/N and Azriel gasping for breath, their bodies battered and broken.

As Azriel's body trembled with exertion, his relentless efforts finally bore fruit. With a surge of sheer willpower, the invisible barrier shattered like fragile glass, freeing him from its confinements. Gasping for breath, his eyes blazed with a mix of determination and wrath as he surveyed the now empty space where the two males had stood. He would hunt them down, to the ends of the earth if needed, to make them pay for what they’ve done; but first he had to take Y/N to safety. 

He turned to face her; the anguish in her eyes mirrored his own, but their connection remained unbroken, he could still feel the sliver of hope amidst the darkness thrumming through that golden thread between their souls. 

She held tight onto that bit of sanity left and muttered the words “I’m sorry” over and over again as her body started to give out. 

Azriel’s whole body started shaking “No, no, no. Stay with me, I’ll get us out. I swear.” 

He rushed to her side, untying her arms and cradling her face. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t winnow and his wings were too damaged to fly. At this point they needed a miracle, he wasn’t a devoted believer in the gods but he would pray to all of them to save her. 

They lied there, in the ground, her face was drained of color and the unforgiving cold was not helping. 

As if in answer to his silent prayers, the stone doors burst open, revealing the High Lord and the General of the Night Court in a state of utter distress. Azriel didn’t know when he had started crying  but he let himself hold onto the tiny bit of hope that they might make it alive.  

"Where are they?" Rhysand's voice boomed with unwavering authority, his power shimmering around him.

The shadow singer shook his head, Y/N was slipping away as they talked. “Please save her” 

Rhysand rushed to their side, cradling her in his arms. Her heartbeat was too weak, her breathing labored. Azriel’s own consciousness was starting to flicker and he could feel the bond beginning to dim. Panic took over his senses, he started fighting against Cassian’s hold just to get to her.

“Az, it 's ok. We’ll meet them back at the House, she’s going to be fine.” Cassian assured him as he took to the skies. 

And he would have believed him if it wasn’t for the exchange of worried looks that transpired between his brothers.

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If I forgot about someone please let me know :) It won’t let me tag some of you I don’t know why :(

[igglemouse]

I spent the morning in the shower full of despair and pain. I hated this. It certainly wasn't fair but the worst part about it is I could not do anything about it. I just had to accept it, accept that I'll never properly be part of the magical community and where did that leave me? Nowhere. Nowhere at all.

But the day must roll on. It sucks that I won't ever be able to practice magic in the realm, that my potential will always be stunted and blocked, but perhaps that is just fate?

Yes, I've tried to learn as much as I can on my own and I'm not sure if I've learned a single spell. It is difficult.

One of the few things passed down to me is my mother's witchy pot, an object I'll always cherish because it is a reminder of what I am or rather what I'm supposed to be...and yet, for me, it's nothing but a pot. I stare down at it, demanding answers that never come, and only receiving a few bubbles and steam.

That's all it is for me, a boiling pot of water. Nothing else, nothing more.

And so I fall right back into collecting. Finding a simple kind of joy from plucking a mushroom from its place or cracking a rock open hoping to find some bit of fortune because the only thing better than magic is simoleons. Would you rather be rich or a spellcaster? falls

But unfortunately for me (as usual) the jewelry I make is not likely to get much. Enough to pay the rent and keep my single belly full but not much more. I still hold out hope that one day, hopefully soon, that maybe I can bring in more simoleons through this little hobby of mines but who knows with my luck.

With dawn comes new energy to collect. This time flowers, herbs, more things that grow in the ground and more importantly things that grow outside of Cyril's castle...

And since I'm over here for a mission, other than collecting, I stay around until the rise of a full moon. Suddenly feeling once again a pull to the castle, that stony building that housed an unwelcoming vampire or two.

Feeling the urge to explore and feeling a pull from the castle I make my way to its entrance...

This time I do not get too far without Lilja being there to greet me, an expectant smile on her lips.

"Be careful of the path you are on," the warning in her voice is plain and clear but seeing her under better lighting makes me wonder about her age? A vampire can live forever, as long as they aren't murdered, basically, so she could be anywhere from 20 to 2000 years old. The thought is kind of terrifying. What does one do with all of that wisdom?

Any ways, I shake my head and give her the most careless shrug I can. "I'm tired of others choosing my path for me."

She gives me a sort of dubious look before the addition of a curt nod. Turning her back to guide me deeper inside once again. "Come then."

While I couldn't possibly guess the age of Lilja I did have better assumptions about the house. On the outside it showed its age, the stones crumbling, cracked, and almost looking as if any moment it might collapse in on itself but the fact that it was still standing told a story of resilience.

Inside told a different story, one of luxury and old simoleons and perhaps a group of vampires or sims that called this place home?

"I know why you are here," Lilja starts, finding a seat and offering me a place next to her as she took me in.

It was then that I realized that Lilja had the look of a prisoner and not a resident or even a guest. There was something about her eyes, a silent plea in them, that suggested that maybe she wasn't here on her own terms? Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I'm just a little paranoid because at any moment Cyril could pop up and then...then what? Last time I met him everything happened so fast and then I woke up in the middle of her floor and-

"You wish to be turned," Lilja assumed.

"No, not quite that just..." well, it was partly true. The Realm had denied me my magic but the magic of vampirism could be given for free. No, not for free, but close to free? Was it even possible, with the ward that protects me? "My mother practiced blood magic-"

"Yes...yes she did," the smile then on her lips was warm and welcomed this topic. "A dangerous but powerful magic, one you are willing to learn? My Maker would be willing to teach you, for a price I presume, but it is something he will have to consider when he's in a better condition. Your little attack on him has...sidelined him, I'm afraid to admit."

"Yes," I reply although I was a little confused. Wasn't he the one who attacked me? I remember a bit of of that night and of him, enough of him at least. There was something missing to him, he looked skeletal, dead, and his eyes were a white void of...well, nothing. That's sort of what a void is, isn't it? I made to scream and soon felt bony hard fingers dig into my muscles and felt his lips against my neck and then..."Yes, of course, when he's in better condition."

"It gives you some time to decide if this is indeed the path you wish to take. A dangerous course as blood magic requires sacrifice, from its user and from others," Lilja's manner of speech was so without soul at this moment that I wondered if she were a robot but I soon realized why. Her eyes, gray and searching, were locked onto my neck. She stared at it for a little too long, perhaps even licked her lips or maybe I imagined that part but if I were not protected by a ward I have a feeling I'd be her next meal.

"I'll think about it-"

"There are other things to consider but when and if the time comes."

With that she escorts me to the door, more amiable than moments before. "I believe I've had a moment of weakness," she jokes, tossing aside the fact that she was definitely imagining tearing into my neck. "Do think on it and I would not return unless your answer is yes...a ward is much like a door, from what I understand. Eventually, if someone bangs enough on it, it falls."

Yeah, I guess I'll give it some thought...

Episode List - Next Episode ' Frenemies'

[eltube]

(new fic!) Evil-Adult-Anon

I wrote this fic as a gift for @kndrules’ birthday this year (Happy Birthday Jay!) and after he mentioned it offhand someone was interested in reading it—so I am posting it here for all to see!

It takes place in our adult AU, where—for reference—sector V members are about 35 years old. This fic doesn’t feature sector V, though; it stars Cree!! Who is in her forties, a Japanese history professor, and still coming to terms with her life after Father. (Father is recently in prison—basically, if you have any questions about the details of this timeline, feel free to ask about it.) It also features special guests (The) Steve and The Toilenator, though you may not recognize him at first.

Enjoy!

With every step she took into the hotel lobby, Cree gripped the shoulder strap of her canvas bag a little tighter. She had tried to dress casual, but put-together: one of her nicer cardigan sweaters, the pants she actually ironed, and her new shoes with the fancy broguing on the sides. Her locs were tied back in a small, loose bun behind her, and she figured that–at least if nobody zeroed in on the death grip of that one hand on her bag–she probably looked pretty composed from the outside. 

She needed the death grip though, because the farther away she got from her partner’s familiar car, the more she felt her bravado slipping away, already making a smaller woman under this big, domed ceiling. Steve had told her way too many times that she’s “got this,” working his clueless magic that once again made her enough of a fool to believe him. Now, the stronger illusion of her–the stranger who so confidently waved at Steve as he dropped her off, as if this was all her idea–was looking down at her real self with a mixture of smug superiority and pity. 

She ran her palm along the bag’s material as she walked on the lobby carpet, grounding herself (as she had been taught to call it) by feeling the bumps along the surface. She recognized and remembered the shapes of the file folders, overflowing with booklets of paper, packed inside. Cree had brought her students’ essays along with her, like she always did during exam seasons in case she had a few moments to catch up on marking them. 

In this case, bringing the student papers along had been a kind of silent, last-ditch prayer of desperation. Like, maybe this whole thing would actually be cancelled, right? Everyone would go home, not even knowing she had shown up, and she could sit peacefully alone on these pearly white couches until Steve’s band finished practicing, just reading first-year history students’ takes on bushido and cracking up without a care in the world. 

It wasn’t going to happen–but honestly, she just needed the fantasy to get her out the door. As the knots in her stomach were reminding her very loudly now, she really did not want to come.

Trying the grounding again, Cree focused on the surroundings of the hotel as she moved towards the conference room, reminding herself to “name three things” for each of her senses. She had resisted this strategy at first, how babyish it sounded. To her displeasure though, she had to admit that when she actually tried it eventually, the damn thing worked.

I hear…the front desk people typing. Luggage carts. A fountain.

I see…ugly wallpaper. Plants. A snack counter…huh, looks like they have ice cream. That logo is familiar. 

I smell…what do hotels smell like? The scent of blandness? Parfum du nothing? ‘Clean stank’? Sure, those count as three things.

I taste…DAMMIT! FUCK! SHIT!

A jolt of surprised rage yanked Cree out of the ritual. She strode directly into something blocking her path, priming her to explode at whoever put it there–and then, just as fast, a wave of hot embarrassment followed. She realized she had knocked her foot against a sign outside the conference room. It was, actually, the exact sign she was supposed to be looking out for.

 “SUPPORT GROUP HERE,”--the text on the cardboard seemed to be shouting out loud to mock her as it toppled over. Cree couldn’t help but project onto it like it was a person she hated, some shrill little kid maybe, pointing and going LOOK WHAT THIS WEIRD LADY DID for the whole hotel to hear. Scrambling to catch herself and prop the thing back up–make it be quiet–Cree looked around, praying that no one had seen her “calm” herself into a clumsy mess. Luckily, it seemed like it was a secret between her and the security cameras at most.

“So much for mindfulness,” she muttered to herself, silently cursing her therapist. That lady was definitely going to hear about the mess she caused with her advice next week. On the bright side, though, all the potential awkwardness Cree felt around walking into this conference room seemed tamer in comparison, now. She let out a long-suffering breath, reasoning that she had come this far, and put on a brave face as she crossed the threshold.

—

The room was set up just the way Cree had imagined it–she couldn’t tell if she found this funny or downright irritating, the cliche of the scene. The circle of folding chairs, the table of cheap coffee, the name tags…it all felt like the setup of a joke at her expense, and when she found herself taking a sharpie and actually writing Cree on one–eugh—that was the punchline. 

A nametag, as if these people didn’t know exactly who she was. Even if she had changed her hair or her mannerisms much in the last 15 or so years, she was, she noted bitterly, the only Black woman in the room, so she would always be unmistakable. 

At least no one’s staring at me. At least not until my back is turned. 

The cheap label stuck to the right side of her sweater, she kept her hand on her bag as she sat slowly down in one of the chairs. It was stiff, but she took some small pride in having good posture. Others in the room, many of whom she was surprised not to recognize–shouldn’t I know everybody here?--were all milling around and making small talk, like friends. They smiled at each other, touched shoulders, laughed; they probably came here dutifully every second week while she was hiding at home.

People started to take their seats around her, and Cree tried to block the lonely resentment building in her gut from showing on her face. As the meeting started and the scattered conversations died down, she closed her eyes and conjured up her confident self from the car again, a witch conjuring ghosts of the past. She would need magic not to screw this up.

Directly across from her, one middle-aged man stayed standing with his hands folded; he, she assumed, was the group leader she talked to on the phone. 

“Welcome, everybody,” he said, and his familiar voice confirmed Cree’s guess. “Now that everyone’s sitting, we can start.”

The man, tall and Latino with greying hair and broad arms, had already introduced himself to Cree last week as Paolo. He was friendly enough, and thoughtful enough with his direct invitation to attend the meeting, that she tragically couldn’t refuse it anymore without looking like a complete jerk. And as always seemed to be the case with these people, he said he knew who she was, but she never remembered meeting him–and again, she wondered if this tendency to erase people’s names and faces from her memory made her arrogant. 

She tried to console herself with the fact that, at least in this case, there were reasons Paolo might have been forgettable; ice cream men were always wearing those stupid hats anyway, and they all looked the same in uniform. It’s not like she was hanging out with them back in the day—they were never even invited to those Anti-Kid Bingo Nights. 

Ugh, she had almost forgotten how much she hated those.

“First of all,” Paolo continued, with the attention of the room bringing Cree back. “Thanks to everyone again who brought food. Feel free to say something about your recipe when we do the circle…if it’s not a family secret!”

There were good-hearted chuckles scattered around Cree where the older members sat, the kind she hears from the tenured professors pushing 70 at work. When she’s not scared of getting a day older, part of Cree looks forward to getting to an age where unfunny jokes make her laugh like that.

“Now, we’ll start with me like always. We don’t have too many new folks here today,”--and Cree felt his lack of eye contact with her here was deliberate–”but it’s always good to introduce ourselves just in case. So, hi everyone. My name’s Paolo–feel free to share just your first name, or your last too, whatever’s comfortable–and, well, when I’m not running this group, I’m the Ohio regional representative of Tasty Taste. It’s been really rewarding for me to help build the new face of the company, and, hey…I’m sure it’s also rewarding for us that I’m able to offer free ice cream to everyone here.” 

There was a murmur of chuckles from the group again, and Cree remembered the stand she had passed on the way in, the shape and colours of the logo all clicking into place. The new face of the company. So the stand used to belong to…hell, maybe the whole hotel used to be his. Suddenly she felt a pang of nausea, like the chair she was sitting on might be coated in poisonous slime.

Paolo went on. “I’ll pass the intros around the circle now, and feel free to share anything about yourself. It can be a fact about you related to the group or not! Then we’ll go into a theme for this week’s discussion. Lou, you’re on my right–why don’t you go ahead?”

Paolo sat down, and the man next to him looked up and smiled at the group shyly. He was white and semi-elderly, with a belly but stringy, gangly limbs, and he sported a decidedly balding head of thin blonde hair. Cree didn’t recognize this guy, either, and assumed he was another ice cream man. How common was it, she wondered, for men like Paolo to still be working at Tasty Taste now?

“Hi, I’m Lou,” the new man said, and something about his voice sounded instantly familiar. “I brought some quiche today, but it is a bit of a family secret with my husband and me…” He grinned. “Um, I work as a [gastrointestinal specialist] now, but for a long time I guess people probably just knew me as a guy who walked around wearing a goofy costume…a guy who no one liked.”

With that bit of context, in his timid voice, it dawned on her. Holy shit. Her mouth fell open, shocked by how bizarrely normal he seemed across from her now. That’s the Toilenator.

Nobody noticed her gaping expression while Lou continued, now so clearly resembling a time-lapsed version of the villain, like a parody act that walked offstage. “It’s been great for me to get to know people through this group,” he smiled, “And I’m glad more people are coming every time. Sigmund doesn’t come with me since it’s not his experience, but he says he can really tell it makes a difference and he’s grateful to all of you.”

Lou sat back in his chair and the group clapped, something that Cree gathered was customary during this “introductions” phase. She awkwardly raised her hands and clapped once, feeling distinctly stupid, like she was at show-and-tell or something. How long has the Toilenator been married? 

More than that—though she realized how cruel it was, while he was being vulnerable—Cree was embarrassed to think she had any common issues with the Toilenator. 

As the next few people introduced themselves, their words blurred into nonsense and this parallel between them horrified her more and more. She was suddenly haunted by a mirror image of herself, wearing an oversized toilet seat around her head, getting bullied by people—who were, by all accounts, total freaks themselves—is that the kind of company she was seeking solace in? 

More people spoke, mostly ice cream men, or B-list villains, or some guy who watered the lawn at the mansion. Ignoring them, she wondered if the Toilenator had any of the same messed up problems as her—maybe he even went to the same therapists about it. Maybe right after Cree left those offices, all woe-is-me, this old guy walked in after her, clearly doing so much better about it since he can be at home making quiche all day. As if all of this couldn’t be more humiliating, now the Toilenator was beating her at therapy! 

“…would like to share something?”

Cree looked up as she noticed the room was staring at her, expectant. It was silent now, no one else sharing, meaning it must have been her turn to speak. She stupidly opened and closed her mouth and sat up straighter, running her hand along her canvas bag nervously again.

”I, uh.”

Paolo was looking over and smiling patiently, and the patience of it sort of made it worse.

”Sorry. I’m…I didn’t bring anything. Didn’t know it was a potluck. I um…well, you all know who I am. I’m Cree. You know me whether you met me back then or not. Everyone keeps telling me to come to one of these things, but I never felt like I…I dunno, deserved it. But now I’m here, so I guess I have to catch everyone up.” 

Once the first words were out of her mouth, it became a kind of compulsion to speak, which in a way was a mercy. She caught faces with eyes burning into her, but fought the urge to try and read their thoughts.

”So, I was Father’s apprentice. For…10 years? Something like that.” 

Speaking his name made it real. She might as well jump right into it. 

”I guess, you know…I realized in my mid-20s, that after everything I worked for, I wanted out. It wasn’t worth it, and he never intended to give me any of the power he promised. I guess a lot of you worked for him for money, but he never even paid me. Then I realized it was his future or mine—he didn’t want me going to school, didn’t want me doing anything that took me farther away, and I guess…something in me sensed it would only get worse. I took a chance, I left, I cut contact and left for college and didn’t look back. I was scared he’d come after me but lo and behold the case against him came together just in time. And it’s only with him in prison that I feel like I can say anything without putting everyone I know in danger, so I’m not used to…saying anything. But I’m trying to start.”

 The room was listening intently, with a kind of respect that she only got in a really good lecture—the kind she never expected and worried she couldn’t rise to. She kept talking anyway, facts spilling out of her that she was always worried would explode if exposed to the air.

”I had some distance from everything, and I compartmentalized everything from back then until I graduated, but…you know, I still live with all the shit I did, while I worked for him, while I was trying to prove that I could be him someday. What I did to kids, to my own kid sister…and I went to him, right? And I did it year after year, and I convinced myself they deserved it. I didn’t think it was right to call myself a victim, because of that. Sometimes I felt I should have been sentenced with him. But becoming…”

 She took a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of the listening silence. “…becoming a teacher, when I’m working with my students…they’re all adults, right, but even then, I keep thinking…the power I have over them scares me. When I think about doing to them what he did, I feel sick, and it just makes me realize…damn, it was wrong when it happened to me, too. I was like that back then, just…young, and powerless, and wanting to impress someone who could move me up. No matter what it took, right? And he knew that. Even the guilt I’m feeling now, it…he made me feel it on purpose. And it worked.”

Cree had her eyes trained on the floor now, on a space between her shoes, and she was afraid to look up after saying what she knew was far too much. These people connected to her by Father’s common thread of abuse—she didn’t know if their pity or their total apathy to her pain would be more devastating. Whatever reaction there would be, it was the one she was afraid of—it was the escaping of the story, the reveal to the world, that hurt her every time. 

—

Cree felt her arm quickly shoot up to her face to wipe at a hot tear escaping. She and Steve had joked on the way over about how her crying was an inevitability, that it was just about how many fugitive tears she let get away. She thought she had prepared for it then, but she never could.

”Cree,” Paolo said in the silence, his voice sounding even-toned and not so sympathetic as to taunt her. “We are all so glad that you came to a meeting. And though it may not be at all close to what you’ve experienced in its intensity, I think you’ve put words to a dynamic that many of us in this group felt in our work lives for a long time.”

Cree bit down on her cheeks and braved glancing up again, seeing that several people were nodding respectfully, including Lou, who had an indisputably kind smile on his face. She wanted to mock it, but it was too genuine for that.

The woman sitting beside Cree wordlessly handed her a tissue and a glass of water, which she sheepishly accepted. When Paolo continued he addressed the entire group, taking attention away from her, helping her come back from where she had gone.

”Many people have said in group before,” Paolo said, gesturing to the circle, “that we have feelings of guilt, like you described. That we feel we can’t be considered Father’s victims, because we weren’t children when he hurt us, or because he didn’t hit us physically, or because we only suffered abuse in the workplace and not interpersonally.” There were more nods around him. 

“It comes up quite often, too, that members of the group are ourselves perpetrators—we hurt children on his payroll, and so we had no right to speak. And it’s true that many of us are guilty of things that we very well may not be forgiven for.” Paolo shrugged. “I’ve spoken to some people, former Kids Next Door operatives, who I hurt while I was an ice cream man. I want nothing more than to reconcile with them, but some of them—rightfully, I think—don’t speak to any of us. There’s a reason this group is for people who worked for Father. We all feel this tension. But it is powerful to break the cycle.”

Cree smiled, finding Paolo’s speech corny, but in a way that released some tension in her. The Toilenator—Lou, Cree reminded herself—was standing up and passing a dish around, apparently sensing an opportunity to relax everyone further. A thin elderly man looked over as he took a piece of quiche, adding his input:

“I had hoped I would see you at a meeting soon, Ms. Lincoln,” he said, and she immediately recognized his voice as the butler, Wintergreen’s. He broke into a smile at the way her eyes must have widened. “Yes, it’s been many years—and I often wondered if you were well, after you disappeared.” His face grew serious again, and he added: “I saw a lot of things back then that, if I could go back, I would not have allowed, or so I tell myself. There are people I would have protected. If I had been a better man…well. The point is to be a better man, now. Though a very old one, certainly.”

That old refrain of laughter, of middle-aged amusement at a tired joke, bubbled up and helped eat away at the nerves of the moment. Cree’s smirk was one of genuine mirth, this time. Her mind swirled with possibilities of what Wintergreen had been doing, feeling, all this time. Here was someone who served Father tea, who made the delightful children sandwiches for lunch. She had never even thought he had a conscience. But in its way, that must weigh on him, too.

Maybe she wasn’t—in every way—alone.

”I became a teacher after I left the business, too,” one ice cream man added, holding a hand under his quiche to catch the crumbs. “And I think what you said about teaching—seeing yourself in your students, and everything—well, that was a really good point. My students are adult learners, and in a new country, so sometimes when I see them lacking confidence, I remember how I felt when I messed up at work and Father exploded at me…you know, it takes me right back there. I’m not an angry guy, and I try to make class fun, but I just think…what if? What if that’s me one day? Sometimes I even have to leave the class because it messes me up. But, I don’t know if this is true for you…it makes it feel more rewarding to do it the right way. To be patient and not like some tyrant. I keep reminding myself that’s not who I am, because I get to decide.”

”I feel the same way about my patients,” Lou beamed, sitting back down now that the quiche tray was empty. “I love reassuring them, especially about things that are embarrassing, like stomach issues can be.” He shrugged. “Humiliation was a common theme in the ways all the villains targeted me, but it doesn’t have the same power anymore.”

”Damn, everyone sure moved up!” Cree thought aloud, laughing in spite of herself. “I guess the job market can’t be that bad, huh?”

”Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Paolo laughed back. “After all, this group is my big career move, and they pay me in quiche!”

The response to this quip was uproarious, so disproportionately so that Cree found herself earnestly cackling along. As the evening wound down, the relief of introducing herself gave way to a rush of endorphins, powering her forward. 

She had conversations with people her teen self would have never spoken to—wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting in a circle with. That old outline of herself would have called this group a joke, a bunch of expired villains sitting in a circle like a kindergarten class, a cautionary tale about what happens when you let yourself go soft. 

She would have laughed about that with her teen ninja friends and then gone home alone, tried to sleep with the pit in her gut, knowing that she’d have to meet him tomorrow, to give her report, to get her orders. In the back of her mind, Cree thought to herself how much she would have wanted to hold that lonely girl. How much she wished she could call her up and invite her here herself.

—

By the time Cree met the car in the parking lot, she had four phone numbers tucked in her pocket, scrawled on hotel stationary in shaky hands by people who swore they had gotten the hand of technology enough to stay in touch. She often told people she’d call them or text them, fully intending to throw their cards in the trash the second she left—she didn’t intend that, this time. Though she guessed that time would always tell.

Steve unlatched the door handle and grinned at her from the front seat, a fry from the fast food place nearby hanging out of his mouth. “What’sh up?” He said, lips full, and then swallowed quickly to free up his speech. “Band practice was awesome today, you’re gonna love the new album.”

Cree climbed in, slung her bag over her shoulder and onto the floor in front of her. She realized how heavy it was, what she had been carrying all day.

“I’ll judge that when I hear it,” Cree grinned back. “Did you get me a burger?”

“‘Course.” Steve shook the paper bag beside him. “Your go-to after a rough day. I’m guessing you need it, huh? Tell me about everything that sucked on the way home, I’m all ears.”

“Actually,” Cree looked out the window, watching the hotel start to roll past as the car moved. She smiled again despite herself. “I was gonna say you can have it. The eating’s pretty good at these things. And man, you won’t believe who made the food.”

[kaigarax]

Bittersweet

Niko Ikki x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love with someone bringing you forward." & "Fall in love with an attentive heart."

Someone You Loved Featuring: The Bookkeeper

There was a nervous sort of feeling that filled Niko Ikki to the brim as he entered the building. It wasn’t his first time attending an art exhibit but it certainly felt so. There had been plenty of art exhibits he had been invited to (mostly yours) but this would only be the third he’s chosen to attend and (he’d like to point out) not for a lack of want.

The free time of an athlete, contrary to popular belief, was quite limited. Much of his free time was spent either muscle conditioning, reviewing hours of film and honing his practical skills. Not to mention when he did have games there was no way he’d be allowed to miss it, even if he was injured or sick. All of which accumulated to a small number of days he absolutely had to miss and even more when taking into account what he couldn’t stand to miss.

But, luckily, it had been the midst of the off season when the invitation arrived in the mail.

It was a pretty card, swirling coffee and chestnut browns boarded a picture that Niko was certain you’d taken. His name, so carefully and dutifully written atop the page, written by none other than you. He can tell it’s your writing from the way you dot your I’s and swerve your k’s. Almost immediately after receiving the letter did he send a reply in response.

Niko, being the ever punctual and attentive soul that he is, arrives precisely on the time which has been listed atop the card. Which means he arrives exactly an hour later than you and a half hour earlier than all the other guests. You, being the main headliner, meant you would obviously have to arrive earlier than the guest in order to make sure everything was running smoothly. And, all the other guests arriving exactly half an hour late is what all artists like to call arriving fashionably late.

Niko never really understood the term ‘fashionably late’. One of his teammates, the rich fellow that grew up in this kinda world, had tried explaining it to him but the fundamental idea of arriving late was just something Niko couldn’t get with. As an athlete, arriving late was basically a prison sentence to the bench if not the death of your career.

He looked around pensively. The room was mostly empty, if not for a few of the staff running around the back of the room trying to put the last finishing touches on everything before the exhibit was filled to the brim with people.

The small vase of red flowers makes Niko stand out like a sore thumb against the coffee gray walls and dim lighting. He thinks that maybe the flowers would match the room a little better if not for the fact that he’s chosen a bright blue vase.

“Niko!” Your voice floats through the presently empty building like the melody of a long forgotten favourite song.

He smiles, ever so slightly, “(L/n).”

“I’m so happy you decided to come.”

“Me too.”

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Just arrived.”

“Oh, that’s a relief! I was supposed to be waiting for guests to arrive but then I had to use the washroom and then by the time I realised it, it was already time to open!” You smile sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck, “most people don’t arrive on time but they're always eager folk like you.”

Perhaps that was what drew you to Niko in the first place?

His punctual presence?

Niko’s expression betrays his persona of a cool and calculated man as a smile turns his lips upwards, “and isn't that your favourite thing about me?”

“Not when I’m running late!” You exclaim.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Niko holds the blue vase of red flowers out to you, “congratulations.”

You smile, not that practiced one that you usually greet others with, nor the one where your eyes close when you're embarrassed. You smile a pretty and genuine smile as you take the blue vase from him, “thank you Niko. You shouldn’t have.”

Niko’s heart skips a beat, “don’t think about it too hard.”

“Give me a moment to put these away and then I’ll show you around the gallery.” You say, “you’re going to love some of the photos I did this year. Definitely some of my best work. Much better than the landscape one you went to last year.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Niko I can look around well enough on my own. You focus on entertaining those art critics you’re always worrying about.”

You look torn, looking between Niko and the door before finally sighing, “you’re staying for the reception, right?”

Niko chuckles, “only for you.”

You smile thankfully before making your way off towards a door near the back of the room.

Truthfully, Niko had only planned on staying for an hour or so. He’d never really been a big fan of art and though yours was an exception there was still only so much time he could stand still staring at pictures. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to say ‘no’ when you made such an expression. Actually, he’d never been very good at saying no to you in the first place and part of him is certain you know that. The other part of him doesn't care. It’s you, afterall.

Everything feels much more abstract in this particular album, though Niko supposes it would be so with a title like ‘The Poet’. Poets are, afterall, weavers of words and creators of worlds left only to be seen in the mind. There’s no definitive person in any of the photos but it’s obviously all relating to a single person with a title like ‘The Poet’ falling into your collection of Muses.

One photo, for example, has the hand of a man holding a plastic paint brush dipped in the darkest of black paints. Letters, Niko supposes, are sprawled across leaving what he assumes to be a poetic message but the language isn’t anything he recognizes. Not that it matters anyways. He’s much more focused on the yellow edges of the paper, the corners wrinkled and ripped and torn ever so slightly. The photo’s titled ‘Between You and Me’ in golden plating at the bottom of the frame. It’s pretty.

“Bookkeeper!”

Niko turns to the loud voice letting out a deep sigh when he comes face to face with the loud and boisterous, “Dancer.”

The Dancer is a man with bright coloured hair. Not so orange yet not so red. Never quite blonde but neither a brunette. His hair is untamed and runs off in every direction it so pleases like a lion’s mane. Niko’s seen folks from all around the world but he never can seem to place where exactly the Dancer might be from. He’s well dressed, in a black suit with a splash of colour in the form of an orange tie. Niko thinks it goes well with his hair. His blue shades, on the other hand, contrast with the look and are at the least tacky. Looking very stupid inside a dark venue such as the one you’ve chosen.

What you ever saw in such a boisterous and obnoxious man is far beyond even Niko’s wildest imaginations but he supposes he’s never asked you before. Niko never doubted your choice in Muses except for perhaps this man here.

No, that’s a lie.

There are plenty of you Muses that Niko wouldn’t have picked but he does have to admit one thing. You have an eye for people that draw attention - which is why, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why you had picked him in the first place.

Hopefully your taste hasn't once again been led astray with the Poet.

Niko can only hope.

“What’re you doing in a place like this?” The Dancer asks, “I thought Soccer players were kept in jail cells in the offseason.”

Niko rolls his eyes, though he doubts the Dancer can see it, “football.”

“Hm?”

“Football, Dancer. Not soccer.”

The Dancer shrugs, “football. Soccer. Same difference.”

Niko’d say something about Americans though he doubts that’s where the Dancer is actually from, especially from his accent. Besides, he’s certain the Dancer is doing it on purpose. Always did find some sick form of amusement from annoying others. Anyways, it would be an insult to Americans to lump this obnoxious man among them. Even right now Niko has half a mind to flip this man off or say something rude. He obviously refrains from doing so as he’d never want to ruin your big night (or just do anything to make you upset in general) but the idea is enough to cheer him up, if just a little.

“What do you want, Dancer?” Sighs Niko.

The Dancer feigns an expression of pain, “why, Bookkeeper I’m hurt! And here I was thinking we were finally friends.”

“I definitely wouldn’t have come here if I’d have known you were coming.”

“Just imagine our little photographer's expression if she heard that!”

“I’m certain she’d understand.”

“Always let you get away with little things like that.”

“That’s because I’m actually nice to her.”

“Hey! I’m nice to her.”

Niko smirks, “if you say so.”

The Dancer looks as though he wants to say something more but bites his tongue. His eyes move across the room landing on you as you’re in the middle of a conversation with a couple. You’re pointing out something about the photo the three of you are standing in front of before laughing at a joke you must’ve just told. He knows you must’ve been the one to tell the joke from the way you cover your mouth with the back of your hand.

“So what’s your consensus on the Poet?” Asks the Dancer.

Niko turns to face him, “haven’t met him. You?”

“Haven’t met him either. His name’s listed in the agenda and credits but there’s no photo of his face.”

Niko smiles ever so slightly at that, “so he’s camera shy.”

“He’s certainly not the only one.”

Niko has a jibe at the forefront of his mind but holds his tongue as you and the couple you’re talking to pass by himself and the Dancer. So instead, he turns towards the nearest photo plastered up on the wall, “any guess on who it might be?”

The Dancer points to a man standing in the back of the room with blonde hair, “what about him?”

“No,” Niko shakes his head, “his features are… plain.”

“Perhaps that’s why his face isn’t in any of the photos.”

“There’s nothing about him that screams ‘sparking’.”

“Ah yes,” says the Dancer, “sparking,” as though it’s his first time tasting the words upon his lips.

“How about him?” Asks Niko, pointing to a man close to him with gray eyes.

“Hm,” the Dancer inspects him for a bit before pulling back, “no chance.”

Niko doesn't disagree.

The two men spend more time looking at the different party guests than they do looking at the pictures containing the man they happen to be looking for. From boys looking to have just entered their early twenties to men whose hair has begun to turn gray.

Eventually they both settle on a brunette with brown eyes. The tips of his hair are dyed a green that strangely seems to go very well with the coffee brown walls of the room.

Niko shares a look with the Dancer.

Then the Dancer is off with another word, making his way towards the Poet without another word.

The Poet is tall and attractive. Perhaps not jaw dropping attractive but attractive enough to garner the attention of a female or two. Perhaps even three if he knew how to play his cards right. He’s looking around the room like a deer in headlights, shifting his weight from one foot to the other constantly. He looks nice, if not a little timid. Exactly what Niko would expect from someone too shy to actually have their face featured in any of your photos.

Some of your photos don’t even feature him in the first place like the photo title ‘Again’ for example. There’s a black book left alone on a coffee table, propped open to a page somewhere in the middle of the novel. The words ‘Friend or Foe’ are written in neat black font on the top of one page while the other side, where the author’s name would be, is covered with a black pen.

Niko assumes that the same black pen is the one responsible for leaving words scribbled along the margins of the page. Some of the words are crossed out while others are highlighted, underlined and circled. That strange letting from the photo before can be found here again. Niko wonders if it might be the same word but doesn't care enough to ask.

The Dancer, Niko notes, makes quick work of teasing your latest Muse. The boy goes from a nervous pale to a bright red in a matter of moments.

Eventually, when the Dancer has had enough tormenting the Poet (or at least Niko assumes so) he leaves to view the rest of the gallery.

Now, Niko has never really been one for confrontation but he did suddenly find himself very curious. In truth, there was only so much he really knew about you and perhaps… he might even be able to learn something new about you from the Poet. Perhaps he had managed to see something with eyes that Niko hadn’t used. And even if the Poet knew nothing he’d like to at least see why you had chosen this man to be your latest Muse.

So, Niko approaches him and greets him with a simple, “you look nervous.”

The Poet brings an arm to the back of his head, smiling sheepishly, “was it that obvious?”

Niko grins, “very.”

He’s green, thinks Niko. Almost as green as you had been when the two of you first met.

“What do you do for a living, Poet?” Asks Niko.

The Poet raises a brow, “me?”

“You are the Poet, aren’t you?” Niko lets out a nervous laugh, “unless I’m mistaken.”

“You’re not.”

“That’s good.”

The Poet looks around, eyeing Niko as though he’s scared that Niko might suddenly turn feral and decide to attack him. His unease is enough to calm Niko’s own nerves.

“And you’re the Bookkeeper, right?” Asks the Poet.

Niko shrugs, “I’m not a big fan of that particular title but yes. If it helps you to identify me.” The only one that ever really calls him that is the Dancer, but he supposes if anyone else were to use that to identify him it might as well be another one of the muses. ”So are you an author?”

“An aspiring one.”

There’s that amused smile picking at the corner of Niko’s lips again. Someone that gives flowery words to mundane things reduced to something so simple, “ironic then, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” There’s a look of confusion on the Poet’s face but it’s quickly replaced with one of recognition, “I suppose. So what do you do Mr. Bookkeeper? I don’t suppose you’re a librarian, are ya?”

Finally, Niko laughs, “I guess a title like that would cause an assumption like that! But no, I’m no librarian. In fact, I don’t even work with books. I’m a professional football player.”

“Wow!” The Poet’s eyes widened, “I wouldn’t have expected that!”

“Yeah,” Niko smiles sheepishly, “I’m not the most popular player because of my position but I do enjoy what I do.”

“So how’d you end up getting such a title in the first place?”

“I’m not so sure myself. I think it has something to do with where we met and the photos she ended up taking. I’m not even an avid reader in the first place.”

“Maybe it has to do with maintaining records. Like with banks?”

Niko shrugged.

“Maybe you should ask her about it.”

Niko eyed the Poet. Looking him up and down before finally saying, “you haven’t known her very long, have you?”

The Poet looks offended as he exclaims, “what gives you that impression?”

The familiar feeling of amusement bubbles up in Niko’s stomach, “she never answers questions the way you want her to.”

“Oh,” the Poet looks almost disheartened, and it almost makes Niko feel bad, “I guess I never really noticed that.”

Niko gives the Poet a strong tap on his shoulder, similar to how he might do when trying to cheer up one of his teammates, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. So you plan on staying for the reception?”

“I don’t think she’d forgive me if I skipped.”

“Yeah,” Niko chuckles, “I don’t think she would either. See you around.”

“Yeah,” the Poet sighs, “see you around.”

Looks like there wasn’t much to be gained from that conversation for Niko. Though he supposes that’s how things have always been between him and you. Him watching and learning about you from a distance - you are just barely out of reach.

A blue vase of red flowers sits atop a stand in the corner of the room and it makes Niko smile. Not one of those amused of practiced smiles but a real one and his heart flutters a little. And it’s bittersweet, just like those flowers.

Fall in love with someone bringing you forward.

---

Bittersweet

“Do you think you could raise your head a little?” You asked, your eyes darting from the lens of the camera to his face.

If Niko had known, agreeing to a photoshoot would have taken this long.

“Like this?” Niko asked, raising his head.

Or been this demanding.

“A little more to the left?”

“Here?”

He certainly wouldn’t have agreed.

“Now a smidget down.”

“A smidget?”

He, contrary to what the average person would believe, was quite familiar with being behind the lens. Any professional athlete was used to being recorded while in the midst of their job. Known that they were constantly being broadcasted to the rest of the world.

There was also the factor of Media Day, where all the team's players would gather together and take a series of photos that would be shown to the public.

Those two experiences though were nothing like this. Not so personal and sporadic. None of the photographers (or cameramen) he’s ever had to deal with had been as particular or picky as you.

“Hm,” you took a step around your set up, careful not to disturb anything around him, before making your way towards him. Your hands were gentle as you repositioned Niko’s head into what you deemed was the perfect spot. You face only inches away from his own. You brought a hand to your chin as you leaned back to inspect your work. Smiling when you were finally satisfied.

None of his other experiences behind the lens had ever been quite like this.

You pulled back, a cute sorta smile on your face as you raced back to the lens. Niko’s own face flushed a bright red.

Quite this… intimate.

“Is that the last one?” Niko asked.

“Well,” you smile sheepishly, “I was hoping for one more photo but… if you’re done then we can end it here. I’m sure I have enough film to pull something together for the first half of the album.”

Niko can feel a certain warmth ebbing away at his chest as he looks at your expectant smile, “find. One more, but that’s it.”

“Thank you!” You beam, bouncing up to move your camera to another spot of the room, “I promise it’ll be quick.”

Niko chuckles, “I can only hope.”

You make a show of rolling your eyes but Niko can see the hint of a smile on your lips.

He’s barely a year older than you but sometimes it feels like a lifetime. You’ve just always seemed so full of youth and life. So excited for everything you get the chance to do. From the moment he first met you until now. Of course, he thinks it might be related to how the two of you were raised. The things in your life that influenced you up until now.

His own upbringing had forced him to grow up in conventional and crazy ways; and almost everything in his life had seemed to revolve around football. European football, that is.

Your own, in comparison, seemed almost tame. Sure you did suddenly rise to fame at the ripe age of 19 but everything else before then seemed almost ordinary. You often spoke to him about the childhood friends you had growing up and the different hobbies you’d cycle through when you were young.

“So how many other albums have you done?” Niko asked, repositioning himself to face the camera.

You fiddled around with the lens, poking your head back and forth from the view of the camera to the view behind, “three.” You pulled out a small compact mirror from your pocket holding it up to the sky before quickly closing it and throwing it back into your pocket, “do you think we should open the window?” You make your way there, not bothering to wait for a response from Niko, “yes, definitely. It’ll make it look like a photo from another day.”

Niko opened his mouth.

“No, maybe that would be too tacky. You are wearing the same thing after all,” you began.

“(L/n).” Niko hummed.

“Maybe you should take off the tie?”

“(Y/n).”

“Oh, but I do quite like the tie. The look isn’t quite complete without it.”

Niko let out a laugh.

You pause, stopping suddenly, “Niko?”

The look on your face is enough to send the man into another bout of laughter.

When he first heard about you people had told him you could be quite a diva. So easily swayed one way or another. That your temper was easily nudged and almost everything someone else did could set you off. Those were, of course, rumors but rumors all have truth stemming from somewhere right?

He’d been so weary of bumping into someone with such a fickle attitude that he hadn’t even realised he first met you when he did.

Niko had bumped into you head first, sending you sprawling to the ground and breaking your camera in the process. He panicked, of course (as any sane person would have) and immediately attempted to replace it. You had agreed to the replacement of a camera but hadn’t been able to save all the photos in the camera which is how he agreed to be here in the first place.

You were so calm when he first bumped into you. A gentle smile on your face as he attempted to help you up. Niko, at one point, wasn’t even certain of what to say. Finding himself both at an impasse and loss for words. It was, afterall, not everyday that one bumped into a girl as pretty as yourself.

Both versions, the emotional and eccentric one from the rumors and the calm sweet girl he bumped into the other day, seemed like such a stark contrast from who you were now as you scrambled around the room in an attempt to take the perfect photo of him in a short amount of time. It was cute and almost heartwarming in a strange kinda way.

“Haha,” you pouted, “keep laughing.”

And he did, of course. But it wasn’t as though he needed your permission in the first place. An expression like that already seemed to do the trick well enough.

‘SNAP.’

Niko’s laughter stopped, as he looked up at you curiously, “(L/n)?”

“Oh, not so funny now, huh?” You teased.

Niko chuckled, “of course.”

“Now are you ready?”

Niko gave the camera his best smile, “like this?”

You smiled apologetically, “do you think you could raise your head a little?”

Niko made a show of sighing but his heart did a strange little thumping pattern as he watched you from afar, fiddling with the lens.

For you, he’d do anything.

---

“What’re you doing out here, (L/n)?” Niko asked, taking a step out from the warm lodge lobby and into the cool outdoors.

Thick fluffy white puffs of dust, known as snow, fluttered down from the sky. There was no music but a slow and lethargic rhythm to the snow as it fell. Here, Niko imagines, is where the protagonist in a romantic comedy would get down on one knee and finally profess his love for the girl that he’s been slowly falling in love with over the past week. The climax to all the emotions that have been building up through the course of the film.

Here, Niko imagines, is where someone like you ought to exist.

In the midst or ordinary and supernatural. Of reality and fairytale. In the very pinnacle of Romance and immigration, where the lives of so many seem to meet.

You’re not dressed particularly warm but you don’t seem very bothered by the cold despite the tip of your nose dipped a shade different from the cold. There’s a scarf wrapped around your neck that looks to be more made for males but Niko doesn't care enough to know or ask. If you cared enough to tell him then you would.

“It’s snowing.” You answered.

“You can watch the snow from inside too, ya know.”

“I know.”

Niko took a deep breath of the cool air, moving to stand beside you, “but it just isn’t the same?”

You smiled, “yeah.”

Niko never really thought much of snow and when he did it was mostly of the cold weather in general. Cold weather meant he’d no longer be able to go out and play football with his friends. Meant he’d have to stay indoors or find some indoor football gym which was far and few between.

Right now though, spurred on by your own attitude, Niko finally took the time to stop and look around.

It was pretty, in a etherial sorta way.

Like those photos his mother used to love looking at when he was young. The kind of photos she’d point out to him and speak about missing when she was young. And it did remind him of his youth. A time when everything seemed so much simpler than it was now. So much more out of reach.

You’re a little bit like snowflakes, Niko thinks. So beautiful, seeming as though you’ve fallen from heaven down onto earth. Something meant to be admired. Even if people like him ignore you there will certainly be a moment when he’s forced to stop and admire you, like now.

He held a hand out, reaching out for a snowflake falling down.

‘Snap.’

Niko pulls his hand back and turns to look at you.

You’re holding a small instant film camera, smiling sheepishly as the camera prints a photo. Likely a photo of him.

“(L/n).” Niko hums.

“Niko.”

“Can I see that photo?”

“Are you going to give it back?”

He smiles, “of course.”

Hesitantly, you hold your arm out and hand the photo over to him.

It’s still mostly black but blotches of white and grey are starting to appear. He can begin to make out the snowflakes amongst the grey clouds of the sky and the contract of the scarf against his own skin. He thinks that… It's actually a rather nice photo of him. Usually, Niko has to try for ages to finally be happy with a photo of himself but this one captures him well. Not appearing too soft or harsh for the lens.

Perhaps if every photo of him were like this he’d be more well known in the football community. Of course, he doesn't care all too much about popularity but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to be well known.

He’s reaching out for a snowflake in the photo, a half sorta grin on his face. His eyes can’t really be seen through the mess of bangs but Niko thinks he prefers it that way. Some would call him out on it but it seems fine to him. And it seems fine to you as you’ve never said anything about it otherwise.

Finally, he hands the photo back over to you.

You reach into your pocket and pull out the compact from before. He peeks over your shoulder, surprised to see neither a mirror which he expected or makes. Instead, he sees three photos, similar to the one you’ve taken of him tucked in. One of the three photos looks slightly faded with yellow edges but otherwise in good condition.

“Can I look?” Niko asks.

“Hm?”

“Can I look at the photos?”

You turn to look at Niko, then back at the photos in the compact. You look torn and Niko wonders if he’s suddenly stepped over that invisible line. There is, in society, a line between oneself and everyone else. The delicacies of society and the individual is to figure out just where that line is for every person.

It seems that here is yours.

Melting after being in his hand for a little too long.

Eventually you hand the compact over to Niko.

The slightly faded photo is of a young boy whose expression seems to be a mix between a smile and scowl. Niko finds the expression quite relatable. He wonders if this is the childhood friend you’ve always talked so much about.

The next is a man with dual coloured hair. He’s resting his head on a dark table as he stares into the lens of a camera with a dreamy expression. Niko thinks he recognizes him but can’t quite place his name.

Lastly, there’s a salmon haired man who's been captured mid laugh, a bright look in his eyes. He’s younger than Niko is in the photo and seems a little like you. Filled with a sense of youth that Niko has long grown out of.

“So did you always want to be a photographer?” Niko asks, handing the compact back over to you.

“Well,” you hummed, “I did always want to see the world. I just sorta figured out the photography thing along the way. Did you always want to be a Football player?”

“I always enjoyed Football growing up and I guess somewhere along the way I realised my dream was to go professional.” Niko smiled, “guess we aren’t as different as I thought.”

“No,” you say, “we most certainly aren’t.”

Fall in love with an attentive heart.

[another-goblin]

2.0 SPOILERS and random thoughts

So the hotel building was a prison, right? It sort of makes sense, hotels and prisons have similar layouts. But imagine, the place of concentrated suffering of hundreds of thousands of prisoners, or maybe more (look how big it is), now turned into a weird supernatural hotel - what could possibly go wrong? (what if they kept prisoners in dreams too, and the dreamworld is a former prison dreamworld. And they were fed Soulglad to keep them docile). These cells were quite spacious though.

The way Sunday talked to somebody in the end reminded me of Cocolia. Is it possible a stellaron is involved here too?

The dead characters - no way Robin and Firefly will stay dead. They look playable, and you don't kill characters before they become playable (unless it's Qiqi or Blade)

I have a theory based on nothing, that Robin is alive and is actually behind whatever is going on. (Maybe her plan is for all these disruptive guests to kill each other in the name of harmony) She's in cahoots with Sparkle who pretended to be the body.

Sparkle - with her ability to shapeshift, aren't we supposed to be constantly paranoid? Anybody can be Sparkle. But also, seeing how vicious and unhinged she is, she feels like she should be the main antagonist in her own story arc, not just an extra. I mean even Sampo seems apprehensive of her.

I understand people who were enamored with Firefly and saddened with her death, but I personally weren't, because for me her part has the outward appearance of a romantic story, but inside it's just two hours of lies and tutorials. I also saw theories about her different identity and If it's true I hope the writers know what they are doing. Also why is our character so sure she's dead? Don't people who die in a dream just wake up in real world?

If Duke Inferno is dead, and stays dead, and his cool gang is never mentioned again, it's going to be the funniest thing in this game yet.

BTW how did Acheron allegedly enter the hotel using Duke invitation? Aventurine knows that we know that it's very hard (he witnessed our problems with DH's invitation). Make it make sense.

Gallagher - either he's up to something or he's extremely incompetent. He let go an actual stawaway and the huy who fits the description he just provided (Caelus - a guy with grey hair). Also it was him personally who stole confiscated Aventurine's stuff.

Speaking of which. I think Aventurine mentioned "cornerstones", plural. So it's not just his aventurine, but others too? Ratio implied that these things are crucial for their success and that Aventurine might be in danger from IPC without his rock, I wonder what's that about, and why Aventurine is so dismissive about losing them.

Anyways I'm still curious why IPC sent these two. It looks like they decided to achieve their goals on Penacony in a more or less peaceful way (unlike their military invasion on Jario-6). So why did they send Dr. Ratio, notorious for having the social grace of a nuclear bomb, and Aventurine, who isn't doing that great either.

I wonder how the game expects us to see Aventurine. The game probably expects us to see him as slimy but charming and dangerous. And yeah, he somehow (conveniently behind the scenes) managed to come to some agreement with Black Swan, but otherwise he fails miserably in most of his interactions.

When we first meet him, he pretends that he has the power to help us with our invitation problem, awkwardly compliments Robin and Sunday, tries to buy our friendship with a ridiculously small sum (well it was probably all the money he had left). Then he tries to intimidate us but gets spooked by Acheron. Ratio leaves in the middle of their conversation, Sparkle catches him stalking her and roasts him, and so on.

So my current VERY subjective impression is that he's quite desperate at this point. He constantly fails but tries to save face. He lost his confidence after his stuff was confiscated, he can't count on buying people's loyalty with giant bribes as he probably used to.

He obviously had a difficult childhood, he had to claw his way up, and IPC doesn't seem like a place that nurtures one's appreciation for genuine human connections. He probably learned to see genuine feelings as liability. As the result, he only sees people as assets, and "friends" as tools. He talks a lot about friends and trust, but never even pretends that he wants to achieve genuine trust or friendship with anybody. (I can continue but this post is long enough and it'll probably become obsolete with the next update anyway)

And I know it's probably too much to hope for, but maybe he'll get some character development, making him more open to the idea of genuine human interaction.

I already have seen a lot of interesting theories about what's going on, and I really hope the game won't just ignore all these hints and details it gave us, and all these things are actually important.

[slxsherwriter]

Short-term Guests, Long Term Consequences

Fandom: Good Day For It

Pairing: Wayne Jackson x Reader, Norman Tyrus & Reader (platonic)

Word count: 3,415

Warnings: Cursing, Wayne being grabby without permission

Author's Note: Well, I just had to do something for Wayne after doing something for Norman, right? This one was written with @slashingdisneypasta mind, especially after wonderful content has been shared as the gif belong and her own fics! Hope you enjoy.

Norman couldn't say he was entirely thrilled about the prospect; after all, you were supposed to be separate from the Tyrus gang for safety reasons in his mind, and lord only knew how Dale and Wayne were going to react to you. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was one of the last tricks in the book he had to play. On the run, with the two thugs in tow, Norman knew if this didn't pan out, they would all be spending quite a long time in jail. A prospect that didn't leave the warm fuzzies for any of them. Lyle might just have all their heads, which was a far less appealing prospect than even prison. 

So here he was, driving Wayne and Dale to the one place that he hadn’t ever wanted to bring them, ignoring all the questions that were coming his way. 

“Just….shut it. For a few minutes. You wanted a safe house that they didn't know about, and that's where I'm bringing us all.” The edge to his voice was far more firm than usual.

You hadn't been expecting any company. A nice quiet afternoon, spending reading and cleaning up the house a bit since it was your day off. It came as a surprise when the back door rattled. It had been locked, and there wasn't any sound of glass breaking before the familiar thud of the door hitting the wall could be heard. 

There were only two people that had keys to your house, and you didn't think that you would be seeing either of them any time soon. 

“Well, shit, you been holding out on us, Norman?”

“Nice place. Doesn't seem like a safe house.”

The two voices were unfamiliar, but the name uttered by the first was. Setting aside the book that you had been planning on starting, deciding to investigate what was going on. Did Norman bring people here if he thought that you weren't home? Your gut feeling told you that wasn't it, but anything with the Tyrus brothers was possible. 

“Norman?” You had just caught sight of the familiar blonde head of hair and lanky frame through the doorway that led to the kitchen and the backdoor. A heavy sigh could be heard even from where you stood. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted as he made himself appear back in your line of vision. He looked tired, a little haggard. Oh, something was most definitely wrong. 

“Sweetheart?” Your eyes jumped to the others in the room as you inched forward. A rowdy, motley looking duo of guys. But they were hanging back, respecyfully, even if the younger man was poking around in one of the drawers beside him. These weren't two that you had ever met. You could see the tension filling Norman's form and decided that perhaps it was best to try and defuse the situation. As quickly as possible. A brawl in the middle of your kitchen was not something that you wanted. 

“Well, you're all here now, and I figure I'll know why soon enough. Come on and make yourselves at home. Anyone hungry?”

“Oh, I could eat!” The enthusiasm brought a smile to your face in spite of the circumstances that you had a feeling you wouldn't particularly like. 

“All right. Living room is that way. Feel free to turn whatever you want to watch. I'll whip something up real quick.” You moved further into the kitchen. The men shifted, followed by the sound of a smack echoing out. 

“Fuck! All right.” Norman was glowering at the man in the denim jacket. You had most certainly missed something but the two wandered off towards the living room while Norman hung back. 

“Gonna cue me into what's going on?” You asked, tone light but demanding an answer from the man that you had known for the better part of half of your life. He leaned against the counter beside you, causing you to absently reach into the fridge and hand off a beer. 

“We need a place to lay low for a few days, possibly two weeks…” He opened the beer and took a long pull. Two weeks. It must be bad if this was where he ended up. You wanted to press for more information, but another part of you didn't want to know what the hell it was that had them needing to hunker down like this. Norman had always been careful to try to keep that part of his life away from you and yours. Something that you appreciated. 

“Okay. Guess that means I'm gonna have to do a bit of shopping. You guys need anything specific? And any food restrictions I gotta know about?” The itch on the back of your neck was intense as you grabbed out some ingredients to throw together a quick meal for the men. Norman was staring at you. You could tell from the feeling without having to look at him. 

“No, think we're good. Got some bags in the car with clothes. I'll give ya some money so you can get groceries.” At that moment, you knew better than to argue. Besides, it would help given how tight money has been for you over the last few weeks. Cut hours at work due to slow business were finally starting to catch up. “You know I wouldn't have brought this to your door if I coulda helped it.” 

“I know, Norman. It's okay.” As much worry as it caused, you knew better than to let that on, and honestly, you would prefer not to see him locked away. So, if staying at your place with his crew for however long this would take was what was needed, then so be it. 

“Dale and Wayne are harmless. Mostly. They’ll behave as long as they are here. They give you any trouble, you let me know. Okay?” You nodded absently as you chopped some veggies. 

“Got it.” Pausing long enough to look up, you gave him a smile. “I'm sure everything will be fine, Norman. Don't worry. Any issues, I'll come to you right away.” That seemed to ease the concern as he relaxed further and took another pull from his beer. After a second, he nodded and headed off to the living room, leaving you alone to cook and process everything that had happened. 

*********

A few days in, and things were actually going far more smoothly than you have imagined. Sure, having three men in your house created a sort of chaos that you weren't used to, but there was an odd routine to fall into among them. With Norman there, you were less worried about leaving them alone in your home when you headed out for your scheduled shifts. Dale and Wayne were nosy at best. Especially since it seemed that Norman hadn't let anyone know about you. Which, made sense and didn't bother you the way that they seemed to think it would have. It was an extra protection. 

Dale was easy enough to keep occupied. Food, movies, some sort of distraction, and he was less destructive. Not entirely so, as could be seen in the broken lamp, chair, and picture frame but less than what he could have been. At the same time, he was willing to help around the house, surprisingly easy to direct. And the job was done about ninety-five percent correctly. The tasks were mainly things that you hadn't had a chance to get to and ones that he couldn't mess up too badly. Dale seemed to be happy to do something and receive praise. 

Norman did what he always did when he was around. Genuinely relax to some degree. He refused to let you spend money on groceries and had given enough money to replace what Dale had broken with something that was actually nicer than what had been destroyed in the first place. No matter what you had to say about it. He did his best to keep the other two in line and from crawling up the walls. You had serious doubts that they stuck in one place, inside, for this long and they had a while still to go. There was only so much to do in your home. The rest of the time? He actually would read with you. Quiet shared moments that reminded you of when you were much younger and he snuck away from his older brother for so much needed peace. 

Wayne? Now, he was a bit of a different story. Wayne was pretty much always around unless Norman was spending time with you. A near constant presence that was admittedly a little difficult to adjust to since you were so used to being on your own. Not in the shared space sense but more in the sense of a constant presence around you. And oddly enough, as difficult as it was to adjust to, it wasn't something that bothered you. Once or twice, you had caught Norman telling him off. Thought wasn't really given to those instances. Wayne liked to talk, and he was far more handsy than just about anyone you had ever dealt with in life. Something that occurred more and more after the first two days, and mainly when he knew Norman wasn't around to catch him. It was almost as if it was a game. Were you encouraging it? Maybe a little since, after the first few times, you stopped slapping his hands away and almost leaned into the touches.

A war raged within you, trying to make the determination if letting him continue to pursue something was smart or not. The answer really was no. It wasn't like he would be the sort to come home every night and sit at a table with you. They were out days at a time, various acts of violence and illegal activities filling his day. It just complicated life for you more if you let that in further than what you already had with Norman. And what would he think? Besides being none too happy. 

You couldn't remember the last time that you had made a bad decision in life. Everything was so carefully thought and planned out. With the exception of the occasional blip in the radar, thanks to Norman. There was probably more harm in good with the choice of letting go and seeing where things took you, but for once, that was exactly what you wanted. It was going to be able keeping it hidden from Norman for the time being simply to avoid the hassle and headache. 

Wayne had taken the lack of resistance as a green light to ramp things up. Murmured teasing seemed to be one of his favorite things to do. Not only would he get handsy when he could, but now there were dirty little comments for your ears only. Careful utterances of just what had entered his mind that day, devolving into less wholesome territory the longer you allowed it to happen. 

Norman had been called up by Lyle and needed to handle something for his older brother. He had decided to take Dale before something else in your house broke and had tried to get Wayne to come as well but the argument had been made that it would be better for less people to go, since they were laying low. In case they did end up pulled over or in trouble. A sound argument and one that he couldn't really fight against. 

The door had barely closed, and Wayne was right at your side. There was no doubt that he had been lurking in anticipation of the very moment. Biding time until he had you all to himself. Now, there wasn't any hiding, any need for whispered words. Who knew how long you had but whatever it was, to him it was enough to at least progress what had been flirted with the past few days. All secrets could be out in the open. Freedom often brought a further sense of daring, and Wayne seemed to be no exception to that rule. Act first, think later. Consequences be damned. 

“Seems we got the place to ourselves.” He didn't waste any time. His arm was almost instantly around your waist, tugging you close to his side. The soft, worn fabric of the t-shirt still held strong to whatever cologne he had bothered with that morning. The grin could practically be heard in the words. All the confidence in the world that you weren't about to turn him down. And you weren't. But did he need to know that right now? Not a chance. 

“Brilliant powers of observation. I thought I might just take a nap since I might get lucky and have a little peace and quiet.” Playfully, you pulled away, though it seemed even the slightest hint had the man on edge and his arm tightened further. 

“Just where do you think you're going, huh?” The chuckle that reverberated in your ear was low, and before you knew it, Wayne was nearly pinning you to the doorway. The position put him just slightly behind you. There wasn't a chance that you were going to escape the grasp that he had on you. A dangerous position, and your eyes strayed to the door for just a moment, almost as if anticipating Norman and Dale walking right back in. But they didn't. You two were truly on your own. Just a hint of nerves hit right then. “Aww, don't go tensing on me now, sweetheart.” You took a second to breathe before relaxing, turning and tipping your head just a bit to try and see him. 

“Well, I guess I could be persuaded to change my afternoon plans.” The grin that spread across his features happened in a flash. His eyes dipped lower before finding yours once more. 

“Yeah? And what will make you change your mind?” There was both an underlying promise there if you wanted to look at it deep enough. With a smile, you shifted just enough to turn towards him. While you were ready for some risk, it had to be tampered just a little bit here. Because clearly, the man was thinking with a one track mind. Were you looking for any commitment? No. Even you knew that was likely a terrible idea until proven otherwise. But a hit and quit was definitely not what you were looking for either and giving in so easily? It would probably make that door far too easy to walk through. 

“Slow your roll a bit there, Wayne.” The pinch of his brow was rather adorable, a thought that you were not going to say to his face. Not yet. Besides, you didn't think he would appreciate the term adorable just yet. The change in position allowed you to settle your hands against his chest, trying to ease the disgruntled reaction that was surely coming. “I'm not saying no. Just….not yet, okay? Why don't you go get settled on the couch? I'll grab us some beers, and we can go from there.” For a moment, it seemed like he might just protest before his body relaxed and the smile eased. 

“All right.” The hold relented after another moment, and he finally stepped back. “Don't keep me waiting, sweetheart.”

“Don't plan on it.” You only slipped away to grab the promised beers after planting a quick kiss to his cheek. The small laugh that came from him made you smile. If his life was anything like Norman's, well, you knew that he probably didn't get a load of comfort or time to properly relax. What better place to start?

Finding him sprawled out on the couch, you were the one giving a soft chuckle this time. He gave a look as if to say what. 

“Ya told me to settle down.”

“I did.” Before anything else could be said, he was yanking you down into his lap. It was a good thing that the beers were closed or they would have been all over the place. 

“There, that's better.” Both arms were tightly wrapped around your waist, once again leaving you with little chance to get out of his grasp. The position was more than anticipated, but you decided to settle and not think too much. You held up the beer that you had grabbed for him, a silent question of if he wanted it or not. Instead of grabbing the beer, his fingers brushed over your cheek before grasping your chin to turn your head. The kiss should have been anticipated but still caught you off guard. Unsurprisingly demanding, but there was a hint of softness. Like he could drag this out for as long as he wanted. Frankly, he could if you were honest. And he probably knew that by the way that you responded. 

Like a couple of teenagers, you were content to hang out on the couch and make out. At some point, his hands had made their way under your shirt and slid up under your back and chesf. Calloused and warm. Perhaps you should have stopped their exploration, but really, you were enjoying the attention and the touch a little too much. A couple of movies passed without all that much attention paid to them before the sounds of a car door slamming and the rattle of the backdoor sounded out. It shook you out of the little world you were in, and almost immediately, like a guilty party, you slipped from the man's lap and settled onto the couch. The disgruntled sound that came from Wayne let you know his displeasure. But he had been just as quick to get hands off when Norman had been around before now. So why would that change? It didn't bother you in the least. The last thing that was needed was Norman getting on your case about something or tension caused in the house. The men still had to be here for who knew how long. Fighting was not something that you wanted to do or have to deal with between them. Norman was protective, a track record proven a few times over the last several years, so it wasn't worth testing the limit. Just in line with the thoughts that you had when debating if it was worth it or not in the first place. 

Norman and Dale appeared from around the corner. Dale looked a little roughed up, a split lip new compared to when they had left. Your head cocked and eyes jumped to Norman, a silent question that likely would go unanswered but worth asking all the same. He subtly shook his head. Right. He glanced between the two of you, which you ignored to the best of your ability and instead took a sip of the second beer that you had grabbed not too long ago. Thankfully. It would be hard to play it off as nothing happening between you if the beers are warm and untouched. Wayne was far less subtle than you were.

“You get your ass handed to you, Dale?” Norman rolled his eyes and flopped down into the chair with a groan while Dale settled his ass right between you and Wayne. Chuckling softly, unable to help the amusement, you decided that getting beer for the other two was probably a smart idea. So, you got yourself up and headed to the kitchen, just as Dale was beginning to mutter and bemoan whatever it was that caused the split lip. You could feel Wayne's eyes on you as you walked to the kitchen, causing you to shake your head to yourself. Before grabbing the beers, you decided to order a few pizzas for dinner for you all. Might as well since you didn't feel like cooking. 

“Enough.” Norman's voice was loud enough to carry. Then again, it often was when he decided that he wanted the others to shut up or there was something that you weren't meant to hear being discussed. You weren't stupid after all. Funny how it felt almost routine now, having all the men in the house and how the thought that they would eventually leave left you feeling a bit sad over it all. That was not something to focus on right now. Instead, it was better to just enjoy the moment, the odd group that was practically calling your home their own, and whatever it was that was happening between you and Wayne.

[siriannatan]

Unexpected Gift - TangoJimmy / Rancher Duo

Hope all rancher-heathens (affectionate) enjoy it :}

Jimmy could feel a headache building up as soon as Joel asked him if they could up. What could his charming brother-in-law want this time? 

Wings puffing up and spreading slightly as Jimmy readied himself for an argument. Lizzie was nowhere nearby to stop her partner's idiocy. "What..." Jimmy froze in his approach to the other demon. "What is that?" he asked glaring at an unconscious blaze hybrid in Joel's arms. Depending on the answer he would absolutely punch him. And then tell Lizzie so she can punch her dumb husband as well.

"A gift," Joel grinned and before Jimmy could protest the blaze was in his arms. He wasn't as warm as Jimmy would expect someone with blaze-blood to be, possibly because Joel did to keep unconscious until he got him to Jimmy. "Have fun, I'm off to annoy Grian," Joel added with a grin and was gone before Jimmy could even try to murder him.

"Joel you can't just... ugh," Jimmy tried stopping him but in the end could only groan in annoyance. What was he supposed to do with the blaze-hybrid now? He didn't need company no matter how much everyone insisted he did. But he also couldn't just leave this guy all alone and unconscious. He was a demon, not a monster. 

With another heavy sigh, he took the blaze home. Worst case scenario he can wait for him to wake up and then take him home. Though, since Joel was involved there likely wasn't a 'home' to take the man in Jimmy's arms to. How unfortunate. Maybe a place simply far from demon lands would suffice? He certainly would not force them to stay with him. Forcing anyone to keep up with Jimmy's boring life would be torture in itself.

Speaking of torture - the walk to his carriage saw several demons nearly stared to death before they smartened up and looked away. Jimmy might have been the weakest of the lords on the council but he was still there and it had nothing to do with Lizzie and Joel's relationship. He was of course careful with his surprise guest, not wishing to cause more harm than he needed to. During the brief as it was ride as well.

"Anyone who says anything or harms the guest is as good as dead," he warned his staff as soon as he walked in. They were smart enough to not go against his word most of the time. At least those who worked for him long enough to see what happens to anyone who annoys him - long, long torture. Punishing those who broke the law of the demon empire - went against what the Council of Lords said - too publicly to be dealt with silently. It happened shockingly often. With the staff warned Jimmy took his guest to his own room. He didn't have many guestrooms ready for any guest, and could just stay in one for the brief time the half-blaze stayed in his custody.

He didn't leave after resting the still sleeping hybrid on his bed. Just what did Joel do to knock him out for that long? Jimmy was half expecting him to wake up during the ride back. He didn't want him to wake up alone and confused. That could only lead to him hurting himself and Jimmy could not have a guest get hurt under his care. Unless said guest did something to deserve being hurt while under his care. Then Jimmy would personally hurt them a lot. He'd have something to do while waiting so he grabbed some prisoner files to do some work.

Focusing was a rather difficult task now that he had a better look at the hybrid. Soft, golden blonde, darker than Jimmy's hair. It likely would turn to flames when he woke up. Luckily Jimmy's bed was fireproof since burning down was part of what he did. Mortal's legends of phoenixes were actually about the kind of demons Jimmy was. Back to the hybrid. It was a he, subjectively speaking a very handsome he. Shorter than Jimmy but that was not a hard feat, Jimmy was a rather tall individual, and looked to be strong. Some scars were peeking from under his messy, sooty clothes.

Well, there was only so much staring he could do so eventually he managed to focus on and even get lost in his work. Torturing traitors was a very serious job. At least to Jimmy since it didn't involve leaving the demon realm. Mortal's realms were so boring, cold and simply unpleasant. Why would anyone want to live somewhere that wet and windy? And the sun? Why have a ball of fire in the sky when you can have lava and brimstone?

Jimmy got so lost in planning the best torture for all the 'criminals' on his list he nearly got startled into setting himself on fire when his guest sat up with a loud groan. He luckily managed to gather himself into his usual composed, when not startled, self. "No need to sit up, I'll understand if you don't feel too well," Jimmy spoke as softly as he could. Appearing friendly and harmless was his speciality. "I won't harm you," he promised with a fake, friendly smile. He had no idea how to smile sincerely anymore.

"Where am I?" the hybrid asked. And oh, his voice was cute, and his hair was on fire now. "Who are you? Where's that demon?"

So he did remember Joel. Good, maybe Jimmy could learn where he found this poor hybrid. "You're in my house. My lovely brother-in-law thought it'd be funny to give you to me as a gift," Jimmy explained and got up. "I apologise for his likely terrible behaviour, I have no idea what my sister sees in that man," Jimmy sighed. "I can take you back to wherever he got you from or anywhere else you want to go after you recover. I have no clue what he used to make you sleep as long as you did but couldn't have been anything good." His friendly act seemed to work pretty well. The hybrid stopped trying to force himself to sit up and lay down, visibly relaxing even if just slightly. He was still eyeing Jimmy warily. He wasn't a complete fool.

"You would?" the hybrid asked as Jimmy rolled his shoulders. He might have only managed to go through three 'cases' but those were long cases.

"Of course," Jimmy nodded. "I have no reason to force you to stay here," he added and yawned, stretching his wings to almost their full width. The chairs in his room were made to pile stuff on, not sit in for extended periods of time.

"I... I'm not taking..." 

"Don't worry I have other beds, just didn't want you to wake up alone after what you were likely through," Jimmy cut him with a nonchalant smile. "They might not be as fireproof as this one," he laughed. It was a fake laugh but Jimmy was good at faking emotions. 

"Fire... proof?" the hybrid blinked up at him. Jimmy shot him a grin back and raised his hand just to set it on fire.

"Some fire demons need to set themselves on fire from time to time," he explained as he waved the fire away. "Do you think you can manage a bath? I can lend you something to wear and get the kitchen staff up to make something for you?" he offered, mainly to get some time when he didn't have to smile. His cheeks were starting to hurt from all this nice he was doing.

"I... I think I do," the hybrid said, slowly sitting up. He seemed to be recovering faster than anticipated. Good. "Oh, I'm..."

"Never tell a demon your name," Jimmy stopped him with maybe a bit too stern of a stare. "I'm sorry, I maybe overreacted there," he chuckled. Usually, his nice act would have ended long ago and turned to torture. That was much easier to manage than feelings of being half scared of him hybrids he wanted to keep alive. "Giving your name to a demon is very dangerous, that's all."

"Oh... thank you for the warning," the hybrid said offering Jimmy a smile. He didn't look all that convinced.

The demon nodded against the urge to just shrug it off and went to his closet to look for something the hybrid could wear until Jimmy dropped him as far from there as he could. And as soon as he could, he did not need him getting attached just because Jimmy was a little bit nice to him. 

After grabbing some old clothes he didn't really need anymore he came back and helped the hybrid to the bathroom. He was still a bit unsure on his feet after his magic-induced nap. Once sure he could manage to take care of himself Jimmy went to the kitchens. Glaring at any servant unlucky enough to be anywhere near him, looking for a reason to hurt something. Unfortunately, good staff was hard to get so he couldn't just kill them off because he was in a foul mood. Maybe the cooks would mess up and warrant some punishment...

Tango was more than confused. Demons were supposed to be all mean. The one who conquered his home village certainly fit that description. The blonde, dark-winged demon he was apparently given to didn't try to hurt him once (yet, there was still a chance it would happen), bah, he gave him a bed (his own bed) and seemingly cared if he was feeling better. The bath was nice and all but the perspective of food was not as much. His head was still spinning slightly and his stomach didn't feel too well. And he was still damn sleepy even if he was asleep since he was caught - given as tribute when the village gave up to be more precise. Maybe he should tell the nice demon about it.

That could come after the bath. Right now he tried to gather his thoughts. Apparently, the nice demon was willing to let him go. Tango had no idea where he could go. Certainly not home. They pretty much threw him out. And he didn't really know many other places. He briefly considered offering to help the demon around his house but he likely had enough servants already. And it wasn't like Tango was good with stuff like cleaning and cooking or whatever house chores he could possibly help with.

Speaking of the demon. He was unfairly pretty. How was Tango supposed to focus on anything with someone like this around? Tall and slender with soft-looking, slightly curled golden hair. Long lashes and the prettiest blue eyes that flasher red - redder than Tango's own when he used his flames. And his wings. Wide, dark feathers, looked so soft and... Tango wanted to touch them so badly.

There was no way he'd be interested in a plain little Blaze like Tango. He wasn't even a proper blaze. His rods never formed a rare condition among blaze hybrids. An annoying one that made him overheat far too easily and often. If not for his hair and eyes he'd look like some boring human! No way someone as pretty as the blonde demon would ever be interested in a defect like him. He was lucky he was still alive when no blaze rods materialised once he woke up. At least his hair was working as it should.

But on the other hand, he was allowed to stay in the master bedroom. At least until he recovered even if it was in case he burned anything. Or so that no one else who could wander around killed him. Why would the demon even care if Tango was alive? For some reason, he didn't want to kill him. Was it because Tango was a gift from his sister's partner? Husband? Whatever demons called that. That still made no sense. He'd think about it later. For now, he needed to not fall asleep. If only that could go away he could appreciate the temporary comforts he usually would never have the opportunity to experience. The bed he woke up on was exceedingly comfortable. The whole room was very nice. And the bathroom, and the huge bathroom. He never even saw or imagined things like that.

It was unfortunate he had to finish his bath but it could not be avoided. He absolutely didn't want to cause any more trouble than he already did. Falling asleep in a bath would no doubt cause trouble. And even the clothes he was lend were so much nicer than anything he's ever experienced. He barely stumbled back to the bed when the demon returned. This time with two smaller, scared looking if Tango recognised it properly, demons. They quickly left, leaving behind what could only be called a feast. The golden haired demon stayed, it was his room after all.

"Umm... I'm not sure how much I can eat... I don't..." Tango tried to properly describe how he was feeling.

"It's fine, eat as much as you think you can," the demon almost seemed to shrug as he returned to whatever he was reading before Tango woke up.  It looked important based on the thick leather covers. "Anything else feels off? And tell me if the food's bad."

Tango nodded, doubting anything the pretty demon's cook made could be bad, and explained as well as he could how he was feeling. As expected the food he slowly and carefully enjoyed was very good. The demon didn't look too bothered - or shocked - that Tango was feeling off. And said he'd bring in a doctor if he still felt bad and tired in the morning, even repeating it to the smaller demons as they cleaned up once Tango decided he's eaten enough.

The blaze looked a lot better after the bath and some food. He ate less than Jimmy would like he did but that was fine. Better than eating too much and just puking it all out. At least until he had Shelby see him and say just what in the hell's sake Joel did to him. He stayed with the hybrid a bit longer, just to make sure he was sleeping properly, before retreating to the closest guest room and getting ready for the night. He could invite Shelby over in the morning. No need to worry her if it was nothing big. She was unfortunately rather emotional and nice for a demon.

At least, luckily for Joel, his guest rooms were very comfortable. Just in case Lizzie decided to stay over. She never did but Jimmy would rather be prepared and thanks to that he had no trouble sleeping.

At least until he felt warmer than he should. Usually, if he needed a reset it was fully planned that he'd be burning himself. Nothing particularly annoying has happened to make him burn outside his own control. With that, it was logical that he pushed away the source of the extra heat and scratched at it for good measure. A loud yelp had him snapping out of sleepy shock and realise two things. The blaze hybrid was on his bed. One bright red eye opened wide in shock, the other with a scratch matching Jimmy's usually hidden claws.

"Why would you sneak up on a sleeping demon?" Jimmy asked, forcing his claws away. He was not going to be nice any...

"I have no idea. One moment I was asleep and then I'm here," the blaze quickly explained himself. 

Part of Jimmy was giddy at how he curled up. And the sight of blood. He wasn't listening to that part of his brain. He was busy with the part that realised that the thing he was sure was not the case has actually happened. Joel knew the hybrids name. It would not be much of an issue if it were any other demon. Unfortunately, Joel was a dream demon which meant he could control the blaze when he was asleep. It also explained his constant sleepiness. "How big is a chance that my darling brother-in-law knows your name?" he asked just to make sure.

"It is possible he was told then my village offered me as a tribute..." the hybrid confessed, curling up even tighter. "Is it bad? I never told him what it is..."

It was bad. Jimmy couldn't just let the blaze go. Joel would likely either kill him or drag him back to Jimmy no matter how far he'd take him. "It's really bad. We can stop him from meddling with you in your sleep, but that practically means you're stuck here, with me," Jimmy sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. "Or I can just kill you."

The blaze paled at the second option. "The first would be?"

"The first option would require me to mark you making you mine until you die," Jimmy shrugged. What a waste of time, he should have just killed the blaze. Save himself playing nice. But now he might as well offer him an alternative. Make it a bit less of a waste of time. "Being marked by a demon is a painful experience," he added with a wide grin. Maybe having a cute blaze around would not be that bad. Mess with him and bite him whenever he's bored.

For now, he looked positively terrified. "Is there really no other way? Won't me telling you my name help?" he asked, clearly not liking any of the options he was presented with. Understandable. And rather cute. Jimmy loved seeing people scared and in distress. 

"Nope, he knew it first, after all, it's mark or death, unfortunately. I really hate doing what he likely wants me to do," Jimmy sighed eyeing the reaction from the blaze. He absolutely avoided looking at Jimmy. Likely due to noticing he was shirtless once the initial shock wore off. "I can try to make death painless," he offered just to get a different reaction. He was not expecting the blaze to blush even more than he already was.

"Does the mark have to hurt? I... I don't really want to die..." the blaze mumbled, shuffling nervously in place.

"There is a way," Jimmy hummed, thinking how far he was willing to go. "Name's Jimmy might as well say it now," he decided he didn't really care how far they went.

"I... I'm Tango. And what could make the mark hurt less?" the blaze was back to looking scared.

"Direct contact, the more direct the better, or whole twenty-four hours of suffering, either is fine for me," Jimmy shrugged. He happened to like hearing people scream and beg him for mercy. And Tango happened to have a cute voice.

"Um... we can... like hug it out then?" Tango asked, looking anywhere but at Jimmy. That would not do anymore, as cute as it was.

"You have to look at me when you're asking for something, Red," Jimmy hummed and forced the blaze to look at him. "Now, what was it that you wanted? Remember, you're talking to a Lord, not some run-of-the-mill demon, proper manners, dear," he grinned. Tango's eyes were really pretty up close. Especially since the scratch was still bloody and very obvious. Jimmy didn't fight the urge to kiss it anymore.

"I... can we please go with the mark?" Tango asked with tears welling up in his eyes. And how could Jimmy say no to a picture this cute? "Ah... where..."

"I'm not doing this in a guest bedroom," Jimmy scoffed as he carried Tango to the master bedroom. "One word of warning," he announced after just dropping Tango down. "I like to bite," he grinned and bit at Tango's hip.

Tango screamed almost instantly just to be cut short by a hungry kiss. Dark wings blocking everything but Jimmy. Not that he had it in him to look anywhere else. The bite hurt a lot and he could swear he heard something tearing, likely a shirt he want to sleep in...

The torture scheduled for the next day was all delayed due to Jimmy being busy with his newest toy. 

[abcd-adventures]

I had a lovely dinner last night with a friend who is also a therapist. It was really nice to be able to talk about our work and process some of the things that our families and other friends don't really want to hear about.

Last week, upper management decided to remove one of my clients from housing. Yes, he committed a felony, but it was complicated and not black and white--like most things are not--and no one on my team at the property wanted him to lose his housing. At least I was successful in getting him taken to a hospital by mental health officers instead of being arrested and I will continue to advocate for him to be placed on the specialty/mental health docket, but then if he can avoid years in prison he'll still have no home to come back to. And, technically, if a client is no longer housed at our property, I am not supposed to work with them anymore--after the incident I was even texted to say that I should not meet with this client any further...welllll...he was in my office when I received the text, so... I understand that upper management has their own job to do and they have to think about safety and all those things. I get that (and it's very much why I never want to advance), but I'm also not going to abandon a person who has no one. I'm very grateful this doesn't happen incredibly often--this is my second client in a year and seven months at this job to be kicked out of housing.

I process all the time with my supervisor how difficult navigating this job can be. I'm sure that I would be incredibly attached to my clients if I was in a traditional therapist role where I saw my clients in an office once a week or something, but I work in the building where my clients live. I see many of them almost daily. I serve holiday meals for them and breakfast every Thursday. I know when they have guests, if they get a delivery, if APD or EMS is ever called or onsite for them...it's an intense level of involvement. I love my job. I don't want to do anything else, but it feels incredibly personal when someone leaves in a way that isn't how either of us would have wanted.

[lovebillyhargrove]

Wake me up when July is around

Chapter 19/? "Like a rock ballad"

Billy listens to Scorpions in canon (the iconic "Rock you like a hurricane"). Does he like their ballads? Probably not. Too slow, too sappy. He prefers his music fast, mad and loud.

2 songs for this chapter: "Jump" (1983) by Van Halen, and "Holiday" (1979) by Scorpions.

***

When they go out of the History classroom to move to another one - the usual "detention chamber" Steve was a frequent guest of last December - Tommy is waiting near the door. Mrs. Jenkins watches and follows the boys closely like a prison guard, but Tommy manages to walk a bit alongside whispering

"Guys where were you?"

There's offence in his voice, like when a little kid feels left out of whatever fun was taking place.

Neither of them say anything but Steve brings two fingers to his mouth, imitating smoking.

Hagan purses his lips and falls behind, still clearly upset. Billy's got a feeling Tommy is onto something. Long friendship gives you that kind of intuition. King Steve might be oblivious, but Hargrove knows that relationships between best friends are often much more than meets the eye. Hagan can throw a jealous tantrum at some point, and no-one needs that.

In detention Billy pulls out his homework, and Steve snorts. What are you gonna do for two fucking hours, pretty boy, just stare at the wall?

Mrs. Jenkins is unforgiving and unemotional, like a fearsome ancient deity. She's sitting there like a statue keeping a stern eye on the boys.

Hargrove should probably apologize to her, explain the situation, come up with a sound excuse. He can still be on time to pick Max up, and save himself from Neil's wrath.

He can't think of any excuse. His brain is still hazed over by very fresh memories of holding Harrington's impressive schlong half an hour ago. And yeah, Billy's not gonna grovel before this gargoyle. Fuck it.

What would it feel like to see it close? Bury his nose in the pubic hair, inhale the smell of .. of soap, sweat ..? Perfume?

Billy sometimes puts cologne on his privates when he's going to a party or on a date. Let it smell good. Let the ladies enjoy. Does Harrington do it? Judging by the level of self-care, he might.

How would it feel to run his tongue up Steve's dick, from the base to the tip? Look at Harrington like a bitch, standing on his knees, before the almighty king?

Hargrove sure enjoys the whole King Steve imagery and allusions. It just sounds like so much fun. To become his majesty's secret lover, gain power over him, knock the crown off his head once in a while just to get under his skin, and then - the ultimate coup d'etat, and who's the new king?

All Hail Hargrove.

Back in the fall when Billy first rolled into this bog of a town, the thought of overthrowing Hawkins royalty crossed his mind, there's no point in denying that. He even stepped on the war path at first, with basketball supremacy, breaking keg stand records and establishing himself in the school hierarchy, but then he kinda lost interest in that. Because .. because it transformed into something different? Because Billy is not even planning to go to prom? Doesn't give two pathetic fucks about Hawkins High?

Still, annoying the hell out of King Steve sure sounds amusing.

Poking him.

Making him thirst for Billy's touch. Just like half an hour ago, backstage, when Hargrove let go of Harrington's dick, and felt the shift of power.

Billy can see it on his palm, red and heavy and fucking throbbing

Pleading for attention. How would it ..

Oh shit oh fuck that's not .. no, no,

Homework. Let's do fucking homework, shall we? We've got uh .. Literature? .. Calculus?

He opens a textbook.

Harrington is wiggling in his seat.

"Mrs. Jenkins, may I go to the bathroom?"

"You may not, Mr. Harrington."

Steve's rolling his eyes.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Hold it."

"What if I can't hold it?"

"Then you'll have to clean it up."

Harrington is sliding a palm over his face in disbelief

"Seriously? How are these medieval torture methods supposed to teach me something?" He mumbles, pouts his puffy lips and looks at Hargrove who's reading something in the Lit textbook.

Billy's biting his lower lip trying not to smile. The asshole made sure the teacher didn't hear a word he said, but of course the old witch needs to have the last one

"Excuse me, young man?"

"Nothing, Mrs. Jenkins! I'll just uhm .. everything's great!"

He's showing her a thumbs-up.

"Please stop talking, Mr. Harrington. It's detention, not an amusement park. Do something useful, don't waste your or my time."

Steve obviously wants to say

It's YOU who's wasting all of our time here, evil spinster

But makes a smart decision

"Of course."

It's quiet for some time, and Billy even manages to read a few pages.

He occasionally throws a glance Harrington's way. The pretty boy is just doodling something in his copybook.

He looks so cute. So fucking cute, all bored and stuff, in a sweater that still has Billy's and his own cum stains on it.

Jenkins is busy doing paperwork at the teacher's table.

Hargrove is letting out a sigh, and Steve raises his eyes up from the doodles, catches the other boy's stare

Billy wriggles his eyebrows at Steve and smiles. Checks that Jenkins is still busy with her papers, and runs his tongue over the lower lip. Digs his sharp teeth into it again.

Harrington's face turns red. Not because he's ashamed but because blood rushes blindly through his veins.

Hargrove keeps on eyeballing him with a smirk and

Steve can swear, what he is doing with his eyes, the sultry look, the heated implications, the shameless proposal

The asshole knows exactly what he's up to.

Steve's guess is,

Billy is eye-fucking him.

He's never been eye-fucked before. He didn't even know that's a thing until this very moment. None of his girlfriends have ever done it, like that. It's as if Hargrove is .. kissing him with his eyes, undressing him with his gaze, touching his cock with his stormy blue, all the sweet sweet consequences ensuing.

Harrington licks his lips, and Billy traces the movement, his dilated pupils become blacker than black with hunger, like he wants to catch that tongue with his teeth, chew on it, swallow it, suck on the lips till they're bruised and hurting

Steve's wiggling in his seat again, hand going down under the desk to adjust himself in his pants.

Is he touching his dick right now?

Billy's eyes are glued to whatever is happening under the desk where Harrington is sitting. He doesn't have the best view, because Steve's in a different row and a bit closer to the blackboard than Billy, so he can't really take a proper peek under ..

Steve's definitely rubbing his cock through the pants

Fuck, it's hot.

Is he .. is he trying to .. ?

"Mrs. Jenkins, I'm sorry I've got a very serious situation here, and I'm afraid I won't be able to hold it. Can you please just let me go to the bathroom?"

The dumbass is hunched over the desk as if he's in pain

Jenkins is shaking her head and frowning.

Steve's huffing out an annoyed

"Oh my god !!"

Billy's gonna burst with laughter, this is too funny. His own dick is turning hard as well, and it's hot as hell, but also Harrington begging to be allowed to go for a little jerk-off is just too goddamn funny.

"What is your problem, Hargrove?" The king is hissing in his direction

"Fucking stop it!"

Billy's grinning wide as if he doesn't have any problems whatsoever. Steve's sticking his middle finger at him and shuffles in his chair some more.

His right hand is still under the desk. Mrs. Jenkins raises her strict eyes at Harrington once again and keeps them on him. He can't really do anything while this old witch is watching, can he?

Billy's own dick is ripping through the jeans

As if he didn't cum a couple of hours ago, what kind of insatiable sex appetite is this?

Fucking insane.

I take my sword out of its sheath.

Do you see how long and strong it is?

I beg for a single favorable glance,

Oh my king

Should he write it down in his Lit copybook?

The fuck he's thinking. THE FUCK is this nonsense !!

That's some King Lear Shakespearean shit. Is he gonna scribble dumb poetry now? That's what all the tomfoolery backstage does to you

Uncanny that he even found a crown there.

***

The boys are free at last, and heading for the parking lot. Billy needs to hurry up, he has a shift. Harrington is trotting behind him.

As soon as he's out of the school building, he is scanning the lot with a faint hope that Max is still hanging around it.

"You going home now, Hargrove?"

Max is nowhere to be seen.

"The garage. Gotta work."

"You wanna maybe uh ..?"

Steve's running a hand through his hair

Repeat what we did?

"Can't. Work is work, Harrington."

Like you would know.

The evening's gonna be interesting. Billy can't really stay at work super late, can't sleep in Old Joe's garage. It's not a homeless shelter, and anyway he'll have to face Neil eventually. There's no escape from that.

Have a nice fucking day, Harrington.

He's not even looking Steve's way now, but he feels that the other boy is.

Billy opens the camaro's door, gets in. Lights a Marlboro, that's okay, he can take another slap from his dad, seriously what's the big deal.

Harrington's gaze is still fixed on Billy, and he's not in a rush to get in the beamer. It's as though he's waiting

And he wants to say

Follow me. Right now, come with me, follow me in your car. Skip work, skip whatever you have, just come with me.

Before he drives away, Billy stops at middle school, goes inside, looks around the quiet deserted hallways. Nope. He doesn't want to attract unnecessary attention of the teachers or whoever of the staff is left on school grounds, so he leaves.

He should get to work, no time for stopping at Cherry Lane for lunch or a shower.

***

When Billy comes home at around eight, Neil is expecting him. Billy knows it. He was already aware that he was gonna be in trouble the moment he heard the vice principal's voice behind his back. The moment he heard the word detention. It fucking left him no chance of warning Max. Maybe she looked for him in the gym like she did the last time he was late for pick up, but that's it, probably. She didn't know where else to look, so she had to get home on her own. Most likely, on foot.

She must've been walking home when he was exchanging heated wanton glances with Harrington.

Neil is fuming.

Billy decides not to wait for accusations and to come clean right away.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I was held up at school."

"What was the hold up? Did you get in trouble?"

"No, I was .. busy helping with the yearbook."

"The yearbook."

"Yes, and .. I got carried away. I forgot to tell Maxine, I did. I'm sorry."

Neil is nodding slowly.

"You forgot about your main responsibility."

"I did."

Why isn't he getting slapped or shoved into a wall?

"If you think that making your little sister walk home from school in cold temperatures is perfectly fine, you can walk too, right, son?"

Oh shit no no, not this. Just hit me, tell me what a piece of useless crap I am. The usual. No surprises.

Billy's feeling small and powerless. There was a time when he wasn't like that. There was a time when the little boy would blindly storm at his big angry father with his tightly-clenched fists protecting his mom.

He was able to do it at that time. He was much tougher then, because she was near him, she gave him strength and courage and purpose.

When she left, Billy had no-one else to protect and to fight for.

Alone on a battlefield, and the enemy was too strong. Is now, too.

Billy doesn't want to think of his dad as the enemy. Neil could've left him too, he could've thrown him out in the street, could've put his son in foster care. Dad didn't do any of these things. He might hate Billy but he didn't abandon him, for whatever reasons. Billy's always had a roof over his head, food on the table, clothes to wear and school supplies to study with. He can't even say that he was absolutely denied certain freedom. In his spare time he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, he got himself a badass car, he went to parties, drank beer and smoked in his room. He got his ear pierced for fuck's sake, and Neil had to live with that.

Billy doesn't know what he feels about his parents. The feeling does not fit into any category. It's a raw pile of pain, sometimes bleeding, sometimes not.

This is fucked up, and always will be, and no matter how much Billy wants to scream and shout and blame the world for being the way it is,

It won't change anything.

It is what it is.

Neil's palm is in front of him

"Give me the keys, son."

"But dad, I have school and work, how am I supposed to be on time everywhere?"

Are you fucking naive? It's not Neil's problem.

"I don't care what you have. Always wait for your sister, it's the third time you've slipped since we came here, Billy."

Oh my fucking god, of course, he's counting

"I have repeatedly told you - that's your main responsibility - to look after Maxine. That was the deal, that's why we let you have a car in the first place."

Oh, you let me have a car? You didn't spend a cent on it ..! And I've been driving Susan's daughter who's nobody to me for fucking years now and ..

"I do look after her, dad! It was just a .."

"The keys."

Billy takes out the car keys from his pocket and hands them over to Neil.

"How am I gonna get to places?"

"You can walk, obviously. Just like your sister did today, in freezing weather. Or you can take a school bus."

It's not that freezing, and she's not that little, and Billy's not gonna take a fucking school bus, okay?

"And, son, don't even think about skipping. I'll find out."

Billy wants to shout in Neil's face

"OKAY !! Jesus fucking Christ !! I don't give a fuck! It's only four months left and I'm out of here, dad!"

He does all the screaming in his head, already on the way to his room.

Max's door is slightly open. Of course, the rat is eavesdropping, that's her favourite thing to do. Comes second after ratting him out to the fucking parents.

Billy's got a spare set of keys to his car, made it just in case, a couple of years ago. He won't use them now though. It's for a bigger emergency.

He's gonna fucking walk.

***

He's already in bed when Max knocks on his door and slips into the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

"Billy? Can I borrow your pencil sharpener? Mine doesn't work."

"Piss off, rat."

"Billy, it wasn't my fault, I swear! When I got home, mom was here, what could I do? She asked me why I came home alone, I actually said you dropped me off near the house and then drove to work, but she said I was lying. Cause she saw me walking, she must've been looking out of the window or something. I swear, it wasn't my fault. I also came looking for you in the gym, like the last time, but you weren't there. I waited near the car, but then I was too cold to stand there, and the school bus had already left, so I walked."

She actually tried lying for him? That's something new.. but then, maybe she's lying now. Billy doesn't care.

"Take the pencil sharpener from the desk and get your ass out."

Max wants to say something more, but Billy turns his back on her and she just quietly takes what she needs and leaves the room.

Billy reckons, maybe in other circumstances, they wouldn't hate each other's guts so much, actually. She's an asshole, but that's what he is too.

Back in San Diego, when Max started going to middle school, Billy had to pick her up from there and they biked home together. Both Neil and Susan were busy working, and that was before Billy got his own car. He saw a really big kid picking on Max once or twice, but like .. it wasn't anything bad, until one day Billy clearly heard him call her an "ugly red-haired bitch".

"Hey! Are you giving her shit, asswipe?"

The kid was younger than Billy but almost twice his size.

"And who are you?"

"Fucking family."

Billy pushed the bully so hard, he went down on the asphalt. He quickly jumped onto his feet, and fists went flying, the boy got a chipped tooth, Billy ended up with a bloody nose and a badly hurt eye.

The kid never bothered Max again though.

Billy knows he didn't have to do it.

Max is tough and can handle everything on her own.

But probably, in another life they wouldn't hate each other so fucking much.

***

***

Ugh. Fucking Hargrove.

Who knew that Steve would be kissing a boy his senior year? Not just any boy. He's never wanted to kiss his best friend Tommy or .. or Andy, or anyone.

But Hargrove ?

..

Yeah. No comment.

Fuck. Steve's senior year is a gift that keeps on giving, honestly.

Who knew that he would take Hargrove's dick in his hand? What even got into him?

He wanted to.

In his defense, it was blackmail. He was brazenly blackmailed.

Hargrove got him all hot and bothered, and then he was like

I'm not gonna do anything unless you grab my dick as well

If that's not blackmail, then Steve doesn't know what it is.

He needed to come. He needed release. His balls were aching. It was a physical necessity.

He had no choice, so he caved to Hargrove's demand.

Rather willingly.

Steve honestly doesn't know where he stands on the gay aspect of it all. Like .. he's used to thinking .. no, he's used to being made to think that being gay is not right, it's not how things are supposed to be.

Kissing Hargrove doesn't feel wrong.

Holding his dick didn't feel wrong.

It felt fucking amazing.

Hargrove looks amazing. He .. he has this power over Steve, like he is a promise.

A promise of something extra thrilling, extra fun, exotic and sharp, like a blade that you're balancing on

Yes

Or no.

If it's a yes, it's gonna be awesome. He's in for a delicious orgasm, his sensory perceptions all sparkly, flared up.

If it's a no, it means that there's gonna be another time

Because Steve isn't good at getting rejected.

Never has come across a no, actually. It was always a yes.

It's nothing major, of course. The game's just too good to stay out of.

It all can finish at any given moment. It's not like it's something serious, in fact, it is so not serious, it's not even worth thinking too much about it.

It was hot. That's all there was to it.

So making-his-knees-wobble hot, Steve's never experienced such absolutely cutting sensations with sex, with any of his multiple girlfriends. They haven't even done anything really big with Hargrove, yet even a little kiss felt so good already. What kind of sexual magic is that.

***

***

Billy literally has to walk to school next morning, Neil didn't go soft on him or change his mind during the night. He wakes up earlier and leaves the house at - what it seems - the asscrack of dawn. That's not true, Billy's exaggerating of course but the whole situation sucks. Walking doesn't suck as much as the fact that there is a person in his life who can take away his car keys, grab him by the hair, make him feel invisible and .. so alone, so unwanted.

And there is nothing he can do about it.

The school is okay, Billy's not even late, and everything is same old, only for some reason he's not on the usual search for Harrington. Not today. Not when he's feeling like a useless piece of shit.

Basketball practice is slow and uninteresting, for the first time in a long time, and even coach Nelson asks him

"You sure you're not sick, Hargrove?"

Oh, he is sick. Has been all his life.

Something unexpected happens after practice. When Billy walks out of the gym, Steve hasn't left the parking lot yet, although practically all the other guys have driven away, even Tommy - everyone's busy and got stuff to do.

Harrington is smoking near the beamer

"Hey, Hargrove! Need a ride?"

There's only like thirty minutes left before his shift starts, and he'd never be able to walk the distance to the repair shop in half an hour from here, so Billy comes up to Steve and reluctantly says

"You offering?"

Harrington taps ash from his cigarette

And Billy can't help but look at his fingers

The fingers that were wrapped around his dick and made him see stars

Only yesterday.

"Where's your car?"

"It broke down. Nothing I can't fix but I'm horseless for the time being."

And it sucks.

"You going home?"

"Nah, I have to get to work, actually."

Steve thinks it's kinda strange, to see Hargrove without his flashy car. It never happened before. He noticed it in the morning, there was no camaro near the school, and he thought at first, maybe Billy wasn't coming to classes today

Billy dotes on his precious car, how did he let it break down, how did he not repair it right away. Weird.

"Alright. Get in."

Harrington takes the last drag and flicks the butt. They both get in the beamer. It's uh .. strange.

The boys drive in silence, there's some shit playing on the radio, but it's quiet and Harrington doesn't turn it up. He stops not far away from Old Joe's garage and takes out two Parliaments.

Hargrove accepts.

They sit in the car and smoke, Billy's looking out of the car window which he has rolled down. He looks like he's in low spirits. Subdued.

"When does it get warm here, Harrington?"

"In April it's gonna be nice."

Are we going to talk about weather, Billy?

Harrington is a little nervous. He looks at the other boy who's still staring out of the window. Maybe it isn't the right moment, but he puts his hand on Billy's thigh.

Just like that.

Hargrove is tensing up and Steve can see how his nodules are rolling under the skin.

He slowly turns his head, doesn't look Steve in the eyes but stares at the hand on his thigh. Eyelashes heavy,

Long.

So fucking gorgeous.

Billy's cock is filling up in his jeans and Harrington is just as hard, he can see the outline in his pants, jacket unzipped and allowing Hargrove to actually have the full view of Steve's crotch.

The hand on his thigh is big and warm, and he again has a vision of Harrington's fingers holding his dick, sliding over it

They could do it right now.

Billy is not in the mood. He feels .. he feels fucking homeless without his car.

Neil showing his power has gotten in his head. He's almost 18, a fucking adult and his dad can do it to him, can fucking take his car keys away, making him walk around the town like a stray dog.

"I have to get to work, Harrington."

Billy's voice is low and hoarse.

Also, it's daytime, it's dangerous, someone might walk past and see something they shouldn't.

"When are you gonna call me?"

Hargrove's shrugging his wide shoulders

"You haven't lost my number again, have you?'

"Nope."

"Give me yours?"

"No."

Not an option.

Hargrove is exceptionally talkative today.

Harrington is looking at him like doesn't get it why it's a no. Not everyone gets super lucky with parents, what's there not to understand, you silly kissed-by-an-angel mama's boy.

Steve's hand is still on Billy's thigh, but he's getting out of the car, shaking it off

"Thanks for the ride, man."

"Yeah .. no problem."

Upon entering the garage Billy greets Mr. Dailey and goes to the small room in the back to change clothes. Everything is done on autopilot, Billy's busy replaying the image of Harrington's palm laying on his leg, and his stupid heart won't stop racing.

The pretty boy did it in broad daylight. He couldn't have been more straightforward.

Maybe, jerking each other off in the school drama hall was a mistake.

Billy scoffs. Maybe, uh-huh. More like, one hundred fucking percent yet another misstep in the chain of Billy's fuck-ups regarding Hawkins fucking royalty. Doing it sober was especially dumb. It was too real. It was too fucking real and felt too fucking good.

Felt like a hazard.

Why doesn't Harrington put an end to it, but keeps on encouraging whatever this is?

Everything, fucking everything, starting with Neil's idiotic move to Hawkins, Indiana is just one huge stupid big-ass mistake.

***

***

Steve's GPA might not be as high as his parents wish for, or he himself wishes for, but despite it, he understands

There was something off about Hargrove.The opportunity to make each other feel good was right there, but he turned it down?

Looked all preoccupied. On edge. Fucking sad ?..

That's not Steve's business. He'll simply regard it as adding more spark to the chase. Hargrove might seem easy for his royal dick, but in reality it's not that simple. He doesn't call, although Steve has explicitly asked him to, many times. At the Valentine's party, although Harrington was spectacularly wasted, he remembers how Billy rejected him. In some kind of a room, when Steve tried to kiss him.

And now that.

No, Hargrove doesn't make it easy, which is even better.

Steve returns to the empty house, parents in Indianapolis, calls Tommy and invites him to come watch a movie tonight. Guys' night, beer, smokes and the "Terminator".

Hargrove had the same jacket and gloves for Halloween, remember?

That's not the question he asks Hagan, of course, but it's the one that keeps coming up in his mind throughout the evening

Tommy is happy to come over, and they end up watching movies till three in the morning. Steve leaves his friend to sleep on the couch, and goes upstairs to his room.

Whether he jacks off to the distant memory of the leather smell, the feeling of firm muscles under the jacket and Billy's stubborn resistance on that Halloween night

As well as to much fresher memories

Is unknown, it's between him and the bedsheets.

***

***

Hargrove walks back home after work. It's March, if the calendar is telling the truth, but it's still cold, especially late in the evening. Mr. Dailey offers to give him a ride, but Billy lies and says his friend is picking him up on the way.

Fuck you, dad. For making me hate you. Was never my intention.

He arrives home late, has a quick shower, makes a sandwich in the empty kitchen, thank fuck everyone's in their rooms sleeping or doing whatever, and takes it to his room to eat. He doesn't do any homework, just drops on the bed, exhausted.

Tomorrow is another day of dragging his sorry ass around Hawkins - Hargrove doesn't even look in Harrington's direction after classes, he just leaves the school parking lot, clenching a cigarette in his teeth. There's no basketball practice today, so he has enough time to get to work, no need for a ride. He heads straight to the repair shop, no point in stopping at home.

The camaro keys are waiting for Billy on the kitchen table in the morning of the next day.

It's not like Neil is gonna drive Max to school till the end of the school year. Billy got taught a lesson, but Neil isn't used to changing his usual routine because of Maxine. Also, most likely she's been pushing Susan's buttons non-stop, cause being chauffeured around in a dope ass looking Camaro is one thing, and it’s quite another when your not-so-loved stepfather drops you off at school in his Buick. It’s a completely different level of stepping down the food chain when you have to take a school bus home.

So when the shitbird plops onto the passenger's seat after two days of not having a personal driver, Billy turns the key in the ignition and they hit the road, he can see it - Max is actually glad to be back.

Billy can't help it but there's a spark of warmth inside. He crushes it with his heavy boot fast

Bullshit.

But.

It was there.

You never know what you've got until it's gone, huh step-sister dearest?

Don't even think about complaining about my music now. Billy turns on Van Halen's "Jump", to the maximum.

Hell yeah.

I get up, and nothin' ever gets me down

You got it tough, I've seen the toughest all around

And I know baby, just how you feel

You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real

It feels awesome to be behind the wheel of his baby. He's missed her like a madman. Fuck everyone and everything else. The snow has started melting away, little by little, and although the temperatures, especially at night are still low, and the skies are grey and hostile, very often the sun breaks through those steel-like frowning clouds.

Spring is here.

Oh can't you see me standin' here

I've got my back against the record machine

I ain't the worst that you've seen

Can't you see what I mean?

Billy gently presses the gas pedal and feels the car rumble pleasantly. There's no ice on the roads, there's just dirty slush and puddles. He can actually get back to his usual speed soon, hallelujah.

***

You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real

Time goes by, and whether we want it to flow faster, or slower, it does as it pleases.

The first week of March is coming to its end. Although winter doesn't retreat easily, still scratching Billy's face with its icy claws and occasionally sprinkling some of its last snow everywhere, spring is felt in the air, there's change, there's something new coming.

Steve openly flirts with Tammy whenever he gets a chance. Nicole is livid. She probably has voodoo dolls of both, and sticks needles in them every night. She's been waiting to get together with Steve for so long, jealous of Princess Nancy, and the moment she thought her dream had finally come true, King Steve goes and dumps her for that skank.

He didn't officially dump her, but his behaviour is that of an asshole who shoots hearts right and left. No girl can tolerate it, Nicole is no exception.

Although Jennifer is still marking her territory "Billy's mine", and she did sit on Hargrove's dick in the backseat of the camaro a couple of days ago,

He was shamelessly picturing Harrington all the way, all coiled up on his lap - so many things they could do like that.

How would it .. ? Fuuuck .. Having Steve's body, Steve's weight over him. It would probably feel so big, so heavy.

Jennifer and Billy are not gonna be an item anymore soon, he will take care of that.

She will join the Broken Hearts' club, but let her stay oblivious for just a little bit longer.

The boys keep looking at each other. Just like the spring air, there is a slight shift in the way they are doing it. There is an understanding. They have tried something and don't want to stop.

They both want more.

What at first had no shape and no substance, began to take on more definite outlines.

There's also an unspoken dare, like who's gonna ask first. Who's not going to wait until a wild opportunity presents itself out of nowhere.

They should be careful though if they ever decide to do something. Last time when they were hiding in the school hall rubbing each other's dicks, and then got into detention together, Tommy asked questions. He came up to Hargrove and asked him why they hadn't called him to join them for a smoke. Billy had already seen through Steve's hastily concocted lie - smoking was the most obvious excuse - and played along,

"Jesus, Hagan, how the hell do I know, you just weren't there at the photo thing .. I guess?"

You're talking too much, explaining too much, like you're guilty on all counts, shut up.

Hargrove can bet a thousand bucks - Tommy's got the sixth sense about Harrington. They haven't been best friends since forever for nothing. Plus Hagan's big fat crush on his pretty bff. It hasn't been confirmed or anything but Billy has always been able to read the signs.

Hargrove wants to lay his commoner's hands on King Steve once again, but he still doesn't fucking call. The note is somewhere in his bedside drawer, he sometimes takes it out, examines the handwriting, imagines dialing that number. The phone draws him in like a magnet but he's breaking all laws of physics, successfully fighting the magnetic field

He's not gonna run after Harrington. Fuck him.

It's a late evening, and Billy's lying in bed, listening to Scorpions. He's never been a fan of rock ballads but tonight when "Holiday" starts playing, he doesn't forward it or change the tape. The melody is beautiful and the guitar is soothing. Somehow the music falls differently on Billy's ears which are normally trained to feast on the energy of rough guitar riffs.

Let me take you far away

You'd like a holiday

Billy would definitely like a holiday.

Exchange the cold days for the Sun

A good time and fun

Yes, please. He's had enough of the winter frost.

Exchange your troubles for some love

Wherever you are

There is some kind of vague melancholy, sadness, lurking inside. Deep, Billy can't even put a finger on it, explain it. It's weird, it's alien.

The hell?

Well it's fucking Hawkins, middle of fucking nowhere. No sun, no ocean. Even the Germans understand it.

Longing for the Sun you will come

To the island without name

Longing for the sun

You will come

All you fucking do here is stare at the endless fields and forests that aren't even green now. And, like okay, it's pretty in its own way, but he needs to get back to what he's used to.

The gloom gives Billy's heart a squeeze. It doesn't look like the type that can be easily brushed aside. Or which Billy can get angry about. It just came and settled in, and isn't planning on going anywhere. Like it's going to become one with you, and there isn't anything to be done to prevent or avoid it.

If Billy didn't know himself well, he'd think it's something disgusting like

Affection?

For a girl? Vicky, Jennifer .. any other?

Nope.

For Harrington?

The idea is so ridiculous, it's outright hilarious, and Hargrove sneers sleepily. He's tired, it's close to midnight, he's falling ..

The asshole's always on Billy's mind though, how long can he ignore it for?

Various details of the gone day start to emerge from memory - Harrington's arm on his new girl's shoulder, the stupid bangs bouncing over his forehead, the king must take so much time styling them in the morning, the smile, his fucking smile .. During Health class Harrington was sitting in front of Billy, and Hargrove had to stare at the back of Steve's head and neck the whole time. It was torture. He ended up shoving a pencil under Harrington's shirt collar - it's third grade bullshit, but Billy's hands were itching - which led to Steve turning around and reaching out to punch Billy's shoulder, which led to Ms. Babcock's remark to watch his behaviour, which led to Steve saying that Hargrove is a jerk who's not letting him concentrate on the subject, which led to an extremely tedious and pointless exchange between him and the teacher, and her asking the "discipline violator" to go see Mrs. Donovan, the vice principal. For some reason, Ms. Babcock doesn't like Steve. She absolutely loves the ass-kisser and know-it-all Hargrove.

The pretty boy's neck. Billy doesn't want to stick pencils under the collar. He wants to hide his nose in there and breathe. Sink his teeth into it, bite gently.

Anyway, fuck it. He'll get his diploma, and maybe he'll burn rubber the second after.

The song is the last one on the tape. Billy raises his hand, rewinds it and presses play again. He likes the tune and the chords.

Let me take you far away

You'd like a holiday

What would Harrington be like if he and Billy were somewhere else, not in Hawkins? If the king was taken away from his realm? Would he still be so full of himself?

Hargrove's listening to the words and the music, his eyelids are closing. He doesn't notice how he starts drifting off into peaceful sleep. The song comes to its end and the tape whirrs a little, making the play button pop up.

Billy dreams of walking on the beach, barefoot on the warm sand. The feeling that he has missed so much, is awesome. There's someone's hand in Billy's hand, and he hears laughter, the voice sounds a lot like Steve's. The sun is high and bright, yet it doesn't burn, it's soft and enveloping him whole

For once in the last three weeks, it's not a sex dream. It's not a nightmare about his mother.

Billy won't know it but he's smiling in his sleep.

Longing for the sun

You will come

To the island many miles away from home

Away from home

When he opens his eyes in the morning, Billy doesn't remember a thing, but he feels very strange. An odd mix of elation and sadness.

The fuck is this now. Feels like a beginning.

Oh god. Of fucking what?

***

[canadiansummer]

TITLE: Transitory [18+] PAIRING: Dmitri Antonov x Fem!Reader / Enzo x Fem!Reader REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: You and Dmitri end up having a conversation in an unlikely place. WARNINGS: Sexual content (body parts get mentioned and the intention is there, but the smut doesn’t actually happen. Sorry.) Angst, scars. NOTE: So, here is the piece I’ve been agonizing for days over because it kind of took a mind of its’ own. I still don’t know how I feel about it, but I figure it’s finished and perhaps I’m overthinking it too much. Anyway, please enjoy and thank you for reading if you do.

Early in the morning, as you had come to expect by now, the side of your bed dipped as it welcomed another occupant.

You weren’t sure exactly how long you had slept for, but the lightness of the room when you opened your eyes somewhat told you that it had been a full night. With a sleepy sigh, you accepted the arm that wrapped around your middle, bringing your hand down to rest over his as you felt him press closer. The warmth of his body against your back almost lulled you back to sleep. His warm breath fanned out against the back of your neck as he sighed, setting against the pillow.

“What time is it?” you asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“Early,” Dmitri replied. He sounded more awake than you were, at least.

Laying on your side with him at your back, you listened for any noise around the house. Bunker. Whatever Murray wanted to call it. When you had landed in America, you hadn’t been expecting that you would be spending your time cooped up with Murray, Yuri, and Dmitri. Murray had a guest bedroom and some couches. It was enough for the added company, but it was still a cramped place to stay. Which was something Murray made known a few times, and not exactly in the most polite way. Really, you couldn’t blame him. It was a lot, even for you sometimes.

You knew once you had gotten a new identity and citizenship, you would be free to leave and search for your own place. It’s not like you were able to get a loan or buy a house when you were supposed to be dead.

Unfortunately, war journalists dissappeared or were killed. Once your correspondance home had stopped, it made sense that your family had assumed the worst. Which only left you in this strange limbo of being both alive and not, both captured and not, and you had come to the conclusion that nobody was coming for you.

For a long while, you had considered Kamchatka to be your final resting place–though, the notion of ‘rest’ was laughable in that place. While you knew the system had been abolished in the 50s, the prison felt like it was mixed with a GULAG at points. When you operated in secret, not even allowed to appear on maps, you figured they could operate in whatever way they wanted. While you hadn’t been put to labor, you had certainly been put through hell enough to leave you worn down and exhausted, which matched the other prisoners when you were transferred to a new wing of the prison.

Shortly after, you had figured out what they were housing in order to make the prison a secret.

The rest was almost a blur, showing up in bloody nightmares and lingered at the back of your mind. The fact that you were alive could largely be contributed to putting your faith in some people you barely knew at the time, two of which were missing from your current little group of refugees and you couldn’t say you exactly trusted Yuri.

Now there was this thing with Dmitri. It struck you as strange at times–that you would end up with someone who was formerly a guard at the prison you had spent a couple years trapped in. Never crossed paths with him until you were put on their version of death row, you supposed, and he could hardly be considered any authority then. A rocky alliance to begin with, then to people who were bonded by a similar traumatic event. Being forced into the same space for an extended time, it had allowed room for something to grow. Months of further bonding, similar worries and late nights. It had definitely grown beyond anything you could have pictured.

Which brought you back to the current moment, Dmitri’s mustache tickling the back of your neck as he pressed kisses along the back of your shoulder. You both had tried to keep things a little quiet, if only to avoid any strangeness around your current living space. Yet, you figured your relationship would have to be put out into the open eventually if you had to stay where you were any longer. Especially if you were now allowing him to invite himself into your bed.

With a small sigh, you rolled over so you could face him, the lingering sleepiness almost giving you the feeling like things were normal. That where you were or how you got there didn’t matter.

You reached up to pull him into a somewhat lazy kiss, relaxing further into the bed as you felt one of his hands cupping the side of your cheek. The press of his body against yours put a pit in your gut, one that kept cropping up when you were alone with Dmitri. There was a part of you that wanted to press things further, yet you were acutely aware of where you were. While you couldn’t exactly confirm, you assumed the walls were thin and you didn’t really want to be proven right in such a way.

With a small sigh out of your nose, you pushed lightly against his shoulders to break the kiss.

“If we push things more than this, they’ll definitely hear us,” you muttered.

“Oh?” Dmitri replied, leaning back somewhat but still kept a hand resting on your side that you were all too aware of at the moment, “I know how to keep quiet. Being a journalist, I thought you would know too.”

“Not in this context,” you replied, shifting up so you were in a sitting position as you fought the urge to roll your eyes. Still, at the light grin on his face, you couldn’t hide the one you gave him in return.

While you were ready to move on from the subject, an idea popped into your head. It made you pause somewhat, both in the sense that you analyzed it for a moment and that a part of you weighed if it was something you wanted to follow through on. You didn’t feel much resistance to it in general, and it wasn’t like you hadn’t let Dmitri in more than you really should’ve at this point. You bit on the inside of your lower lip for a moment before releasing it as you glanced back toward him from where you were looking at your lap.

“Though…” you started, deciding to leave the offer open, “there’s that little bathroom down the hall with the shower. Kind of loud enough to cover most noise as long as nobody’s standing by the door.”

“Hm.”

“Just a thought,” you said, shrugging a shoulder lightly. Really, you were pushing out a relaxed front to hide the nerves that had cropped up at even opening the door to this.

Still, you needed a shower. You grabbed some clothing and wandered down the hall toward the mentioned bathroom. Given the stillness of the area, and spying the figure of Yuri still asleep on the couch, you figured Dmitri’s comment about the hour being early was true. Which put some pressure off, but you didn’t want to put all your faith into the idea that nobody would know if you ended up in the shower together.

As you stepped into the bathroom, you closed the door behind you with a soft click. You picked up the usual towel you used, placing it and the clothing you intended to wear on the counter next to the sink. You went about getting yourself ready for the shower, as you did every day, yet you couldn’t help but notice the mild undercurrent of nervousness in you. If things played out like you were thinking they would, it would be the first time you’d see each other in the nude.

It wasn’t like it was your first time, but it had been a good while since you had even been in a relationship, let alone one with such…a complex situation on top of it. Plus, as you removed your clothing as the water heated, you couldn’t help but notice the scars and the stiffness of some parts of your body that suggested that you hadn’t escaped that horrible prison without some reminders of what happened there.

So, you couldn’t help the insecurity that settled in you with that realization. Yet, a part of you still wanted to do this.

With that, you stepped into the spray, letting yourself relax somewhat under the flow of water. You could remember how, a couple months ago, you had your first hot shower in…years once you had arrived in America. How you had to clamp your hand over your mouth as you let yourself cry at the thought that it was over. Standing in the shower currently, that memory felt like another lifetime. You weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, in all honesty. With a sigh, you tried to mentally shake off that thought as cupped some water in your hands to wash your face.

In doing so, you caught the sound of a couple light knocks against the bathroom door. You paused, Dmitri’s muffled voice through the door not really doing too much to settle your nerves. Still, you invited him in, returning to your task as you heard the door open and shut. There were a couple moments of silence, the awkwardness and light tension making you have to focus on not fidgeting in place.

“You still want me to join you?” he finally asked as you turned your back to the water, catching sight of him somewhat through a gap in the curtain near the far wall of the shower.

You couldn’t tell if he could see in, if he was even looking, but you could see part of him through that space. He was still dressed in what he had slept in, and the hesitancy almost made you smile. You figured you had made a pretty straightforward offer back in the bed–that or you were more vague than you realized.

“Yes,” you said with a nod, even if he couldn’t see it.

Pushing back the urge to rub at the back of your neck out of nervousness alone, you were surprised your voice didn’t really give that away. You were excited, too, however. At the confirmation, you could feel your heart pick up, an almost giddy warmth settling over you that you weren’t sure was completely a blush or if it was the shower. Regardless, you dropped your gaze to focus on washing an arm (that didn’t really need a scrub, but it was a distraction enough for the mix of emotions at the moment) as Dmitri moved out of your line of sight to undress himself.

That weasly thought from before about your scars tried to push forward again, standing there a moment while it felt like you could almost feel some of them. Yet, you quickly pushed that thought down.

In that moment, the curtain was pulled back as Dmitri stepped into the shower. While you had gotten a good idea what his body might look like through what you had seen of him before and what you were able to feel when he’d press close during the nights when he joined you in the guest bedroom. At the current moment, you couldn’t help but stare a little. He was a little more toned than you had been imagining, yet it was tempting to reach out and run your hands along his chest, his legs. Lifting your gaze up toward his face, the intensity of his gaze once he met yours was a little surprising. It had another wave of warmth washing over you, pure arousal.

Yet, once you found your voice, a somewhat breathless laugh escaped you despite everything going on in your head.

“Usually I’m better at initiating foreplay than this,” you admitted in a low voice, earning a quick grin from him that did an efficient job at easing the tension in you somewhat. “Come closer. I don’t want to hog the water.”

While it wasn’t a demand or much of a question, you stepped aside somewhat in suggestion in case he decided to back out. While a part of you really hoped that he wouldn’t, you knew the situation wasn’t ideal and if he changed his mind, you’d understand. The way he acted thus far, you felt like he would do the same if you changed your mind. Though, the relief upon him closing the space between your bodies was enough to put that thought to rest. You trailed your hands up his chest once he joined you under the water, placing your hands on his shoulders as you pressed your mouth against the skin at the base of his neck.

You felt him let out a small sigh, lifting his head somewhat so you could trail some kisses up toward his jaw. You licked lightly in some places, sucked in others, but enjoyed the small hums he’d let out as you did so. Dmitri pressed his hands to your back, pressing you closer to him before he trailed his hands down your sides slowly. Despite the hot water on you both, the action pulled a small shiver out of you. He grasped your ass with both hands, pressing you further into him.

His cock pressed against your groin, but the contact was enough to pull a small gasp from you, lightly grinding yourself against him.

Dmitri took that moment to capture your mouth with his own, your arms shifting to wrap around his neck, one hand on the back of his head. You tensed somewhat when you felt him press you against the cold tile of the shower wall, the space already cramped and not exactly ideal for this when either of you could slip and fall at any point. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to really care.

He pulled back from the kiss somewhat to press quick kisses down your neck, the feeling of his lips against your skin, his breath and light drags of his tongue across your flesh pulled a light moan from you. You felt one of his hands give your ass cheek a squeeze before shifting up slowly toward your hip. His fingers brushed along a rather prominent scar that angled somewhat toward your stomach, which he followed somewhat with his touch as you took in a slow breath.

You could hear the question before he even asked it.

“Childhood,” you said around a small breath, Dmitri lifting his head from your chest to look at you, “Kind of. I was unsupervised around some farming equipment, I took a fall and grazed against a sharp edge. Nearly caused a panic when I limped back into the house.”

Despite the somewhat tight feeling in your gut that was unrelated to what you were currently doing, you couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle at the memory. It was definitely not funny or amusing at the time, but it had left you with some serious stitches and you were watched carefully by one of your parents for a year whenever you were outside. You could afford to laugh at it now. Though, now that the subject was open, you couldn’t help the small pit of dread when Dmitri trailed his hand against your lower back where a number of smaller, but still prominent ones littered your back and some on the top of your eyes.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to explain that one, considering the shift in his expression told you that he already knew what ones those were from. Instantly, the air seemed to shift, that small and tight feeling in your throat returning as your expression seemed to drop.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered after a few moments, removing his other hand to rest against the wall near your hip, but kept the one on your side touching your lower back.

“What for? You weren’t the one who did this,” you replied quietly.

“I was–”

“You were a guard, I know,” you replied with a small nod, “That’s something I’ve struggled with for a while already as I got to know you. It doesn’t absolve you of anything, that’s not…that’s not something that I want to burden. Yet…”

You let out a sigh, dropping your hands down to rest on his shoulders as you dropped your gaze in thought. For a moment, you knew it was strange to have this conversation the way you currently were, yet it just…happened. It was better to talking about it than never discussing it. Not with the nature of this whole thing you had with him, as much as you still struggled to know what to do with it while you were still waiting to hear how the rest of your life was going to start. If Dmitri would be there with you or not, you had no idea.

For some reason, that thought put a feeling in your gut that choked you in a way. You were scared that he wouldn’t–the one person you could talk to about what happened and would understand. Was it morbid? Absolutely. Yet…

“I didn’t meet you as a guard…” you continued, lifting your gaze to meet his, “I met you in a raggedy prisoner’s uniform, and learned that you were one of the only people in there who was pretty damn sure we’d get out alive. I’ve also seen you as someone who is willing to put his life on the line again to get the people he cares about to safety. If you’re committed to leading a different life here, I’m willing to help. I’m–I’m not putting my blood on your hands, we never even crossed paths.”

“I still wish I could have helped,” Dmitri said after a heavy pause, making a sad grin cross your face as you shook your head lightly.

“I’m still here,” you said, letting one of your hands let out a wet slap against the tile behind you, “I could be dead, but I believed you and Hopper. I don’t think I’d be here otherwise. If this whole thing makes me naive, I don’t know, but…it’s still my choice to even be in this position with you. Which is what it is currently.”

“I don’t understand,” he said with a small shake of his head, “I might never. Yet…you are right.”

“I haven’t been forced into anything with you,” you said, placing your hands back on his shoulders, “I won’t say it’s not complicated as hell, but that’s the facts of this. The rest is up to ourselves, I suppose…”

Dmitri didn’t say anything to that, but he nodded slightly. Still resting with his arms on either side of you on the shower wall, the situation that got you there almost completely slipping your mind. In all honesty, you felt it would be too awkward to push it back into what it was, but to have that out in the open was a weight lifted off you. Somewhat. You knew it was complicated, there were things you couldn’t understand, nor did you know what place you had in saying what his past meant, yet you knew that was as truthful as you could be about it.

Which you knew only made things currently all the more complicated, too, but that was the choice you made.

At that thought and the well of emotion that sat in your gut, you reached out and wrapped your arms around him. Dmitri took a moment to respond, and you could understand why, but you felt him wrap his arms around your back. His hold tightened, which only made you hold him tighter in response. Bodies pressed close again, yet in a way this felt more intimate than anything that could have happened if neither of you had said anything.

“Murray’s going to get pissed if we use up all the hot water,” you muttered, “Plus…I think there could be a better time for this.”

“Me too,” Dmitri said, voice muffled in your ears as he still held onto you tightly.

The water against your back was still hot, so you settled on letting the moment linger. You knew it was going to take a bit to just…walk away as if nothing happened. Yet, the feeling in your chest told you that it was the right thing.

There’d be a better time.

[fruit-of-infidelity]

♱ DIABOLIK LOVERS: Haunted Dark Bridal ー Sakamaki Ryuuto | Dark 05 ♱

⌜ Scene: Yui’s Bedroom ⌟

Yui: It’s nice to get a little bit of sun on my skin, once in a while! 

( Even if I have to wake up super early before school… )

I’m already feeling livelier than the past days.

― Yui places a bouquet into a vase. ―

Yui: ( And it was worth it to get these flowers to lighten up the mood a bit! )

Mm… Aah, they smell so sweet.

I think I’ll put them right by the window――

Ryuuto: ――Roses?

Yui: Kyaaa!

― Yui jumps and drops the vase. ―

Yui: My roses…!

( Petals and chips of porcelain are all over the ground… )

― Yui kneels to the ground, trying to clean. ―

Ryuuto: I think you mean my roses.

Yui: W-Well… whatever they are, please quit appearing like that!

Ryuuto: …And, my vase.

Yui: ( Moreover, please stop ignoring what I say…! )

I-I’m sorry… I got spooked.

Ryuuto: You would have only been spooked if you were up to no good. And, by the looks of it, that is exactly the case. 

Yui: ( That’s not the case at all! )

I was only trying to spruce up the place a little… It felt kind of darky and… kind of eerie, so I thought some flowers would――

Ryuuto: ――And it only led to you making a mess. 

Not only of this room I was so kind as to offer to you, but also our garden, no less.

Yui: Eh!?

( It’s not like I trimmed all the roses around for the bouquet! )

Ryuuto: However, that isn’t the most pressing matter here.

Stand up.

― Yui stands back up. ―

Ryuuto: What is, is the thought that you took it upon yourself to wander around, not only unattended, but without my permission.

Yui: Your…permission?

I didn’t know I was meant to ask, if I’m living here too…

Ryuuto: And, now you do. 

Yui: W-Well…

━─┉┈◈ Selection ◈┈┉─━

　　❈  I don’t need permission…!

Yui: I shouldn’t need to ask permission… 

I’m not your prisoner, you know…!

Ryuuto: You may not be my prisoner, Pet… But, you are still my prey, of whom I have been entrusted to look after.

Don’t you think it is rather selfish to overlook that?

Yui: ( But still...! )

　　❈  Then, may I? ⎨❤︎⎬

Yui: ( I suppose I am in his home, after all… )

May I go and collect some new flowers…? Only the mouth of the vase is chipped, so it’s still capable of holding a bunch of flowers…

Ryuuto: That is far more like it. All you need to do is remember your place, and everything will go just swimmingly.

━━─┉┈┈◈◉◈┈┈┉─━━

Ryuuto: The more you comply, the easier it will be for things to come.

Yui: ( What is that supposed to mean…? )

Ryuuto: Although…I suppose you had a point before.

Yui: I did…?

Ryuuto: This place could do with a little bit of life…

Even you don’t quite cut it as the decoration.

Yui: Ehh!?

Ryuuto: Although, the colour rushing to your cheeks only makes the thought of using you in some way far, far more tempting〜

― Ryuuto walks toward the door. ―

Come. This time, I shall be choosing the bouquet.

Yui: W-Wait…! Outside, in the garden? Right now?

Ryuuto: Is there something wrong with that?

Yui: It’s just that… It’s still daylight, you know!

Sunlight and Vampires don’t mix, do they?

Ryuuto: Fufufu…

Aah, I see. Could it be that all your knowledge about Vampire strictly from children’s storybooks and fantasy novels?

We are unaffected by sunlight, and much of the other classic Vampire “repellents”.

Yui: ( Those other Vampires said the same thing… )

( So, seriously none of that is true, whatsoever? )

Ryuuto: Once you have picked your jaw up from the floor, follow me.

Yui: B-But what about these roses and the chips of porcelain…?

Ryuuto: What about them?

Are you so eager to clean them up that you will willingly pass up this offer of mine? In that case, please, be my guest〜

Yui: N-No, I just…

Ryuuto: Then, leave it to the servants.

Yui: Servants…!?

( What kind of a person has servants…? )

( Not only that, but all this time, he could have had them come and do this and that, rather than forcing me to do it? )

( Ryuuto-san really is… odd. )

Ryuuto: You’re spacing out once again. What is the matter now?

Yui: N-Nothing!

I’m coming now…!

― Yui follows Ryuuto to the door. ―

✥ TO BE CONTINUED ✥

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