#that says ‘i promise i am not being distant & removed on purpose!’

[kitnita]

.

[blkkizzat]

Hey pookieeeee do you have any advice for heartbreak? And can I vent a little and ask for your advice? :]

I never expected it to hurt as much as it does, but in the end, it was half my fault for believing in his empty promises. I called it from the start that this would happen. I knew yet I still said yes. It was a long-distant relationship, and I told him the stakes were high, but he promised over and over that he wouldn't leave me. That I would be the one to do it before he ever does it. I let my guard down for him to break my heart. :(

I can't seem to get my mind off it, and it hasn't even been 24 hours. It just hurts so much. I'm just waiting for his "Let's break up" text. It's not official yet until he says it, but I can sense that it's coming. And I'm just wishing he would stay. I don't know what to do, kind of? Like he took such a big part of me, I don't know how to feel or act anymore. Like I lost myself? Any advice for me? :((((

awe babes i'm so sorry! don't feel bad either its only been 24hrs! that is totally normal why you would still be thinking about it constantly.

But I think there's a few key things here to keep in mind.

1) Nothing is final until its final. You may feel like its coming but you haven't broken up yet. It's unfair (to him but mostly yourself cause its easy to drive yourself crazy with worry) to assume what he will or won't do. 2) If he does break up with you, if you think he would do it over TEXT of all things, than he's no good anyway. Lol thinking back of that old Youtube spoof but the rule is: you dont text msg breakup. Thats a piece of shit move and you deserve way better than someone who would be that cold!

3) Have you heard "lifetime, season or reason" in terms of relationships? Basically, no matter the length of time a person (any relationship not just romantic) is in your life. Every relationship you have will have purpose in your life and a lesson or lessons you can grow from. Not to be morbid but nothing lasts forever, I'm not speaking only of breakups either as even two people committed to each other for their entire lives will eventually have to say goodbye when either passes away. That's why it's not the end of a relationship that's important but what you can take away from the relationship, how you will continue to grow and evolve as a person that matters. Even a toxic abusive relationship can teach you the value of your worth and make you a stronger person on the other side (that isnt to say you should stay in one obviously but that there can be benefits and lessons to everything). So if your relationship with him does end look at it in terms of "these were the qualities/moments i liked and these are want i didn't and from that how does this change what I am looking for in my next relationship."

4) You are still you! You were you before you met him, while you were with him and you will be you after, if you break up. You do give pieces of yourself to partners in relationships but you have the power and agency to take that back. It isn't there's to keep, loving someone is a privilege and if someone violates trust or cannot treat you with the love and respect you deserve then it is your right to take it back. Of course it will hurt, and it won't be easy but honestly its better to break it off as you the person you are with should be tripping over themselves with enthusiasm to be with you.

5) If you do breakup, the best thing is to go cold turkey. I am not sure about if you share friend groups or how awkward it would be to block or remove him from social media/text/call, but if you can do that do that. It doesnt sound like you will be able to remain friends without it being hurtful to you and if he breaks up with you, he doesnt deserve to downgrade you so he can have all the emotional support of a romantic relationship without the responsibility or commitment cause essentially thats what the dynamic will be. You will never be able to be normal friends when a one sided breakup happens.

[blackjackkent]

OK, headed back to camp for a long rest, and THIS was waiting for me as I did a quick rounds to talk to everyone before bed:

Gale, if you scarpered and left me a fucking voicemail I'm going to be very upset.

"Good evening! I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep. He wishes to extend you an invitation for a private conversation at a more suitable locale."

LOLOL.

First of all, yes, that's exactly what he did, and second of all, I forgot I had him in that hat. I guess "Hide Helmets" does not extend to Gale's mirror image, just to Gale himself.

Also wtf are you up to, Gale? :P Are we going to channel the Weave again together? You should know I'm pretty spoken for at this point.

"Very well," Hector says, bemused. "Show me the way."

"Gladly," says the mirror image. "Simply follow yonder path, and soon you will find him."

There is, in fact, a wall in the direction the image then pointed, but the game immediately popped up a long rest dialogue so presumably we just have to sleep now to trigger the rest of the scene.

I took a quick pause to throw a bottle of water on myself to remove all the bloodstains and also to kiss Karlach because reasons.

-----

Gale has, it seems, found a hidden exit out of the tower; he's sitting outside in the moonlight, wreathed in a shimmering, iridescent wave of magic.

For a little while Hector simply stands on the edge of the clearing and watches him. By all rights, they should not be comfortable anywhere outside in this dark, cursed place, but Gale's magic is bright, driving back the darkness, resonating with a strange, almost musical chiming as it swirls. Gale's expression is distant, as if seeing past the lights into some other world altogether; his fingers move in quick, purposeful motions through the air, a conductor with his orchestra.

He looks up and smiles quietly as Hector approaches; he doesn't speak, but scoots a little to the side to indicate Hector should sit next to him.

"I love this time of night," he says softly, when Hector has made himself comfortable. "There's an almost reverent silence that accompanies the peak of darkness, when you'd almost believe the dawn will never break. The cradle of eternity..."

He hesitates, looks sideways at Hector and smiles sadly. "The timelessness of lovers. That most beautiful of fantasies."

Hector meets his gaze steadily, resisting the urge to flinch away from the intensity in the other man's eyes. There was a time, perhaps, when he might have considered reciprocating Gale's interest in him. It's well-meant - and gods know that Gale could use someone kinder than Mystra to care for him. That ship has sailed, though; Hector is Karlach's, unequivocally.

But Gale is his friend, and it doesn't take a genius to see that the wizard is extraordinarily preoccupied tonight. "You seem especially philosophical this evening," he says gently. "Are you all right?"

Gale looks away, the faint smile leaving his lips. "I will be, soon," he mutters. "I am perhaps just one hard day away from being without any troubles at all."

Ah. Of course. He thinks that tomorrow, or at the very least someday very soon, will be their final confrontation, for better or for worse, and he will have to set off the bomb in his chest. And perhaps he's right. They have seen no sign of the "Heart of the Absolute" yet, but there is certainly no question they're in the heart of the Absolute's territory. The heart of the cult's influence.

"This may be my last night alive," Gale goes on. "I wanted it to be under a canopy of beauty and wonder... I thought this place might bring me peace. I thought it might make the weight of what I must do feel a little lighter. But...I am not so sure..."

Hector frowns, watching him. There is certain noble self-control in Gale's manner that he admires tremendously, as one who has been a student of self-discipline for his entire life...and yet...everything about this still feels wrong to him.

"Is this truly what you want?" he asks quietly. "To die for the promise of Mystra's forgiveness?"

Gale's expression hardens and he sits up with a sudden surge of energy. "Babe or crone, coward or hero, death is assured. Mystra's forgiveness...is not. If you knew the end was near, would you not want to ensure it had meaning?"

He rounds on Hector abruptly, meeting his eyes, demanding an answer of him. But Hector is not sure he has one to give. Yes...yes, he would want his death to have had meaning, were there no other choice but to die. But he does not accept that premise - there must be another way.

When he doesn't respond, Gale slumps, looks away again. "I am terrified," he admits softly. "I will not claim otherwise. My face could scarcely conceal it even if my words sought to deny it." He draws a slow breath and lets it out heavily. "There is no point in running from the inevitable. Better to meet it on my own terms."

Hector shakes his head, troubled by the implications of what Gale is saying. "Nothing is inevitable," he says firmly. "Not when we face it together. You don't have to die."

Gale flinches away from him. "Yes," he mutters. "But there is so much to live for, and so few moments in which to house it all..."

"Damn you!" he snaps suddenly, slamming a fist into the soil next to him and making Hector jump. "Damn you for giving me so much to care about. Our friends, our adventures-- this would have been so much easier if it was just me. But it isn't."

He swallows, and for a moment the real, true grief that he has been trying to ignore becomes fully clear on his face. "If there is a way, any way, to save all that's grown dear to me, I want to seize it... I just cannot fathom what that might be, other than to fail Mystra and condemn the world..."

A long silence. Hector struggles to find something useful, something reasonable to say. I will not let you die, not if there is anything I can do to stop it... he thinks. But I have no more answers than you do. I wish I did...

Gale smiles ruefully when he receives no response; he knows just as well as Hector does that there isn't really one to give. "Stay with me, will you?" he asks softly. "I don't want to think of it any more, but I don't want to be alone either."

Stay with him and watch the stars in silence.

[sisterssafespace]

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته

Sisters I’m in a big predicament. I was approached for the purpose of marriage nearly a year ago and alhamdullilah this brother is EVERYTHING I would want in a future spouse. Everything was halal, spoke to my elder brother/s, we had my brother join us in all our meeting, never spoke unnecessarily and strictly kept things halal. To keep things short, my parents do not approve of him due to tribes (I’m Somali btw). They are strictly saying N.O. - not only to tribe, but they want me to complete Uni first and be established and independent.

I’ve tried speaking with them and it has not been working. I cut things off for now with the brother to lessen the stress as it started to worry me that there is no point continuing to talk if marriage is not promised. We were both hesitant, but ceased speaking. Although we kept thing’s extremely professional and distant, I’m shattered, because I know of what a great person he is and would be as a husband and father. Any advices?

و عليكم السلام و رحمة اللّٰه و بركاته حبيبتي،

First of all, I am deeply sorry for the situation you are in, even though you made sure things with this brother are kept professional and distant as you said, it does hurt, especially for us girls because we do get attached too quickly whether we like it or not and we start daydreaming and planning, etc. Having your dreams being crushed does and will hurt, it is bound to cause you a heartbreak even if you are trying to be not very emotional about it. It is definitely not easy for a sister to find the guy she thinks is " EVERYTHING " and then would have to let him go.. I am really sorry sweetheart..

لا حول و لا قوة الا بالله 💔🥺

Now, on a practical level, I do salute you for cutting ties with him right after your parents disagreed, that is very brave of you!! But you should remember that whomever left something for the sake of Allah swt, Allah swt will reward them and will please them in a way that exceed their expectations and all their dreams.

There are two theories here:

1) this guy, despite him being everything - Allahuma barik - he is not the one for you, he may be - and I am saying maybe - a good guy but he is not good for you, and in that case then Allah swt is removing him from your life because He swt knows that there is no khayr in this relationship for you. And in that case your parents' refusal is just a means to realize Allah's decree.

2) this guy is good for you, he is meant for you, this situation is just a bump in the road. Also, let me just clarify that your parents, with all due respect, have no business refusing the guy because he is from a different tribe. If Allah swt has said in Surah Hujurat (49:13)

يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلنَّاسُ إِنَّا خَلَقۡنَٰكُم مِّن ذَكَرٖ وَأُنثَىٰ وَجَعَلۡنَٰكُمۡ شُعُوبٗا وَقَبَآئِلَ لِتَعَارَفُوٓاْۚ إِنَّ أَكۡرَمَكُمۡ عِندَ ٱللَّهِ أَتۡقَىٰكُمۡۚ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ عَلِيمٌ خَبِيرٞ

O mankind, indeed We have created you from male and female and made you peoples and tribes that you may know one another. Indeed, the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous of you. Indeed, Allah is Knowing and Acquainted.

Then they're argument is invalid. Unfortunately, a lot of people are still carrying that mentality but that's purely cultural and it has nothing to do with the religion. You can find a lot of videos on YouTube where the Imams or the Shaykhs are urging parents to let go of that mindset and are actually defending the daughter or the son's desire to marry outside the tribe or outside the culture. You can send them or show them these videos, you can talk to someone influential in the family maybe a grandparent or an uncle and ask for their help to convince your parents.. I wonder what your brother can do about this as well, you mentioned he was with you when you'd meet the guy, and I got the feeling that he liked him or at least didn't object to him, so maybe as an older brother he could talk to your parents as well.. and in shaa Allah khayr. As for their argument for you to finish uni, we can't argue with that. I don't know though, I know it is not unusual in your culture to marry young and keep studying and finish one's degree while being married. It is not unheard of. I also don't know how young you are and how many years left of studying you have, may Allah swt grant you success and put blessings in your studies and make it a beneficial knowledge for you, ameen. But again, getting married while still in uni is not a simple decision, you need to consider a lot of factors, especially how financially stable the spouse is and to what extent he can support you.. some couples get married and still live at the parents' house, others get married and don't even live together because they'd be a way studying in a different city or something.. it really depends on their specific situation, on their priorities and on their boundaries, like what couple A is comfortable with might not be suitable for couple B, so like this one particular argument, you are the vetter judge for it. Does that make sense?

But how do we know which theory is the right one? How do we know whether he is not right for you or not .. well, " But it may be that you hate something while it is good for you, and it may be that you love something while it is bad for you. Allah knows, and you do not know."

So what you need right now and I know you asked for advice and I feel like all you can do right now, all that is in your hands and under your control right now is to pray on it: istikharah istikharah istikharah all the way.. istikharah and let go tbh. Pray on it, ask Allah swt to enlighten your parents' basirah, soften their heart and guide them, but also let go and focus on your studies. Time will tell. In shaa Allah with time, you will see and understand the answer to your prayers. If this brother is the right guy for you, if there is khayr in being with him, if he is your rizq and he is your maktoub then he will not go anywhere. Allah swt will make a way to reuinte you in his blessings. But if he is not your rizq then he was never yours to begin with habibty, and your rizq is hidden somewhere else. All you have to do is have tawakkul and rely on Allah swt, have good faith in Allah swt, and believe that He is the best of planners. Alhamdullillah, what is meant for us will never miss us.

I hope my reply is satisfying for you my dear.

I pray Allah swt grant you patience to walk through this trial, and I pray He grant you all the khayr of this duniya and hereafter. May Allah swt bless you with the good pious humble gentle brother who really deserves your heart and knows how to take care of you, and the same for all muslim girls who are looking to get married, ameen.

Lots of love, fi aman Allah,

- A. Z. 🤍🍃

[adorerdraco]

Malfoy’s Gone Soft! ✧ Draco x Reader

Summary: Draco, your boyfriend, is mean to everyone until you call him out for it.

Warnings: mentions of bullying :( and a couple profanities :0

Words: 2K 

A/N: omg i wrote this on a whim while listening to the euphoria score soundtrack in like an hour idk if its all that but i have no idea what i’m going to do next for Healing Heart so for now i’m just going to write other things for Draco until i get inspired ! & feel free to send me requests ! also thank you for 100 followers you guys are amazingggg !!!!!!!!!!! *insert pouty emojy*

The sound of arrogant and boisterous laughter filled the courtyard, the Slytherin Prince and his minions were tossing around a book bag that a helpless 2nd year Hufflepuff was chasing around every time it was thrown to another boy. One of the boys yelled a foul, “mudblood!” that made the boy tear up as he reached and jumped up for his bag that was in the air every few seconds. It was nothing new to the school, Draco and his band of bullies would bother anyone who they found as an easy target just for the fun of it.

Unfortunately for Draco, you had been passing by through one of the corridors with a group of friends when you had seen the fiasco. As much as you adored your boyfriend, you couldn’t deny the sometimes nasty persona that he had and how much it bothered you. He would always swear up and down that he would stop his antics, but you often encountered him or heard from other people of him being in the same situations that he had promised would stop. 

You marched your way over to the group, a fire in your step and your eyes fixated on Draco who was laughing like a fool. You watched as Goyle rushed to elbow Draco’s side, earning him a look until he had pointed in your direction. All joy in the blond’s face quickly drained once he saw your vexed expression heading towards him.

The book bag had dropped from his hands onto the stoned courtyard ground, the young Hufflepuff hastily grabbed it and ran off in tears back into the castle. You stomped up to Draco, noticing how he had visibly swallowed in fear at what your reaction would be.

“What happened to, ‘I swear I’ll stop being a git to everyone!’” You asked him incredulously, mocking his voice as you quoted him. 

“Malfoy said that?” Blaise chuckled as if it were a joke. Both you and Draco turned to give him a frenzied look.

“Y/N, I...” Draco trailed off, looking around at his friends who were awaiting his response with smug smiles on their faces. Then he looked towards you, a hope glittering in your eyes that he would reassure you and be the sensitive boy you knew behind closed doors and away from his every day reputation. “I...”

“So you have nothing to say for yourself?” you deadpan, a scowl making its way onto your face when you realized he wasn’t going to apologize.

“Why do you care what I do to a stupid little Hufflepuff?” He snickers. Whatever hope you had left went up in flames, he had chosen his reputation.

“Because it’s mean,” you sneered. “Why would I want to be with an arse like that?”

With that, you turned on your heel, walking out of the courtyard and back to your friends where you walked to your next class without turning back to look at the group of shocked boys.

“I think you just got dumped, mate.”

“Merlin’s sake, do you ever shut up Zabini?” Draco fumed, his heart breaking at the question and his mind running a million miles per minute. He began walking towards the entrance of the castle to head into the common room, bumping shoulders aggressively with Blaise as he did.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You weren’t sure whether or not you and the Slytherin Prince were broken up. Of course, it was the last thing you wanted but you were sick of the endless excuses and empty promises. You knew of the package deal Draco Malfoy came with when you started dating him, but there was a point when it all became too much. You were hoping in a last ditch effort, that if he genuinely really cared for you and respected your wishes, this would be the final push he needed to change.

It’s not like you were asking him to completely stop being himself. You were only asking for him to stop with the unprovoked teasing and pushing around of innocent bystanders. His friends especially, were a big reason why he continued to do it as he loved being the leader of the group and all that came with his positions as; the funniest, the most attractive and charming, the smartest, the wealthiest, the strongest. It was all just a game to him but he never saw the aftermath of his tormenting and how it could really affect someone or their day. You were like a broken record, repeating to him over and over again the same wish you had for him but he never absorbed it.

So now here you were, furiously writing your Potions essay in the library as your mind ran with thoughts of the aggravating platinum blond and nothing having to do with Calming Draught. 

“Write any harder and you’ll break your quill,” a certain timid voice said from in front of your table. You didn’t look up, already knowing it was Draco. You didn’t want to give in so easily to his intoxicating nature because the second his scared gray eyes were to meet yours, you’d melt. “Y/N, I’m sorry. For what happened in the courtyard.”

You sighed, setting down your quill and shaking your head, eyes still trained on your parchment. “It’s not just what happened in the courtyard, Draco. It’s that you do this to someone new every single day.”

“I’ve been this way all my life, I can’t just change who I am,” he argues. You finally look at him, the both of you silently seething at each other.

“That’s not an excuse!”

“Shh! Quiet down, the two of you or you will be asked to leave,” Madam Pince exclaims angrily from her desk. You turned back to Draco, hard eyes trained on him as he glared back at you with the same irritated look.

“I would just like to know why my girlfriend feels the need to suck the life out of all my fun,” he says lowly to you. Your face goes scarlet as you try to contain your wrath from being let out on the whole library, and on Draco who wouldn’t even know where to begin to handle it. But as angry as you were, it was quickly replaced with anguish and pooling tears as you thought of the main reason why you had wanted him to be nicer.

“Because your ex-girlfriend knows how it feels like to get bullied and targeted every day for no reason,” you spit sorrowfully. “I know what it’s like to live on the opposite end of what you think is fun and I promise you it’s nothing near that.”

You hurriedly grabbed all your things and rushed out of the library with tears streaming down your face as Draco only stood there feeling like the biggest most insensitive idiot and asshole in the world. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It had been a week since the incident at the library and the both of you couldn’t be any more miserable. It had gotten to the point where Draco felt ashamed and gross if he was even accidentally rude to someone, let alone on purpose. The blond boy watched you intently from his Slytherin table in the Great Hall, his friends and their conversation sounding like a distant incoherent buzzing as he focused onto your sad and defeated face and figure from afar. 

He had tried everything he could think of to get your attention, to get you to hear his apologies, but you wouldn’t give him the time of day; you refused to. You were beyond hurt. Not only because of Draco, but also because of the painful memories that had resurfaced that you spent so long trying to get over. It was all just a mess and Draco regretted everything he had said to you and everything he didn’t do for you.

“Just give it a rest, Draco,” Pansy sighs exasperated at the boy’s longing stares. “She broke up with you, stop pouting about it and move on.”

“Shut up, Pansy,” Draco sneers. “Mind your business why don’t you.”

“I’m just saying, if I was her, I would never do or say anything to ruin our relationship,” she shrugs, peering up at the frowning Slytherin through her eyelashes.

“You’re not her though, are you?” Draco snarks, his eyes squinting at her as he shoots the mean remark her way. All the surrounding boys give an “oooh” at the interaction, cackling as they watch Pansy go red in the face before abruptly standing up and leaving the table in a rush. 

Draco did the same and removed himself from the table to dart out of the Great Hall and towards an empty corridor near the courtyard where he liked to hide on an large windowsill. He had enough of his despair and enough of sitting around and doing nothing to win you back, so he got to work on something that would be his last and this time big gesture, to get you to listen.

A few hours had gone by, it was sunny and there was a nice breeze that was perfect for Draco’s plan on winning you back. He especially knew that when the weather was like this, you enjoyed sitting on a bench in the courtyard, the sun caressing your face with warmth as you read a book. 

He walked out of the corridor and towards the courtyard, and just like he knew, he spotted you sitting at your favorite bench angled towards the sun and deeply entranced in whatever book was in your lap. He took a deep breath before nearing you, stopping a few feet away to where you didn’t notice his presence just yet. His hand reached into the pocket of his robes, picking out the small and large variety of origami birds notes he had written and charmed to fly over to you and around you in a pretty and gentle circle. A bouquet of red and y/h colored flowers had appeared in his hands behind his back, all he was waiting for was for you to accept him.

You looked up from your book, eyeing all the paper birds that were fluttering around you and across the way was a frantic looking Draco with his hands hiding something behind his back. You let out a deep exhale, reaching out to grab one of the birds and unfolding the note to read his perfect cursive.

I’m sorry.

Then you grabbed another.

Please forgive me.

Then another.

You are everything to me.

And another.

I promise to change my habits.

And then the final one, the biggest bird of the bunch.

I should have listened to you from the beginning and I’m sorry I haven’t been more sympathetic. I’m also sorry that you had to go through that in your past. You are so beautiful and strong and deserve everything good in this world.

You placed your book to the side and stood up, opening your arms in a hug for Draco before he bolted towards you and enveloped you into his arms with a sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he apologizes again into your hair as he nuzzled into you. He pulled back, handing you the large bouquet of flowers that made you blush as red as the roses that were mixed into the assortment. “I can’t promise you I’ll be perfect, but I swear on everything I love, I’ll try.”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Dray,” you chortle. “All I’m asking is for you not to be such a terrorizing little git.”

“Done,” he grins, throwing himself into your arms again as you giggled and ran your hands through his hair.

The two of you plop onto the bench below you, Draco peppering kisses all over your face in glee and gratefulness that you gave him another chance to prove himself. He didn’t even dare remove himself from you when he saw his friends strolling by, snickering and pointing to the nearly snogging couple.

“Malfoy’s gone soft!” Blaise yells across the yard, the rest of the boys laughing in response as usual like the mindless bozo’s that they were. Draco rolled his eyes, throwing them the middle finger before nuzzling himself back into your embrace.

[myrulia]

Hello could I request a #20? If it isn't taken? I do not have any specifics but please take your time!

.｡.:*✧Prompt 20: "It's hard for me to communicate the thoughts I hold."

.｡.:*✧Warnings: Small smut themes, slight angst to fluff, pleasure-dom

`` You have been quieter than usual today, is there something wrong? ``

You asked your demon of a lover who sat beside you with his head hanging low and sitting in front of you. He had just returned from another mission bestowed upon him by Lord Kibutsuji, yet he claimed to have so many that it felt as though he was avoiding you.

`` There is nothing wrong..- ``

`` Then why does it feel like you have been avoiding me, Kokushibou? ``

You raised your tone ever so slightly to grab his attention, although your worry was made apparent. Grabbing his face gently, you turn it in your direction to get a better look at his face, only to see a rather saddened expression.

`` Did I do something? Is that why I rarely see you? ``

`` It is not like that, I promise you my love. Just listen to me. ``

Kokushibou's tone had risen as well to match yours, grabbing your wrist and pulling your smaller hand away from his face. He withdrew his gaze from your irises, looking down with what seemed to be shame as his body seemed to hunch over. Before you knew it, his head was resting against your shoulder to rest.

`` It is hard for me to communicate the thoughts I hold. I have so many but it feels overwhelming to say. ``

You were stunned in that moment with nothing to say at all. Your voice was frozen in your throat yet your hand hesitantly inched towards the demon's hair, stroking it ever so slightly, gently and lovingly. It was the same action you would do during the nights you would spend with Kokushibou when you were alone without a care in the world.

Things changed between the two of you to say the least over the time that your relationship had become distant. With you both being demons you knew it was going to be hard, especially when being under the direct order of Lord Kibutsuji himself, but things had taken a turn for the worst.

Your lover, who was also known as the Upper Moon One, had become terribly distant with you, and would go as far as requesting missions from Muzan. Of course you knew of the loyalty that Kokushibou had towards him, but knowing of how you felt and still continuing to do so pained you so dearly. 

`` What must you say to me? Even though you have spent so much time away from me on purpose? `` 

`` [Y/N], you and I both know I am not the best with words, so please allow me to show you. ``

Gently pulling at his ponytail, you bring Kokushibou from your shoulder to look at him eye to eye, your eyes being bloodshot and threatening to have a few tears fall. The male before you simply nodded before pulling you further into his embrace, wrapping his much larger arms around your small frame. Once again you were frozen in place until your arms reluctantly wrapped around his neck in return. 

In the end you did allow a few tears to escape your bottom eyelid and slide down your cheeks. In reaction to this, Kokushibou benevolently laid you down onto the soft bed, leering into your eyes that held so many emotions. On one end you were hurt, but the other yearned to feel his touch again after not seeing him for long periods of time. You missed him and there was no doubting that.

`` What are you go-going to do? ``

`` If you allow me, I will show you my love through actions. ``

You nodded, conflicted with what your demon of a lover was planning to do until you felt a kiss being placed onto your lips, which trailed to your neck, to your collarbone, and lastly the top of the valley of your breasts. He glanced up at you for confirmation to keep going, and seeing the miniscule smile you held as well as a nod encouraged him to keep going.

Kokushibou's hands slid from your forearms to your hands, interlocking your fingers with his gradually. You squirmed beneath him at the contact of his wet lips on the soft skin of your breast, feeling shivers emit from your spine and goosebumps arise the further he went down until your accursed kimono that slipped from your shoulders blocked him.

`` Do you mind if I remove this? ``

You simply nodded due to your voice threatening to not come out, being truly at a loss for words at the soft demeanor the male before you had. His fingertips skimmed against your plush skin as he pulled the fabrics off of your body, leaving you in your undergarments alone. 

His kisses returned, starting at the top of your abdomen and trail down until he stopped just above your puffy clit. You felt your body surrender to each soft yet wet kiss that was placed all over your now marked skin. Kokushibou tugged at the string of your panties until they completely slid off your legs with ease, leaving you nearly bare below him and at his disposal.

`` I wish I could have done this sooner. Your body is such a gift that it should be appreciated like this every second of the day. ``

Your hips bucked at the feeling of a peck being placed onto the bundle of nerves that had a fiery feeling that left a thrill to your senses and you whimpering. Feeling this type of love through actions you deemed small was a new type of sensation that engulfed you entirely. Tears pricked your eyes again as the realization hit you that the demon who you loved so dearly and treated you like fragile glass also reciprocates those feelings of love for you as well.

`` I love you, `` is what you muttered under your breath as a singular tear rolled down your cheek. This caught the attention of Kokushibou, for he raised his head and softened his gaze even more. 

`` And I love you all the same, my dearest [Y/N]. ``

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

[glimmerglanger]

*whispers* if youre taking spicy prompts, may i suggest impotent!obi-wan + prostate stimulation for obikin please? Only if youre okay with it!!! I cannot thank you enough for all the chocolate cakes and sincerely wish you to be happy. thank you again and again and again!!!

soooooooooo i originally planned for this be for Sunday, but it’s really more ~feelings~ and dealing with a rough spot than just spicy. (Though, it is not safe for wizards, to be clear). It’s just not predominantly spicy. SO. I’m, uh... posting it now, instead? It also got longer than I expected.

Obikin, established relationship. Not safe for wizards. Implications of past torture. Set sometime during the Clone Wars. Starts tense, ends well.

~~~~~~~~~~

They’d been together - whatever that meant, for them, at any given time - for an embarrassing stretch of time before Anakin noticed that he’d never properly touched Obi-Wan. In his defense, they’d spent the majority of that time deployed on one planet or another, not always together, even.

It was a weak defense, as such things went. He should have noticed sooner. It was just that….Obi-Wan always had an excuse, a reason to bolt away as soon as Anakin’s hands wandered southward, or if Anakin tried to tug at his waistband, or if he pressed too close, or--

The realization that he - actually - had no idea if Obi-Wan even wanted him hit while Obi-Wan was climbing off his knees. Obi-Wan’s mouth was red, wet. His cheeks were flushed. A moment ago, Anakin’s hands had been in his hair and Anakin’s cock had been--

“Feel better?” Obi-Wan asked, flashing him a grin and licking across his bottom lip. He looked flushed, hot and bothered. But when Anakin reached for him, he slid to the side, continuing, “I’m overdue for a meeting, we should catch up, later, though, before you return to the Resolute.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin managed to say, around the sudden clamoring realization in his head. But he was talking to nothing. Obi-Wan was already gone.

#

Confusion hit first, as Anakni tucked himself back into his pants. He went back over his memories, sure he’d--what, forgotten bringing Obi-Wan off? That was kriffing ridiculous, and he knew it. But…

But it seemed equally as ridiculous to realize that he’d never even gotten a hand inside Obi-Wan’s trousers. They’d just been so busy. And Obi-Wan had always had a reason, had always seen to Anakin and then…. Slipped away.

The confusion, really, didn’t last very long. It was crowded out all too effectively by anger. 

#

Anakin had been stewing for hours by the time Obi-Wan got back to his quarters. Anakin hadn’t left; knew he should have left, but…

He was sitting on the edge of Obi-Wan’s bed - a bed where Obi-Wan had touched him, stroking him until he came, only a few days ago - when the door opened. He felt a wash of fondness and warmth from Obi-Wan through the Force, and gritted his teeth together.

“There you are,” Obi-Wan said, tone warm, crossing the room, bending, and Anakin turned his face away. He felt Obi-Wan hesitate, felt the way Obi-Wan’s hand tensed on his shoulder. Heard puzzlement in Obi-Wan’s voice when he asked, wry, “Not in the mood, darling?”

The anger that had been kindling in Anakin’s chest flared brighter. He looked over, scowling, and snapped, “I don’t need your kriffing pity, you know?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, hand still resting on Anakin’s shoulder. “I’ve no idea--”

He cut off when Anakin stood, and took a step back. Anakin followed him, itching with frustration and with - with humiliation, too. “What?” he asked, fighting the tightness in his throat, “you thought I just wouldn’t notice that you’ve been - what, exactly? Helping me out of - of duty?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Obi-Wan said, and then, louder, “Anakin!” when Anakin backed him into the wall. 

“I don’t need charity,” Anakin snarled, his spine a line of crackling lightning. “Despite what you might think, I don’t need your kriffing pity to get off. I’d rather use my own hand than have you -- put yourself out.”

Obi-Wan flinched at the words, color washing out of his face. He made to shift to the side and Anakin braced his hand on the wall. Obi-Wan looked across at him, mouth pressed tight, and said, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but nothing I’ve done with you has been motivated by pity. Or charity. You must know that I--”

“What?” Anakin snapped, nerves strung too tight under his skin. “That you enjoy it?”

Obi-Wan scowled across at him, chin going up. “Of course, I--”

“Oh?” Anakin leaned closer, watched Obi-Wan’s eyes get wider. He put his other hand on Obi-Wan’s side, and rasped, dragging his fingers over cloth, “Then why don’t you show me how much you--”

Obi-Wan caught his wrist, squeezing hard, eyes getting strange and distant, expression….washing flat. All blank lines. He said, “Anakin, don’t.”

Anakin jerked his face to the side, barking a laugh. “Right,” he said, sharp, “that’s what I thought. I don’t even make you hard, do I? I think we’re done, then, if that’s--”

“I can’t.” Obi-Wan bit out, as Anakin pushed away from the wall, leaving him standing there, looking increasingly small. Anakin blinked, the sweep of his anger and embarrassment coming up short, blockaded.

He asked, “What?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched, not into a smile. He was still staring forward, not at anything in particular. “I can’t ‘get hard,’” he repeated, gesturing out to the side with one hand, stepping away from the wall and tugging his robes to order. “Not since -- Rattatak. Ventress, she-- I - I can’t--” He cut off, shaking his head, sharply.

“I’m sorry to have upset you,” he said, before Anakin could recover from the curdling horror that had overtaken his anger too rapidly to be stopped. “I hope that your return to the Resolute is pleasant.” And then he was gone, just like that, out the door, before Anakin could lurch after him.

#

Anakin missed his transport to the Resolute. He sent Rex and Ahsoka a message, letting them know something required his attention on the Negotiator. He promised he’d meet up with them once they all reached their destination.

And then he grabbed Obi-Wan’s padd and did some research, anger and mortification still moving through him, but...but at least they had a purpose. He already had more than enough reasons to want Ventress dead. Adding one more to the pile didn’t make much of a difference in the long-run.

The shame of accusing Obi-Wan of - of being terrible to him, set heavier in his gut. Anakin pushed it aside. He could make it right. He could fix it. He was good at fixing things, always had been, even if people weren’t as easy as machines and droids.

He had a plan by the time Obi-Wan’s doors slid open again.

Obi-Wan hesitated in the doorway - he must not have been paying attention, not to pick up Anakin’s presence in the room before - and said, after a moment, “Something you needed, Anakin?”

Anakin stood, grimacing a little. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “A few things, actually.”

Obi-Wan nodded, still looking over to one side. He said, exhaustion in his voice, “Could they perhaps wait until--”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin blurted, into the space between them. Sometimes it felt like he was always apologizing to Obi-Wan, or to the Council, or to… Well. So many different people. Obi-Wan blinked, looking towards him for the first time. “I shouldn’t have...said those things I said, earlier, I just didn’t - you never told me, Obi-Wan. I didn’t know.”

Obi-Wan stared across at him. He said, “I told you I cared for you. I told you I wanted you.”

Anakin grimaced, flexing his hands in and out. “I know. I - I meant about Ventress. You never--”

He knew it was a mistake, even before he said it. Obi-Wan tensed across his shoulders, taking a half-step back towards the door, and Anakin blew out a breath. “But that’s alright,” he said, as reassuring as he could be, “I still shouldn’t have - I’m still sorry, Obi-Wan.”

He took a step closer, and Obi-Wan didn’t bolt, which was a good sign, he thought. Obi-Wan sighed, instead, and said, “I’m not angry at you, Anakin.”

“I know that.” Obi-Wan so rarely got angry with him. He sighed and risked touching Obi-Wan’s arm, relieved when Obi-Wan leaned into the touch. He dared pull Obi-Wan closer, into an embrace, chest aching when Obi-Wan leaned his forehead down, resting on Anakin’s shoulder. “I really am - so sorry. I just - I want you so much, and I thought - I thought you didn’t want me at all, and…” And he’d said idiotic, stupid things. He swallowed. “Let me make it up to you.”

Obi-Wan sighed, resting there against his chest, “There’s nothing to make up, I’m not--”

“There is,” Anakin said, shifting, breathing against his hair. “And I - I have a plan. Just. Come here. Please.”

Obi-Wan didn’t protest being led across to the bed, but he did wrinkle his nose. He said, “Anakin, I’m not exaggerating. I really can’t--”

“You don’t need to,” Anakin told him, ducking to kiss him. Force, he was an idiot. Obi-Wan kissed him so sweet and hungry, every time. He should have known--

Anakin shook that thought aside, sinking down onto the bunk and drawing Obi-Wan down across his lap. He felt a little tinge of embarrassment at how quickly he got hard; he knew Obi-Wan had to be able to feel it, but… Obi-Wan made no comment about it and did not seem bothered as Anakin drew him into another kiss.

“Are you apologizing by kissing me?” Obi-Wan asked, eventually, when Anakin’s mouth felt tender and his jaw ached. He sounded amused, more than anything. Relaxed. Anakin shrugged, a little. 

“Not really,” he said, and took the opportunity to start tugging at Obi-Wan’s belt. 

Obi-Wan made a little sighing sound, but helped, at least, with the removal of his robes. He said, “I know you like to solve problems, Anakin, but I--”

“I’m not trying to solve anything,” Anakin told him, kissing his soft, lovely mouth. “I just want to be close to you.” 

Obi-Wan shot him a look that said he didn’t believe a word of it, but didn’t protest further. He shivered at the kisses Anakin scattered across his neck and shoulder, anyway, and made sweet, delightful sounds as Anakin trailed touches across his skin. He hesitated, a little, when Anakin reached for his pants, and Anakin rasped, “It’s alright, let me.”

There were scars, all over Obi-Wan’s body. Some of them stretched across his stomach or ranged over his thighs. He’d never given them much thought. He traced them, absently, falling back into kissing Obi-Wan, stretching a hand out to retrieve the lubricant he’d set aside earlier. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan rasped, eventually, stained red all over his shoulders, voice quaking, “listen to me, I can’t--”

“I’m not trying to make you,” Anakin promised, kissing him again. “I have - I want to touch you. To make you feel good, but I’m not expecting -- just, just relax, alright? Let me take care of you. Just for a while.”

Obi-Wan wavered, tense in his arms, and then nodded. Anakin felt him relax, felt him choose to trust, and it made Anakin’s chest ache. Obi-Wan made a puzzled sound when Anakin tugged at him, turning him so his back rested against Anakin’s chest, while Anakin leaned against the wall. 

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish,” Obi-Wan rasped, as Anakin trailed kisses down his neck, sliding hands down his chest. He was painfully hard in his pants, but - but Obi-Wan had taken care of him so sweetly, earlier. He could deal with his erection, trapped in fabric, pressed to Obi-Wan’s back.

“I’m trying to make you feel as good as you make me feel,” Anakin murmured, making a protesting sound when he felt Obi-Wan open his mouth. “I know you can’t get hard, Obi-Wan. Relax.”

Obi-Wan cut off in a groan when Anakin nipped at his shoulder. Anakin smiled against his skin and slid a hand down his skin. Obi-Wan squirmed when Anakin tugged at his thigh, spreading his legs. Anakin drew his own leg up, hooking Obi-Wan’s over the top, and Obi-Wan gasped, “Oh, Anakin, I--”

“Sh,” Anakin murmured, nuzzling against his neck. “I’ve got you.” He curled his arm around Obi-Wan’s waist and held him, using the Force to slick his other fingers with the lube. “You just tell me how it feels, alright?” he said, sliding his hand down, back--

Obi-Wan jolted, a little, at the brush of touch against his skin. His head tilted back, heavy on Anakin’s shoulder as Anakin touched him, dipped a finger tip inside him. There’d been...instructions, for what Anakin wanted to do, dry and fairly boring.

Anakin was pretty sure he’d gotten the gist of them, anyway. He trailed kisses across Obi-Wan’s skin, sliding his finger out and in again, Obi-Wan squirming against him as he asked, “Good so far?”

“Strange so far,” Obi-Wan panted out, a wry note in his tone. “I’m not sure--”

“I am,” Anakin said, sliding his finger in a little further, looking--

Obi-Wan jolted against him, suddenly, stomach tensing beneath Anakin’s arm. He let out a little sound, wordless. Surprised. Anakin smiled against his skin, the beginnings of satisfaction warming his gut, making him harder.

He rubbed the pad of his finger in a circle, buried there, inside Obi-Wan’s body. And, oh, he liked the idea of being inside Obi-Wan. He’d entertained it before, a burning desire to get as close as possible and then closer, to--

He cut off those thoughts. That was...not part of the plan at the moment. Perhaps later. He circled his finger, instead, listening to Obi-Wan make surprised, ragged sounds into the air. There’d been all kinds of suggestions, about drawing this out, making it last, making a person beg--

Anakin didn’t want Obi-Wan to have to beg. Not for this. But he did adjust his grip, did dare a second finger, sliding two inside and feeling Obi-Wan’s spine arch, feeling the sound he made. “How’s that?” Anakin asked, rasping, the pads of his fingers circling to apply direct pressure.

“Kriff,” Obi-Wan panted, and he was flushing, all down his chest, wriggling in Anakin’s hold, and it did not matter that he wasn’t hard, Anakin could feel the pleasure echoing off of him. “It’s -- it’s good, Anakin, what---?”

“It’ll get better,” Anakin promised, meaning it, plans all clambering together in his head as he withdrew his fingers. Obi-Wan made a sharp noise of protest. “Don’t worry,” he said, switched arms, sliding his right hand down, between Obi-Wan’s legs, “I’ve got you, I’m going to take care of you.”

Obi-Wan arched when Anakin sunk two fingers into him, leather sliding against skin. The muscles in his thighs and stomach tensed. And he cried out, ragged, when Anakin ran a little vibration through his fingers, the metal thrumming as he dragged his fingertips in a circle, pressing down harder, feeling--

“Oh, fuck,” Obi-Wan panted, grabbing at his arm, body clenching around Anakin’s fingers. “Anakin--”

“Mm,” Anakin nuzzled at his throat, tightening his hold, so desperately grateful that Obi-Wan had let him do this, let him apologize. “There you go,” he rasped, “just like that, come on.”

And he felt it, when Obi-Wan came, felt the way he flashed all over with sweet, hot pleasure in the Force, felt it in the clench of Obi-Wan’s body, in the way he went limp, breathing raggedly, and it didn’t matter, really, that his cock had never stirred. 

“Force,” Obi-Wan slurred, sounding dazed, and Anakin hummed, sucked a kiss into his throat, and twisted his fingers, just a little.

[dc41896]

There You Are

Something I thought of inspired by the song “There You Are” by Zayn. Hope you guys like it☺️!

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: Bit of angst, drunk reader, fluff mixed in

Need you when I'm broken, when I'm fixed

Need you when I'm well, when I'm sick

Friends that I rely on don't come through

They run like the river, but not you

The erratic knocking at his hotel room door makes Chris turn on the bedside lamp as he sits up annoyed and confused. Picking up his phone, the time read 2:17 am making him mentally groan as the knocking continued.

“Hold on!,” he called out as he slipped on his sweatpants draped over the lounge chair in the corner and pulled his hooded jacket over his arms before lazily zipping it up. Coming closer to the door, he slightly pauses now hearing humming mixed with faint giggles only making him more confused and eyebrows knit together.

Although warped due to the view from peephole, he could see you clad in your satin like, short, black dress leaning against the door swaying to the song coming from your smiling lips. You ran into each other earlier at a wrap party neither of you knew the other would be attending, and briefly talked before going your separate ways for the night agreeing to try to meet later to catch up on lost time.

So why you were here at his hotel room, he had no idea.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?,” he asked once opening the door to see you visibly drunk, heels in your hand, as you continued to sing to yourself and dance as if he wasn’t there.

“I jus keep em satisfied on the weekend,” you giggled leaning forward until your head was nearly at your knees. If it wasn’t for Chris reaching out to hold you up by your waist, your body would’ve eventually touched the floor as well. Head tilted, you dreamily take in those familiar features that always made you weak. His soft beard covering that sharp jawline, barely noticeable freckles speckled near his adorable nose. And the cherry on top, his bright blue eyes shielded by those infuriating long lashes that you, and probably every woman in the world, were envious of.

“Hi,” you whisper being met with his small smile.

“Let’s get you inside.”

His arm moves to wrap around your waist holding on a bit tighter noticing your unsteady footsteps. Really they shouldn’t even count as footsteps since you barely moved your feet, instead letting them slide along the carpet as he took a couple steps back.

“You feel sick?,” he asked closing the door behind him with his foot before padding across the cool floor with your chests firmly pressed against each other’s. Shaking your head no as he carefully sits you on the edge of the disheveled bed, you instantly fall back laughing with your arms stretched out bringing them up and down trying to make snow angels.

“Comfy.”

“Glad you feel at home,” he chuckles to himself removing your phone from your purse. Luckily he knew your passcode would be your birthday from being friends for so long. “I’m gonna call your boyfriend to pick you up okay?”

“We broke up,” you sigh, stopping your arms movements.

“Oh...I-I’m sorry.”

“Yep. Last year.”

“Wait you broke up last year?,” he repeats stepping closer to the bed leaving your phone on the dresser next to your purse. “But earlier you said-,”

“I lie.”

“So,” he starts as he sits next to you. “You’re out here on your own and came here all by yourself?”

He couldn’t help but think of everything that could’ve gone wrong during your journey making him want to hold you close being glad that you were, for the most part, okay.

“Mhmm,” you nod looking up at him with innocent, doe like brown eyes as if you saw nothing wrong with what you did. Fingers raking through his messy hair, he quietly sighs sympathetically peering down at you.

“It’s good you made it here safely, but promise me you won’t do that again.”

Whispers in the background, behind closed doors

I got myself in a mess and without you I'm in more

Oh, I'm a little drunk now, that's why I went to war

Oh, yeah, you are my sober when I'm on the floor

“...I’m a terrible person,” you slur, back still pressed against the mattress.

“No you’re not. That’s just the shots talking,” he replies returning beside you with a bottle of water from the minibar. “Here, so you’ll start to feel better.”

“But I am,” you insist holding onto his arm as you sit up. “I hurt people.”

He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips and the amused look that spread across his face. You were one of the nicest people he’d ever met, so to hear you, or anyone for that matter, call you terrible, or anything bad, only made him want to laugh since clearly it had to be a joke.

“Who did you hurt then?”

“You.”

There was an awkward silence as his eyes slowly shifted from you to the plastic bottle in his hands. He wouldn’t say you hurt him those few years ago, but he was definitely left with unanswered questions. Your friendship seemed to slowly be turning into something more as texts became more frequent and calls became longer, lasting into the early hours of the morning. You even started visiting his place more after being prompted with his many invites, and persuaded by pictures of the beautiful scenery that surrounded him.

“Ugh so jealous😩! Rather be there than stuck with this meeting” you’d reply to his small video clip of the sun shining down on the terrain in front of him and Dodger during their hike.

“Come by after and we can go again😋”

“Hmm...maybe I will☺️. Don’t tempt me with a good time lol”

“😂 wasn’t trying to purposely tempt you, buttt not gonna lie and tell you not to take the bait😉”

One day though, the mood between the both of you shifted as he felt you become more distant. Chris thought that maybe it was something he’d said or done and tried to talk with you about it, but you kept avoiding it.

So much so, that you eventually left without a warning not telling him until he tried to come see you.

“Don’t worry about that, get some rest.”

“You’re so amazing, and kind, and-and beautiful! I was scared, and always I run,” you sniff hanging your head. “You d-deserved better, I’m terribully.”

Palms finding your cheeks, he gently tilts your head so you’ll meet his soft eyes while his thumbs wipe away the couple tears that just started to fall.

“Hey, you’re not terribully okay? Yea we have some things to talk about, but we can do that later. Your mind doesn’t need the stress right now.”

His calm voice and sweet words only make you feel worse as a few more tears fall to meet his hands.

“And you’re patient. There for me,” you add playing with the zipper on his jacket. “I mess up.” Noticing your slight shivers, he moves to his open suitcase getting one of his sweatshirts.

“Think you can put this on by yourself?,” he asks to which you nod yes. “Go ahead and change. I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”

Only you know me the way you know me

Only you forgive me when I'm sorry

“Y/N? You okay?,” he asks a few moments after no longer hearing you shuffle and stumble about. Peeking in, he softly chuckles shaking his head at the sight of you sleeping across the bed in his sweatshirt. He gently lifts your head placing one of the many hotel pillows under it before pulling the comforter over your bare legs.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble sinking your face further into the side of the oversized hood pulled over your head.

“Shh, get some rest.”

Taking one final look at your still body to make sure you were okay, he moves towards the couch with head cycling through all those feelings he thought were buried deep enough he’d eventually forget. Who was he kidding though? Even after everything that happened between you two he knew those feelings would always be there.

And seeing you tonight practically glowing; looking every bit as angelic as he remembered only confirmed it.

———

Eyes slowly opening to the dimly lit room, your instincts to quickly sit up and take in your new, unfamiliar surroundings are halted by the pounding in your head. All those shots definitely weren’t as enjoyable now as they were going down.

You let your head roam to the best of your ability eventually falling on the navy blue hoodie keeping you warm, bringing back last nights events along with embarrassment and shame as you groan.

“Okay new rule, no more drinking when you’re out since apparently you get diarrhea of the mouth and spill all your emotions when no one asked.”

“So I guess that’s a no to bar hopping tonight then?,” you hear making you sit up with a wince and a few ow’s. Standing in his seemingly shmedium black tee over dark jeans and sneakers, his Boston ball cap shades his face but not enough that you can’t see his dazzling smile.

“H-hey.”

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, besides my head feeling like I’m gonna have a brain blast in the worst way that is,” you answer making him chuckle as he moves closer to the bed.

“Yea I kinda figured, which is why I got breakfast for you.” Setting down the plastic bags in his hands, he pulls out takeout containers still steaming from the top causing you to mentally aw at his sweet gesture. “Hope you’re okay with waffles, eggs, and bacon. I wasn’t really sure what your go to was.”

“I’d honestly take anything right now,” you softly laugh carefully removing the lid to your waiting food. “Thanks Chris. Not just for the food, but for last night too.”

“Anytime.”

Even when I messed it up

There you are

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If anybody wants to be tagged, have asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for (can be found in masterlist), or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

[lilyofthestyx]

Aeipathy: Chapter Two

Disclaimer: i don’t (unfortunately) own Marvel or any of their characters, plot points, etc. so all right are to them and their our overlord Disney

AN: yeahhhh this one’s a shorty but i promise the next one will be longer and filled with plot and angst and shit so prepare yourselves <3

Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: angst, mentions of torture, mentions of murder/arson, HYDRA collectively is a prick

Chapter One is available here!

   Gnawing. 

   It claws through my body on all fours. Tearing, ripping, hacking, burning. 

   Monstrous fangs that sink into the deepest parts of muscle- I can feel it in my bones, the burning. 

  There is no noise, just the sound of whirring and the unholy screeching of demons in my ears. Faceless demons, demons whose faces have too much detail, demons that stare, demons that scream. Demons, demons, demons. 

   I have fallen. Fallen from grace. Fallen from…

   No, no. 

   I am falling. 

   Something catches me. A savior in blue. Scarlet red smeared across their chest. Blood. My blood- the blood of sinners and saints and bystanders. Of children and ancients and of rich and poor. 

   There’s white streaked between the red. Piety. Purity. Righteousness. Desperately, I cling to the stark white stripes. Indecipherable mumbles pass my lips as I stare at the white. I beg for purity, to be clean again.

   Every time I wake up, it’s always the same. 

   The immovable weight in my body. The unceasing shivering. The bite of frost. The writhing of filth in my veins. In my nerves. In every fiber of my being. Festering. Growing. Rotting. Corrupting. Remembering. 

   But why can’t I remember?

   All I can remember are the demons. Faceless, nameless but never silent. Always screaming.

   Screaming, screaming, screaming. 

   I cling to the white. The righteousness of my savior. Solidity in turbulence. Silence in cacophony. Purity. Cleanliness. Life. 

   I cling to life. 

   But life burns under my fingertips. It shrieks and squirms under my touch- tries to escape. Repelled by my presence, it retracts away from my grasp.

   Color retracts into shapes as I take in my surroundings. An almost completely empty room completely made of concrete. A single contraption behind me made of metal. Icy fog slithers out of the open door, hissing and flicking at my ankles. 

   Words, however, remain blurred. The savior holds me upright- pulls me to my feet. Everything burns and aches. I’m so incredibly cold. Frosted water paints my skin, coats my clothes to my body. A puddle gathers beneath the writhing fog. 

   This seems familiar. 

   My eyes turn up towards my savior. The blood-stained guardian. Words fall from their lips, landing on deaf ears. 

   My body trembles as the cold becomes more vicious with its fangs. The savior turns away and says something. Everything is muffled- faraway and distant and like someone has their hands clamped down over my ears. 

   “Why am I awake?” I ask, straightening up. Every inch of me quivers while every part of me wishes to stop. 

   But I was awoken for a purpose. My mission.

   And I’ll complete it. 

   Hail HYDRA.

Location: S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters

Date: 2012

   “Woah, easy, ________,” I mutter, holding her upright. Her eyes wide, they flick around the room. Her hands grip my chest as she shakes violently. 

   She’s here. She’s alive. 

   She… she died. Died on that table- how is this…

   “Steve,” Tony mutters, holding out a blanket. I take it and start to wrap it around her shoulders. 

   As her glazed eyes lock with mine, I look over her face. She’s drained of color- blue and white. Her chapped blue lips open and close violently.

   Hoarsely, she starts to speak. 

   But not anything I can understand. 

   Over and over, she repeats questions with her eyes wide and wary of every moment and movement. My eyes dart over to Tony- who watches ________, his eyebrows furrowed. 

   Russian. 

   That’s what she’s speaking. Russian. And fluently. Extremely well. Why… Why is she…?

   “She didn’t… usually speak like this, did she?” Tony asks, gesturing vaguely to her as she continues to shake in my arms. Broken words off a stolen tongue hiss past her lips. She furrows her eyebrows as she looks between the two of us. 

   “Her files told me she was-” Tony continues. 

   “She’s… she’s never spoken this before,” I mutter, adjusting my grip under her arms. “Raised in Brooklyn for most’a her life- I dunno why-”

   “V chem... moya missiya?” ________ hisses, her voice shaking. I look down and watch her straighten up on unsteady legs. “V chem moya missiya?” 

   “...why is she…?” Tony mutters, stepping in front of her. He lets his head fall back with a sigh as he taps his leg with his finger. “It’s been a long time, let’s see if I can do this.” Rolling his shoulders back and snapping his neck, he focuses back on ________. “Kto ty?”

   ________’s head tilts to the side slightly. Her eyebrows furrow further as she glares at him through them. “...Hetaerae. V chem moya missiya?”

   Tony sighs and closes his eyes as he speaks. “Ch… chto… ty. Chto ty?”

   Her eyes glaze over as she stops shaking, standing upright. “Ya HYDRA.”

   “...she’s… She died, Tony. I don’t… I don’t know what else to tell you,” I mutter, looking up from the desk. “She… she died before I even got the serum. I hadn’t even seen Doctor Erskine- Bucky… he hadn’t been shipped off to Europe yet.”

   “I may be able to help explain that,” Tony says as he gets to his feet. In his hand is a thick folder filled with papers and photos and notes and scraps of paper. He places it in front of me with a thud. “Apologies- I would opt for the digital version but, uh… you… don’t even know what... that… is.”

   “Tony,” I say sharply as I open the folder. He just shrugs and sits down across the table again. The top paper is mostly blacked-out with a few words left untouched. ________’s name. Her age. Her parents and their causes and dates of death. And other words that… don’t make sense. ‘Mistress’. ‘Replication’. ‘Improvement’. ‘Rejected’. ‘Baroness’. ‘Salbei’.

   ‘Hetaerae’. 

   Repeated over and over throughout the sea of black streaks is that word. ‘Hetaerae’. At the very bottom of the page in tiny letters are the words ‘Project Samsara- Hetaerae’. In the corner is a skull with tentacles writhing beneath it. ‘HYDRA’ is written along the curve of the skull. 

   My stomach churns. If HYDRA really is behind this then...

   I start tearing into the folder. Photos of the various angles of the steel container from when I woke up. Under it is a handwritten note. ‘Cryo-container; Vrsn: Hetaerae’. 

   Another photo- this one of a chair. On the armrests and legs are cuffs, along with another one on the back of the chair. Something metal comes around the chair. It juts off the side of a machine and looms over it like an archway. A note is written over the photo. ‘Neck brace may prematurely terminate subject. Issue logged during first programming session’.

   Another blacked-out stack of papers. The same words are repeated over and over again. ‘Hetaerae’, ‘Baroness’, ‘Samsara’, ‘Salbei’, ‘HYDRA’. My fists clench the papers before tossing them to the side. Tony watches in silence. 

   What the Hell is this? What were they doing- what did ________ have to do with it? 

   My eyebrows furrow as I manically flip through the papers. Papers fly to the side as I tear through the folder. I can feel myself getting rigid as I near the end. 

   Nothing. I’ve learned nothing. Not a single goddamn thing. There’s nothing here- 

   My hands stop as my eyes rest on the last few items. A file not blacked out. It’s completely intact. Nothing scratched, no scribbles, no hasty lines cutting through words. I snatch it and start reading. 

Project Samsara; Hetaerae

Subject Name: ________ Bishop

Subject Age: 26

Subject Info:

Daughter of Leon Bishop (deceased) and Catherine Chambers (deceased)

Resident of Brooklyn, NY

Military background

Non-combatant medic

Attempted pilot training

Worked under Doctor Akin Nachtnebel- HYDRA researcher

Personal friend of Captain Steven G. Rogers, Sergeant James B. Barnes, political activist Odessa Lily Mae Ababio

Official status: Deceased

Simplified Process Log (see file 178953 for detailed logs):

Day 1: 

Body retrieved by HYDRA. 

Blood and tissue samples taken. 

Heart/respiration rates taken. 

Note: Hetaerae seems to be semi-lucid. May require sedation. 

Day 13:

Serum incubation complete. 

Visible changes in body structure internal and external. 

Bone density increased slightly, muscle mass increased, other changes to be tested.

Day 23:

Regen. abilities test positive

Enhanced reflexes test positive

Body modifications test optimal

Note: Hetaerae seemed to negatively respond to pain. Possible weakness. Must train to not respond.

Day 68:

First programming session prematurely terminated. Hetaerae reacted negatively to programming.

Admitted to medical wing. 

Near strangulation and bruised trachea. 

Removing neck cuff on programming station and attempting again tomorrow. 

Day 100:

Programming temporarily successful. 

Hetaerae could not recall set of numbers given pre-programming for forty minutes. 

Memory wipe testing will continue.

Day 173:

Hetaerae admitted to medical wing for treatment. 

Major vocal cord damage. 

Damage not irreversible. 

Memory wipe testing will continue.

Note: Hetaerae begged for ‘Steve’ and ‘Bucky’ repeatedly during memory wipe. More research needed.

Day 234:

Three guards admitted to medical wing. 

Hetaerae had clawed at their eyes, noses, ears, and mouths

Broken nails were taken from guards’ faces.

Admitted samples for research.

Extra-long memory wipe testing done. 

Hetaerae will be allowed a day to rest after strenuous session. Cannot allow for subject’s termination.

Day 250:

Near disaster.

Hetaerae attempted escape.

Four guards killed. Two more seriously injured.

Must increase security.

Note: Hetaerae lethal before combat training. A promising candidate. Akin, in his paranoia, chose well.

Day 276:

Hetaerae broke free of restraints during memory wipe.

Too exhausted to attempt escape. 

Memory wipe has prevented Hetaerae from remembering subject name.

Will begin codeword implantation process tomorrow. 

Day 342:  

Hetaerae begins Samsara training tomorrow. 

Complete memory wipe achieved. 

Hetaerae is the only thing within subject.

Day 3658:

Samsara training complete.

Winter Soldier co-training complete.

Complete memory wipe complete.

Codeword implantation complete. 

Hetaerae to be placed in cryo to await orders.

Hail HYDRA. 

HYDRA status: Active. Ready for use.

   “Look at her track record,” Tony mutters, sliding a thick wad of papers over to me. Turning away, I shake my head. “...fine. I’ll read it for you.” He huffs, flipping through the various pages. “Uh… her first mission was to…” he scoffs, “To take out a mid-level politician that had apparently laid his eyes on something he shouldn’t have. ‘Mission: success, target: terminated’.”

   “Tony…” I warn quietly, my shoulders getting tenser with each word. 

   “A few missions later, she’s retrieving lab samples and… and destroying the lab... Fourteen people killed. ‘Mission: success, targets: terminated’.”

   “Tony.”

   “I’m skimmin’ here, Cap, but listen- an orphanage in Saint Petersburg, a… a couple in Prague, a woman in Athens, a man in Cairo...” Tony continues skimming through the pages. “‘Mission: success, target: terminated’, ‘Mission: success, target: terminated’, ‘Mission: success, target: terminated’-”

   “Enough!” I snap, turning to look at him. 

   Tony sighs and puts the papers down. Running a hand down his face, he purses his lips. “Dunno how else t’tell ya this, Cap- she’s dangerous. She has killed hundreds of people. She can speak seven languages, she can infiltrate a political atmosphere and topple it, she can... camouflage in any… social situation, she has a perfect kill record... Whoever she was before-”

   “She’s still in there,” I cut in. “She’s still in there.”

   Tony rolls his eyes. “Are… are you not... hearing what I’m telling you?” He gestures to the original folder. “They laid into her for… ten years. Subjected her to torture. Wiped her slate clean. Whatever was in there, pal, it’s long gone.”

   A huff leaves my lips. “...you don’t know what she was like,” I mumble coldly, reminiscing over what it was like to live with her, to live with her at my side like I was at hers. “She was… the most... hard-headed… stubborn dame I’d ever met. And strong, too.”

   “Rogers-”

   “She’s still in there, Tony,” I snap, my eyes flicking up to him. “She’s strong.”

   “Good morning.” I say, waving at ________ as she sits on the chair. Her breathing is steady, eyes trained on the opposite side of the room. Her wrists are handcuffed to the armests- the same with her ankles. They clink slightly as she breathes. 

   The room is completely empty except for another chair across from hers. My shield lays against the chair- ‘a precaution’ Fury called it. 

   ‘A threat’ is what I would call it. 

   I step further into the room and sit down on the chair. With glazed eyes, she watches me. “Are… those too tight?” I ask, gesturing to the cuffs. 

   She says nothing. Only blinks in response. 

   She… she looks so empty. 

   Her face was always glowing, her smile illuminating the clinic when Buck and I would walk in to bring her lunch or just to bug her. Letters would flood in every now and then from past patients or their families, thanking her for her patience and kindness. She would keep them all in a shoebox under her bed.

   And her hands. She would wrap bandages around my wounds with care. She’d always tell me to not get it in my head to fight again… and then ask where the punks lived so she could ‘pay them a visit’. Her hands were always feather-soft when checking every injury’s progress. 

   Now they look… darker. Not in color but just… darker. 

   Stained.  

   Did she know what she was doing when she killed those people?

   ________ shifts slightly, the sound of the handcuffs pulling me out of my head. I clear my throat and straighten up. “...do you know who I am?” I ask quietly. 

   No response. 

   “Do you know who you are?”

   “Haetarae.” She answers, eyes still glazed. 

   “Do you… do you know who you actually are?”

   ________’s eyes narrow for just a moment. “...HYDRA.”

   “No. No,” I mutter, pointing to my chest. “...do you know who I am?”

   ...nothing. 

   “Steve. I’m Stevie. We… we grew up in Brooklyn together. With Bucky. We, um… Buck ‘nd I, we helped you out of a fight when you were thirteen. That’s how we met… you… remember that…?”

   She blinks, eyes scanning over me. 

   Getting up from my seat, I reach into my pocket and tug a photo of the three of us out of my pocket. It was taken after she had gotten her nursing credentials. We had gone out dancing, just the three of us. We found someone willing to take our photo. A smile crosses my lips as I look down at it. 

   Colors start to fade into the black and white photo. Every detail is so crisp. ________’s chin is resting on my head as she stands behind me- a bright, red-lipped smile on her face. Her arms are wrapped around my chest as she leans over. Her hair is done perfectly- up with roses in her hair. Neat and tidy like she practiced. The skirt of her dress is the same shade of red as her lips. Black dots pattern the fabric of the skirt. The bodice was black- matching her heels. Hooked through her elbows was a creme-colored fur boa. 

   Bucky’s got his arm around her waist and he ducks down to my level. He holds a pressed black suit, wearing a red undershirt. His suit jacket is hung over his shoulder with his undershirt’s sleeves rolled up. I remember him shining his shoes that day while ________ meticulously placed roses in her hair. Bucky had sewn and hemmed my pants with pride. ‘It’s a special day, punk’, he mumbled with the needle between his lips, ‘can’t have ya trippin’ on your pant legs.’ 

   She shifts again and I’m pulled right back into now. ________ sits in front of me. No smile, no roses, no brightness. And Bucky… Bucky’s dead and gone. Lost a long, long time ago. Slowly, I hold out the photo. “...see?” I mumble, “That’s me… before I… had a growth spurt. And that’s Buck.”

   I look up to her. She’s focused on the photo, eyes slightly squinted and head tilted to the side just barely. “...Buck ‘nd you,” I laugh quietly. “He… he was… so crazy about you. He just… never realised it.”

   The door behind us cracks open. Her body snaps tightly, eyes back to glazed. Tony peeks his head into the room and tilts it back. “Eyepatch wants you.”

   I sigh. Looking back at ________, I tuck the photo into her hand. Slowly, her fingers wrap around it delicately. I nod once and start out of the room. As the door swings shut, I spare one last look. ________ looks down at the photo, her head slightly tilting once more.

   “It may be our only option,” Fury sighs. “She’s unpredictable at best.”

   “She’s still in there- if I can just… keep talking with her-”

   “That is out of the question,” he says firmly, eye flicking up to me. “...you’re too close on this one, Rogers. I’m making the executive decision to-”

   Lights start to flash overhead- red and screaming. A wailing buzz rips out of the hallway as the red light bathes us in scarlet. The door slams open, Tony standing in the doorway, panting. Fury slowly gets out of his seat, eye wide. 

   “She… She got out,” Tony mutters, gesturing outside.

   My body launches forward as I run into the hallway. People are running, an anxious chatter swarming around them as they pass just in front of me. As I push into the main hallway, elbows and chests are thrown into me. Flicking to each person, my eyes catch the room where ________ was held. The door is almost completely torn off the hinges- the wood cracked at the handle. 

   I start to push through the sea of people. Like water, they throw themselves against me- eager to leave the building and get the hell out of harm’s way. But as I make my way to the door and push out the other side of the tempest, I can see the dangling cuffs still hanging around the armrests. 

   My fingers graze the splintering wood door, tracing the ridges of where her fingers had dug into the wood- leaving grooves in the shape of her hand. The hinges look relatively new as they hang lifelessly off the wall. The debris littering the floor is kicked around, leaving a partial trail down the hallway. I follow with a solid grip on my shield. 

   “________?” I hiss, looking around the empty hallway. Everything is dimmed by the red lights and the screaming of the alarms haven’t stopped. “________!” 

   I round a corner and every adrenaline-fueled tension melts away. At the very end of the hallway is a floor-to-ceiling window. Broken glass lays at the base of a gaping hole. 

   She’s gone. 

[ssson-of-sparda]

WHAT FORTUNE GAVE - CHAPTER 1 (VERGIL X NERO’S MOTHER)

Summary: Vergil arrives in Fortuna and crosses path with a rebellious lady dressed in red. But even if he doesn't want pay attention, Fortuna seemed determined to intertwine their lives.

(PROLOGUE)

Tags: Romance / Angst / Fluff / Explicit Sexual Content / Explicit Language / Canon-Typical Violence / Blood and Gore / Religion / The Order of The Sword / Civil War / Rebellion / Demons / Action and Adventure / Sparda’s past

Author’s note: So, let me introduce you to Elissa aka Nero's mother. I've decided to make her rebellious and quite feisty to mirror Nero's impetuosity. After all, that kid had to take after someone, right? So why not mummy dearest? I know the story might seem slow to start but I need to set up the scenery for the events to come. Hope you like it anyway.

It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue. The cobbled streets were empty, the shops and cafes all closed, for all the inhabitants were gathered inside the Cathedral whose majestic dome overlooked the nearby Renaissance-style buildings, a sacred beacon calling the devotees to pray. But the religious establishment was nothing in comparison to the partially-veiled giant-like idol standing tall and massive within the ramparts of the city, a figure made of stone and marble with the face of Vergil’s father. It didn’t look very resembling to him. Sparda never had such delicate features, not in his son’s memories at least. But it did not matter. The young man wasn’t here to judge some clearly distasteful architecture. He was here for the answers and the promises of power that island kept in between its walls.             “The Order of the Sword, huh? They worship a demon as a god?” This reality sounded foolish, incomprehensible even. His father was no god. He knew that better than anyone. But what was religion if not idealisation, divinisation of a flawed man? Humans …

***

“Elissa!” A fearful whisper pronounced the girl’s name but it would take more than a whisper for her to stop her mischief. “Elissa! Come dddd-down!” The girl named Elissa smiled, enjoying the risk she was definitely taking. Degrading the Savior? Not her first time. But she had never climbed that high before. “What if sss-omeone sees you … sss-ees us?” She rolled her green eyes, weary of the perpetual anxiety shaking the already very trembling voice of her friend. “Agnus! Stop being such a pussy!” She shouted-murmured, not really knowing why she was murmuring at all. “Everyone’s at church!” Agnus fidgeted even more as he saw the young woman taking her time spraying blue paint on the statue, the tip of her rosy tongue out, an adorable display of her concentration and perfectionism. “Does it look like the Guard’s symbol to you?” She demanded, observing her rebellious art from all possible angles.     Agnus sighed and looked up, regretting to have left his lab for this childish yet dangerous adventure. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. He even had a woman and a baby daughter waiting for him at home. So why wasting time playing vandals with Elissa? He knew why. “You’re not looking under my skirt, are you?”          The man blushed, terribly uncomfortable. “What? Of cccc-ourse not!” But he was a scientist and scientists were curious beings. That’s what he was telling himself each time he was thinking about what was hidden underneath Elissa’s crimson clothes.The Cathedral bells rang loud, signalling the end of today’s mass. Soon, the people of Fortuna would invade the streets again to come back to their boring daily occupations. “We’re definitely gonna get ccc-caught.” Agnus told himself. “What am I gonna tell Marcus?” A suspect noise stopped Agnus in his alarming thoughts. It was coming from a few streets away. Squeals and growls of fury and pain. Demons? “Ddd-did you hear that?” Elissa listened carefully and recognized the screams. She had heard similar ones in Mitis Forest recently. She had shut a lot of them up too. They were demons alright but not the worst kind. “Just a few …scarecrows.” She tried to reassure Agnus but realised he was already gone. “Such a pussy.” She shook her head, slightly exasperated but not surprised. Agnus was not famous for his bravery, quite the opposite. He was a coward but Elissa was okay with it. After all, he had been providing the Guardians with very useful information concerning demons for a few years now, all that thanks to his natural talents as an alchemist. The girl jumped off the statue and, in order to remove the beige dust from the fabric, shook her old red dress typical of Fortuna fashion, one of the few clothes she had kept from her past life in the Order and that she now used to blend in among the Fortunans each time she would venture in town. She then cautiously pulled up her skirt to reveal a thigh belt hidden under the white petticoat and strapped the spray can, right next to a sharp curved dagger she kept in a thin leather sheath just in case.        “Hey! You!” Did we say cautiously? “Shit!” Time to run.

***

Yamato shone in the sun, casting a shadow on Vergil’s young face that even this small fight hadn’t manage to fluster, and once again the blade made one with the saya with a perfect clink that echoed like a lethal musical note in the demon-cleared street. “Just what are your true intentions?” He wondered out loud as he wrapped his blue frame under a linen cloak that looked foreign to anyone who would take a look.Elissa took a look, green eyes staring with curiosity from under her white hood she had carelessly thrown above her head in precipitation to cover her soft locks of fiery ginger when she had left the place of her previous mischief as fast as she could, successfully escaping the angry guards shouting at her.           She took a look, knowing exactly what this stranger had just done as she watched him crossing the crowd with purpose, alone, going up the street towards the Cathedral while everyone was walking down, their minds still lost in religious psalms.             She stopped in her track for a second to admire him, wondering who he was and where he came from. She imagined a distant city at first, somewhere far away from here, crowded with people who hadn’t been indoctrinated by the Order’s promises. But then, as she noticed his bearing, so stately and yet so lonely, she thought he wasn’t from a particular place but from many places. A wanderer, traveling the world, someone who held knowledge, who had seen what was beyond the horizon of Fortuna.            He probably noticed her stare as he concealed his face even more under his hood and slightly hunched his shoulders. So, out of respect and despite her devouring curiosity, Elissa walked away, certain that if Sparda wanted her to meet this mysterious strange again, then their paths would cross one more time.Vergil quietly made his way in the main avenue where the marble giant was standing and slowed down when he noticed a small crowd gathered by the statue’s feet. Everyone was gasping in shock, hands over mouths as if they were the witnesses of the worst sacrilege, the most terrible infamy.       Wondering what the fuss was all about, the Son of Sparda peered over everyone’s shoulders from a distance but close enough to spot a graffiti plastered on the leg of the thing the Fortunans seemed to call The Savior. It was a symbol of some sort, a pair of winged arms with sharp claws protecting Sparda’s horned head. It had been drawn with turquoise paint that was still running down the immaculate white stone and that was leaving a heavy odour of solvents in the ambient air, identical to the one Vergil had smelt when that girl who had stared at him with insistence had walked past him, an odour indicating Vergil when the degradation had been made and who had done it.He scoffed briefly, amused by the political provocation and the over-dramatic reaction of the bigoted crowd, and after glancing one last time at the spray-painted symbol, resumed his exploration of the city.       “Looks like appearances can be deceiving in this city after all.” Vergil said as he thought about the rebellious girl in saint clothes who didn’t seem to be new in the graffiti drawing business according to the devotees’ wrath. “Those rebels again! Soiling the image of Sparda with their belligerent propaganda. Hope the Order will find them soon.” They agreed with each other with angry nods. “They are worse than demons! They probably hide in shadows like the rats they are.”     Had Vergil just stepped in the middle of a civil war?

***

When her holy hood fell back on her shoulders, Elissa sighed in relief, glad to finally feel her soft ginger hair finally liberated from that awful religious cage of white cotton she couldn’t stand wearing anymore. Few more minutes and she would also get rid of that ridiculous dress that constricted her like a straitjacket. But right now, she had a meeting to attend.      Summoned by her leader, probably to claim responsibility for her new roguishness that had caused such a big turmoil in the city this morning, she pushed the door of Guardian Marcus’s office without an ounce of fear or apprehension. She knew full well she would not be reprimanded. She never was.  “Elissa! My child, come.” The white-haired old man welcomed her with wide opened arms and showed her a seat before him where she sat in silence and waited for him to say what he had to say.At first, he just stared at her, without a word but with half a smile and a look of amusement he couldn’t keep to himself. And finally he spoke with a cheerful tone. “You should have painted it red.” His loud laugh echoed in the room and he took a huge sip of the red wine waiting to be drunk in a fancy chalice next to his velvet armchair.            Elissa had a timid respectful smile; unable to act casual with this man who, even though was distant family, had been leading the cause she was fighting for for so many years, since even before she was born. “How did you find out?”           “Agnus told me.” He admitted and gauged the girl’s reaction who seemed more disappointed in herself than surprised. “Should have thought so.”    “Be careful who you surround yourself with, Elissa. Offering someone your trust can be as dangerous as any blade. Believe me, I know.” He traced the large scar along his wrinkled face, a reminder of an old betrayal that had made him lose, in addition to his left eye, a man he used to call brother and who was now leading Fortuna thanks to his lies and his dark secrets. Sanctus. “I shall remember your advice, sir.” “But you know what surprises me the most? It’s that Adel didn’t try to talk you out of this. After all, he follows you like a shadow … an enamoured shadow even.” Marcus smiled, trying to build complicity with this young lady, the granddaughter of the brother he had lost long ago, a child he loved like his own. Elissa smiled in return and shook her head, having trouble to believe she was having this conversation with her leader. “And yet you seemed keen on refusing his advances. May I know why?”        “I didn’t know this was a matchmaking appointment.” Elissa humoured, definitely amused by the situation. “I’m old and I’ve been at war for most of my life. So let’s say, the frivolity of youth and the burgeoning loves are like peaceful songs to my heart.”        Elissa sighed and her heart, in spite of this new attempt at making it yield to a man she didn’t love, once again refused to see Adel as nothing else than a friend. “I’m just not interested. Enamoured shadows are not my type.”         “ And what, pray tell, is your type?”

***

Vergil had visited many places in his short lifetime. Perpetually on the move – he refused to say ‘on the run anymore’ for running was for the weak – he had seen so many cities, so many different landscapes, some in shades of blue, some in shades of green and other in shades of gold, so many colours most men would have forgotten but that he had somehow always cared to remember. But there was something about Fortuna that made her unique, different from all the things he had had the chance to see.         Perhaps was it the anachronistic almost medieval atmosphere that had shaped the city architecture and the inhabitants’ lifestyle or perhaps was it because every edifice seemed to hold secret knowledge about his family.  Whatever it was, Vergil was sure of one thing; what made Fortuna special were clearly not the city’s filthy underground bars from Port Caerula, well hidden under the docks, away from prying eyes that would be easily outraged by the debauchery they held between their walls. That kind of place he was familiar with, despite his revulsion for them and the people frequenting them.           “Hello, sugar. You’re a new face.” An eccentric woman declared as she tried to take a peek under Vergil’s cowl, her voluptuous body leant against the bar. “And a handsome one. I would lower my price for a face like yours.” The young man glanced at the woman, shortly but long enough to see how she looked, the embodiment of repulsive tragedy that once looked beautiful.             Her makeup was smeared and barely hiding the bruises and the cuts on her young face and she was wearing a church outfit ripped at the thighs and purposely unbuttoned to reveal her generous cleavage. And in her velvet purse, she kept a wig made of dry artificial ginger hair some despicable men had certainly asked her to wear more than once.       “Not interested. Now leave.” Vergil’s tone was curt and cold but she insisted anyway.        “You’re sure? I make the best blowjobs in all Fortuna. Isn’t that right, Captain?” She nodded towards a young charismatic brown-skinned man carrying a crossbow on his back and drinking sitting the stool right next to Vergil. When he heard his name, he spared a glare at the prostitute and at the Son of Sparda as well for no particular reason but because he hated his occasional obscene deviations to be exposed. “He just looooves some naughty church girls. Do you like them too?” Vergil ignored her and focused again on his drink, lying untouched on the bar. He didn’t like drinking. “Or do you prefer them innocent and prudish? I can be either.”  “Quit with your lies and just leave, Pomona².” The dark-haired man ordered with a strong voice that made her smile.       “ Ha! Looks like I finally have my name back. See you around, sugar… Adel.” She winked and left to sell her body to someone else that would accept it in exchange of a bit of money.“You should not visit that sort of bar if women like Pomona bother you, stranger.” The so-called Adel warned before drinking from his tankard. He, just like everybody else here, could tell Vergil was not from around. All they had to do was looking at him. After all, everyone knew everyone else in a small reclusive island like Fortuna. “It’s sometimes the loudest, worst people that give all the information a man looks for.”     “So you’re looking for information then. About what?” Vergil was a curious man but he despised curiosity in other people, especially when he was the subject of their curiosity.            “Nothing a man like you knows about.”        The answer surprised the Moor who hadn’t expected such arrogance coming from a stranger. “Well, piece of advice. If you want information in Fortuna, there are two ways to get them. Either you don’t behave like an arrogant asshole or you pay for them.”     Vergil smirked slightly under his hood as he already knew how to react to such pathetic insult. Adel was not a difficult man to read. “Just like when you want a woman’s love, am I right?”             The provocation burnt and stang like the most vicious hot poker piercing through

Adel’s dignity and ego. It pushed him to stand up and grab his crossbow in retaliation.         But his weapon, as precise and strong as it was, was useless in close combat and it instantly met the sharp blade of a magnificent katana that would make any swordsman worth the name grow pale. And with a dexterous swift move, the crossbow flew across the room as if it was a paper plane.But the clients in the bar didn’t gasp at the legendary Yamato. They gasped at the silvery-white hair adorning Vergil’s head that had been revealed when he inadvertently had lost his hood in this express fight. “It’s the hair of Sparda.” People whispered, amazed.     With an expert graceful move, Yamato found his saya again and Vergil walked through the crowd, high-handed and resolved to escape this place and all those bothering eyes he felt upon him.But as he pushed the door of the establishment, he came face to face with the feminine figure he had noticed in the streets this morning. It stopped him in his track and for the first time in his lifetime, but certainly not the last, he looked into her deep green eyes.  They reminded him of an old poem he loved greatly, one he had read so many times and would never grow tired of, about a dark forest and a tyger burning bright³. And as he gazed in that girl’s look and witnessed that emerald wood, wild and dense, trying to conceal in vain the fiery fur of a predator, Vergil knew he would never read that poem the same way or imagine Blake’s colours in the shades he would normally imagine them.               And so he stared, longer than he wanted, almost the same way she gazed at the pale blue topazes and at the god-like silver hair crowning his head. But while fire is wild, the ice is timid. And thus, admiration only shows through the eyes of the red lady.    And when she finally opened her mouth to speak her mind, Vergil escaped into the night leaving lost shadows behind him. But that was fine. Shadows were not the lady’s type after all.It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue.      But among them there was this vibrant red and two sparkling amber-tinted emeralds reflecting brighter than anything else in a pair of icy eyes, a mirror who strangely wouldn’t mind seeing that reflection again.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ¹ Marcus: derived from the name of the Roman god of war, Mars to highlight Marcus' status and personality. ² Pomona: From Latin pomus "fruit tree". The word "Pomme" is also the French for "apple", the fruit of temptation. Pomona will come back in other chapters. ³ a tyger burning bright : From William Blake's poem The Tyger

[ask-impure-vessel]

I don't know if this will reach you at the right moment in time Vessel but, peace friend, The Wyrm has already shown he cares for you greatly and you have done him no disservice or wrong. This may simply a matter too important to discuss elsewhere and His Majesty may be too caught up in his own troubles to understand the affect he has on you.

[Note: Frank discussion of anatomy, anxiety/panic attacks, unreality, post-traumatic stress, past abuse, suicide, disordered eating, self-harm, stuff about the Abyss with all that entails and other such unpleasantries. Strap in, folks!]

The vessel felt like their body was somewhere a few steps to the right and back of them. Their father said nothing as he led them down to the workshop.

You don’t understand. You don’t-

There’s a distant panic in Vessel’s voice. They still keep walking, they must. The order was given. Despite what happened in the Abyss, control still belongs to the Pale King.

It was as if nothing had changed at all.

For the first time, they begin to resent that. The workshop is the last place they want to be, for multiple reasons besides the temple that was to become their agonizing grave. This is not a place that holds any good memories for them, not a single one. 

They arrive in that darkened place, the birthplace of moulds, all thousand of them-700 kingsmoulds, 300 wingsmoulds-where Wyrm's research led to the vessels that rested in the infirmary and that walked into the room. The king shrugged off his silken robe, leaving on a shirt that still covered what was considered a decent amount in Hallownest, showing off the truth of his form; it had been a while and Vessel Hallow was shocked by the changes to his father's form.

He was a being of pure white carapace, plates with softer flesh between, especially around the joints; his skin was sunken, his belly not just thin but almost concave instead of convex. He looked a bit muscular, but mostly because he appeared to be starving. He was dull in color, the white often not as bright as it could be, looking almost dirty with a lack of nutrients to look glossy and nice. 

Wyrm could subsist on soul like a vessel, but that didn't mean it was pleasant for him to do so. He was much like other bugs in physicality, fueled by food, water and having to use the toilet to flush out what his body didn't use of those things. His genitals were internal, just like any bug, his shirt covered where that was hidden. 

His secondary set of arms were more visible now, as was the lower half he usually ambled upon: multiple legs and a long tail that terminated in a pointed end. His tail was thin, almost collapsed with the lack of care.

What was more alarming were the splotches of black. His hands were absolutely covered in it, just beyond the wrists but the lines that raced upwards were far more concerning. Void taint was a part of Hallow's body but for a pale being, such a sight promised long, lingering agony. The absolute rigid calm their father practiced suddenly became a lot more impressive.

It left Hallow in minor shock.

Father, are you dying? Have you already assured your death? Was it on purpose that you inflicted starvation and void poisoning upon yourself? I can think of few less painful, lingering deaths.

"Come. Please kneel so that I can more easily examine you and the changes to you." He activated the door seals and waited in a clear space.

<Father, I-> The vessel walked and knelt, words cutting off with anxiety.

Wyrm activated and checked on the seal on Hallow's mask. "Interesting, joining with the Lord of Shades didn't disengage this? I hadn't expected that. It must have been greatly weakened over the course of my rule and being forgotten. I had thought them already dead." He muttered and began to ghost fingers over the notches Hallow had. "Where did the Kingsoul go?"

That had been a question Hallow had been dreading.

A hand touched upon Hallow's chest. "There it is, if changed greatly at your breast. It became your core? Brace."

It was more warning than Hallow usually got; sharp pain radiated through their being, as something touched their heart.

<Father, it. It hurts.> The vessel gasped out. They were not words sufficient, but they were descriptive enough for their use.

"Please bear it a little longer. This is a very beautiful charm that has become your heart even if it is taboo to my being." 

The pain grew to shocking agony, then to a fading sensation, Hallow felt like their body was a distant, cut off thing.

<Father, please. Stop!> The vessel spoke in growing horror, fear and concern.

The Pale King was faced with a decision then-and let go of the charm. Sensation slowly returned and the vessel gasped on the floor, curling in on themself on the floor as mind and body reconnected. It was painful as the disruption the Pale King had inflicted and the vessel would have gagged if they could on the feelings of revulsion they now felt.

They instead wept on the floor, black tears falling onto the ground as they shivered and their mind turned to things they did there, the pale Wyrm unheeding to a child's pain in the terrible silence; the screams that echoed only through the void, the vessel capable only of displaying stiff trembling to their master. 

They recall the efforts to ensure they could learn magic. The painful process of 'installation' over being taught the theory that took place here. The studies that involved dying here and their shade. When the various seals were made on their shell and mask, the burning magic that had kept burning on their mask for days from them. They had done nothing but suffer in this room and this day had proven no different.

"Vessel, I. I'm sorry, that went too far." The king stroked their mask, making a soothing sound, a purr that Hallow hadn't heard before.

Hallow felt the dam burst and sat as they cried, for all the things they'd wanted and had never had. That Wyrm was holding them now, comforting them now, touching with loving intention rather than with cold intent of science or with violence. The feelings were somewhat positive, but many were bitter, some even bordered on hate and disgust that they didn't know what to do with. They had so many things to say, for themself, for the things that had been done to them and the things they'd missed out on. For the way their father had run away the moment their emotions had become known like a damnable coward. That had been a choice Hallow had been denied, they couldn't say no-yet this day, for the first time, they had asked for their father to stop.

And he had listened.

The Pale King let Hallow get out everything they'd needed to, to calm down and recover from… whatever it was that he'd been doing to them. <This one doesn't want to be experimented on again, or studied. This place, it brings back bad memories for it.> Hallow spoke, in a shaking mental voice. <It is painful for this vessel to be here.>

"Oh, Vessel. I had no idea it was that upsetting. Let's go to my study, then so you don't have to be here. You never have to come in here again." The King promised and led the shaking knight from that terrible place.

They settled down in a chair this time, the king likewise going seated. "I will apologize. That was too far, I needed to explain what I was doing and why-to ask for your permission. It's not easy to break old habits. I noticed you dropped first-person pronouns in your stress." He spoke frankly with sadness.

<This one supposes not. It felt like it was… dying.> Hallow shuddered. <Did you pull this vessel away to speak, or was it to satisfy that curiosity?> They asked tiredly.

"A bit of both, admittedly. To ask you how you're feeling, but that's… obvious, right now and is very much my doing." He sighed and leaned forward. "I'll have to be invasive one more time, I'm afraid but perhaps not this day, to let you recover. I need to set you free and I intend to."

<You'll… free this one from its bondage?> Hallow rephrased in mild disbelief. 

"Yes. As my final order in that bondage, for the rest of your life should something happen and I am unable to undo that binding-I order you to act of your own free will and feelings, as you see fit and judge is right. I relinquish control over your will and mind. There will need to be magic done to completely remove the binding, but it will no longer function."

<It will thank you, father once this one is wholly free.> Hallow spoke diplomatically. They couldn't exactly forgive him entirely yet if the harm was still there.

"I understand. You are a higher being now, truly. While you could read the language of the gods and make things function that are for gods, you didn't have a few aspects that would elevate you from a child of higher beings to purely one yourself. However, you do not have worshippers and as much distaste as I have for the god that was, that will need to change for your own health."

<That must be why the Lord of Shades said they were very, very starved. Speaking of, father. Why are you starved?> The vessel spoke pointedly. <This one believes they can ask some pointed questions and get answers in return. You owe it at least that much.>

"I. Eating is a currently disgusting endeavor to me. Certainly, I did like it once and ate but. Since the vessel project started, my. My enjoyment became nil." He replied honestly. "My shame steals the joy out of anything I do."

<You regret the choices you made?> 

"I do not regret having you for a child. I regret that I killed so many and the crimes committed against the siblings who didn't make it. I regret how I've treated you. I don't know if I could make it up to the survivors but I will at the least try for the time I have and make sure your siblings do not go through the struggles you did." The king chose his words carefully. "I believed I had no other recourse. No other choice that wouldn't see my people dead or entirely enslaved to the Old Light-but I do not think I deserve forgiveness for being a kinslayer, for my mistreatment of you. I have been something to you for sixteen years. Would have been that for two years more, so you could have your final moulting and complete your training. I would have nailed that armor to your carapace and left you to her tender mercies. In that, I was wrong. I intended to kill myself once I was sure my people were safe and could carry on in my absence."

<It knows. It realized that when it went down into the Abyss before becoming the Shade Lord.> The vessel spoke, voice thick with pain. <You're dying, aren't you father. That's why you don't mind sacrificing yourself to the Grimm Troupe either. You are dying and you want to die.>

"I've done too much to live or to allow myself the pleasures in living. The situation in Hallownest is my fault. Your pain is my fault. The many, many broken masks in the Abyss are my fault. I am a kinslayer, who committed infanticide of his own children. Even a god doesn't get forgiveness for those kinds of horrible actions. I deserve the suffering you children experienced. I deserve the deaths I visited upon the children I deemed not good enough. Yes. I am suffering void poisoning, it is an agony I bear constantly. My light holds it at bay enough that I can live five more years without drastic actions." He spoke bluntly.

<Did you poison yourself deliberately?>

"Exposure to void with proper protections isn't deadly. A bug can be scarred by void without dying, in fact the exposure can have beneficial effects such as on the ageless mask maker. Void poisoning in mild cases caught early enough is treatable. So I suppose yes. I did that to myself deliberately." He spoke numbly. "It's… actually a relief to admit that. I wasn't expecting that."

<It's not treatable now. You're dying. How long do you have left?> Hallow felt like the ground was opening beneath their feet.

"No, even I will succumb to a case this severe having gone on this long. Five to seven years, depending." Wyrm spoke clinically. "Your mother doesn't know, but she's not very curious and finds my company odious these days. I don't want her to know."

<You aren't the only one. Would you die as a member of the Grimm Troupe?> Hallow pondered.

"No, time is frozen in a sense for a member of the Troupe. As a sacrifice, my original body would likely be immolated, the presence of void cast out as anathema to it as well. It's not got a will of its own so expelling it for the Nightmare Heart would be doable. It's just not for me between having a corpus much closer to mortal form and my diminishment as a god." 

Hallow rubbed a hand over their chest. <Father, please free this vessel today. Now.> It was firm. <This vessel just wants to love you as themself. Not as your property, as your child. Whatever you have done, it does not know if it can forgive, but love. Love is something this vessel has always been able to give.>

The first time Hallow had ever demanded anything for themself and only themself.

Tears came from the king's eyes. "As you wish, Lord of Shades my child."

The bindings lit up as the king touched, claws digging into the mask with a strange sensation that felt like it should hurt but didn't. The light burned, the mark burned. But the claws were quick, chanting even and fast. Soul pooled around the king's hands. 

The chains broke and Hallow felt a weight come off, something they hadn't realized had been there for a very long time. The remnants would be there, like an invisible scar until they moulted, but then-then it would be gone.

It would take time for them to understand what they'd gained and lost at once. <Today I learned that this one's father is not brave. Please. Please live. Even if your crimes are too much for your heart to bear. Stop running away. Please. Face what you have done, face us who you have wronged. It's not too late.>

 "...I can try. I love you, my child." He touched foreheads with Hallow, a familial kiss. "For all you vessels, I will try. I don't know how anymore, but I can still learn."

Hallow is not an adult. They are, however, now free of their father's chains.

[maree-ff]

Interlude: Remission

CAMILA

Excited, joyful, in lust, anxious, nervous, and overwhelmed. These are all of the emotions I was hit with at three o’clock this morning when I woke up to begin my day. Today officially marks five weeks, seventy-two hours and sixteen minutes since I ruined our relationship. Today also marks the same amount of time that Jorden has completely flipped his switch. His behavior is nothing like Andre or I have ever dealt with. I know I’m to blame for calling off our engagement but it’s almost as if Jorden feels like I took his father away. That was never my intention by any means. I only wanted for Andre and I to take some time out to explore every crevice of our relationship. The energy in our union has been off and I want to know what the root of the issue is.

Papi’s been coming by everyday to bring the kids home from school. He’s even stayed to tuck them in, help me clean up from the aftermath of dinner and then he leaves. He’s been distant, rightfully so, but I miss him! I’ve been yearning for attention and I haven’t craved male companionship in ages! Tonight, I’m going to try and do things differently. I’ve been spying on him to get his schedule for today so I can scheme and coordinate in peace. Andre didn’t pick up the kids today because I asked for his mother to do it herself. The girls are helping me choose what to wear for my weekend away while their baby brother is napping.

Sliding my boots on I tiptoed around the mess I created, rushing to get their opinion. I spun around, danced a little, showing off another outfit I pieced together.

“Okay, nenas...what about this?” I’m frantic. I am supposed to be meeting Dre at a resort in Palm Springs. He has an assignment there for the weekend so I figured this is the perfect time for us to fix what’s broken.

“Shoes..perfect. Outfit..even better.” Zoe smiles assuringly.

Kenja tilted her head left and right before responding to my question. “Perfecto..”

“Perfecto? La verdad o es esa actitud que estoy escuchando?” I sassed her.

“Si..la verdad. Mom, mira la hora por favor.” She pointed out. Glancing at my watch I cursed under my breath, rushing to get out of here. I tossed what I need for the weekend in my bag, smothering my girls in affection. I looped my bag over my shoulder and quietly raced up the steps to check on my youngest baby.

Cautiously I entered his bedroom, blushing at the mere sight of him. “Mommy’s going to fix this nino. I promise. For you and tu hermanas.” Shuffling to his bed I pulled his blanket up over his stomach to keep him warm. “Mommy loves you baby. I’ll see you when I get back and I’ll make sure to kiss Papi for you, if he’ll let me.” I kissed his forehead and backed away before he had the chance to wake up.

I left his room, spoke to Divya briefly and headed straight for Palm Springs.

————  ———— 

Pushing the bottle further down into the ice bucket I turned around to check out the room. I managed to get an extra key to his hotel suite since he’s still out. I got a phone call from Meah saying that he should be arriving shortly.

“Mommy,” I exhaled. Clutching the Bible to my chest I looked out at the sun setting over the horizon. “Necesito su orientación.” My spirit feels alive again. I can feel her. “I need you to walk me through this. I ruined my relationship and I need to get it back. Please watch over me and don’t let me screw this up.” Marking my body in favor of the cross I set the Bible down and put some final touches on his room.

About fifteen minutes later I heard a key unlatch the lock to the room.

“Alright, look I’ll tell you what. Let me look over the proposal, run the account and find the bug.” The door shut and the automatic lock clicking made me jump out of my skin. These goddamn nerves! Quickly I downed one of the shots I poured, needing to calm myself before he saw me. I stood tall by the window, looking out at the montañas and hills. “No man, I will personally take care of the firewall and the hiccup in your account. Why don’t you sen-”

Our eyes met the second his speech paused. With the phone to his ear, he silently set his bag down, looking me up and down. “I will have my assistant contact you so you can get me that file personally. Once I get to the bottom of this I will call you..” he motioned to the glass signaling for me to pour him a drink.

I did as he asked, going ahead to fill two glasses.

“Of course. I’ll get back to you in a few days.” His phone touched the desk as did his jacket. “I’m surprised.” He simply stated.

Closing our distance I handed him the glass, holding my own with two hands. “I know.” I agreed. “Necesitamos hablar.” I sipped on my champagne, reading his energy from the body language he’s showing.

“About?” He too sipped from his glass, going to remove his tie.

“Let me..” I offered. I set my glass down to complete the task I offered to take off his hands. A mass of nothing but fears from my subconscious lodged my airways, making it difficult to look at him. “Habla sobre nosotros, nuestra familia y el futuro de nuestra relación.” The slow movement and slithering sound of his tie falling across his shoulder made my heart skip a beat.

“So let’s talk then. Where should we start? You breaking up our family or completely blind siding me at dinner that night?” I knew this surprise visit from me would be a battle but I wasn’t expecting fire this quickly.

I draped his tie over the back of the chair, not wanting the fabric to catch wrinkles. “Don’t do that. I don’t want to fight with you tonight. For you and for us but not with you.” I created space between us, giving him room to breathe again.

“Why not? There’s enough issues to go around that we can argue about right? Isn’t that what you were saying five weeks ago when you tore our family apart?” He’s agitating me and he knows it. He’s pressing my buttons on purpose but I sympathize with his anger and hurt.

“Everything. Papi, we can fix this. I want to fix this. I broke us apart and for good reason but I want to make it right. I never wanted to hurt you or our family.” The sun has vanished leaving the sky lit up in the most beautiful orange and yellow blend.

“Mm..that’s the memo I got and if I’m correct you did hurt me. You hurt our bond, our love and our kids.” He calmly explained his point, fully raising my nerves.

Snapping my head in his direction I warned him not to steer us down a path we may not recuperate from. He clapped back at me as if I’m not in this fight with him.

“Ay, basta ahora! No me hables así! I hurt myself too, okay? You’re not the only one who got hurt that night alright? Stop trying to make me feel like crap and help me fix the problem!” Waving my hand for him to cut the nonsense out, I paced the floor waiting for him to react.

“What problem, Camila? Tell me what are these problems you speak of? I never saw any facet of our relationship that was broken and needed to be fixed. Were you imagining things that aren't real? What is it?”

“Our chemistry must have been off, Dre. It didn’t feel like old times. Y me estás llaman loco? That’s not fair of you to say! I meant what I said and how I feel is valid. You cannot deny the way I feel! Those are my feelings and I am entitled to them!” I yelled.

He approached me silently, picking up the shot from the tray. He threw it back, poured another two rounds, encouraging me to take second. “Our chemistry? What about our chemistry? Break it down for me. We have all weekend right? That’s why your bag is partially unpacked and you got a second key to the room? Well let’s get to the bottom of this shall we?”

He doesn’t know this but that was my fifth shot since I checked in. The scent of his cologne sent my desire for lust, love, affection, attention, you name it..into overdrive. I rolled my eyes swiftly as he walked past me into the living room of the suite. I followed him thinking of how to recite my feelings.

“Well..I feel like you’re still holding back. You never opened up about what happened to you while you were away. You’ve changed, baby. I recognized the signs when you came home. I didn’t pester you about my concerns because I had enough to deal with already. But you have changed and I just want you to feel comfortable enough to be open with me about what you went through.” Removing my earrings I placed them on the coffee table. Andre was mute. He drew an invisible figure eight with the champagne flute in his hand. “Coming here was intentional my love but stressing you out wasn’t.” I reminded him. I inched over to the large windows, taking in the views with him.

Throwing back the remaining champagne, Andre set the glass down by his feet. “Yeah I changed. I’m ashamed of a lot of events that have taken place over the course of my life. You know that. Being away is at the very top of that list. You know that too. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to share at all with anyone but God himself. I can’t.” He disagreed.

Cupping the nape of his neck I fingered the smooth hair, getting excited. He hasn’t touched me in weeks and I’m still breastfeeding so my hormones are driving me batshit crazy. I have been forced to stick out this drought between us, calculating how long until I get him back. Allow me to be frank and say that I have ventured down the road of self pleasure but it takes too long. I’m capable of satisfying myself on a small scale but I need him for that soul snatching, big time release.

“I’m not shaming you, papi. I would never do that. Though I strongly urge you to reconsider. God is an excellent choice mi amor pero I-” his hand claimed my throat as he backed me into the glass. The liquor in my bloodstream and on his breath made me want more. “Por favor..” I am prepared to beg, plead or use any other extreme measures I have up my sleeve if this will bring us closer. I cupped his cheek, yet again finding our son in him. Their eyes hold a familiar sense of depth and comfort. “I want to fix this, really. Again I’m sorry love, you must believe me.”

The teaser of his increase in pressure to my neck turned me on. I’m sure that was his intention and I have no objections. He’s never harmed me which is good because I love when he uses force. A little pain feels ten times better when sex and intimacy are around the corner.

“I know.” He huffed. I’m already wet with anticipation. He only added fuel to my fire. He overpowered me, giving off anger and animosity. I’ll take what I can for the time being, wanting what I’ve been deprived of. I can’t decide if I want this first time back into our fold to go by quickly because I’m so hungry or if I want to take my time.

“I want both.” I thought aloud.

Andre ripped through my clothes without any regard for common sense to treat my belongings with respect. “Of?” He uttered quietly.

We disrobed one another not caring that anyone could possibly walk by the room. We’re completely exposed and normally I’d be willing to keep watch for bystanders but tonight I don’t care much. Let them have a show to enjoy.

Tossing the belt he had on somewhere off to the side I rid him of his trousers, dominating the scene. “I want this to last but I’m desperate after five weeks.” I whined. I did not allow him to choose what pace he would rather stick with. “Give me what I want. Answers and attention.” Moving in for the kill I felt the ground lighten up from underneath my feet. I wrapped my legs around his midsection and locked my ankles to keep myself steady. He stumbled still teasing the clasp of my bra.

My body was freed from the confines of my brassiere, leaving me open for the taking. Andre granted my wish. He fucked the soul out of me up against the glass but tenderly and lovingly. We traded off with the power of getting the beauty of both worlds. What feels like angry, make-up sex carried on out to the hot tub that’s acquainted with the room. I gasped for new air, gripping his hip and palming his lower back to force him into me.

I needed a resting place for my head so I sought out the rim of the tub. My brief moment of desiring to speak ceased to exist as he touched two of my favorite spots. My outcry made me tearful and oh so sad. Sex only places a bandaid over our issues but a lovely bandaid it is. We carried on in the hot water and later transported our affairs back inside the room.

The time has come for us to use our words again. Tying my robe closed I lifted my hair up and out. With a heavy heart I studied Andre from several feet away.

“When did you begin to feel the shift?” He asked me, barely looking over his shoulder.

Clearing my throat I swiped my glass from the desk, taking a sip. “Sometime after Jo’s fifth or so doctor appointment. I think..”

Dre’s insincere snicker ruffled my feathers. He took a long drag of the blunt he’s been working for half an hour. Putting it out he sucked in a fresh wave of oxygen only to take his time blowing it back out. “So Ali is the root of your issues with me?”

“Let’s be adults about this. You know damn well that’s not what I’m getting at nor is that what I’m saying. Maybe it was the stress of waiting for all of the test results to come back..” my sentence ran off as did my feet. I walked myself across the room to look out onto the night sky. Finishing off my champagne I built up the courage to explain a selfish mistake I made so long ago. “I still feel guilty for my comment. I didn’t mean it then and I didn’t mean it now. The waiting and re-testing was backing me into such a dark place that I traded in hope for fear. That is no excuse and I have to live with my idiocy at that moment for the rest of my life.” Turning on my heels I zeroed out the space between us. I placed my hands upon his shoulders, molding to his shape wanting to ease the tension in his upper body. “But you were there. You didn’t give up on our son even while I had doubts and bombarded you with my sadness over the matter.”

Inching closer I captured his lips, entangling us to each other for round three. Speaking about our kids brings me back to consciousness. All of the wild sex that we’ve had since Jorden was born has surprisingly not created another child. This troubling and confusing separation has not hindered an inkling of romance. All that’s different is the lack of title.

“We’re supposed..to be talking..” he hummed. I fondled my way into his lap, going head first.

“Not right now we aren’t.” I denied. I’m in the mindset for a specialty cocktail I can’t put a price on. My skin began to heat up from under the robe. It’s my throat, mouth and hands that are the hottest points of me currently. I used my hands, feverishly wanting to bring him all the way up so I could stop and get him angry. His fingers ran through my hair finding the right coordinates to hold my head still. His body shuddered underneath mine as I ramped up my speed so he can feel like he’s in control of the moment. He’s never been allowed to dominate my pace when I’m pleasing him. I was very transparent in the beginning stages of our romantic relationship about why he can’t force me down or hold me still. In exchange we have worked out an arrangement to where he feels like he’s in control but he’s really not.

The overflow of saliva and the tiny bubbles running down over my fingers and wrists turned up my pride. It’s also the sweet melodic manner in which my name and God’s fills the air. I always honor him with his few moments of fame in thinking that I can’t handle his measurements. There are times when I doubt myself. Like the generous man that Andre is, he never comes short with complimenting how charming my tongue is. The hyper speed of his shaft and juevos sliding in and out my mouth brought on the most beautiful feeling. My scalp is tingling from the massage he’s giving me while I’m finishing the one I’m offering him.

His call out to the heavens is making me greedy. I’ll admit to it and I want him to know. Halting, I knelt before him and pushed him down, ultimately mounting him. Our mouths reunited in sync, no exceeding dominance displayed. My back touched down against the plush comforter, he removed my robe, and I used my hands and feet to disrobe him of his pants.

“Cuidarme, yo soy tuyo.” I begged. Our bodies meshed together resembling a fly getting caught in a Venus fly trap. My internal organs accommodated his endowment warmly. I saw darkness as he set himself up with the right momentum. “Ay Dios!” I called on our Heavenly Father several times over in the most disrespectful way. Tightening the grip I have on him I forced eye contact needing to face him head on.

His affirmation of how I’m making him feel calmed my nerves. “Making love to you always feels a step above incredible..” he told me once again.

Blissfully grinning from ear to ear I matched his strides, watching him react just the way I wanted him to. “Mm,” I hummed. “..te sientes mucho mejor.” I moaned heavily. The darkness took over again, shutting down any verbal conversation for the rest of this fight to the top of the mountain.

————  ———— 

Staring at the moon aligned with the stairs I rolled my eyes listening to Andre ramble. He’s been on a hot streak for what seems to be pushing eternity. In reality only a few minutes have lapsed.

“Can you please sit down? Your pacing is unsettling.” I advised him.

“I can’t believe you would even stoop so low to bring Jorden into our problems. I know the testing was hard on you but you can’t place the blame of our downfall on him.”

“I never said Jo was the source of our problems! All I said was that the outcome and the process itself brought me down to a place I had never been before. I have no reason to blame our children for the reason our relationship was severed and I never will. You’re taking my words and running with them trying to make me look like a shit mother and I’m not. I always put our kids first. The reason we’re apart is because of tu y yo! There are no other parties to blame except for us so don’t ever drag anyone into our shit. We made this mess together so we are responsible for cleaning it up!” Standing up to walk around I meddled in my hair only wanting to reflect.

There’s the fight about Gerrard’s initial arrival. That was the first time that Andre accused me of being unfaithful. He hurt me down to the core. I was already battling how to deal with the slander brought to my name and in my place of work. The pain from Gerrard’s doing and the assumption was double what I was expecting.

Exhaling through my nose I picked up my hair, rubbing my scalp. “Dígame, was Gerrard’s first appearance something that stuck around for you? Did you think about that day anytime afterward?” I asked him.

“Sometimes, yeah.” He confessed.

“Why did you do it? I have never understood why you felt the need to question me after our history. I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I’ve never once accused you of anything even at my lowest point so I’m just trying to put the puzzle pieces together here.” As I met his eye I put in a strong effort not to look angry.

Andre’s shoulders fell as he ran his hands over his head. “I just got scared. I had a moment of weakness and took it out on you. I was sorry then for the way I behaved and I’m sorry now. I will forever be sorry.”

“I know. That’s number one. Numbers two, three and so on. Gerrard coming around the second time, the psychos you once called family, Chris… There’s so much heavy shit in your past and in ours as a unit that keeps me up some nights.” Letting my arms fall I crossed them over my chest.

“Are you a-”

Stopping him short I held up my hand swiftly. “I am not angry. I am not sad. I don’t know what I am.”

My shoulders gained weight. I dropped my head to one side feeling my muscles loosen up.

“I have a feeling that I-my mistakes are a part of our downfall. Amongst other things now that I’m diving deep into our past.” He says.

“Que otras cosas? Dígame por favor.”

He claims that all of what I mentioned are the strongest points that broke the very foundation we’ve built. I deny it all. There’s got to be something else that we are missing.

“I owe you my life babe and I know that you hate hearing about my suicide attempt but it’s relevant. That moment in my life will forever be pertinent to many conversations that we share. That memory, despite how painful it is to both of us, plays a key role in why I am the way that I am today. I still don’t see what you see but I do know that I don’t want to lose you.” He resumed the massage on my shoulders, making me feel warm again.

“A little to the right please.” I suggested. He followed orders eliminating all tension in my upper back. “Mira, I don’t take pleasure in giving you the ring back. Deep down I just didn’t feel right wearing such a statement with the way I was feeling. The way that I’m still feeling. I’m not sure how long it will take us to get back to our old ways but I don’t want to lose you either.” I faced him sliding my hands up his chest. “I did not come here to argue and go back and forth. I want to get to the root of the problem hoping that we can find some middle ground and work our way back to normal.” I used him as a place to lay my head.

“Agreed.” He solemnly voiced.

[cosmic-navel-gazin]

In which I chronicle my Legacy of Kain journey and bridge it with your boy Adam Warlock! (Part 5 of many, and MASSIVE, I MEAN, HUMOUNGOUS SPOILERS for Soul Reaver 2 and the 1970’s Warlock)

Awwwwwwwww yeah we are going there, these compositions are most definitely on purpose.

This is where I realize that my true purpose in this world is to draw and talk about obscure or forgotten works of fiction, and I embrace this destiny. 

Ladies and gents, laughing times are over (not really though), sh*t gets very real again.

I guess it’s a bit late for this but if you have even the slightest interest in checking any of these properties out, do yourself a favor and go experience them first hand. If you just want to see me lose my mind and don’t really care about spoilers then please, proceed.

You know, when I started this little crossover of sorts, I was just having a laugh you know? It was just a cute little thing, I’ll write this one post and maybe I’ll get enough material for a second one and that’s it. THIS IS THE SEVENTH POST (even though it says Part 5). 

Never, and I do mean never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be here one day, talking about having your past and your time-travelling-future selves meet and clash, of seeing your sanctimonious attitude and overall the worst about yourself personified and given free reign to go on bloodthirsty crusades showing off how much of a hypocrite you’ve bee- but wait, I am getting a bit ahead of myself. 

I’ll get there I promise, let’s go back a bit.

Where we last left off, we managed to travel back to an even more distant past than we’ve been before. To the time of the great Vampire Purge, so that Raziel can meet this infamous ancient vampire who knows all the lore and might have the answers we seek on what exactly is causing the corruption of our world.

As we step out into this era of History we notice the fields covered with the Sarafan Order banners, and the impaled corpses and chopped-off heads of vampires. No different no doubt from the kindness vampires showed mankind later when they gained the upper hand during Kain’s 1.000 year old reign. Raziel seems a bit distraught by the sight since he assumed the Sarafan to be virtuous and heroic:

“For all the butchery of Moebius’s crusade, this massacre was somehow more chilling. The killing fields of the Sarafan betrayed a kind of orderly ruthlessness, the cold-blooded righteousness of the true believer.”

“Here at last in the flesh, I beheld my former brothers-in-arms, the warrior-priests of the Sarafan order; their lives devoted solely to the annihilation of the vampire plague. And while I confess I felt a twinge of longing, a pang of grief for what I had believed was my lost virtue, I regarded them now with none of the reverence I formally felt. For I had seen the human face of the vampires, and now I beheld the monstrousness of these men.”

While on the topic of genocidal holy wars, my boy Adam here had a bit of a run with a similar pious little group that goes by the name of Universal Church of Truth, who were going about doing a bit of cleaning throughout the galaxy:

Things don’t go so well:

Interestingly enough, I’ve learned of a deleted cutscene for Soul Reaver 2 that plays out very similarly to Adam’s first encounter with this “holy” order. There was this minor female vampire character that was being hunted down and would be executed by vampire hunters right in front of Raziel.

This scene was probably removed because they knew that almost 20 years later there would be some asshole on the internet trying to compare their games to obscure marvel comics of the 70’s.

But yeah bummer for Adam here, we’re a couple of pages in and he’s already failed to save someone. However, through the power of the Soul Gem, he’s able to retain her soul for a brief moment, letting us know more about these holy inquisitors:

Some of these methods don’t seem that far off from the Sarafan, especially on the twisting of good intentions part, but on a galactic scale:

Aye, a great bunch o’ fellas all around, if you submit and “fit in”:

Damn.

Hush Adam, I’ll get back to your predicament give me a moment. I just want the good people at home to keep both this church and the Magus, the god they worship in mind for later.

Now, back to the game. In the Sarafan Stronghold during the first hour of gameplay, Raziel made comments on the vampire he’s currently seeking while looking at some stained glass depictions:

“So this was the legendary Janos Audron - reputed to have been the most ancient and diabolical vampire to have ever existed. According to folklore, he lived high in the cliffs of Nosgoth’s northern mountains, and preyed mercilessly on the defenseless villagers below. His reign of terror ended when the Sarafan finally hunted him down and tore his throbbing heart from his still-living body. (…) But I wondered - could Janos Audron truly have been as monstrous as depicted here? Or was this merely artistic licence by the Sarafan, who sought to lionize themselves by demonizing their darkest enemy?

Keep these stained glass images in mind, they’ll also be important shortly. Neetheless to say, the hype was very real to meet this Janos Audron.

And as I kept hearing about this gentleman, I thought: “I really love this cast of pricks, where everyone speaks in half truths and is hiding something and has some hidden agenda, but you know, I kind of wish there was some slim ray of hope, of goodness and honor, just some good old plain chivalry and honesty. Maybe this Janos lad won’t be as bad as he was depicted back in the Sarafan Stronghold.” 

It took us a while but we’re finally make it to his retreat.

I really love the entire segment, the hopelessness and feeling of dread while making your way through this place, probably my favourite puzzle area of the game.  I also really love the music and architecture here.

When we do make it to the top, BOY OH BOY were my prayers answered!

Lo and behold, enter Raziel’s new daddy/mentor figure, my man JANOS AUDRON! Proabably the one decent and kind creature I’ve seen yet in these games (if you don’t count helpless human npcs who are just trying to live their lives but are caught in all these wars, slaughter and destruction).

FINALLY an understanding, moderate, compassionate man in the midst of all the lies and deception. I love him! Oh and he has what seems to be a Romanian accent. Maybe a nod to the granddaddy of all vampires: Dracula? I think his design is cool as well, so that helps.

Before we go into huge lore dumps and while on the topic of having a brief father/mentor figure for your protagonist when he’s utterly lost, alone and confused, I thought I’d bridge it with Adam’s own once foster parent, the High Evolutionary:

From the few minutes you get to know these dads they’re very different characters with different backstories and motivations. Janos is this sad lonely old man, the last of the ancient vampires and one who has been keeping himself alive solely for his sense of duty. 

While the High Evolutionary was once a man called Herbert Wyndham who performed an experiment that evolved him into a godlike being. This experience proved to be such an assault on his senses and perceptions that he chose to encase himself in this armour. Like the name suggests he is obsessed with genetic manipulation and tampering of various kinds, it is his life’s ambition. 

Despite his somewhat villainous appearance, he’s never portrayed as such from what little I’ve read, he’s just…a bit creepy. Like, he takes Adam in and is super stoked about adopting him, but he also values him not so much as a person per se as you and me would, but more as one would value an impressivly carved piece of work:

I don’t know, maybe it’s his metal face that doesn’t emote much; his sometimes questionable morality; maybe it’s the fact that Adam was 5 years old at this point, a baby boy, and this pink armoured deity is super hyped about him; there’s something a bit unsettling about this guy. Have some more dubious quotes I’ve stumbled upon:

All in all, I think he did care about him, in his own strange way:

Anyway, what’s important is that these adoptive dads serve a somewhat similar purpose, and that is to push/urge our ”“”“"heroes”“”“” (I say with many quotation marks) into a more benevolant role: to guide them in their messianic mission and save a corrupted world. Basically there to provide a chance for them to be good boys. Up until now their track record leaves much to be desired, and they’ve been quite lost on what they’re supposed to be and do.

Raziel:

“So it’s all true, then - what Kain and Vorador have told me - I really am some kind of unholy vampire messiah…”

Janos:

“Unholy? -no. Messiah… perhaps.”

Raziel:

“I don’t like that word - it smells of martyrdom.”

Janos:

“Raziel, your role in this world’s destiny is more crucial - and more benevolent - than you’ve allowed yourself to believe. Your journey will not be easy - dark powers are allied against you.”

Oh and both dads give their sons their toys (Soul Reaver and Soul Gem):

Back to the meeting with Janos, we finally learn tons of things, both new and others that have been hinted at throughout, namely:

Janos has been living a life of a recluse, alone, on top of the Aerie;

Janos knows of Raziel (some old legend I think) and has been waiting for him to hand him over the Soul Reaver, saying it is the key to save Nosgoth;

The Pillars of Nosgoth were erected by the ancient vampires and they were the rightful guardians. Janos was called to be th 10th guardian, the Keeper of the Reaver;

Over time this ancient race started to die out, with their history slowly being forgotten;

Humanity prospered and since the Pillars choose their guardians from birth and vampires were no longer born, humans were called to be their guardians but were “wholly ignorant of their true purpose.”

The Circle of human guardians is led to believe (by whom we do not yet know) that vampires are a cancer in the world. Janos warns that “with their vampire purge, the members of the Circle have assaulted the very architects of the Pillars they are sworn to protect (…) With every vampire they kill, the humans are slitting their own throats.”

Janos being a cool level-headed guy here when Raziel says he must hate mankind for all the suffering they’ve brought to him:

“They fear what they don’t understand; and they despise what they fear. But no - I do not hate them.”

I find it funny how Raziel asks if humanity should be forgiven for trying to exterminate the vampire kind and doesn’t realize that: one, he himself was exterminating vampires just a couple of moments ago back in SR1; and two, how he is just like how Janos describes humanity to be:

“They don’t understand what they’re doing. They are simply unenlightened… and vulnerable to manipulation.”

Again, this last line, completely unlike a certain blue shambling corpse I know. Not like him AT ALL.

Then, as they head inside, we learn something odd as Janos presents Raziel with the Reaver. You see, the two times Raziel has been close to the Soul Reaver still in its physical form, reality started to bend and distort (I show it off in this previous post). 

When we met Kain and decided not to kill him, he explained that when: “two incarnations of the blade meet in time and space, a paradox is  created, a temporal distortion powerful enough to derail history”

This distortion, or sense of displacement however, is nowhere to be found now when Janos presents the blade to him. Raziel feels nothing and says that “this nothingness is somehow worse…” and to get it away from him.

We learn the Reaver was forged by the same ancient vampire race that erected the Pillars (which we’ve seen hinted at when we explored the land and came accross all sorts of old murals).

But now THIS is when the game first impales me through the heart.

Me and Janos are interrupted by the Sarafan warriors who arrive carrying Moebius’ Staff (which disables vampires to the point of being barely able to move at all).

And of course! OF COURSE! Of course the moment my boy Raziel finds a truly positive influence in his life to guide and enlinghten him, and that was willing to put himself in danger in order to save him… he is axed! HEART RIPPED FROM HIS CHEST!

And by whom you ask? Who would do such a deed and kill my last ray of hope?

WHY, ME! 

TWICE!

“Me” because I was the one to open an entrance to Janos’ up until then impenetrable retreat, and literally me: human Raziel of the Sarafan that lived during this time period and was head inquisitor!

A bit different from what was depicted back at the Sarafan Stronghold, we found several centuries later (putting the same image here again so you don’t have to scroll up to compare, am I swell or what?):

The Sarafan escape with Janos’ heart and the Reaver, while wraith Raziel has a final moment with Janos. 

This part destroys me:

Raziel:

“Forgive me; I’m sorry… I failed you.”

Janos: (gently)

“No, Raziel. Perhaps this was my true purpose - simply to save your life this once.”

Raziel: (distraught)

“While I have taken yours…”

That last bit is probably my favourite line-read in the entire series so far (which is the most impossible thing to choose since there are so many great ones). But I think it’s the overwhelming sadness in Raziel’s voice that makes it memorable, you’ve never seen him feel like this for another creature.

Breaks my stone hardened heart every time I listen to it. And here’s why I think it’s an effective emotional scene, even though we only get a few minutes with Janos before he is murdered - it is because of contrast. Up until now everyone you meet is some degree of a bad or manipulative person, and you don’t really have a true friend or someone to confide in, there’s no one that really brings out the best in Raziel and it sucks because there is potential there.  So when you introduce the apparently only decent and noble person in this god forsaken land and you’re so used to by now suspect and mistrust everyone, it is impactful because he was truth and honesty in a sea of deception and moral relativism. He was my light in the midst of the fog and the one who saw good in me. And right when you’re finally relaxing and getting confortable the game pulls the rug from under you.

Now, while on the topic of having your past and future meet, there was a little something about the meeting between Adam and the Universal Church of Truth that I’ve been saving up until now. If you remember, Adam was interrogating the young woman who was killed by the inquisitors about the church and the god they worship. When suddenly:

Good news is, Adam must’ve taken a left turn somewhere and ended up on the set for “Monty Python’s Life of Brian”, where he learned some latin:

This helped him quickly figure out the Magus’ identity:

Learn your dead tongues kids, you never know when it might come in handy when meeting your time travelling, thousands of years old future-self:

So as you can se, we have a similar self-discovery journey going on but reversed in a way. In Raziel’s case you play as his future self, who time travels back in time, meets his past self and sees what a hypocrite he’s been his entire life. In Adam’s case you follow his present self, who meets the Magus (his future self), who has travelled back in time 5.000 years, in which time he has built his empire. Meeting and confronting said empire/future self, leads Adam to see what a hypocrite he’s been his entire life. You see, both Adam and Raziel have always been their own worst enemy (their own shortcomings and character flaws). So it would be only natural that we get embodiments of the worst in them: Raziel, the human Sarafan Warrior and the Magus, their past and future selves respectively.

Oof, this was a long one, and I’ve reach the character limit. In the next post I’ll elaborate more on their characters and different selves; and we go through the roller-coaster of emotions that is the endgame for both these stories.

Look foward to me losing my mind even further while I go into time travelling, paradox shenanigans… oh, and look foward to happier times with COSMIC SUICIDE! See you in the near future.

[sootcloak]

Day One: Foster

For a Future yet Unseen

Warnings need to be applied before going on to the piece itself; This one goes to some dark places in general, and depicts a character struggling with suicidal tendencies, and graphically describes injury and death.

Roughly 1600 words. AO3 Link

I’m not going to put this on character tags for the reasons above, so be aware that this work involves dialogue from G’raha in case you don’t want to read anything which involves him.

   “What is it?” Her hair, tangled and greasy, bobs as she turns her head to look back at the Seventh Heaven. Panting in the threshold of the door, G’raha Tia holds up one finger. A moment passes, and he catches his breath.

    “You are to leave, then? With so much yet undone? Even Ser Estinien has-”

    “Spare me the high and mighty speech,  Exarch .” The lalafellin woman cuts him off, voice sharp, metallic and bitter. “I answered your call, aided your order while the Archons were away, and worked to reign in the Tolophoroi because it aligned with my needs. Now, I return to my work.”

    G’raha reels a moment at her tone, then gathers himself, a familiar restraint creeping into his words.

    “Your work is important - hunting heads so as to protect those less fortunate than ourselves. But you are, to put it lightly, overqualified. Your skills are needed here, joined with ours.” He extends one hand, ruby eyes unflinchingly gazing down to her.

    “No, they’re not.” She breaks eye contact, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “And besides - if and when I am truly needed, I can be called by a number of means. Azem should-”

    “Do not call them that.” The sternness in his voice catches her, emerald eyes matching his for just a second.

    “Your hero should be able to summon me whenever they please. Besides, best not to let you get used to me. Once all this is done, the Empire in the grave, Fandaniel put down?” Her voice softens and she pauses a beat.

    “After that, I’ve only one task left to me.” She glances up at the sky, awash in rainbow hues, ambient aether built up in colorful clouds. The silence sits there, uncomfortable and weighty. The thin crowds mill about their business, the air humming with soft waning activity.

    G’raha steps slowly from the pub, until he’s a couple paces from her.

    “Vavara, there’s more to life than the duties we must undertake. More for us here than the purposes we were made for.” His voice is low and gentle, but insistent - a warm undertow.

    “Don’t go trying to impart wisdom to me. I don’t deserve it and I don’t particularly like it, either. I chose this path. Let it guide me. The only conclusion acceptable after all I’ve done is to blast clean all I’ve stained this world with. The Weapons project is dead and buried, and once I’m sure none of it remains in the Empire proper…” Her hand brushes against her sternum, a grim air washing over her.

    “After that, only this body, my weapons, and my core will remain. I will not have it misused again. Not now, not in a hundred years, not in a thousand after my aether has dried up and this body has begun to rust.” She casts a brief glance at him, expression briefly softening as their eyes meet. “Oh come now, you’re an old man. Older even than me. You’re not so naive to believe I’d  want  to ‘live’ in this shell for eternity, are you?”

    “No. I know. But that does not mean we are without options-”

    “G’raha…”

    “Allagan cloning technology shows great promise, and while none of your original body remains in a condition we could use as a base for a newly grown body, we could see if there is a way to-”

    “G’raha.”

    “-restore your aether to a living form, rather than a primarily magitek one. Or perhaps we could simply make your life in a magitek body less uncomfortable, experiment with other kinds of crystal and stone. Try variations on the technology you’ve-”

    “Stop.” She pulls her cap from her head. Knotted locks tumbles out from beneath it in waves of gray and sandy brown, over her shoulders and down to her hips.

    “I don’t think I can face death as I have again.” She says. Softly, so quiet one can barely hear the metallic ringing in her voice. Her eyes trace upwards to the lights above.

    “But once? And then to bid everyone farewell, knowing I’ve done my part? That I had helped to raise a better tomorrow, quietly and from a distance? To know that I’ve made amends. I don’t need to live long, or happily ever after. To just know that would be enough. But if I stay, I will face it again and again. More viscerally than any of you have ever known.

    “I have died ; I was shot through the chest and lost my heart and half my ribs - I was saved, barely, but I felt my life leaving me. No healer could repair that foul of a wound. They worked around the clock to keep me just on the threshold of death’s door. I choked on my own blood and bile for days as my aether was moved to my core. Drowning and experiencing my soul being torn from my body, all at once. It was not pleasant.

    “I was scorched by artillery shelling when someone betrayed my position to the Imperials. Torched and thrown this way and that, until barely anything remained save for charred bones and fragments of hardened sinew. I felt every moment, every pounding detonation; My aether safe in my core and preserved to experience it all.

    “I was dashed to pieces in Rhalgr’s Reach, my head removed from my shoulders by the Crown Prince’s lackey. Wasn’t even worth his attention. But I still felt it. Felt as all my senses went black -no, worse, they were just  gone  - and all my bearings were lost. Not even  time  held sway in the abyssal depths of that crystal without any sensation to anchor me. For what could have been a dozen seconds or a dozen years, I waited, hopeful that I  wouldn’t be found - but destroyed - so as to just end the misery then and there.

    “And again, this time I’d grown clever enough, fast enough, viscous enough, and strong enough to challenge the beast at Ghimlyt. Lost my arm, those last few organs I’d had, and my legs there.  And again, I had to suffer through  every  moment of pain, every pulse of agony. Unable to do aught but  watch  as he nearly cut down the one, the ONE person I’d begun to place any stock in."

    “..."

    “I… I’m not strong enough to die again and have to live with it for…” Her voice stalls, eyes distant and posture stiff.

    “I think. I think I’d just like to be done, truth be told. There’s not much left of me. But a professional has standards, and I’m not given to leave a job half-done.” Her face remains fixed on the clouds of aether above, in their myriad colors and shapes, the night sky awash in a tapestry of foggy, rainbow hues. As the crowd thins and she stands by the lamp, G’raha says nothing. He just takes another step closer, and looks up at the sky besides her.

    “If you mean to finish what you’ve set out to do…”

    “I’ll have to face it once or twice more. I… I know.”

    “Had I but known you were struggling so much, I’d-”

    “What, you would have called down from your tower to  save me  ? I did not ask for your pity.” A trembling anger briefly flashes through her. “I  chose  this path. I’ll walk it, don’t think to drag me off it now.”

    “No, I don’t think I could. I was told I should save my breath - that you always depart after you’ve decided you’re ‘no longer needed’ . That no one had been able to convince you to stay. None of the Scions, or Archons, or Warriors who had reached out to you could convince you that you had a place here.” G’raha’s eyes slowly shift from one star to the other.

    “Because I don't.” The words are a weak, half-hearted hiss.

    “Perhaps not. But whether or not there is a place for you here, you need not make your journey alone. Whatever end awaits you, you need not face it with  your  strength and resolve  alone .”

    “I’m more than capable of-”

    “I know. I wasn’t suggesting that you are weak, or that your will is lacking.”

    “...”

    “If at the end of the road, you find your journey has ended, that there is naught else left for you save your duty? Then in that too, I would walk with you. To ensure you may rest at ease, knowing that you have indeed played your role. But pray, give me - give us - a chance to repay all that you have done for  us . You have answered our calls, our prayers. I wish to show you the future you have long labored to create.” He stretches a moment, and turns back the way he came. He glances back over at her.

    “Though you have been laboring in the dark for longer than I’d feared, there is yet hope. If you’ll let us show you, we would be proud to walk alongside you. But the choice is yours. If you feel you must face the final days of your journey alone, then I will not stand in your way.” He takes a deep breath. His eyes break from her, jaw set, walks into the Seventh Heaven, and disappears from sight.

    Vavara’s hand reaches for her sternum, the resonant clicking of the gears just beneath the surface rhythmically vibrating through her coat, her gauntlet. Her core burns in her chest, cold and stinging like alcohol on a wound. She tears her eyes away from the sky, and looks over her shoulder at the door, left slightly ajar. Her thumb brushes the brim of her cap, still held in her hand.

    “Forgive my cowardice…” She whispers.

    She pulls her hat over her head, the brim low near her eyes.

    She wrestles with the strap of her bag, the rifle and spear strapped to it clinking.

    And she turns on her heel.

[qoreprojects]

The Party Whip, or Lilith in the 11th House

Not long ago, I paid a visit to my 11th house to speak with Lilith. She lives there, along with my South Node - a tiny golden compass that points toward the past. It was the past that I wanted. Lilith had lived in this house alongside it for so long that I believed she’d be able to help me understand what it meant. 

“You thought that I would be angrier?” she laughed sharply. 

Lilith was perched on a window seat, half her face bathed in the single stream of light in an otherwise shadow-filled room. She wore a simple red shift dress. Her hair was loc’d and tumbled towards her leather-belted waist on one side of her head, exposing a shaved opposite side to the dappled sun. She held an orange and a pocket knife in her hands. 

I nodded slightly. Every movement in this room could be felt in ways that did not exist in the material realm. Palpable waves rippled away from the tiniest gestures. Shadows danced in the corners. The air was possessed, and every shift had meaning.   

“That’s funny,” she said, flicking a peel onto the floor, “I don’t know why people only recognize Lady Regret when I am in my war clothes.” She used her own title with a touch of irony. 

Several crows called to one another outside, and a light breeze stirred the distant treetops. This movement agitated the shadows in the room. All was as it should be - in flux. 

“You are here because you want to know about your greatest regret,” Lilith stated presently. 

“I suppose so, yes,” my breath rippled away from me in the cool, dark air. “At this point, I’ve run out of reasons not to know.” 

Lilith smiled a lop-sided smile and continued peeling, one foot on the sill and one on the floor. “Are you familiar with the term ‘true believer’?”

“Yes,” I said quietly, knowing where this was going. I could feel the conversation as a tangible thing, like a strong westerly wind. The shadows and the dust particles organized themselves accordingly. Lilith tilted her face to look me directly in the eye. “What about the term ‘party whip’?”

The wind of conversation changed directions, and the shift was slight but sudden. I marveled at the subtle switch, and a sense of dread overcame me. The life inside the room absorbed my response as an addition to its moving chorus of shadows. 

She paused to eat one section of orange, and then began peeling again. “The party whip is a different thing, isn’t it? Let’s examine the two…”

The True Believer and the Party Whip

The life of a True Believer can easily be confused with personal sacrifice on behalf of others. This is because, from the outside, it looks as if the True Believer is willing to give up a great deal for their party. They may give up relationships, time, effort, money, or freedom to make certain lifestyle choices. Observers who consider the party a worthy cause call the True Believer “self-sacrificing” and “a saint”; people who dislike the cause say the True Believer is silly and “voting against their own interests”.

In truth, the True Believer sacrifices little for the party because the party’s goals and the True Believer’s goals are almost exactly the same. If a True Believer does sacrifice anything for the party, it is minor and without much pain or hesitation. There is no real conflict between their motivations and that of the party. The True Believer may recognize some problems or contradictions within the party, or they may lack the critical perspective to do so. In either case, the flaws of the party and the flaws of the True Believer are largely the same. There can be a kind of innocence in that.   

A Party Whip is not the same thing as a True Believer. (A Party Whip can also be a True Believer - but for the purposes of this conversation we will consider them separately.) Unlike the True Believer, the Party Whip does not necessarily align with everything the party says and does on a personal level. They may notice glaring flaws and issues within the party. They may believe that the party’s words and deeds do not match. They may long for previous versions of the party, or hope for future ones, while considering the present party to be a mere shadow of itself. They may think of the party’s goals as good general rules that will benefit the world, but that should not be applied in every situation without nuance. 

The only things necessary for the role of a successful Party Whip are a sincere belief that the party is the best way to get things done - to have a hand in the creation of the world, to make things happen - and that the ends of this goal justify the means. For the sake of those two beliefs, the Party Whip can modify their own behavior and offer themselves up to be ‘borrowed’ by the party, in the hope that they can ‘borrow’ the party’s collective power for themselves at a later date. 

Say, the leaders and vanguards of the party have decided that its collective goals will be best served by oranges. Under no circumstances can there be apples. Other fruits are fine, though less than ideal - but absolutely no apples. The Party Whip shows up to work and receives the party line: everyone in the party is to vote for oranges, and it is the Whip’s job to ensure this outcome.

The intelligent Whip has their finger on the collective pulse and can understand exactly why the party agenda is supported by oranges. They also know that competing parties are out there voting for other fruits - sometimes even apples. This is unacceptable. The party must win, which means that oranges must win and apples must lose.  

The skilled Party Whip may not personally enjoy the taste or texture of oranges. They may even feel sympathetic to apples. However, the Whip is quite accustomed to viewing their own tastes and desires as a secondary concern to more important matters: the party line. They know how to either conceal or surgically remove the parts of themselves that are not convenient to the party and its goals - unlike the True Believer, who has never had to change very much about themselves in exchange for membership.

Therefore the Party Whip is assigned a role: to go out among members of the party, keep track of everyone who might vote for another fruit, and get them to vote for oranges instead. To accomplish this, the Party Whip is going to use whatever tools they already use to keep themselves in line with the party’s interests. 

These tools vary, and may include: 

Shame and guilt

Reasoned arguments

Coercion

Information

Misinformation

Bribery

Cost-benefit analysis

Promises of future reward for current sacrifice

Appeals to duty, loyalty and obligation

Not all of these methods are equally ethical. A Party Whip is only able to be as ethical when whipping the rest of the party to consensus as they are when whipping themselves in private. 

Lady Regret in the 11th House

Your biggest regret is being a very skilled Party Whip. 

You were good at living your life according to the party line. This earned you such compliments as ‘inspiration’ and ‘example’, which made you feel safe and valued. You were gifted at being able to distance yourself from your own instincts so thoroughly that parties rewarded you with protection and support in exchange for your skill at keeping their dissenting or individualistic members in line. This was not questionable for you - you participated in this exchange because you believed it was good and righteous, and that the party’s ends justified the means.

You privately exulted in your own savvy. You believed your differences from the True Believer - your ability to perceive the group’s flaws and issues with a bit more perspective - made you more ethical. In reality, it made you more culpable. Your clarity was a gift meant to inspire you to take risks and speak up, valuing the truth over any attachment to the party’s reaction.

You did not speak up. 

You chose to improve the party by sacrificing your unique perspective in exchange for access to the collective’s power; you were shocked when improvement never came. When push came to shove and the party’s power was threatened, for one reason or another, they abandoned you. Perhaps the abandonment was purposeful. Perhaps they simply no longer had enough clout to protect you. In any case, the party name was no longer able to get you into the rooms you wanted to enter. Your persuasiveness on others’ behalf was no longer in demand. The recognition in strangers’ eyes when you flaunted your membership card dwindled. Circumstances may have even become so drastic that mentioning the party put you in danger rather than keeping you safe.    

A lone, displaced ruler must rely on personal power and instinct. They cannot rely on an ever-present council or party membership to get things done. You were suddenly alone - the sole authority of your life. You were not prepared for this. The years, or even lifetimes, you spent living outside of your own will have taken a toll. You don’t even know how to have a thought or emotion without examining it for its usefulness to some group, even when there is none present. You walk around barefoot and in rags with panic behind your eyes. You roam the streets waving a saw and rasping through dry lips, “I will saw off anything for friends in high places! Fingers, feet! I will cut off anything for friends in high places! Eyes, face! I have experience, will work for connections!”

Most people are horrified and cross the street when they see this display. Some see you as a temporary tool and take advantage of you until you have nothing left to give. Some people see your true heart better than you do and try to connect with it, but by this time you are jaded and assume that all anyone could want from you is your skill as Party Whip. They try to love you, but you are too preoccupied with trying to dutifully serve their interests in exchange for power and validation.

Dreams shrivel and die like old fruit under these conditions - again, again, and again. This is the loop, the hoop that must be mended. 

Resolution

Lilith rose from the windowsill. Her full height compelled the room’s darkness to rearrange itself. Dead orange peels lie on the floor at her feet, glowing in the patch of sunlight that streamed through the window. 

“Who are you when you are alone?”

I sat down on the dusty floorboards and stared into the shadows. 

“What are you capable of creating - or destroying - when you only do so from your heart?”

The shadows gave me nothing but constant shifting in return. 

“As long as you sacrifice your dreams for others’ out of fear that you cannot accomplish them alone, your efforts will go to waste. Parties are not forever; empires fall and agendas shift like the wind. Learn to build true alliances based on raw love - which can only happen when you are clear and unashamed of your own desire.”

I looked up just in time to see her toss me the last slice of orange. My hand shot up to catch it, and I carefully considered its juicy ripeness against my fingers. 

It felt delicious. 

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

A Muppet Family Christmas

Day 13 of 2018′s 31 Days of Christmas.  Note: new for 2020.  Credited as 2018 for organizational purposes, & back-filling the prompt.

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the prompt list!

Prompt: Holiday movies

Rating: T (sexual themes, alcohol)

Pairing: TenxRose (AU)

Summary: Despite being mid-January James and Rose have a Christmas-movie watching date, and open up about old grief amidst being childish with the Muppets and Mario Kart.  Part of the Cosier With You ‘verse.

2018 31 Days of Ficmas Masterlist  |  Cosier With You ‘Verse

AO3

---

With a final swipe of gloss across her lips, Rose returned the lipstick to her purse, fluffed her hair, and knocked on the door.

“It’s open!”

Pushing the door open, she grinned at the sight that greeted her.  Hair still obviously wet from the shower, her boyfriend of three weeks (and counting!) stood on the far side of his kitchen island, preoccupied with a popcorn popper that was spitting out perfectly popped corn.  “Hey!” he greeted her warmly, as she dumped her stuff and came around to his side.  “Missed you.”

“I saw you this morning,” she laughed, kissing him hello. “Mm, you taste like butter.”

“I had to make sure it was good,” James shrugged, gesturing to the half-full bowl catching the freshly popped corn.  “Only the best for you.  And yes, but we were at your place of work, surrounded by people.  I much prefer when we’re alone.”

“So do I.”  Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her head on his bicep.  “Remind me why we’re watching Christmas movies in mid-January?”

James eased out of her arms as the popper wound down, dumping the last of the kernels into the bowl before switching the machine off. “Because I don’t want to wait a year to curl up with you and popcorn and watch cheesy Christmas-themed movies with you.” He nodded towards a bottle of white wine and two glasses on the counter, still chilled from the fridge, waiting for Rose to grab them before guiding her to the couch, which was already prepared for the evening.

Two soft, fleece-lined blankets stood at the ready, along with the pillows from his bed.  A stack of DVDs sat on the coffee table, two drink coasters optimally positioned, and to complete the Christmas-y vibe, all the decorations, including the tree, were still up.

“So, for future reference, do you typically leave the tree up this long?” she asked, plopping down roughly in the middle of the couch and pulling out the pre-popped cork.  “‘Cause I’ve gotta be honest, mine’s been down since the third, and this might be a sticking point in the future.”

He laughed, settling next to her and reaching for his glass.  “No, but… I’m not ready to take it down yet, this year.  I’m afraid…”

“What?”  She took her own glass, leaning back into the cushions and giving him her full attention.

“I’m afraid that this- what we have- is a function of Christmas magic, and if I remove the decorations…” he trailed off, ears flushing. “Point is, I’m not taking any chances on this.”

Rose grinned, blushing herself, and wiggled closer.  “I’m not going to disappear if you take your tree down,” she promised.  “And I’m mostly teasing you – it’s sort of nice, it still being up.  Not sure I’d say the same if I was living- with one still up,” she faltered, and they shared a smile at what was unsaid- “but… yeah. I wouldn’t want to jinx us either. I’ve been wanting this for so long.”

“Me too.”  He leaned forward, and they met in the middle in a kiss that tasted of salt from the popcorn, tart from the wine, and sweet from what she was learning was just him.  “Mhmm, you’re too tempting,” he accused without heat when he pulled back for breath.  “This isn’t why I asked you over.”

“All right, all right,” she resettled herself with a laugh.  “Fine, we can Netflix then Chill, if that’s what you really want.”

His ears and neck turned a delightful shade of scarlet, and he all but lunged for the stack of DVDs, voice squeaking as he said, “So!  What shall we start with?”

Leaning in again she rested her cheek against his shoulder as they shuffled through the selection, and it took everything she had not to scoff at the final option, managing a neutral tone to say, “A Muppet Family Christmas?”

James stilled beside her, and she was glad she hadn’t laughed when a distant expression flashed across his face. “It was my dad’s favorite Christmas movie,” he said, hesitantly.  “Mum hated it, but tolerated it when we were old enough to watch it.  It became our thing, me Donna and Dad’s.  She and I still watch it together every year.”

“Oh.”  Rose tried to marshal her thoughts, recognizing that he was letting her in on something special, wondering distantly if it was some sort of test.  “I’ve never actually seen it.”

“Really?”

She nodded.  “Slightly before my time.  I know who the Muppets are, of course, saw the Christmas Carol one, but… not this.”

He was silent for a moment, picking at the corner of the box.  “D’you wanna?”

“Yes.”  She surprised them both with the strength of her response, based on how James’ head flew up to blink at her.  “Sounds like this might be the closest I get to meeting your Dad, so- let’s do it.”

His blinding smile told her it was absolutely the right answer.

-

By the end of the movie they were snuggled together, singing along at the top of their lungs to the final song, even as it trailed off to the credits.

“-And a happy new year!” they finished, before breaking into peals of laughter.

“Oh, I loved it,” Rose proclaimed, wiping tears of merriment from her eyes.  “I can’t believe I’ve never seen that – it’s adorable!”

Beside her, James made a happy noise, pressing his face into her bicep.  “Really?”

Wriggling around, Rose waited until she could meet his eye to respond.  “Really,” she said firmly.  “There’s something special about it.  And more importantly, it’s special to you.  So it’s special to me.  Thank you for sharing this bit of yourself with me.”  No words could express how honored she felt, that he was comfortable sharing something so personal with her.  It made her a little wistful for her own father; while both men were gone, James had at least grown up with his father, known him in person- Rose had been a baby when Pete died.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”  James’ concerned tone dragged her out of the spiral of her thoughts, and she looked up at him when he brushed at her cheek.  “You’re crying.”

She bit her lip.  “I was just thinking about my own dad,” she said truthfully.  “I’d give anything to share something like this with him.  Or, anything, really.  I was six months when he- when we lost him.  I mean, on bank holidays Mum and I watch old Cliff Richards movies, but… it’s not quite the same as this.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to bring up a… a sad memory for you.”  His soulful chocolate eyes felt like they could see into her very heart, and she pushed down the ever-present but background grief.

“It’s okay.  Sometimes it hits me in the weirdest moments.  And I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet your Dad – he sounds wonderful, based on your stories.”  Then she bolted upright, as a memory surfaced.  “Holy shit – I think I did meet your dad!  Three Christmases ago, the first couple months you were coming in – we didn’t have much of a relationship then, but I still clocked you every time, ‘cause you’re so bloody cute, and I remember you came in a few days before Christmas with an older man!  You’d been out shopping, and blimey, he looked just like you!”

James was silent for a long moment, before exhaling.  “Blimey, I think you’re right.  I’d forgotten – I was sweet on your even then, and I think he noticed, ‘cause he kept teasing me.  I never took him back, for fear of him embarrassing me.  But… yeah, there you go.  You did meet him.  And he liked you, much as he could in thirty seconds.  Kept egging me to ask you out, and I brushed him off.  If only I’d listened to him…”

They sat with that, imaging what could have been, before Rose clapped her hands.  “No, we are not going down that rabbit hole.  Let’s be grateful that we got there, and we’re here now.  Trust me, I spent my entire life pretending not to notice how my mum had one foot stuck in the could-have-beens.  Better not to start down that path.”  She reached for the bottle of wine, but it was empty.  “What d’you say we go do some stargazing?”

“Or…” he drawled, raising an eyebrow, “we could continue on our childish theme and play Mario Kart.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

-

By the third race their maudlin musings had been all but forgotten, as they battled it out for first place with taunts and good-natured ribbing, giving no quarter and playing as though their lives depended on it – complete with over-dramatic victory dances and cheering.

“Oh, come on!” James protested, as Rose eked out a second win by a breath.  “You’re cheating!”

“Am not,” she denied, settling back on the couch after a final celebratory kick.  “Novice, remember?  Beginner’s luck?”

He grumbled, turning to look at her.  “Care to make it more interesting?”

“How so?”

“Winner takes a shot, loser loses an item of clothing?”

Rose laughed, shaking her head.  “You want to turn strip-racing into a drinking game?”  Leaning back, she considered her outfit and his, then the empty bottle of wine.  “What d’you got for shots?”

A rifle through the fridge produced a cold bottle of peppermint schnapps, “In keeping with the Christmas theme,” he declared, setting it on the coffee table along with two shot glasses.  “Hope you’re thirsty.”

Shaking her head, Rose folded her legs beneath her.  “You do know I’m a sure thing, right?” she teased, choosing the next track in the game.  “You don’t need to get me drunk, or strip to get me interested.”

“Someone’s confident in themself, aren’t they?” he leered. “Better watch out – who knows what the promise of getting you in your knickers will do to my ability in the game?”

“Not a thing,” she shot back, catching her tongue between her teeth.  “Because there’s no where you’re getting me in my knickers.”  She started the race, laughing at his outraged yelp.

“We’ll see.”

The light turned green and they took off, and Rose waited until they were near the end and he was slightly ahead to say, “I’d have to be wearing knickers for you to see me in them.”  As predicted he startled, going so far as to drop his controller, and with a laugh, she sped across the finish line for her third win in a row.  As her character (Princess Peach, natch) was crowned, she turned to watch him splutter, eyes wide.

Finally, he just pointed, making a wheezing sound.  “You…”

She took her shot first, nearly coughing at the overwhelming peppermint flavor, before turning her whole body to him.  “Strip, loser,” she ordered with a smirk.  “And, in case you don’t believe me…”  Brave off the half-bottle of wine and the shot, she lifted her leg to splay it along the back of the sofa, confirming for him that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath her skirt.  Laughing at the awestruck look on his face she returned to facing the telly, tucking her knees primly together.  “I held up my end of the bargain…”

Coming back to life, he shook his head in disgust.  “You’re not playing fair.”  He whipped his shirt off, revealing his lovely muscular chest, and her knees squeezed together just a bit tighter.

“Well, lose quicker then, so we can go to bed.”

-

He didn’t win a single race after that, but an hour later, flat on his back on his living room floor wearing only a single sock, with a sticky and sweaty Rose collapsed on his chest, he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“I love Christmas.”