#that's the only explanation to ir behavior

[fate2716]

So new ideas for a fanfic, listen to me:

A fic where Enid confesses her feelings to Wednesday, and she feels the same, she has fallen prey to the Addams Curse, but she rejects her because she feels that she doesn't deserve her and thinks that she will never be able to make her happy since she can't give her what she thinks she wants like PDA, watching pop movies, words of love, etc. (obviously we all know she can, she is Gomez's daughter after all, but she is still emotionally repressed in this moment).

Some time later, a new student arrives, and she and Enid begin to form a friendship that little by little seems to transform into something romantic, the thing is: this girl is too similar to the psychic, in style and ways of spiking and behaving. Their relationship is how she imagined it would be if she and Enid were together instead, and the strangest thing is that the werewolf seems to be really happy with that dynamic, without demanding more (our blonde respects other people's boundaries because she is a sweetheart).

Now it's time for Wednesday to be conflicted and wonder if she really made the right decision by rejecting the blonde, after all, if Enid wanted that kind of relationship, why couldn't she be the one standing by her side? Why not be the one who makes her happy? Can she win back Enid's love? Could it be that she still feels the same? Will she still have a chance to repair her mistake? Can she show her that she is a better option? And more importantly, how?

[nichirinpen]

In His Divine Gaze

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Can also be read here on AO3

Word Count: 20K

Synopsis- Following the traditions of your village, you become a Shrine Maiden. However, unlike most, you meet your shrine's God.

Content Tags: AFAB reader descriptions, Smut, penis in vagina sex, vaginal penetration, attempted assault (mahito is a creep)

Whether we like it or not, life tends to follow tradition. Old and dusty rituals followed by people to cling to the past. It ties people to their heritage, to their families. It has explanations for the unexplainable and gives a face to old superstitions. Tradition crossed time, mixing the past with the present, often in tiresome ways.

Your village had a rather odd tradition once someone reached the age of 18. Called the ‘Path of Three’ it was a replacement for a birthday celebration for the new adults. Dragged out in the middle of the town, the idea was to choose your path in life. With the celebration you could marry, become a trader or go work for the village shrine. 

In almost all cases, young individuals chose to marry and live in the village. It was the easiest choice for most, guaranteeing them housing and in most cases a blessing from the village elders. Marrying was the choice that guaranteed safety and a full belly most nights. Despite being behind the times, the village had plenty to go around. And besides, propagation in a dying village was needed and highly encouraged. Each year another elder passed and the village numbers dwindled further. The eldest of the village clung to the shreds of the past, refusing to admit that with each year, the end of the village drew nearer.

Second choice was becoming a trader. That path meant a chance at leaving the old woods, of adventuring across the country. It carried with it whispers of riches, good food and escape from under the thumb of the elders. Being so sheltered within the pines however, made it a less popular path. The youth of the village tended to be wary of adventuring beyond the deep woods.

The final choice, the shrine meant servitude to the old gods. It was rarely picked, the choice meaning nothing but a life of celibacy and working yourself to the bone. It didn’t help that the shrine was led by the oldest and nastiest woman in the village. Because of this most avoided it like the plague. Your mother had once described it as a nest of disease, the quiet comment earning her the ire of the village elders. They would never admit it, but the shrine was like the rest of the village, becoming forgotten by the new world.

In your case you chose the shrine. Marrying wasn't something you had wanted. Not when the only eligible partner was 17 years older than you and had a penchant for being drunk. He had dropped heavy hints in the months leading up to your birthday, clumsily pawing at you as if you were livestock. No matter where you went, he was there, stinking and laughing. Your parents had encouraged him, their hints at wanting grandchildren much heavier handed. Gifts meant for fertility had greeted you a whole month before your 18th birthday, followed by the wide smiles of your parents. The thought alone made you want to vomit but you persisted. Ignoring him and them to the best of your ability.

When it was finally your birthday, the look on his face when you made your choice had been enough to make up for his disgusting behavior. A shrine maiden made sense for you. Being a wife held no interest. Not when it meant having as many babies as you could and spending your days gossiping with the other tired women of your village. Being a trader meant long periods of time away from the village. Much like the rest of the village, you liked the deep pines you lived in. They offered quiet and solitude that the rest of the world seemed adamant on moving away from.

So you chose the shrine much to your parents dismay.

Like most modern villages, old gods and their shrines were starting to become mere whispers. As the new age seeped across the land, the strings of tradition were starting to fray. Superstitions and reverence were fading to stories that were told to scare children and nothing more. Some villages had even had the arrogance to tear down old shrines. To rid themselves of the past in favor of the cold stone and metal of the future.

Because of this, the elders of your village approved of your choice heartly. It had earned you a bundle of fabric, a sack of rice and a small kitten. Gifts were not typically given to a new shrine keeper. But seeing as you were the second person in almost 19 years to do so, the village elders were ecstatic. They needed more people to keep tradition alive, especially since the old shrine keeper was getting up there in years. 

So you left the warm and bustling village and found yourself in the woods that surround it. Your farewells had been bittersweet, your parents whispering that you could always change your mind. You didn’t however, heart thrumming slightly at the thought of finally being away from the watchful eyes of the village. Being alone in the woods sounded like a godsend. 

So, kitten tucked in the front of your kimono and a cloth bag of your possessions on your back, you made the trek into the deep pines. Just over a day's walk from the village, the old shrine was nestled in a thick grove of pine. The stone and wood of its walls were decaying. Here in the deep woods, nature was adamant about overtaking everything. Deep emerald moss and prickly vines twisted over the hunched form of the shrine. Almost as if the forest were halfway through swallowing the old structure, it became impossible at some points to see where the shrine ended and the forest began. Wood shavings and bits of stone littered the mossy steps up to it, the building seeming to shed like an old dog. You carefully skirted around the larger chunks, knowing that if you tripped and broke anything, no one would be able to rescue you.

The once vibrant red paint of the shrine was peeling in thick chunks from the worn wood. Spread about the lush forest ground like strang blood flecks. There was something eerie about the building. Even the foundation was crumbling, cracks like spiderwebs spreading from stone to stone. Though you admittedly were not quite religious and weren’t sure how much you believed in the old gods, something about this building seemed alive. As if an unseen being sat at its middle, peeking over the crumbling walls at you with many eyes.

The shrine keeper, Ama, was much like the building. Hunched in her old age, her rough skin and dark eyes drew a picture of one who had been alive for centuries. Ama, of course, was only 83, a near miracle in the village. The old woman did not see it as such, living this long was a curse to her. She was old, unkind and foul tempered. 

On your first day she had tried to send you back to the village, snapping that the youth like you just wanted to dilly dally in the forest like pigs. Though you towered over her, Ama scared you. She had a fierceness in her gaze that matched the unsettling aura of the shrine. You had stumbled over your words, sputtering like a fish as she glared. Her boney fists had been like knives in your hips as she pushed you from the shrine. And you had let her, eyes wide and mouth agape as she slammed the shrine doors behind you.

That night you had slept in the shrine steps, shivering and sneezing as the night winds ripped through the trees. In the dark, under a moonless sky, the pines weren’t as comforting as they were in the sun. And yet, you didn’t feel too afraid. Having the oddly watchful shrine at your back felt somewhat reassuring. And blessedly the kitten you had been given had remained on your chest, the little orange creature purring away through the night. He sat tucked in your kimono, brown eyes half closed in that sweet way cats did when sleepy and content. You decided that night to name him Yuji. The name was fitting. He was only a few months old and already had been more helpful than anyone else in your life. 

Ama had let you stay after that, grumbling about having wasted enough energy to deter you. Under the morning sun you had given her a stiff smile, trying to ignore the fact that you could feel all of your bones from sleeping on stone. The old woman had given you a brief look of respect before covering it with her bristling glare. She was quick to thrust a broom in your hands, commenting that at least you had the decency to bring a shrine cat with you.

And so you had begun your days as a Shrine Maiden.

Other than her, the only other shrine worker was a man named Mahito. He was in his 30s and had picked the shrine as his place of work even before the age of 18. Being an orphan and having no home he had been left with little choice. Much like with the stray dogs that made their way in, the village had discarded him as soon as they were able.

Mahito was quiet and unsettling. He reminded you of stories of yokai for some reason, his gaze odd and piercing. Though you tried not to judge one by their appearance, there was something about his lank graying hair and scarred face that made your stomach churn. It was as if he were something pretending to be a man, his skin sitting strangely upon his bones. His voice didn’t help either, the man’s words seemed to twist like snakes. The air around him felt tainted by just a single word. You tried your best to avoid him as you carried out the various tasks Ama set for you each day. It was easy enough given that his daily tasks seem to pertain to the basement and inner courtyard. You happily avoided both and the bugs that seemed to thrive there. The few moments in which you had to interact with him were short enough that you were able to power through them with a forced smile. If he was aware of his effect on you, Mahito, thankfully gave no indication.

And time passed like this. One year became two, then 6 and you were still running about the shrine and its grounds, following Ama's raspy bark as she pointed to this and that. Over time you grew stronger, the coldness of winters and the sweltering summers having little effect with each year. It was a quiet life with just the three of you. Incredibly different from the village where everyone seemed to know what everyone else was doing. 

The village life didn’t entirely leave you however. Despite liking being alone, you often found yourself trailing Ama on her daily rounds, not wanting to be caught alone by Mahito. The old woman seemed not to mind, happily giving you small tasks on the upkeep of the shrine.

Despite time’s instance of wearing the building down Ama kept it as clean and tidy as she could. The forest and the elements made the task difficult. It seemed nearly everyday there was some new part of the woods pushing its way past the old stone.

You assisted Ama silently, never complaining about any duties she gave you. Some days it was finding and tossing all the spiders in the shrine, others it was tying new talismans on the outer Tori gate. Ama would never admit it, but your silent acceptance seemed to please her. 

Each morning she waited in the inner courtyard to bark the morning’s orders. In your 5th year she began following you about, glaring at your work. Ama offered no praise and no help. But you were quick to learn that didn’t mean she was unhappy. 

In your 6th year some mornings Ama would give you nothing to do, simply asking you to watch the shrine as she took a walk. You spent those days on the front stairs with Yuji, sewing and waiting for Ama to reemerge from the deep pines. She never said where her walks took her, but she always appeared happy afterwards. Just for a moment, when she stepped from the trees to the stone, you caught a glimpse of the woman she once was. She would stand tall, a small smile upon her face and then she would step from beneath the last pine and once more she was a hunched and twisted old woman. 

With these walks, the wall between you and Ama seemed to have lessened. The old shrine keeper slowly let you into her world. Her anger you learned was due to the villagers. Less offerings were being sent to the god. And no one showed up to the prayer ceremonies. Each ceremony she preferred, each ritual of offerings she held, Ama seemed angrier and older. Her chapped lips would offer curses to the village after each prayer. It was a sad sight that seemed to worsen through time.

You sat through all of them, offering your silent servitude to a nameless god. Despite your best efforts to pry, Ama didn’t produce a name for the god. And as time flew by, you began to think that the God was perhaps lost to time. 

It wasn’t uncommon. As the new age filtered in, stories of gods abandoning their shrines grew in numbers. They went where the prayers were and here in the deep pines, only 2 offered prayer to the nameless god. You had noticed that Mahito never attended, the pale man always skulking away when Ama made her pre ceremony preparations.

As the years passed, Ama grew weaker. Her odd little walks took more and more time and you grew worried she was going to get lost in the deep pines. But she always returned and you kept your worries silent. You were curious of course, what could be so important in the woods that Ama would risk a fall over twisted roots to go each week? 

But one glare from her wrinkled face was enough to wither the question in your throat. You pretended to not care, to not count the minutes until she returned. 

Yuji had grown to be a big cat, spending his days napping in the sun on the shrine’s roof and following you about during your daily chores. He sat with Ama each morning, waiting for you to enter the main hall. Yuji was a funny cat, watching Ama bark her daily orders at you before following you to whichever end of the shrine you had been sent to. You appreciated his company and his funny little expressions. Life in the shrine was simple and yet complete. Not once did you think of returning to the village. Here your heart was fulfilled.

Then one day in the fall, Ama was not waiting in the main hall when you awoke. Waiting for a few moments you took note that Yuji was not in his usual spot either. You thought to ask Mahito, but his face in your mind made your anxiety deepen. You stood for a time, ignoring the chill wind as it ripped through your kimono. Worry took hold and you had made your way to her room, wincing at the heavy incense smell that seeped from it. Prayer incense, the ones she only used when offering words for the dead. You paused before the door, unsure if you should enter. Ama, despite opening up to you, was still incredibly private. Her room was the only spot in the shrine you had not yet seen. But despite your apprehension at being scolded, your anxiety at her wellbeing was stronger. The scent had your heart in your throat as you quietly entered her room, shutting the door behind you quietly.

"I knew it would be you " She rasped from her bed, the many blankets seeming to do nothing for her shivering. "Mahito is not to be trusted " 

Ama looked withered, so small under the futon that you almost couldn’t believe it was her. At her side was Yuji, the big cat looking like a small tiger by her side. The old woman’s glare held no sharpness, her eyes half lidded as she stared. Sweat clung to her face and hair, shining strangely under the flickering candle light.

“I am not dead yet.” She rasped, brow furrowing further as she tried to level a glare at you. You had merely nodded at her words, fetching fresh water for her to drink. The old woman had become decrepit in the past few years. Her hands and back twisted by age to the point that she looked almost like a tree. Ama had allowed you to help her drink before swatting away your attempts to feed her a thin broth. Her fingers, you noted, seemed stuck, clawed like birds feet.

"You must carry out my duty now." She had pointed with one shaking hand at a small jade box. It sat, half hidden in the sleeve of a kimono. As if Ama had been halfway through stashing it away.

You opened it, finding a map. The paper was ancient, creased over a dozen times and torn around the edges. You held it carefully, squinting in the low light at the faint ink. The map detailed the main shrine and a smaller, hidden shrine in the woods. Just far enough from the main shrine that it couldn’t be seen even from the highest vantage point. It wasn't one you had ever heard her talk about before and you had thrown her a puzzled look. Ama had huffed, then coughed violently as she glared at you. 

"Go to the tree burnt by lightning and stay there. When the bell rings follow the rope to the oldest tree. Then wait, with your eyes on the ground."

You knew better than to talk when Ama was, instead throwing her another questioning glance. Ama had paused for another coughing fit, allowing you to help her take another sip of water. 

"The god of our forest is old and blind. He will not harm you." 

Her words had you frozen, brow furrowing as you waited for further explanation. Ama gave none, merely stating that you were to follow a small stone path to a bathing pool. The god would put his hand on your shoulder for guidance. Again Ama expressed he was blind and that you must be slow and steady when walking.

“If he falls, you must NOT look at him. Help him up without using your sight.”

She added that once at the pool you were to shut your eyes and stand there, to wait for his hand on your shoulder again before making your way back to the first tree. You were to repeat this once a month, more if the god called on you.

“How will I know he’s calling for me?” It was the first question you dared to ask. Ama seemed to approve, coughing lightly into one crooked hand.

“You just will. You are his new keeper.” The sentence was tinged with sadness, Ama’s eyes glittering slightly in the dim light as tears welled in her old eyes. She did not cry however, the old woman turned her head from you and buried her face in Yuji’s side.

And with that, the conversation was over. You stuck the map in your kimono, bowing once to Ama before standing.

“Keep her safe.” You nodded at Yuji who let out a small meow in response. It wasn’t bandits or thieves you were worried about. No, leaving Ama alone with just Mahito seemed like a mistake. But Yuji disliked him as much as you and you knew the cat would do what it could to keep Ama safe. You just hoped it didn’t come to that.

That afternoon you paced outside of Ama’s room for a time. What she had shared was huge, but part of you couldn’t help but wonder if it was the dream of an old woman. A story she had clung to and now was passing to you.

Just once couldn’t hurt, you decided. One trip to this hidden area of the shrine just to see. And so you made the hour trek to the hidden shrine. The story explained the days Ama was gone for hours on end. You and Mahito had never asked her why she disappeared so much but now you knew she would have never told either of you. 

Ama was dying. That was the only reason she had seen fit to tell you. In your heart you knew it to be true. But it saddened you. The old woman was snappish and callous. But she had given you a home for the past 6 years. 

The walk to the tree struck by lightning was difficult. Though you were much younger than Ama, the twisted roots seemed to grab at your feet. More than once you tripped and fell, hands and knees scrapping painfully against the forest floor. How had Ama made it through this by herself? The woman couldn’t even stand up straight, much less fully lift her legs anymore. It was a miracle she hadn’t broken anything on her weekly trek. You were quick to discard your sandals, the shoes more of a hindrance than anything else. It left the mud seeping through your socks, cold and unpleasant. But you could walk easier, so you grit your teeth and pressed on.

After struggling through the pines, you finally made it to a clearing. It had you pause, the sight somehow more terrifying than anything you had ever seen.

A lone tree stood next to the burnt husk of a small shrine. Around them in a perfect circle was 12 feet of ashen ground. It was as if there was a perfectly controlled burn that ignited only there. The pines around the area stood tall and untouched. Massive wardens to this odd patch of forest. It was silent in this part of the woods. Unnaturally so. No birds whistled, not even the whisper of pine needles met your ears.

You held your breath as you walked to the tree, half expecting the ground to erupt with flames as you crossed. Only the crunch of ash beneath your feet greeted you, the sound unsettling. Your socks left muddy prints across the ash and you grimaced at how covered your feet had become. There was no saving these socks and if you tripped again, your kimono was sure to find a similar fate.

The burnt tree smelled. It was faint, only apparent when you were right next to the crumbling bark. It was acrid and dusty, the smell making the inside of your nose tickle. It was also a tad sweet, like spun sugar. You ignored the anxiety that churned in your stomach, determined to at least humor Ama. The ash on your socks was at least proof you could show her you came here. Even if it had been a waste of time.

As promised a rope was tied around the burnt tree. It was a thick, bright red cord that was tied almost delicately against the black wood. Unlike everything else it was incredibly clean. The bright red gleaming in stark contrast to the drab woods around it. Unlike the shimenawa at the shrine, this rope seemed rather expensive. You studied it, searching for a talisman or the mysterious bell Ama had mentioned. The crimson twist of silk contained neither however.

You frowned as you ran a hand against the silken rope. Ama had asked that you wait until you heard a bell. Glancing at the husk of the shrine, you noted no bell there either. Had it been lost? Fallen somewhere?

You chewed your bottom lip, hand steady against the rope as you thought. 10 minutes. You would give it 10 minutes and then walk back to the shrine. It had already been well over an hour as is to get here and you worried about leaving Ama alone. Mahito was there, the man a silent threat in your mind. While he had never done anything, his presence alone was like a thorn in your side. You weren’t superstitious, but you trusted your gut feelings. They had been right about the suitor in the village, they were right in this situation.

Gods what an idiot. You let out a huff of air. Only an idiot would leave a cat to protect someone. Maybe thats why Ama sent you on this goose chase. This was no doubt a lesson in being less naive. Certainly less cruel than you knew she could have been and for that you were grateful. Still, it didn’t make you feel any less stupid and you dreaded the lecture you knew was awaiting you back at the shrine.

A bell rang, the noise cutting through the silence like a knife. You flinched, eyes wide as you spun about, searching for the source. There was none, the sound again ringing out, seemingly from thin air. It was high and soft, a noise you might’ve found comforting had it not been in the middle of the pines.

Swallowing thickly, you dropped your gaze and took a step. Slowly, but surely, you followed the rope by feeling alone. The silk slid under your right hand smoothly, never catching on your palm. You weren’t sure how long you walked for, the light in this part of the woods was shielded by the trees. Had evening begun to set? You weren’t sure, your eyes locked firmly on your own feet as you walked. From the ashen ground, you stepped into the mossy mud of the pines. Again your feet became wet and you made a mental note that next time you should bring the damn sandals.

If there was a next time. A small part of you felt trapped, like a rabbit being led to a cage. Surely Ama wouldn’t have sent you to your death. Right?

Finally your hand hit the end of the rope. A smooth knot met your thumb, quickly followed by rough wood. You had made it to the other tree and the stone path. Right at your toe tips was the mossy stone, nearly swallowed by the forest floor. The bright moss stood in contrast with you muddied and ash dusted feet. Wiggling your toes, you wondered how far the path was to the bath, how long you would have to wait. You stood, chest tight as your mind buzzed. Perhaps you had imagined the bell? But it had been so clear, so loud. You smoothed your hand over the front of your kimono, dusting off a few errant pieces of ash.

Ama had been right about the bell, perhaps it wasn’t imagined and she was right about the old God? 

You waited with baited breath, fighting the urge to look around you. Ama hadn't stated what would happen if you looked, but her warning had been clear. You must not look at the old God.

Beneath your hand, the tree you leaned against felt cool. The chill seeped into your skin, a dull ache radiating into your fingers as you stood still and listened. 

The silence in the woods was deafening now. It made your heart race, body tensed as if ready to run at a moment's notice. You were terrified. Ama had never said which God lived in these woods. But the past few years she had asked him to curse so many of the villagers. Her old age had twisted not just her bones but her soul as well. You had heard the muttered prayers, the floods and fires she had wished for. Your throat felt dry, vision blurring slightly at the edges as you stared at your feet. 

Maybe it needed a sacrifice before it would humor the old woman? 

A warm hand slipped onto your shoulder and you jumped, a small yelp leaving your lips. You almost looked up, before fear set in and your gaze snapped to the forest floor again. Tears clung to your lower lashes as your heart thundered in your chest. For a moment all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears and your vision blurred as the hand tightened its grip slightly. 

“You’re new.”

The God sounded young, like a man in his early 30s. The sound threw you off, mind reeling as you tried to rationalize the voice. He sounded human and again you were tempted to look.

Internally you battled yourself. To look and NOT to look. To speak and to keep silent. Your mind grappled with the conflicting urges, finally settling on a horrible combination. You gave a jerky nod and a grunt.

He is going to kill me for my rudeness. You could feel the blood leaving your face as the hand shifted slightly. But the God did nothing, a small chuckle making its way to your ears.

“You can speak to me. I don’t bite.” 

The sentence was so normal. Casual and teasing. It made your stomach churn and you swiped one shaking hand across your forehead.

“Th-thank you My Lord.” You cringed as you spoke, your voice cracking horribly on the last word. The old God merely hummed, gently squeezing your shoulder.

Taking that as a command, you jerked forward, shakily stepping onto the stone path. The path was thankfully smooth and you walked slowly, each step careful as you tried to set an even pace. You shook violently, each step feeling as though you were fighting your way through water. Heart thundering in your head, you tried to keep the shaking rasp of your breath quiet, terrified that he would take your fear as an insult.

The God was obviously much taller than you, from the corner of your eye you caught a flash of a perfect, pale foot. You were worried however that a faster pace would cause the god to trip. The path, while smooth, was still irregular in places. You found yourself stumbling here and there despite having eyes on the path itself.  Ama had indicated he was blind, an odd quality for a divine being, but you would keep him safe. Or die trying. 

“Where is Ama?”

The God’s tone was light, but you could feel how his fingers tightened slightly when he spoke her name. You weren’t sure what to say at first, eyes locked on your feet as you carefully moved forward. The words churned in the back of your throat, sticking together until you had a painful lump in your throat. You didn’t want to admit the truth because it scared you. Ama was dying and that would leave the shrine to you. It would leave you alone with Mahito. For the first time in your adult life, you would be without an elder to guide you. 

The God cleared his throat, tone teasing as he spoke, “It is rude to leave a god waiting.”

You nodded sharply, fingers playing with the edges of your sleeve as you spoke.

“Ama is dying.” 

It was all you could get out. The rest of your fears twisted in your stomach, a ravenous beast chewing at your innards. For a moment you wondered if you would vomit but the feeling passed. 

From behind you the God sighed, hand tightening again as he followed you.

The walk was silent, the path before you seeming to stretch on for miles. As you walked the sun barely shifted its position in the sky. Time was passing oddly, much more slowly than your body knew it should be. Perhaps a side effect of being near a divine being. Occasionally you felt the urge to speak, to break the deafening silence. But your fear would quickly wash the impulse away. The divine being was real, warm at your side. Your life quite literally was in the palm of his hand.

You shivered at the realization, again fighting the urge to peek over your shoulder. Even the small glimpses of his foot felt entirely wrong. As if you had committed some unspoken sin. You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you walked, mind flipping back and forth from the God at your shoulder and how fragile Ama had looked before you left. 

Finally, after what felt like ages, the path stopped. The smooth stones went right up to the steaming water of the spring. You stopped, hands clasped at your waist and gaze locked on your feet. Ama hadn't really explained what to do at this point. Did he need help undressing? Did he need help bathing? 

The God answered your unspoken questions for you, his hand slipping from your shoulder. From behind you, the sound of robes hitting dirt sounded out. You quickly shut your eyes, fingertips digging into the flesh of your palms as you tried to keep your breath steady.

“How many steps to the water?”

The question startled you and you shifted, sliding one eye open and searching until you found the pale foot. Beside it was a shimmering blue kimono, carelessly dropped on the moss and stone. From the foot to the bath was about 2 feet of space. You told the god as such, quickly closing your eyes again as he moved forward. 

“You can look you know. I can’t tell either way.”

The god was teasing as he slipped into the water. But you frowned at his words.

“If you can’t tell either way then how do you know i haven’t been looking.” 

The darkness behind your eyelids was strangely complete despite the sunlight filtering down from between the trees. You could hear water splashing and the God chuckling under his breath.

“Ama told you not to look right?”

Your brows furrowed and you resisted the urge to peek at him. For some reason you pictured a twisting smirk sitting on the god’s face. The man chuckled and you shifted uncomfortably.

“I bet she told you I'm old as well.”

That had you slowly opening your eyes, narrowed gaze slowly moving to the edge of the pool. He was right, Ama had called him old. But the foot you had seen was too youthful. Curiosity finally overpowered you, swelling until you could no longer ignore it.

You slid your gaze up and froze as you locked eyes with the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

Water clung to his pale skin like translucent pearls, they glittered in his snowy hair and on his lashes like fragments of stars. Your breath hitched as met his gaze, feeling as if the god could see your very soul. His eyes were a brilliant blue, glittering like the sun on a bluejay’s wing. You had never seen anyone with such vibrantly colored eyes before.

A trader had once brought a shard of brilliant blue stone to the village. Aquamarine he had called it, chest puffed as he had described the difficulty he had obtaining it. 

The God’s eyes looked as if they were cast in from that stone. So brilliant and bright that for a moment, you found yourself lost. And then he shifted and your slight trance was broken. Fear slithered into your heart and you tensed, half expecting for him to smite you where you stood. 

“Do I still look handsome?” He asked in a teasing tone, one pale hand scooping water over his tousled hair. You licked your lips, throat feeling oddly dry as you fumbled for words.

“Um. Yes. You are truly beautiful.” 

You flushed as you admitted it, internally cringing at your words. Surely that was some sort of blasphemy. You had ogled the man at his request, but what if it was a test. Ama had been so clear in you not looking and you had broken the rule almost immediately.

He rest his arms on the edge of the steaming pool, his gaze set slightly above your right shoulder. You tilted your head, quietly picking up one arm and waving it. He didn’t react, instead dunking his head beneath the water. For a moment you were flooded with shame for questioning the validity of his blindness. But Ama had been wrong about his age. You watched the surface of the water, picking at your thumb nail. Did she know? Or had she simply been following the rules of the shrine keeper before her?

You waited, watching nervously from the stone path as his shadow sunk deeper in the water. The steam blurred your vision slightly, warm tendrils brushing against your skin like a ghost

If he was blind how would he know which way was up? It felt like a stupid question but after a few moments had passed, your worry grew. Could a god drown?

You didn’t think so but you also didn’t think any would look so human. It was unsettling how human he looked. And yet there was that hint of otherworldly quality. As if someone had taken the purest snow from the tallest mountain peak and sculpted it into the shape of a man. 

Another moment passed and you flinched a crow called out overhead. It snapped you out of the odd poetic reverie you had been in. Kneeling, you leaned over the water, trying to swallow the rising panic that was blooming in your chest. 

The steam from the pool felt nice against your skin, the warmth welcome in the chill of the day. You couldn’t see him, the water was an odd greenish blue. The color was unnatural and too intense for you to see anything past shadows in the water. 

Should I swim after him? 

The color of the water was incredibly off putting, but if you let your local god drown, that was an ultimate sin wasn’t it?

“Worried?” He emerged from the water with a devious grin, wrapping one hand around your wrist. You let out a shriek in response, resisting the urge to smack him on the shoulder.

“You-you.” You began to sputter, mind fighting itself. On one hand you wanted to tell this divine being he was an idiot. On the other hand, you were terrified that at any moment, he would punish you for your impudence.

“Satoru.” He let your wrist go, sinking back into the water to his chin. His skin was flushed slightly, the heat giving him a nice rosy pink across his cheeks and tops of his ears. You frowned at him, waiting for further explanation on the name he just dropped. Was he calling me Satoru?

You chewed the inside of your cheek, scrubbing the water droplets off your wrist with a corner of your kimono sleeve.

“That’s not my name.” You finally gumbled quietly, warily watching the god as he lazily swam about the pool. The man laughed, shooting you a look.

“Of course it isn’t stupid. It’s my name.” 

Your mouth fell open and you stared for a moment. “Is….Is that allowed?” You sputtered out. It felt wrong and entirely too intimate knowing his name. All the stories you had grown up with had painted the picture of gods who accepted perfect adoration. Of titles such as ‘your eminence’ and ‘honored one’ being used. Not actual names. It was an unspoken fact that any gods that did have names had given pseudonyms of sorts. Long gone were the days of knowing a god’s actual name. Names held power for beings such as them and there was no need for any mortal tongue to speak them.

Satoru was certainly his true name. It was too simple to be anything else. You recalled the stories traders would sometimes share when passing through the pine village. Of god’s with names, title really, like ‘Curse Devourer’ and ‘Blood Manipulator’. Names that made you wonder how kind these gods were. How cruel they might be.

Satoru snorted, shaking his wet hair from his eyes. “Am I not your god? Are the rules not for me to make?” 

He made a good point. You hummed in response, pulling your knees to your chest as you thought. As the god bathed you pondered why Ama had put so many rules in place. Perhaps it wasn’t to protect you but to protect him? 

Overhead the sky began to grow dark, the sun beginning its slow descent to kiss the earth. Purple and orange bloomed across the horizon as if a great paint brush were stirring the clouds. The beauty was simple, something you rarely noticed at the shrine with all the tall pines in the way. It was then that you realized just how long you had been away from Ama.

Was she alright? 

You were so lost in thought you didn’t realize the god had finished his bath until he stood before you, unashamed at his nudity. You slapped a hand over your eyes, face burning as you stuttered out protests. Of course he was unabashed in his nudity. The man was the image of perfection. The small look you had gotten at his more, delicate part, left your mind in a very depraved place. It was unfair just how beautiful ALL of him was. 

You stood silently, back to him until once more the warm hand was upon your shoulder. This time you glanced up at him, taking in his pale eyes and even paler hair up close. He was divine. 

“Tell Ama I'd like to see her once more.” 

You murmured that you would, turning and starting the slow walk back to the burnt tree. Satoru left how he had arrived, silently with the soft sound of bells ringing out. You waited for a moment, gaze locked on the sky until finally, you began walking again. Threading your way through the many trees you found yourself back at the shrine. The sun was low in the sky and in the pit of your stomach, fear twisted with sharp spines and teeth. 

Ama was dead. 

You found her, small and frail, where you had left her. It was as if she were asleep and initially you thought she was. But a shifting of the shadows in the room and you realized Mahito was sitting beside her. 

The older man looked at you with his odd eyes, his face anything but mournful. You said nothing, biting back the sudden rage that filled your veins. There was no proof, no indication of the truth to your thoughts. But you knew he had ended her life. His pale, gray tinged hands sat on his lap like sickly spiders. They twitched under your gaze. Culprits. Yes Ama had been dying, but he had taken her last breath from her. 

You carried out Ama’s funeral rites alone. Well, nearly alone. Yuji stayed plastered to your side, the cat was on edge. He was jumpy, fluffing up at the smallest sound. Mahito had been cruel to him in some way. Ama’s body had been alone save the creep at her side when you had come home, the cat hiding in your own room. You silently comforted the cat as you stood guard over Ama’s burial. Under your watchful gaze, you prayed for her soul. You hoped that in some way, with his divine powers, Satoru would see her one last time. That Ama would find the peace she had lost.

You didn’t sleep that night. Locked in your room, with Yuji on your lap, you sat and watched your door. The dark hours ticked by and you remained still. From various parts of the shrine, old wood settled and the wind found its way through cracks in the foundation. And from the hallways, foot steps. Slow and calculated. Each one placed just so to create the least amount of noise. You sat tense, hands gripping your knees as you waited.

That night nothing happened. Nothing but footsteps, pacing the hallway outside your room for hours.

“You seem tired” Satoru mused, he was half out of the bath, one finger running gently over the brightly coloured candies before him. Ama had been right, that you would just ‘know’ when Satoru needed you. It was an odd tickle in the back of your mind, like a ghostly finger was poking at your brain. Your second walk had included Yuji. The cat had thrilled Satoru, the god practically squealing over the softness of the tabby’s fur.

The baths occurred randomly, sometimes multiple times a week, sometimes nothing for two weeks. With each occurrence you learned more about the God. He liked sweets, he was apparently friends with the ‘Curse Devourer’ and he seemed to really like teasing you.

“You know that ignoring me does you no good.” Satoru was sitting, crossed legged and entirely nude. He was sitting right in front of the bathing pool, a teasing smile plastered across his face. You stared at a point slightly over his left shoulder, hands neatly clasped on your lap.

“I’m not ignoring you.” It was a partial truth. Today instead of talking with him, you were speaking when spoken to. 

“You’re not looking at me.” He shifted, moving forward until one of his knees tapped yours. You flinched, feeling a blush spread across your face as he leaned close. He was determined to get you to look at his face and you were determined to not accidentally see his dick again. 

“For a shrine maiden you’re rather bratty.” Satoru teased, on hand fiddling with the worn sleeve of your kimono. That caught your attention and your gaze shifted, a small burst of anger shooting through your veins. You met his gaze, ignoring the warm wave of emotion that curled in your abdomen. Satoru’s jewel-like eyes glittered with amusement. He was so close you could see his lashes, silver white and so fine that it looked almost as if he had snow stuck to his eyelids.

“What do you want?” You sighed, clenching your heads together in an attempt to suppress a shiver. Satoru’s gaze narrowed slightly, his playful look melting away and suddenly, you felt exposed. As if he had undressed you and were peering past your flesh and into your soul. The look stole your breath away.

“When are you going to tell me what's bothering you?” His voice was low, warm breath tickling your cheek as he leaned in and ran a finger from your shoulder to your elbow. The shiver rippled across your flesh accompanied by a burst of heat between your thighs. You flushed, resisting the urge to slap his hand away. 

“You need to learn some decorum.” You muttered, shivering again as his large hand rested gently on top of yours. The concerned, piercing look vanished, replaced again by the teasing and idiotic grin of his. You were beginning to realize that his cheerful and annoying exterior was a mask. Despite being a divine being, he had the behavioral habits of a human. It was odd.

You let out an outrange gasp as suddenly Satoru pitched backwards, falling into the pool. The move gave you a clear eyeful of his nether region in all its glory. He cackled as he surfaced, flicking a handful of water towards you.

“You ass!” You sputtered, scooching backwards with a glare. Satoru shot you a grin that was beyond pleased.

“That’s no way to talk to your God now is it?” 

“I am tired” You finally murmured, watching as Yuji batted a small blue candy across the path. 

The day after Ama had been laid to rest, you had made the long trek back to the village. It was your duty after all. Mahito did not join you. The man had taken to skulking around the shrine, always just a few feet away. You could feel his gaze on your skin, the hidden intensity that was brewing just under his pallid flesh. It scared you. But you were alone and you had to be unshakable. You had to appear as Ama did, cold and hard in the light of the world.

The Village elders were not saddened by Ama’s passing. It had been expected and if they had been honest with you, they had been wanting it for some time. They hated Ama as much as she hated them. The follies of the elderly, holding onto grudges decades later. 

You had merely nodded when they appointed you as the new Shrine keeper. It made sense, Mahito was still considered an outsider of sorts. You didn’t care either way. The village hadn’t changed since you had last seen it. Your parents were older, but still stuck in their ways. They had come to you, whispering about how it wasn’t too late to marry, to have offspring.

You had left without a word, stopping only once to buy a small canvas bag of candy. 

“You could join me.” Satoru teased, flicking an orange candy towards you. Rolling your eyes, you took it, gently blowing a speck of dirt off before popping it in your mouth. The God pouted at you, cramming a handful of the sweets into his mouth before dipping beneath the steaming water. He was like a child sometimes, his cheerfully obstinate attitude boardline annoying at times. 

That is why you didn’t tell him. Didn’t mention the footsteps that kept you awake. Didn’t tell him how sometimes, the door to your room would slide open just a crack. How one pale eye would press against the slit and watch you for hours. You didn’t tell him how you slept waiting for him after the bell tolled. How his hand on your shoulder woke you from the micro naps. Didn’t tell him how you napped in the forest, under fallen trees in beds of moss. Because the shrine wasn’t safe any more. A beast lurked within the halls, waiting for you to falter.

“I’m just saying.” Satoru reemerged, “Maybe the steam will wash away your stinking attitude.” 

You leveled a glare at the man, grateful that he couldn’t see the action. It was for sure blasphemy to do so and you took a tiny amount of satisfaction in the action. 

“You make ask one blasphemous question.” Satoru for once hadn’t jumped right into the bath. He sat in an ornate sky blue kimono adorned with golden cranes, propped on one elbow against a large rock. The look on his face spelled trouble, the man could barely contain the grin that spread across his face. The sunlight streaming through the pines tinted the tips of his hair a soft yellow. It gave him an oddly homely look, his face somehow softer when not framed in pure white. The look wasn’t enough to hide amusement that was slowly growing in intensity. He was baiting you, seemingly already knowing what you would want to ask.

You were tempted to make your question about his habit of wearing women’s kimonos. Part of you was curious if there was a Mrs. God of the bath. But another, smaller part of yourself didn’t want to ever find the answer to that question.

You sat, carefully tucking your legs beneath you as you mulled over what exactly to ask. Yuji flopped over next to Satoru, the orange tabby squirming about on the stone as he waited to be pet.

“Are you actually blind?” You tensed as you asked the question, fully expecting to have failed the test he put forward. Ama had misled you on the other facts about the God and you had been burning with curiosity about if his need for a guide was just another inaccuracy. It wasn’t a test however, Satoru merely tilted his head as he considered the question.

“No.” He looked serious for once, the expression killing the burst of irritation that threaded through your veins. Satoru drummed his fingers against the mossy stone path, stopping with a smile as Yuji butted his head against the god’s hand.

“I have sight, I just can’t bear to use it in your realm.” He gestured around the two of you, face half twisted in a grimace. 

“It’s too much. There’s too much going on with you humans and your curses and prayers.” 

Satoru ran a hand over his face, one glittering blue eye peeking out from between a crack in his fingers. You chewed at your bottom lip, unsure of how to respond. His answer really didn’t make sense. 

“Look.” Satoru moved until he sat before you, hands on your knees as he leaned forward. You stiffened at his closeness, heart beat skyrocketing as his warm breath tickled your face. Even sitting he was taller than you.

“Look at me.” He took your face in his hands, directing your gaze. You held your breath, afraid to breathe on him. It was terrifying being so close to him. 

This close you could see every long eyelash. They glittered, silvery white like the wings of a crane, so long that they touched his cheeks with each blink. Up this close you could smell him as well, the scent of bergamot and oranges filling your nose. 

“For a few seconds, I’ll look.” 

You weren’t sure what he meant by that and nodded stiffly. All you could think about was his hands, thin fingers that sat on your cheeks, thumbs barely touching the corners of your lips. He was warm, his skin was soft. In that moment, Satoru felt human to you.

And in the next moment, you understood exactly what he meant.

As you stared, something changed and all of sudden his eyes were no longer shiny gems. He blinked and all of a sudden you were staring at stars. Satoru’s eyes were blue and radiant, clearer than the sky and deeper than the sea. They glitter as if filled with a thousand stars. As if someone had compressed all of the night sky beneath the sea. 

It took your breath away. He was beautiful and terrifying all at once. And you felt utterly insignificant. He could see you, all of you. 

And then he blinked again and you were staring at his jewel-like eyes. They seemed dull in comparison, still beautiful, yes. But so dull in comparison to the beauty he had shown you for just a moment. 

“You have issues.” Satoru quipped, letting your face go. You scowled at him, rolling your eyes at his perfect ruining of the moment. Once again he was the flippant man who you could barely call a god. You looked away as he stood and stripped, the man jumping into the steaming pond with a laugh.

“No thank you, My Lord.” Your response dripped with sarcasm, the last two words twisting on your tongue slightly. Satoru frowned at that, eyes narrowing as he picked through the remaining candies.

“Careful there, human. I can hear your disdain.” He waggled a finger in your direction, an absolutely maniacal grin on his face, “I might have to punish your sinful mouth.” 

You hoped he could feel the glare you leveled at him. His playful banter may have been welcome under better circumstances. But today, after weeks of practically no sleep, you were tired of the teasing. 

Satoru seemed oblivious, popping the last of the candy into his mouth. He rested his chin on his arms, glittering eyes running over your form. For a moment you froze, certain he could see you. See the pain and exhaustion that sat on your shoulders. But no, it was the lack of sleep getting to you. 

The walk back to the burnt tree was painful, you felt dizzy and all you could think of was your bed. You barely registered the warmth of his hand on your shoulder until it was gone. Satoru left without a word, fizzling from the mortal world as he always did. 

You stood for a moment, swaying before you began the long walk back. Yuji followed you carefully. The cat had an easier time of traversing the twisting roots. He was kind to you however, sticking close as you stumbled clumsily back to the shrine. 

“Where were you?” It was the person you least wanted to see. Mahito leaned against the entrance of the shrine. His black robes clung to his thin form like a death shroud. You felt a dull pang of anger. He must be sleeping whenever you were away from the shrine. His late night stalking seemed to have no effect on him, the man always alert, shiny eyes staring at you from beneath his lank gray hair. 

Skirting around him, you scooped Yuji up, pointedly not looking at the man. 

“Shrine duties.” You offered quietly over your shoulder. Mahito pushed off the wall, walking beside you as you slowly made your way deep into the shrine. He smelled odd, musty and wet as if he had spent the day in a basement. The smell filled your head, adding to the dizziness that already clung to your mind. You felt like passing out, but he was the last one you would let know that.

“I could help.” Mahito took a few rushed steps, standing before you and halting your path. You squinted at him, tightening on your grip on Yuji. In that moment you realized how much taller he was than you. That his form, as thin as it was, was muscled. He had one hand in his hair, allowing the sleeve of his robes to shift. You could see his hidden strength rippling under his plaid flesh.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” A statement, not a question. His eyes raked over your face, looking for the cracks in your exterior. You merely titled your head to one side, leveling glare at the man. 

“I am the head of the shrine now. When I have something I’ll let you know.” You pushed past him, heading to your room without a glance backwards.

Months passed. Summer heat, then fall winds, until winter blanketed the pines in snow. Sleeping outside was no longer an option. Now you took rest at odd moments, hidden in the nooks and crannies of the shrine. Never a full sleep and never for more than 15 minutes at a time. You were becoming a husk.

Satoru knew it, the man’s teasing tone melting into concern. He was softer with you, gentle hand lingering longer than it usually did. You grew quiet, your energy focused on just existing.

And as a husk, you faltered. 

One night in your room, on the soft blankets of your bed, your body finally caved. The need to sleep crashed into you like a tsunami, drowning you under the blanket of exhaustion. You fell asleep, alone in your room. 

When you awoke it was a struggle to pull yourself from sleep. The sleep was so deep that it was as if you were trying to pull yourself from a pool of syrup. It coated the insides of your lungs and mind, trying to suffocate you back into the deep abyss of sleep. Your eyelids slipped open, the action achingly slow. It felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds. For a moment all you perceived was the deep darkness your room was cast in. The night had seeped in your room through the open door.

Open door.

The realization sent a jolt of panic through you, throwing off the last shreds of sleepiness from your mind. Clarity hit you like a bolt of lighting and it was then that you realized the predicament you were in. 

A hand, cold and clammy, was pressed against your mouth.

You let out an enraged shriek, the sound muffled as the hand pressed harder against your mouth. The pressure was crushing, thumb digging painfully into the soft skin of your cheek. You struggled against Mahito, one hand coming up to swing at him. The pale man leered down at you, his other hand already beneath your kimono, thumb digging into the soft flesh of your left thigh.

He straddled your other thigh, erection straining against his robes and your skin.

You let out an indignant scream, teeth scraping at the skin of his palm.

“Shut up.” Mahito hissed, leaning in, his weight crushing as he put his face close to yours. You glared at him, raking your nails over his arms and shoulders. His clammy lips were on your skin, pressing against your neck as his warm breath stuttered out.

To your right, a loud hiss sounded. Yuji, back from one of his nighttime walks. The orange tabby ran at the man, hissing and spitting up a storm as he sunk his claws into the hand at your thigh. Mahito howled in pain, hand pulling away from your mouth as he backhanded Yuji. He hit the cat with such force that the small creature flew through the shoji screen to your room with a whimper. 

You let out your own howl, anger and pain mixing in an animalistic noise. With his weight shifted, you were able to partially sit up, craning your neck back before whipping forward and headbutting the man. Mahito let out a gurgling cry, warm blood spattering on the front of your kimono as he fell backwards. With a cry, you kicked him off, heels connecting with his stomach and groin as you flailed about. 

Without a second thought you were up, pushing through the remains of your door and picking up Yuji. The tabby was limp in your arms and a choking sob spilled from your lips as you fled from the shrine. Your feet stung against the rough stone and as you made it to the front entrance, the cold hit you, seeping into your skin.

“Wake up kitty.” Warm tears stained your cheeks as you ran, contrasting the freezing snow that fell silently around you. “Please.”

The world was silent except for your broken sobs as you fled into the pines. Your cries echoed off the tall pines, making the dark woods sound plagued by ghosts. The snow was heavy, thick flakes quickly covering your tracks as you weaved through the dark trees. It was a small blessing as from behind you, Mahito was yelling. Snarling for you to return to the shrine as he attempted to follow you through the storm. Unlike him, you didn’t need to see to know where the burnt tree was. It was second nature at this point.

Your bare feet slid through the snow, toes jamming against the hidden tree roots as you scrambled for the only place your mind could think of. 

But he wasn’t there. The tree stood alone, a dark jagged line against the blinding white of the snow. Satoru hadn’t called for you, of course you were alone. Your god wasn’t in the shrine, wasn’t on this mortal plane. He had left you alone when you needed him most. Satoru had left Ama alone when she needed him most. 

What use is the God of baths? The God of an empty shrine and a single shrine maiden. Am I merely a plaything for the divine?

The snow clung to your cheeks, the cold seeping into your skin, your bones. In your arms, Yuji lay limp, you couldn’t even tell if he was even breathing. Part of you refused to look, refused to acknowledge the possibility that he was gone. That you were completely alone.

From a distance, the muffled shouting from Mahito rang out across the snow. You turned slightly, squinting through the snow. The weather was complete, it was snow that you had loved to watch as a child from the comfort of a warm bed. Now it was swallowing you whole. The snow covered your feet, the limbs were numb and you knew that within a few more moments the damage to them would be complete. Your fingers had paled, tinged with the unnatural blueish gray of frost damage. And you were growing warm. 

‘There was a name for it’, you thought faintly, letting yourself sink to your knees. The growing drifts of snow swallowed your hips as you slumped down. There had been a boy in your village who had gone out in a particularly bad storm. No one knew why he had gone out, perhaps to play. Regardless of the reason, he had died, found days later half undressed in the snow. His parents had been confused but the village healer had murmured something about snow delirium. 

Mahito’s shouting grew fainter and you couldn’t decide if it was him moving away or your hearing somehow going. You buried your face in Yuji’s warm fur, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes. A dull ache burned in your chest, urging you to lie in the snow. To sleep, just for a moment.

“What have we here?” A low voice, smooth as silk and full of curiosity slid around you. It was soft and comforting in a way that was almost unsettling. With effort you looked up, brows furrowing as you took in the man who stood before you. Dressed in all black robes from head to toe, he stood out against the snow like a wraith. The wind seemed unable to touch him, the deep silk robes and his inky hair unnaturally still. He was like a statue, save for the occasional gentle brushing of snow from his robes. You blinked slowly up at him, taking in his fox like features, the long lashes that kissed his cheeks with each blink. He was the second most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

Death has come to walk me away. You thought dully, standing with effort. Your limbs resisted you, joints stiff with the cold and groaning in protest. The man watched, his look a mix of mild curiosity and something that bordered on concern. 

“You.” You began, voice hoarse and cracking with the effort, “You can take me but save him, please.” You held Yuji out with some effort, swaying as your breath stuttered in your chest. Your plea seemed to confuse the man, one thin eyebrow raising as he took in Yuji. You offered the cat to him, trying not to let the tears you felt dancing in your eyes fall. Your arms shook slightly, the cold full set in your muscles.

“You’re Satoru’s human.” It was a statement and a strange one at that. His words had you still, breath catching in your throat as finally, hot tears poured down your face.

“Yes. Yes, I am Satoru’s Human. His Shrine Maiden.” You sobbed, clutching Yuji to your chest again. The shadow of a man let out a low hum, eyes taking in your disheveled form. You knew he could see the blood, how your robes were hanging open in an unseemly way. Something in his eyes darkened and you flinched as his gaze suddenly snapped from you, fixing on a point over your right shoulder. Distantly, you could hear Mahito shouting, the words ‘Bitch’ and ‘Mine’ echoing faintly through the pines. The strange man heard it as well, his thin brows lowering until a thunderous scowl sat upon his face. 

“A mortal dare lay hands upon a God’s possession?” His comment wasn’t for you, strangely enough it seemed directed at the sky. You felt a bit concerned at being called a possession. But the concern was faint, slowly fading as the last of the warmth seemed to drain from your limbs. With it went your strength and you found yourself crumpled in the snow again, arms locked in place as you cradled the limp form of Yuji. For a moment the world blurred, black spots popping across your field of vision as you went slightly limp. 

“You’re safe now.” 

A warm hand took yours, pulling you gently to your feet. And suddenly, the world was gone.

No. That wasn’t quite right.

The world fell away.

You both existed and didn’t, pulled into the great expanse that was the home of the stars. Earth as you knew it, the pines and the snow scattered into wisps akin to mist. The sky swelled around you and suddenly you saw it. The home of the divine. Beyond the clouds, twisted in among the stars. It glittered as the largest star itself, a shifting space. First a palace, then a planet, a forest, a shrine, then back to a palace.

There was no hot, no cold. You weren’t even sure you would call the state you found yourself in as ‘alive’. It was a state of existence that transcended the physical. Yuji was both his own bright soul and yet he was part of yours, intertwined in what was your chest.

The man in black robes was more physically there, he seemed able to keep his shape despite the odd ripples and the twisting urge to just…dissipate.

Your guide landed elegantly upon the shimmering marble floors, tugging your floating and dumb struck existence down. Warmth radiated from his hand, through you until suddenly you existed again. 

You let out a sharp and startled gasp, fingers digging into Yuji’s fur as you reeled at the sight around you. It was beautiful, otherworldly and entirely too much. You faintly registered the existence of other beings passing by, their presence immense and overwhelming.

The floor was white, then gold, then shimmering like sunlight caught in a raindrop. Doors faded into existence and opened to reveal worlds beyond your comprehension. Beings that looked human stepped from them and down hallways that built themselves. This realm was never ending and never resting. It’s form twisted and bent to the needs of the individuals that traversed it.

The largest man you had ever seen stalked past. His hair was the color cherry blossoms and he had too many arms. You caught his eyes and shivered at the look of pure disgust that twisted his already mangled face. His form was familiar, something you had seen on a scrap of aged parchment. A demon that used to walk among men. 

The realm was living. It’s consciousness touched yours, gently probing. Like a curious cat it was looking in every nook and cranny, quietly waiting for you to give it a nudge. If you so willed it, the realm would twist for you, become the path to wherever you needed.

A woman emerged from a door shaped like a coffin lid. It was almost too small for her to exit, and she had to twist herself like a cat to pull free. Her long white hair covered one eye, falling down her back in luscious waves. She paused at the sight of you, single dark brown eye taking you before she offered you a small nod. You found yourself compelled to nod back, watching as she turned and sauntered up a staircase made of stardust.

“Look at me.” It was the man in black robes, one pale hand lifting your chin. You shivered at his touch, brows furrowing as another wave of confusion rocked you. In your arms, Yuji stirred faintly, head lifting weakly. You blinked, gaze shifting from the cat, to the man in black, then back to the twisting palace around you. 

Behind your guide was a new man, his tired eyes pinching in the corners as he came to a full stop to look at you. Unlike the other beings of this place, he was in a full western style suit. It was a dull gray, contrasting with the glimmering almost gold color of his hair. Exhaustion visibly clung to him, you could feel it through the realm’s odd connection. It made you sway slightly, lightheaded in its intensity. He let out a sigh, making a point to turn and walk in the opposite direction.

“You survived. Surprising given how close to death you were.” The man murmured, a strand of his dark hair falling in his face as he leaned closer. He ran one long finger down the side of your face, frowning slightly at something he saw.

“Did I die?” You asked weakly, afraid of the answer. Your odd companion raised one eyebrow, straightening as he tilted his head to shoot you a rather cold look.

“I’m the god of curses. Not death.” He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I suppose however I have assisted in cursing a human or ten to death.”

He saw your look of confused terror and offered you a comforting smile. “Suguru. Call me Suguru.” 

You blinked, holding Yuji a little closer as you inhaled in an attempt to calm yourself. Everything was happening too fast. You were still reeling from Mahito’s attempted assault. 

“Where is Satoru?” You almost didn’t dare to ask. Part of you was still full of dull anger at the fact that he hadn’t been there, that he hadn’t been the one to tug you into this divine realm. And a smaller, nasty part, was wondering if he had abandoned you. The final shrine maiden of the deep pines left to tend an empty shrine.

Suguru smiled and this time it was awful. A terrifying grin that made the corners of his dark eyes crinkle. It was as if all of a sudden you were an injured deer standing in front of a bear.

“He’s taking care of matters on the mortal plane.”

You knew without asking that Mahito was most likely facing a terrible terrible death. It made you feel small for some reason. Small and utterly human.

“I’ll take you to his realm.”

You blinked at that, slowly following him as Suguru made his way quickly through the shifting palace. The building seemed to understand that you were human, tiles of marble clicking into place before your very feet as you followed behind a God that had no need for such niceties. He walked across the bare expanse of space as if it were nothing. It most likely was, the man was divine. 

Almost as divine as Satoru. You thought. As if he knew, Suguru’s head jerked, the man shooting a look over his shoulder. Surely he couldn’t read your mind. 

‘I certainly can’ It was his voice, inside your mind and poking at the innermost expanse of your brain. You swallowed your thoughts, trying to keep your mind clear as you followed. It was easy enough to do, your mind drowning in anxiety as you tried to avoid the dark God’s glances.

In your arms, Yuji had fully awoken. He sat contently in your arms as if nothing had occurred. Looking down at him, you watched him blink back up at you, a small purring starting up in his chest as he settled deeper in your arms. The tabby seemed un-bothered by the shifting world around you. The marble floor, golden walls and plant life that seemed to blink in and out of existence. All of them ignored in favor of staring up at you. As if to the small orange cat, you were somehow above all else. 

“One little jump.” Suguru turned, wrapping one arm around your waist as you came to a halt beside him. Before you was a door way and beyond it, a deep void of black littered by many stars. You shot him a questioning look, the hall you had been in simply ended. There was nowhere to jump to.

The smile Suguru gave you this time was not at all comforting. It was better than his vicious smile, but it still made your stomach churn as his grip tightened.

“Wh-” Your breath left your body before you could complete the word. Suguru had jumped, straight into the void and you were being sucked down. Faster than anything humanly possible. You would have screamed if it were possible, but the void was all around you, crushing you.

And then you were back on your feet in an endless field of soft white grass. Your vision swam for a moment and you struggled to stay upright. Yuji let out a little whine, the cat puffed up as he too fought the after effects of the jump. 

“Tell Satoru he owes me.” And Suguru was gone. You stood for a moment, frowning at the space where he had left you. The field was silent, stretching on for miles. The grass moved in a warm breeze tickling your feet.

Everything was too informal. Your mind yelled at you that you must’ve died. Something had happened in the snow and now your mind was showing you a nice little fantasy before you died.

Perhaps you had died back in the forest when Ama had asked you to make the first trek to the bath. Tripped on a tree root and fell down the mountain side. 

“Oh!” You blinked, backing up a step as a dark shape cut through the field. It was large and fast and on you before you could run.

“OH!” You let out a laugh that was a mix of relief and astonishment. A large black dog stood before you, intently sniffing the edges of your kimono. He was shaggy, fur sticking up oddly in places. The dog let out a small bark, nudging your hip with his nose. From your arms Yuji let out a meow, ears pulled back as he stared down at the dog. They stared at each other for a moment, a silent conversation rippling between them. Then they relaxed, Yuji settling in your arms and the dog wagging his tail happily.

He nudged your hand again, taking a step forward. When you didn’t follow he repeated the action, letting out a low ‘boof’ noise. You took a step forward, slowly following the large dog as he trotted across the field. 

For a while there was nothing but the pale grass and the warm breeze. Occasionally you could hear things drifting through the lazy wind. Laughter, conversations, a whisper, all of them faint like memories you couldn’t quite recall. Despite the stress of being pulled to this place, you didn’t grow tired as you walked. It was as if time didn’t exist in this place, keeping the aches of mortal life at bay.

From the grass, a house arose. Logically you knew you should have been able to see the sprawling estate from where you entered the field. But like the great hall before it, the building seemed to materialize from the air, building itself stone by stone. 

As the main door slid into place, a zen garden entrance built itself around you and your companion. You let out a small gasp as the grass slid away from your feet, small stone pebbles quickly taking its place. It made you stumble slightly and at your side, the dog quickly leaned into you to provide support. 

You stared in awe at the tall stone walls and the deep blue tile of the roof. This estate was much like the ones in your world. Built normally for the lords of the land and something you had only observed in paintings. No one in your village was wealthy enough for an estate of any kind. Not even the elders who were born from old noble families. Like the traditions they clung to, they had become obsolete under the new world’s technology.

You stepped up to the door, murmuring a small ‘hello’ as you tentatively entered. The estate was silent, no servants it seemed and the master of the house had yet to appear. 

Yuji lept from your arms, trotting down the long main hallway after the shaggy dog. You followed them nervously, wincing as your bruised and dirty feet touched the spotless flooring. It felt wrong to sully this grande estate with your mere presence.

But there was no one around to complain. You stepped carefully regardless, trailing past multiple sitting rooms, closets, open spaces you had no name for. There were rooms full of paintings and glass sculptures. Rooms full of the most beautiful kimonos you had ever seen, rooms filled with books and scrolls strewn about like small mountains made of paper. There were rooms that opened into the field again, the wood flooring twisting strangely into the pale field as if the world and the estate were one structure. 

The shaggy dog stopped at one of the doorways, darting into the room and flopping onto a large futon. You stepped after him, smiling as you realized it was the dog’s room. There were ink portraits of the shaggy beast all over the wall, the scrolls hanging in a neat line. 

“Are you Megumi?” You asked the dog. Megumi huffed in response, shifting to let Yuji sit on the futon next to him. His job seemed complete and now the dog was drifting off to sleep with your cat at his side. You watched them quietly for a moment before exiting the room. 

The hallway of the estate seemed endless, stretching on impossibly long. Logically you knew there was no way it could fit inside the exterior estate you had seen. But like the rest of this realm, it seemed part of a large odd being. 

You grimaced as you passed a mirror, stopping taking in the bags under your eyes. Bruises littered your exposed skin, in part from Mahito’s assault. But the blueish tint persisted in your fingers and toes. You wiggled your toes, wincing at the small twinge of pain that radiated up your legs. Leaning forward you took in the blood dried over your chest and kimono, grimacing as you scratched a nail over one patch. 

I could use a shower. You thought sourly, flicking a pain needle from your shoulder. An odd warmth tickled the back of your mind and you flinched as next to the mirror, a doorway appeared. It was a plain sliding door, unassuming and entirely out of place in the luxurious hallway. You stared at it for a moment and then slid it open cautiously. 

It was a bathing room. Much more luxurious than you had ever been in, but still simpler than the halls around you. White tile lined the wall, small pale blue flowers painted here and there. They led to a large stone bath inset in the floor, already filled to the brim with steaming water.

Stepping inside the room, you carefully slid the door closed before peeling your kimono off. It fell with a sad rustle onto the clean tile, looking like a rag more than an outfit.

Shuffling over to the bath, you leaned over it, taking in the crystal clear water. It poured quietly into the pool from a brass crane head. But it didn’t overfill, despite the constant flow, instead the water lapped at the stone edge of the bath.

Almost too clean, You mused, turning around to look for a container for some water. It felt rude to even think about stepping in the bath before attempting to scrub some of the grime off. The room was empty and you almost had time to frown. But the house knew what you wanted. You jumped as a small wooden bucket suddenly popped out of thin air, clattering to the floor and spilling a small vial onto the tile. You approached it slowly, picking both items up with hesitation. They appeared normal enough, smooth wood and beautiful ceramic. Filling the bucket with water, you twisted the vial open, sniffing it cautiously. 

The smell of lychee and something else that was oddly sweet drifted from the neck of the bottle. It reminded you a bit of some of the candies Satoru had a fondness for. You sat on the floor and then paused. There was nothing to use to wash yourself with. 

This time the house dropped a washcloth right on your face. You laughed at the magic and absurdity of it, trying your best to think thankful thoughts towards the house. 

As quickly as you could you scrubbed your skin, praying for the sensation of Mahito’s hands to leave your skin. As much as you didn’t want to acknowledge it, his touch clung to you like ghostly hands.

Perhaps boiling water will do the job. You tossed the washcloth into the bucket, noting with a grimace how dirty the water within was. As you stepped into the warm water, the bucket vanished with a small pop. You stared for a moment in shock, one foot submerged.

“Thank you.” You slid into the water, looking up at the ceiling. A few of the tiles rippled, as if the estate were acknowledging your thanks. 

The water, like the realm it was in, was divine. You let out a sigh, sinking to your chin and closing your eyes. The warm water seemed to seep into every pore, relaxing your muscles and pushing the sensation of your assault from your skin. You allowed yourself to sink under the water.

From head to toe, you were warm, you felt safe. Alone, but safe. Squeezing your eyes closed even tighter, you fought the tears that welled in your throat. A twisting mix of grief and anger sat in your throat and you fought to swallow it. Beneath the surface, you let out a silent scream of frustration. 

You should have swallowed water with such a stupid action. But the house had shifted again and your head was above water, the bath suddenly less deep. You let out a small sigh, resting your chin on your knees. No hidden emotions it was, at least not beneath bath water. 

Hours passed and still the water remained a consistent perfect temperature. In the steam you had time to ponder. To face the emotions that roiled beneath your skin. You had been assaulted, yanked into a realm you had no place in and now you were alone in a magical house.

What future was there for you? Could you even go back to the shrine, to the village? 

No. 

There was no one there for you. No one who wanted to take the long trek up to the shrine. Like the old temple, you were to be forgotten up on the mountain between the pines. As with the shrine keepers before you, your bones were meant to grow mossy beneath tree roots and the rubble of the temple as it moldered and fell. 

Looking at your reflection, you thought about Satoru, of why he had even been in the mortal realm.

“Surely there are baths in the Divine realm?” You asked, watching as the god felt his way along the stone edge of the tub, the man slowly stalking after Yuji. The cat seemed amused, stepping just out of grasp but chirping to let Satoru know exactly how far off he was.

“Of course there are.” The look he shot over his shoulder told you exactly how stupid he found the question. You flushed, rolling your eyes as he ignored the unspoken question.  

“Then why come here?” You moved closer to the edge of the pool, daring to dip your toes into the warm water. It was a move you would never do when he was closer, you had a feeling the god would find it funny to pull you in.

“How else can I answer prayers?” Satoru grabbed for Yuji, missing as the cat neatly jumped over his grasp and bolted back towards you. The little cat was triumphant, butting his head against your hip with a purr. You noted with amusement that he looked incredibly smug. 

“If I never experience the simple tasks of humanity, how can I accurately gauge the urgency of a prayer?”

You were tempted to tell him that bathing was perhaps not the best thing to gauge prayers against. But your train of thought was interrupted as his hand landed on your foot. You froze, tensing as you waited to be pulled under the water. He had somehow moved faster and farther than was possible. You had blinked and he had moved.

Satoru didn’t pull you under however, his long fingers wrapping around your ankle as he stared up at you.

“I bathe here to listen to my shrine keepers. To hear about humanity from a human.”

You merely hummed in response, pulse thundering in your ear as his thumb gently rubbed against your skin. There was a heat in your veins, shooting from his touch to your abdomen, coiling and trembling as you stared into his eyes.

“What good is a God who can’t listen?” 

You ruminated on the past until your skin grew pruney from sitting in the water for so long. The house in its odd connection with you had a towel and new kimono all ready before you even fully stepped from the bath.

The kimono, much like the house, was ridiculously luxurious. A light purple with hand stitched cranes across the bottom. They twisted across the purple in a long line, wings outstretched and  in mid motion. You felt too plain and human to wear such a garment. Spun from the finest silk, it slid on like a second skin. Perfectly tailored to fit you. Even the obi, you found yourself in awe of the cream colored fabric and the literal thousands of tiny stitched sage green bamboo shoots. These were the clothing of a woman far more grand than yourself. Royalty wore such items, not humble shrine keepters. Sliding the obi into place you patted the fabric absentmindedly.

You had bathed, gotten rid of your ruined kimono and now had no idea what to do. It felt odd to be alone in such a vast estate. Yes Megumi and Yuji were with you, but if you had to guess, they would most likely be sleeping for a while. You weren’t sure how, but you were fairly certain Yuji had been brought back to life. The cat had been so still in your arms, yet this realm seemed to have given him a second chance. You were sure the small tabby must be exhausted from whatever blessing had brought him back.

You were alone, so you wandered. The hallway was never ending, twisting and turning here and there. You passed countless sitting rooms, kitchens and bathrooms that were larger than the entire shrine. There was no sense of time in this place. No need to eat nor to sleep. You existed in a way that was outside of being human. Still, the habits of humanity called to you. In one of the ornate kitchens you stopped and ate the small meal the house pulled into existence. Rice, miso soup and an egg. It was simple but the best meal you had eaten in ages. You cried as you ate, wiping tears away as you savored the food. 

The house seemed to understand what you needed before you did. To your surprise you found a room opening soon after you finished eating. It was simple, the house seeming to know the luxurious rooms made you uncomfortable. This room was small, with a plush futon and blankets within. You were quick to drop to the futon, pulling the blankets around you. The room was warm and quiet. Despite being in a state without physical needs, the exhaustion from the mortal realm was still in your bones and you quickly drifted off to sleep.

You had no idea how long you slept for. All you knew is you awoke with a jerk, breath catching in your throat. For a second your brain grappled with the fact that you were not in the shrine, panic swelling in your chest. But the house creaked around you, the sound bringing the world into focus.

Satoru was crouched before you, chin in one hand as he seemingly watched you. He smiled as you sat up. His eyes were the incredible star like blue again, glittering as if lit from within. It was a tad unsettling, but for the most part you found yourself breathless, pinned by his gaze.

“Sleep well?” His hair was damp, laying flatter against his head than normal. You found yourself reaching out and flicking at one snowy strand with a frown. The man ducked away from your touch, grabbing your hand and pulling you up as he stood. He seemed freshly bathed and manic. The grin he normally wore when making teasing comments was plastered across his face. He was practically bouncing as he pulled you from the room.

“Have you seen the whole house?”

You stumbled after him sleepy, murmuring that you doubted you could if you tried. Satoru laughed at that, shooting you a brilliant smile. He pulled you excitedly from room to room and you realized that now the estate actually had a normal layout. It was a modest size, still littered with luxury, but you could actually make sense of it.

“Why does it look so different?” You stopped in your tracks, tugging your hand from Satoru’s. The man paused, running a hand through his snowy hair. He seemed surprised at the question, brilliant eyes roving over your form.

“I was away. The realm scatters a bit when I'm not here.” 

The answer made some sense. From what little you could tell, you knew it was living. Perhaps not as you were but it existed as its own being in the realm of the gods. 

Satoru gently grabbed your hand again, tugging you over to a large window. From here you could see the pale field and beyond it, a glittering blue sea. You had never had the chance to see the ocean when you were in the mortal realm. It was too far a trek, but the stories you had heard didn’t do the body of water justice. 

“We can go there later, I can show you the prayers that wash ashore.” Satoru murmured. He was standing behind you, warm breath tickling your ear as he spoke. You shuddered slightly, leaning against him as you stared out across the field. He was warm, large form easily overshadowing yours. One hand came up, resting on your shoulder, much like he had just days ago. It was a familiar feeling and you felt yourself melting against him.

Emotions you had crushed and swallowed came bubbling to the surface. A burning ache coiled in your stomach, tangling with the heat that radiated from his touch on your shoulder. You tilted your head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Satoru was staring at you intently, his gaze asking an unspoken question. He looked hungry. It both thrilled and scared you. A shudder ran through you as you turned back, looking at his reflection in the glass.

“Yes” You offered an answer to the question he had not yet asked. A thrill of heat rippling from your belly to your extremities.

His hand slid down your side, large fingers curling into the silk of your kimono. You shuddered, heat coiling in your stomach as his warm breath tickled your right ear. Satoru paused, his other hand gently holding your waist.

“Are you sure?” The question was spoken softly, his normal teasing tone replaced by something so gentle that for a moment you were speechless. But only a moment, you nodded, placing your hand over his, fingers sliding to his wrist in a silent gesture asking him to continue.

The hand that had been tangled in your kimono, dipped beneath it, pushing past the silk of your juban beneath and pausing as he touched the bare flesh of your thigh. Your breath hitched, face flushing as you realized that the house had never provided you undergarments other than the juban. If it could, you were sure the house would be chuckling, in perfect sync with its master. 

Satoru was laughing, the sound low and breathy as he pulled you closer. Your back was pressed firmly against his broad chest and you let out a small gasp as you felt his erection press against your backside. 

His hand moved to the juncture between your thighs, warm fingertips sliding over your clit and delving into your folds in an inquisitive motion. You shuddered, breath hitching as you struggled to stay upright. A few seconds pressed against him, that's all it had taken for you to become soaking wet.  Satoru chuckled in your ear, lips pressing against the soft skin of your throat as he gently swirled his finger tip around your entrance. The muscles fluttered in response, clenching around nothing as he teased the opening. Your legs shook and you gripped the hand that held on your waist in a death grip. He was the only thing keeping you upright, his gentle actions somehow making your mind both empty and overstimulated all at once.  

“Do I really have such an effect on you?” It was the teasing tone you were used to and you shot a look over your shoulder, knowing that your flushed face and parted lips did nothing to convey the small flame of irritation. The emotion dissolved as his lips captured yours. Your breath caught as you melted into the kiss, his lips were warm, sliding against yours with a barely contained hunger. Satoru was shaking slightly, breath puffing from his nose sharply as he licked against your lips. 

The arm at your waist slid up, finding its way beneath your kimono and grasping your breast. You moaned against his lips, leaning into the touch as Satoru ran his thumb over the peak of your nipple. The moan granted him entry and you shuddered as his tongue ran over your teeth, tangling with your own as he deepened the kiss. It was desperate and feral, your teeth clinking together as each kiss grew sloppier and more hungry. 

The hand on your breast tightened, steadying the both of you as Satoru plunged a finger into your entrance. There was a brief sharp pain and you froze for a moment before relaxing again. The sensation dissolved into pleasure as he gently delved deeper. The rough pad of his finger rubbed against the sensitive inner heat of your pussy. You shook in his grip, hips moving in sync with his finger thrusting. The man moaned into your mouth adding another finger. It stretched you, but felt divine. Satoru was blessed with long fingers, his touch reaching the deep sensitive parts within you. He curled his fingers, hitting a new, deeper spot that sent a wave of pleasure through your veins.

A low moan split the air as you broke the kiss, neck again slightly. You gripped his wrist in an attempt to steady yourself, hips grinding gently against his palm as Saturo continued his gentle finger fucking. The god shifted, knee nudging your right thigh aside and opening you wider to him, The action had your clit pressing against his palm, the warm skin rubbing gently with each thrust of his finger. It was delightful and too much. You squirmed, panting in his arms as he gently bit at your neck, tongue laving against your pulse. 

“S-shouldn’t.” Your words stuck in your throat as you struggled to stay upright, “Shouldn’t we be in bed?”

Your flush deepend as Satoru let out a sharp laugh. It was no secret you were inexperienced, the life of a shrine maiden was one of celibacy. And he knew that, being one of the Gods who had no doubt set the rules for temples. You squirmed in his arms, mind fuzzy as his finger slipped from you, cunt suddenly clenching around nothing. 

“We can.” Satoru lifted you easily, the quick action making you dizzy. You clutched your Kimono close, the garment mussed and only being held by your Obi. The room around you seemed to twist and then you gasped as suddenly you were in a different room. There was a lurch in your chest and for a moment you thought you might vomit. 

“Sorry.” Satoru offered you a small grimace, gently setting you on a large plush bed. “First time is always unpleasant.”

How did we get here?  You wondered, blinking up at the tall ceiling. This room was dark, the walls a blue that was almost black. Spots of glittering gold and white appeared here and there, vanishing almost as quickly as they appeared. You frowned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you took in the sight. Your first impression was wrong. The walls were clear. It was the night sky that twisted about you, the stars and clouds of dust playfully twisting about as small points of light. 

“No one can see us here.” Saturo shed his own robes, the silk sliding off with a familiar noise. Just as on earth he was unabashed with his nudity. You might have thrown him a look had you not been in awe at the room around you. The bed, draped in warm furs, was the only furniture in the room. It was like a nest, slightly deeper in the center. You let yourself fall back, staring at the dancing space around you. 

“How much can you see from here?” He had explained his ability to you and while you had an understanding, you had a feeling he had simplified it for you. Saturo grinned, stalking over to the bed and crawling onto it. He moved like a beast, each move calculated as he drew closer to his prey.

“I see everything.” It was a simple answer that implied such grandiosity that it was almost unimaginable. He crouched over you, a perfectly sculpted man. And he ignored the twisting beauty around him, instead focusing on you.

“Why me?” It was something that had been tugging at the back of your mind since he had first started teasing you. Without him ever stating it, you knew he was never like that with Ama and you had a feeling perhaps he had never been like that with any other mortal.

“Why not you?” The answer was followed by a grin that was so smug it was insufferable. You scoffed, lightly slapping his bicep. Saturo cackled, leaning in and capturing your lips. It was a non-answer and you decided you were fine with that. You melted against him, opening your thighs to allow his hips to grind against yours. 

He was a man starved, one hand tangling in your hair as with the other he pinched and pulled at your left breast. You moaned against his lips, hips canting up against his. His cock slid against your wet folds, warm and stiff against your clit. The smooth skin gave way to the rough white thatch of hair at the base of his cock. It created a different kind of friction, one that sent lightning bolts of pleasure through you. The sensation made you shudder, hips shifting so you could open your legs wider. Satoru grunted in frustration at your kimono, tugging the silk roughly until the belt gave and you were able to slide your arms free. He slid his arms beneath you, mouth latching onto your breast as he lazy thrust against you. 

It had you breathless, small choked moans leaving you as you grinded against him. There was a burning, tight sensation growing in your abdomen, building with each pass of your clit against his dripping cock. You chased it, slick folds pressing against his cock, creating a low lewd noise with each pass. Satoru moaned against your breast, the pace of his thrusting quickening as he matched your mindless desire. You threaded one hand through his hair, the other sliding over the expanse of his shoulders. 

“So close.” You whispered, head falling back and eyes closing as you canted your hips against his. 

Satoru let go of your breast with a small pop, leaning back and grinning down at you. A low whine of displeasure left you, lips pulling down in frustration as you panted up at him. He looked smug, one hand fisting around his cock as he gave it a quick pump, thumb smearing the mix of your juices and his precum over the head.

“Let me take you?” His voice was husky, the blue of his eye eclipsed by how blown his pupils were. You nodded, heart pounding in your ears. Excitement and lust coiled in your abdomen, you ached in a way you knew would only be satisfied once he was within you. 

Satoru was not gentle you were coming to realize. He was careful, mindful of where each touch landed. But gentle was not a word you would use. He was hungry, impatient and feral in his need. 

And you didn’t mind. His rough fingers dragged pleasure from deep within you. Each touch making your legs shake, back arch and moans slide from your throat. He was a beast but one that knew its prey well. 

“Good.” Satoru huffed out. He remained as he was, kneeling, cock stiffly pointing upwards. You noted with a blush that his white patch of pubic hair was drenched from your earlier grinding. 

Satoru shot you a grin that bordered on manic, taking your thighs in each hand and spreading them farther apart. You shivered slightly with the action, the wet between your thighs being brushed by cold. But only for an instant.

Satoru sheathed himself within you in one fluid motion. You let out a silent gasp, the air caught in your throat as the walls of your cunt fluttered about him. He stretched you completely, almost uncomfortably so. But the dull ache gave way to pleasure as he began to move.

Satoru seemed content to remain kneeling, his brilliant gaze locked on your face as he thrust into your warm heat. He looked powerful, muscles rippling with each thrust, an iron grip on your thighs. You shuddered beneath him, for a moment pleasure forgotten as you viewed the god above you. He was otherworldly. White hair shimmering as if made of stardust, blue eyes piercing your very soul.

The thoughts dissolved as he thrust again, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before plunging back into you. The pace he set was rough, each thrust pushed pleasure through you. Beneath him you were breathless, matching his roughness as best you could. 

The pleasure was mind numbing, your legs shook in his grasp as the head of his member kissed deep within your heat, hitting your cervix with an aching accuracy. You arched, hips stuttering against his as you chased the heat coiling in your stomach. Each thrust built it higher and higher, a taut string close to snapping. 

Faintly you registered that you were moaning, half words falling from your lips as you tried to ask him for more. To go faster.

Satoru laughed, the sound triumphant and breathless. He fell forward, capturing your lips with his, the hunger behind the action making his nose smash against yours. You didn’t mind the clumsiness and the slight pain. Arching against him, you panted against his mouth, arms sliding around his shoulders to pull him closer. Satoru’s kisses were sloppy, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip.

You moaned, hips canting against his as your clit caught against the rough hair at the base of his cock. It sent a thrill of pleasure through you and as you moaned, he thrust again, grinding his hips into you.  

Breaking the kiss, Satoru moved his head to your neck, kissing the soft flesh beneath your ear.

“Cum for me.” The words were low and growled, sending a shiver down your spine. You huffed out a low moan, unable to respond. His hands were on your hips, the man kneeling again, lifting you on his lap as he thrusted up into your tight heat.

The change of position sent stars across your vision and finally, the heat in your abdomen snapped.

You came with a cry, hands clawing at Satoru’s back as he kept thrusting. The walls of your cunt squeezed and fluttered around him, your orgasm prolonged by the rough movements. You let your head nestle in the crook of his neck, panting as he kept going.

Satoru’s arms shook slightly, his movements becoming erratic as he fucked you. The grip on your hips was bruising as he drilled into you. Satoru shifted, his teeth catching on your shoulder as he let out a low snarl. You shivered as he finally came, the warmth of his release filling you completely.

For a moment the two of you remained locked in place. Satoru’s teeth in your shoulder, hands keeping your hips locked against his. Now, not trapped in the heat of lust, you felt hazy, mind reeling from the intensity of his actions.

“Sorry.” Satoru finally pulled back, gently lying you on the bed and rubbing his thumb over the red indents in your shoulder. You murmured that it was fine, arching with a gasp as he pulled his now flaccid cock from you. 

Satoru disappeared for a moment, then was back, a towel in hand. You blinked, mouth parted to question him. 

“Teleportation.” He muttered, concentrating on cleaning you, then himself before tossing the towel away. Satoru flopped next to you, tugging the blankets over the pair of you with a satisfied sigh.

You watched him, curled on your side. A sudden feeling of awkwardness suddenly filled you. What would happen to you now?

Satoru seemed unbothered, nestling close to you, one arm thrown casually over your waist. 

“What now?” You asked, the words sticking slightly in your throat. You were afraid that he would tell you it was time to go back to the mortal realm. To the emptiness and lonely life.

Satoru’s eyes had closed, but he cracked one brilliant eye open, frowning.

“What do you mean?” 

You bit your bottom lip, one hand coming up to pull the blanket closer to your chin.

“I’m human. I’m not meant to be here.”

Satoru hummed, opening his other eye to stare at you. His gaze seemed to read your soul and you shivered as his unblinking stare lingered.

“Do you want to go back?” His tone had a hidden emotion beneath it, something in his eyes making you hesitate before answering.

“No?”

He seemed pleased with that answer, the large grin you had come to secretly love. Satoru propped himself up on one below, looking down at you, expression becoming serious.

“Would you want to stay here forever?” 

The question was odd but you nodded, hoping you understood him correctly. In the hours you had spent with him, you had come to enjoy Satoru’s teasing and playful nature. He was both a terrifyingly beautiful man and the biggest idiot you had ever met. An eternity with him, in the house surrounded by pale fields. You would enjoy that. Plus, Yuji would be safe, he wouldn’t know the pain that the mortal realm brought anymore.

Satoru sat up, blankets falling from him as he regarded you, face unreadable.

“You’re sure?”

You nodded again at his question, fingers playing with the edge of the blanket as you waited for whatever it was he was building to. Satoru was silent for a moment, then brought his hand to his mouth, biting down on his thumb.

You gasped at the dull noise it made, sitting up as you shot him a confused look. The man seemed unbothered, extending his hand to you as if offering you something.

“If you’re sure.” He was watching you closely, blue eyes following the slight changes in your body language as you glance at him, then his hand in confusion. 

You blinked. Satoru’s blood was golden, beads that looked akin to jewelry sat neatly upon his skin. You glanced up at him again, eyes searching his face for an answer.

“I am sure.” You murmured, not quite understanding what he wanted you to do. Satoru smiled, lifting his thumb closer to your face and wiggling it.

“The blood of a god is coveted by some.” He looked strangely smug, “It contains the secret to immortality.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, waiting for the manic smile to hit and for the god to tell you it was a joke. But when he didn’t, you cautiously leaned forward, wrapping your lips around the digit. 

His blood tasted of sunshine and yet was also nothing. You shuddered as you pulled back, nose wrinkling slightly as you licked your lips, swiping the remnants of the droplets. Nothing happened. You felt the same and you again waited for the infernal smile you knew he was going to throw your way.

“What would you like to be the goddess of?” Satoru asked, itching the thumb. You noted it was completely healed as if nothing had happened. For a moment you sat, mind racing as you struggled with the odd nothingness of what had occurred. Pondering the question, you flopped back down, pulling the blankets close as you thought. If he wasn’t playing a prank, what would you be best at?

You thought of the village that was your home and the gods they whispered about. Turning over different jobs, of things in nature you enjoyed. There were too many options. But finally, you thought of Ama, of the shrine. Of the loneliness the old woman had experienced.

“The goddess of forgotten shrines and their keepers.” You murmured. Satoru seemed surprised at your choice, humming as he thought.

“I think that one isn’t taken.” His brilliant blue gaze raked over your form and you shivered as a warmth spread through your limbs. It was as if you had gulped down sake, the sensation unlike anything else. A buzzing existed in your limbs, fizzing through your veins and nerves like sunlight itself was warming you from the inside out.

“There you are.” He laughed, reaching out with one long finger and tapping you on the nose. “It’ll be strange at first. Hearing them when they pray. But you’ll figure out how to filter it.”

You frowned at that, nestling deeper in the blankets as you concentrated. 

Silence. 

Then.

“Whoever resides here–”

“I’m sorry, I’m old–.”

“They forgot about this place, I hope my staying here doesn’t–”

“Are you still here? Can you —”

Fragments, barely whispers twisted through your mind. You sat upright, eyes unfocused as you tried to listen to them. There were too many and they were all so quiet. 

“How many abandoned shrine keepers are there?” You turned, fighting back an odd sadness that swelled in your chest. Satoru hummed, leaning back on the plush pillows, fingers drumming lightly against his bare chest.

“Too many.” His piercing blue eyes fixed on the ceiling, “Plus the accidental shrines.”

You tilted your head at that, shivering slightly as another whisper danced through your mind.

“Humans create their own shrines without realizing it.” Satoru focused on you, reaching out to run a hand along your bare side. 

“Children with sticks and plush toys. Adults with their particularly set up kitchens.” He shrugged, his expression one of amused resignation, “They don’t realize that they do it, that their thoughts are structured like prayers.” 

Satoru’s gaze slid away from you, his expression becoming somber. “They tend to get ignored. None of us see merit in picking up their prayers.” 

You swallowed the hurt and irritation that welled in your stomach. Satoru was a god, he had admitted to thinking something as simple as a bath let him see how humans lived. He and no doubt the others had such a removed view of how humanity lived. Human needs and emotions were foreign. Yes, Satoru had emotion. But it always seemed guarded or inappropriately placed. 

You lay back in the blankets, dwelling on the echoed whispers in your mind.

“Will I disappear if they stop creating shrines? If they abandon the notion of gods?” You asked, eyes searching the dark expanse above. Satoru rolled over, slipping his arm over your waist and pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“The last prayer Sukuna got was well over a thousand years ago. He’s become a bit of a recluse, but he’s still here.”

You had no idea who Sukuna was but the thought was comforting. Satoru rested his forehead against yours, flashing you a brilliant smile.

“You don’t have to worry.” 

You raised an eyebrow at that, eyes searching his. The man snickered to himself as he continued “I’ll always be here to worship you.”

You rolled your eyes at that, letting a small puff of laughter out. His response tickled your mind however and a question arose.

“What are you even the god of?” You should have honestly asked sooner. With all his joking and lackadaisical attitude, you had assumed he was something soft and kind. But Satoru’s response about ignoring small shrines lended to a more arrogant nature under his cheerful facade. 

The man grinned, the smile sharp and unlike anything you had seen before.

“I am the god of power.”

You quirked an eyebrow at that. “So, War, physical strength?” 

He shook his head, then paused and nodded. “Yes and no.”

Satoru sat up, flexing his arms. You watched the muscles jump and ripple as he did so.

“There is also power in names, in blood ties. Power exists now in money and goods.” 

He spread his arms wide, looking a tad manic.

“For humans, to feel powerful, look or sound powerful, they crave it.”

You shuddered as you listened, thinking of Mahito, of the village you had grown up in. Satoru looked at you, his gaze serious.

“I alone am a god ingrained in the nature of humans.”

You hummed at that, eyes shifting away from him and back to the great expanse of black. Whispers tickled the back of your mind, gentle wishes and murmured prayers for help twisting together into a droning hum.

“Ok not the only one but, the most powerful one.” You glanced back to see Satoru wiggling his eyebrows at you. Laughing, you pulled the blankets closer, peeking at him from around the soft fabric.

“The power god is the most powerful? How poetic.” Your tone was teasing and you let out a squeak as Satoru yanked the blankets up, sliding beneath with you. His face was close, the intense blue of his eyes drilling into your soul as he wagged a finger at you.

“New gods don’t get to be bratty to old gods.” 

You snorted, “You’re right grandpa, I apologize.” 

You shrieked as he started tickling you in response, Satoru cackling like a madman as he did so. While he might not have realized it, the interaction felt so human. It was a connection you had silently wished for while at the shrine. To have a friend to hold. One who you could laugh with.

“I’m going to do good for all of them.” You murmured when he finally stopped, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. Satoru raised one eyebrow in question, his hands pulling you closer beneath the warm blankets.

“My shrine keepers.” You elaborated, “I won’t abandon them.”

Satoru hummed at that, “You better do good.” His tone was teasing, but the look on his face was serious. It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, the man sighing as he fiddled with one strand of his pale hair.

“I may have broken a rule or two by bringing you here and letting you become a god.” 

Your mouth dropped open at that and you sat up, heart racing. Satoru saw your panic and was quick to follow, pulling you into a hug.

“As I said. I’m the best. I get to break rules.” His tone was too casual for your liking and you shot him a glare, irritation swelling in your throat. Satoru could tell you were about to snap out something harsh, the man burying his face in your shoulder.

“They might be mad, might take you aside to make sure I didn’t pressure you.” 

He shrugged, lifting his head to look at you. Part of you murmured that after haze of sex was a time when most people had lowered inhibitions. But it wasn’t like you could have just gone back. You had already committed to living with Satoru, even as just a human. The forever promise was a bonus. 

“But that's all they can do.” He finished, flopping back onto the bed with an irritated sigh.

“The red tape bastard is going to have a fit and all that’ll be is annoying.” 

You lay back down, pulling the blanket over the both of you. There was still no need for sleep in this realm. Even after the slight workout you and Satoru had done. But you felt mentally tired. You knew you would have to face the other gods, the consequences of Satoru’s actions. Warm and snuggled next to the man, your eyes slid shut. Sleep came easy. The prayers of your shrines lulling you into the deep abyss of slumber. You could deal with the outcome later. When you awoke, your first task would be tending the shrines.

[gethoce]

Can I just say that I LOVE how Marx looks in your art?

All his expressions are just... top notch stuff. I love how expressive he is. He genuinely looks smug in a lot of it and that's just great.

And, uh, if you don't mind, I'ma throw in a question: What do you imagine being some of Marx's favorite prank targets in terms of notable members of the extended Kirby cast?

Explanations under the cut ~

Shadow Kirby: A near impossible task. Whenever Marx tries to prank him, Shadow Kirby seems uninterested, going as far as to taunt him for his lack of creativity. That disinterested stare in the reflection's eyes frustrates Marx to no end! Not a fun target at all, never ended up satisfying that prankster itch.

Gooey: Marx has tried to prank Gooey before, to no success. Gooey seems to simply accept whatever happens to him and move on as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. This usually leaves Marx absolutely flabbergasted! He just can't get his head around Gooey, the unprankable. It almost feels like it is him who actually gets pranked by Gooey!

Rick, Kine and Coo: He used to prank them occasionally, but since that Kine Yin-Yarn fake love letter prank somehow ended up bringing these two together he has gone on a hiatus when it comes to pranking all three of the animal friends. To think he would end up causing Kine to divorce Mine and marry some sort of knitting needle duo… He still hasn't told anyone that it was him who wrote the letters.

Taranza: Marx has pranked him many times at first mocking his posh appearance and behavior with glee! That all stopped when Taranza got a hold of him and used his puppeteer skills to parade him around so everyone could see what a jerk he is and mock him in retaliation. Marx has been keeping his distance from the spider since.

Galacta Knight: The old reliable. At this point Marx isn't even sure whether Galacta's surprised face is genuine. Arguably he is the victim of Marx’ greatest prank. If only he had been there when Galacta Knight found out about it… if he ever did. These days he just feels awkward trying to prank him.

Francisca: Marx likes her so he doesn't go as hard on her. He'll play the occasional trick on her but usually the kind that makes them both chuckle. If it was something more serious he'd evoke the ire of Flamberge as well anyway.

Zan Partizanne: It is easy to rile her up, this much is clear. He could prank her with his eyes closed! Whether he is fast enough to avoid the consequences is a different thing… Still worth it for the bit occasionally.

Adeleine: Since he has known way more humans than she ever has he likes to tell her a thing or two about them. Occasionally he may… twist the truth a little bit. She may have thought she could learn how to breathe fire at one point or another. Notably he does not dare to do anything to her art. He did it once and everyone was on his bad side within an instant.

Elfilin: Since he knew Fecto Elfilis personally he likes to take advantage of what he knew about them to unsettle him. In truth he didn't know Elfilis all that well, but Elfilin doesn't know that and Marx gladly uses that to his advantage.

Dark Meta Knight: You'd think he would be an easier target than regular Meta Knight, yet DMK is already frustrated when Marx is simply just in the area. There isn't much he can do in front of him to rile him up even more. Instead Marx came up with a more stealthy tactic… He reminds DMK of his existence by leaving notes in his house to taunt him. A witty remark or a framed Marx selfie on his nightstand, anything that causes the reflection to think of him. The payoff is a little delayed since he usually misses out on the reaction, but he enjoys it greatly to see the knight storm into his direction with murderous intent.

Susie: His normal pranks don't seem to have an effect on her. She'd usually just act all nonchalant and unimpressed or even ignore him entirely. Instead Marx has to resort to different tactics… He likes to orchestrate elaborate plans to make her question her sense of reality and perception. Sometimes he just moves an object from one place to another, other times more drastic changes come into play such as subtly changing the colours of her walls just a little over and over again until they are a different colour.

Kirby: Since direct methods have proven to backfire he had to come up with a different tactic… A tactic that allows him to prank multiple targets at once no less! Simply convince Kirby to take part in a prank and then let him take the fall or at least have him take some of the blame! Either way Marx has the last laugh! Not as fun to prank as others, but he does get enjoyment out of pranking his old nemesis.

Daroach: A fun but challenging target! He always has the most hilarious flabbergasted reactions! Though he is very attentive, Marx has to really prove his skill to not be noticed by a master thief like Daroach. He notices even subtle changes in his environment, unlike Susie. Marx likes to lure him with treasure, something Daroach just can not resist.

Ribbon: Marx’ favorite way of pranking her is jump scares! He can do some excellent screeches and her reactions are the best! It's usually in good fun between the two, they actually get along quite well!

Bandana Waddle Dee: Marx’ favourite prank is to pretend as though he doesn't recognise Bandee as anything but a random Waddle Dee. In his case he also likes to sabotage him in secret to make it seem like he is doing a bad job. Bonus points if the king gets to see whichever mess the Dee has gotten himself into. A very fun target!

Meta Knight: Arguably one of Marx’ biggest pranks was directed towards Meta Knight. He pretended to be just an innocent citizen who needed help and just a few days later Meta Knight tried (and failed) to overthrow the king! Meta Knight also blamed himself for Marx’ “death” when he tried to take over Popstar thinking it was his failure that led to the takeover attempt of the noddy. Meta Knight still isn't fully aware of Marx’ true nature and the jester loves to take advantage of that. Having that vigilant knight stand up for him cracks him up every time!

Flamberge: Similar to Zan she is easy to prank but escaping her wrath isn't as much of an issue, although many fires have been started as she attempted to chase after him regardless, which just add to the fun in his eyes. She isn't nearly as fast as Zan and actually does get along with him on a normal day.

King Dedede: Oh, a favourite of his! Dedede’s big ego and loud personality allows for all kinds of different pranks to work! The only downside really is that the king doesn't have that stoic attitude Marx enjoys to break through. Most reactions are a bit standard. Still a fun target any day of the week! Quick and easy!

Morpho Knight: There is probably nobody in existence Marx despises more than Morpho Knight. He doesn't just prank it casually, he wants to be cruel about it. Is it dangerous to dare prank a bringer of death? Most certainly. Does he fear it even a little bit? No fear can ever overpower the hatred that fills his mind when he sees it.

Magolor: He is both a partner in crime and a target at the same time. Magolor has to endure pretty much everything Marx has to offer and there is nothing more delicious than his reactions! Magolor's huge ego and self-important wizard attitude make him the perfect pranking target! As much as Marx enjoys the sciences himself, he will sabotage Magolor wherever he can even when it has negative consequences for him. Anything for the bit!

[andtheylive]

BUCKLE UP KIDS! you are about to read my magnum opus: my explanation for how each of the muses on this blog fit into my thesis that scream is about misogyny. i’m going to try not to get too ramble-y, but this is something i’m very passionate about. let’s start from the very beginning, shall we?

casey - women’s promiscuity must be punished. i see a lot of parallels between casey and maureen; both were not faithful partners (see casey lying about having a bf to the voice on the phone), both are the victims of brutal, very targeted deaths as a result. i hands down think casey has the most violent death in the first film. it’s not enough to kill her — no, they torment her first. make her watch her bf die, force her to answer a series of questions in the vain hope she might save her own/steve’s lives. stu is bitter about casey dumping him, just like billy is bitter about maureen prescott having an affair with his father. as a result? they are slaughtered mercilessly.

sidney - it is always a woman’s fault, and women can be interchangeable. it takes two to tango; maureen did not slip and fall on hank’s dick, he chose to have an affair that pushed his wife away. as far as we know however, hank lives until the end of the movie. he faces no punishment from his son. but it’s not enough to kill maureen and leave her daughter without a mother; that rage seeps into how billy views sidney. she has done nothing wrong, but she receives the same ire and almost faces a similar fate for it. it’s very akin to how a misogynist will paint women as a whole with one broad stroke because of the actions of one. and THEN! mrs. loomis has the AUDACITY to blame sidney for billy’s deplorable actions which resulted in his own death. even when a man is to blame, the finger is pointed at a woman.

tatum - what happens when women put their foot down. tatum takes no bullshit the entire movie. she is not afraid to be mean, she is not afraid to insert herself between sidney and people that she believes do not have sid’s best intentions at heart (gale, other reporters in town, billy himself). tatum, imo, dies because of girl code: there was no way in hell she was going to let sidney be alone with billy. he makes sid feel bad about herself and her boundaries, he makes sid question her trauma and grieving process. tatum flat out says she thinks he’s fucking fishy bc he comes across as too perfect. so she had to go! she is disposable, and stu is later on seen flirting with other girls after sending her out to her death.

sam - mentally ill women are maligned and made to feel guilty for their own mistreatment. richie is basically billy 2.0 — he gaslights and manipulates his gf the entire film. he shames her for her mental health struggles, paints her as a villain because of her psychosis and her familial trauma. then, his family gangs up on sam and continues to torment her for defending herself against richie. not only that, they led an internet hate mob against her; the public is so eager and willing to hate a woman for her own misfortunes. society has a history of abusing and harassing women that have been victims of despicable behavior, and sam falls in line with pattern of mistreated ladies. it’s so similar to what happened to sidney in two, with the added aspect of a twitter audience joining in on her abuse.

[wintersnowqueen]

Knowable

When I was a child and upset, I would hold my breath until I passed out. I have no recollection of this, but my mother has told me it was a bit of a habit.

It is a habit that never left but morphed. Instead of holding my breath, I started holding my tongue. Silence has always been my preferred form of punishment. Punishment not only for the recipient of my ire, but for myself if I think holistically about my behavior. I have spent a lot of time punishing myself and others by holding back words. I have ended friendships over what amounted to small slights without sharing an explanation or working through the problem. I have kept myself from new or deeper relationships, by drawing inward and closing my mouth. At first glance, this may not be obvious because, to be clear, I talk. A lot.

I also read a lot. I always have. I find comfort in the words and I understand deeply how words allow us to be known. To be knowable is a power and a gift. In literature there is a trope (maybe trope isn’t the right descriptor, but it’s all I can think of) where a lover or a would-be lover notices details about the object of their desire, often things that person isn’t even aware of about themself, and at some point, they share these insights with the person or at least the reader. They have seen how the person curves their lip when they are working through a problem, the way they blush when a certain topic is discussed, how they take their coffee without having ever been told directly and this knowledge shifts the dynamic for the two characters. They are knowable in a way that they never realized, and it is a gift if they share more, if they open themselves to share deeper insights, dreams, fears, memories. Divulging more is a gift because it allows for a shift in power- at least if you are cynical. Perhaps nobody would use your preference for whole milk against you in the future, but giving things away can have consequences.

It's hard to change your tactics, hard to change your heart, but maybe sharing these words is a start. A start to being more knowable.

[accio-victuuri]

On birthday woes : why zz/wyb decided to stay quiet on their special day 🎂🎁

I’ve been wanting to put all my thoughts regarding this whole topic in one place as I try to make sense of it. also if anyone wants to know what I think, then feel free to read along. please don’t take my word for it. this is just my brain dump.

I feel let down tbh, that both of them are not celebrating their birthdays like the previous years. If you think about it, it shouldn’t be a big deal. I guess most people even antis & passerby will be fine with them being all over weibo on the day of their birthday. No matter what is going on in the country. It’s not exactly classified as “entertainment”, tho they are part of that circle. It’s a personal celebration and fans who support them will want to give their greetings. but that’s just me talking. selfish me who was so spoiled for the past years ( bring 2020 celebration back! ). I know they have a good reason to do so and I wouldn’t be such a fan if these two weren’t so self aware and responsible. now let me write about the possible reasons and a bit of cpn.

• Political Timing ⏱

Yibo’s birthday week fell on Nancy Pelosi’s visit to Taiwan ( August 2 ) and the whole political nightmare that created. Tensions were high and people were talking about possible retaliation from China’s side. Add the hyper nationalists who were posting “crying” ( I don’t know how else to call it ) videos on Douyin because Pelosi landed in Taiwan, despite XJP’s regime making them believe that they will shoot down any United States plane that will try and make an independent visit to Taiwan.

All over weibo, you saw people and celebrities sharing the One China ( policy ) post — showing their support to their country. Posts about China’s military, hinting that they are ready for whatever happens. Finally, the morning of Bobo’s birthday, China released their sanctions to the US for what happened. So overall, it wasn’t a good look to be plastering Yibo’s place all over all Weibo. Or in major cities like Beijing or Shanghai for that matter. Tho as i said earlier, a simple personal birthday post or selfie from him wouldn’t hurt— I guess it was just an executive decision to stay quiet.

GG’s day on the other hand, comes right after the National Day Holiday. Also weeks before the National Congress that @rainbowsky mentioned here and if you don’t know the importance of this then let me direct you to @potteresque-ire explanation here. While I do understand how extra careful GG and his team are, also sensitive to current events, I feel like they could still get away with posting a personal photo. It’s also worth mentioning that there are other big-name celebrities who posted birthday content weeks/ days before GG ( Yangmi and WJK for example ). Even someone who posted on the same day as GG ( TJC ).

• Qinglang call & personal decisions

The literal meaning of QingLang (清朗) is “cleansed and uncontaminated.” Originally, the program was presented as aimed at the “control of chaos” (乱象治理的通) in the cyberspace. It was explained that the “chaos” was mostly created by the fan groups of celebrities, where “fanaticism” was on display and inappropriate comments were published on a variety of items.

To those who are not familiar with this, it’s a campaign started back in May 2021 regarding responsible online behavior. You might also remember the boys’ studios mentioning this when they share posts related to fan behavior. particularly with Yibo last year, his studio posted about adhering to rules set by the campaign.

It is important to point out that these rules are not only aimed at celebrities but to big network platforms & companies as well. and as detailed below:

The 4 major points of Qinglang 2022:

• Companies “deepen their understanding’ of the QingLang campaign. They should “effectively improve the political position” and “fight a tough, protracted and overall battle” to make sure that all that is posted expresses loyalty to “the CCP and the Country.”

• The companies should assume and assign responsibility. If something disloyal to the CCP and the Country is posted, the Party wants to know who was responsible for it. “Each responsibility should be assigned to specific positions and personnel to ensure that all stages of work are carried out without compromise.”

• Once the responsible personnel has been clearly identified, it should “control key sections such as topics, groups, and circles.” Further “chaos” will not be tolerated, meaning that posts should be “cleaned up” and if necessary edited or cancelled immediately.

• The companies should “strengthen security. It is necessary to continuously improve the community rules,” and also “improve the political commitment” of company executives. There should be CCP cells in each company office. The Internet companies should acknowledge “the political leading role of Party organizations,” and cooperate in case of “special operations”.

It’s all in the glory of the CCP and gives the impression that everything not aligned to CCP’s ideals is considered chaos. No surprise there.

I actually thought Yibo’s move was something Yuehua recommended and their artists are doing. Since they are, after all, a company that should adhere to the same Qinglang call for suppressing fan behavior. But No. I saw his other label mates posting on their birthday this year ( 2022 ) ( for example Hangeng ).

Which leads me to the conclusion of it’s a mix of this campaign and a personal decision. Let’s face it, these rules were created for fandoms like what ZZ/WYB have. Their solo fandoms are known to be really extravagant when it comes to their birthday ( among other things ) + they have a strong CP following too. Also add the brands they endorse on the mix — they can sponsor birthday events and release special edition bday products. It’s this whole “excessiveness” that the boys and their own studios are ( what I think ) avoiding to happen. It’s a small price to pay for two people who are notoriously private and have always been humble about their fame. The public’s view on celebrities have not been good for the past years — amidst the scandals that happened — it is a conscious choice to not flaunt anything lavish.

Having a quiet and simple birthday isn’t so bad, compared to possible “trouble” they can get into if the celebrations and fan activities are misunderstood.

I’m wondering if the personal part of this decision was discussed between the two of them. It’s not even CPN, even if you don’t think they’re dating, as close friends — they can ask each other. They have celebrity friends i’m sure or even “seniors” to consult but no one in that circle knows what it’s like to be in the position they’re in than each other. Plus they’ve aways had this “understanding” between them from when they met in CQL shoot and beyond. I’m thinking about them sitting down and seriously looking at what they can actively do to be less of a “celebrity” and the first thing that came to mind is give up the whole birthday extravagance. They may have different career paths now but their values are still the same — those of us who pay attention can clearly see that. This is why they work so well together.

I am not privy to what other c-ent celebrities are like but there is a reason why both of them have the fan following they have. They are good people. They ( mostly ) inspire their fans to be better. ZZ/WYB have always tried to set a good example, and oftentimes at the expense of their comfort. It’s so easy to repost propaganda content. It’s easy to attend state approved events. It’s easy to film VCRs/films/dramas to lend “support” to whatever projects the state is pushing. What’s hard is to look into yourself and see what you can let go from all the excess. I am comforted by the knowledge that they can still celebrate their birthday quietly, and that’s how they want it to be. What’s important is they had a good day.

I think the best birthday gift we can give zz/wyb is to have fun on their day. Go out and spend time outside. Have a day to ourselves and not be online.

-END.

[toon-topaz]

Since I outlined Jervis’ backstory, I decided to try and draw him at various stages of his life, mostly what happened up to becoming the Mad Hatter.

Explanations of each panel below

Baby: Jervis Tetch was born in early April in a small English town, to two parents who really would rather not have had children. They did what was necessary to sustain their baby, but his cries were largely ignored if it wasn’t an absolute necessity. As such, he primarily spent the first months of his life playing by himself, and vying for his parents attention every change he got.  Toddler:   Jervis’ sister Alice was born when he was 3 years old, and suffered similarly neglectful behaviors from their parents. By this time, Jervis had become as self-sufficient as a 3 year old possibly could be, entertaining himself with games and TV, and taking apart remote controls. Once Alice came along, he spent his every waking moment with her, caring for her in ways he had lacked, and telling endless stories he made up. When she grew a bit older and started getting in trouble, Jervis would defend her, drawing his parents’ ire onto himself. He couldn’t bare to see his sister hurt, and they quickly became each others’ safe haven, and were virtually inseparable. Child: At age 9, Jervis first watched Alice in Wonderland, picked out from a video store for his sister’s birthday because it had her name on the cover. They watched it together that night, and Jervis instantly fell in love with it. He ravenously sought out any and all things Wonderland related, and discovered the original books, which he would read several times a day, both alone and as bedtime stories to his sister. The best times of his life were spent reenacting various scenes with Alice, where he would play the other characters. He was the White Rabbit, the Cheshire Cat, and his favorite, the Hatter. He felt a particular kinship with the character, with his already present love for hats and tea, and the feeling of being not quite like the other children at his school. He was often teased and was rather unpopular, but Alice always came to his defense even from her own friends. He was a brilliant child, though teacher often complained about his lack of focus and maturity, spending time reading and taking apart electronics instead of doing homework. He found security in Carroll’s stories, and his love for them very quickly turned into a special interest.

Pre-teen: Jervis never forgot the night a stranger knocked at the door to tell him that his parents had been killed in a driving accident. He felt very little for them, but then he was told that he would have to leave, and he and Alice may be separated, and that was pure despair. They packed up their things, and were put into the foster system. None of their foster parents kept them for long, for nobody wanted to adopt an aggressive and volatile child such as him, and as he and Alice could not be separated no matter what the adults tried, she remained without parents as well. They went to the orphanage together, and remained there despite attempts to adopt them out, and as the years went by, the opportunities became slimmer and slimmer. Bullying from his peers was now worse, as all the boys seemed to go through puberty but him, he remained small and his voice squeaky. Even Alice seemed to outgrow him eventually. He did his best to fit in, but he never had any friends but Alice, whom he grew even more attached to as the only person who ever accepted him as he was.

Teen: Jervis finally hit puberty far later than his peers, but his height only increased by about an inch. Bitter and hormonal, Jervis stopped caring what his peers thought of him and fully embraced his eccentricities. Or at least that was the intention. He dressed the way he wanted and excelled in specific areas of school. He didn’t like seeing Alice spending more time with her friends than him, and grew a rather controlling streak, taking a parental role in her life despite her protests. Now that he was almost an adult he had to be responsible for her, and that meant making sure she behaved. He would never admit it, but he was jealous. Jealous that he had to share her attention, when she was his sister and he clearly knew her best. Unbeknownst to him, or rather, while he refused to acknowledge it, she felt suffocated by his presence in her life, disliking how controlling he had become. Even after he had come of age, he refused to leave the orphanage, lest he lose his sister.

Young Adult: After graduating, Jervis was accepted into university, and studied neurology extensively. Between his studies, his tinkering with electronics on the side, and working to keep himself afloat, he didn't notice what Alice was planning. On the night of her 18th birthday, she wrote a note for Jervis and left the orphanage to be independent, telling Jervis that she couldn't stay with him anymore and would be moving to America. When Jervis came home after his night shift, he was met with only a letter, and no Alice. He missed several weeks of school and almost failed his degree because he fell into a depressive spiral and almost went insane trying to track his sister, but to no avail. Defeated, he finished his studies, and lived the next few years in a haze, and got an idea on how to bring Alice home when he found her.

Adult: Jervis' work was eventually noticed by a representative of Wayne Tech travelling overseas, and he was given a job at the company and a research grant. This was wonderful for him, allowing him to further develop his technology and perfect it. He accepted the position, and moved to the US, finally arriving in Gotham City. There, he continued his experiments, slowly figuring out how to electronically control animals, and, theoretically, humans. He pitched his idea as a way to better train animals and keep them in line, but his secret goal was to control people, mainly, his sister. He even entered a relationship with a woman named Alisson Graves, who was the only person he told about his intentions to control people. Unbeknownst to him, Alice was living in Gotham City as a freelance photographer, having changed her name to Alice Pleasance.

Turning Point: The moment Jervis found out about Alice was when she was hired to do a photo op by Bruce Wayne. Jervis had recently made a breakthrough in his research and Bruce had wanted to give him his recognition in the papers. However when he recognized the photographer, and she recognized him, it was like a light switched in his brain. He got to finally talk to her after all these years, and they appeared to be on good terms, and even agreed to meet and catch up outside of work. He prepared some special mind control cards and hid them on his person, just in case, as he was desperate for this to go right. He even planted cards on some civilians wishing for his dinner with her to go as perfectly as possible. However when the question was brought up, Alice expressed no interest in going home with Jervis or being as close as they once were, and something in him broke. He begged for her to consider it, and when she tried to leave, he carded her, promising to keep her safe. He took her and Alisson to his office, which he refurbished into a Wonderland themed nightmare, and had one last tea party before he planned to return to England, trying to relive their precious childhoods. Batman defeated his mind controlled goons and stopped him, damaging his hat and inadvertently causing the tech to malfunction, leaving Alisson in a coma and freeing Alice from his control. She ran away and he gave chase, having now fully lost his mind. She refused to entertain his delusions, which pushed him to the edge of insanity, and he lashed out, pushing her out of a window and to her death. Jervis was swiftly apprehended and put on trial, and was sent to Arkham Asylum after pleading insanity.

Hatter Era: As the Mad Hatter, Jervis only fell deeper and deeper into madness, using his technology to commit crimes and fight against Batman. He blamed him for his sister's death for many years, and worked with many other Rogues to finally take him out, though he couldn't care less about his identity. He wanted his head, which eventually just turned into seeking out his cowl. About a decade into his career he entered a romantic relationship with Jonathan Crane, aka the Scarecrow, a relationship he would treasure for the rest of his life.

Retired: When overexposure to his mind-altering technology began to severely impact his life and his mobility, Jervis lost a lot of the function in his legs and realized he couldn't sustain this lifestyle. He gave recovering an earnest shot, and after much effort and struggling, he was released from Arkham Asylum and turned his life around. Some would say too little too late, but Jervis wanted to live out the rest of his life in peace with his husband. He and Jonathan left Gotham together and went to live in a quaint farmhouse, spending the rest of their time together in peace and leading simple lives until Jervis' dying day.

[written-in-ash]

A prompt :

“Sometimes... When you’re asleep... I look at you and my mind drifts to what our future holds. And I think I fall more in love with you.”

His Inevitable Truth

Hermione was wholly and entirely terrifying. Now, as her look of disappointed rage was unjustly trained on him, he wondered why he ever bothered to save her from that troll back in first year, anyway. Harry had the urge to tell her that, but he wouldn’t, of course. He didn’t want to die.

“You told her you would Floo her, Harry. If you had no intention of doing that, why did you say you would?”

It was their weekly pub night. A night that was supposed to be full of laughter and joy, dancing and snogging. Unfortunately for Harry, absolutely none of this seemed to be happening for him.

While Draco was off dancing with some black-haired, muscled, stupid, idiotic prat, he was boxed between Ron and Blaise with Hermione across from him. She was making no attempt to conceal how much she’d like to skin him alive, which ruined the carefree vibe in their small booth at the back of the pub.

It wasn’t his fault, really. The girl Hermione set him up with had been too happy, too friendly, and her hair was utterly too brown. Blaise chuckled, and Hermione’s eyes reignited when he relayed that particular information.

Ron snorted and ruffled Harry’s hair, trying to ease the palpable tension between his best friend and wife. “So lemme, guess,” Ron said, red cheeks flushed from one too many pints, “you want a blonde prat whose skills in sarcasm are unmatched?”

Harry opened his mouth to state that yes, in fact, that was precisely what he wanted. But then he realized the implications of that statement and swiftly shut his mouth.

Hermione shot Ron an inscrutable look, and suspicion mounted in Harry’s chest. “What do you know?” Harry asked eyes narrowed and mouth firm.

Blaise nudged him from the other side and raised his stupid perfect eyebrows. “No, Harry. What do you know?”

Harry glanced at Draco, who was now grinding unapologetically on the Stupid Prat. Jealousy curled in his gut, and he had half a mind to deck the idiot for even thinking about touching Draco, much less actually doing it. Draco was Harry’s, even if he didn’t know it yet.

And really, that was the problem, wasn’t it? Harry had thought that his love for Draco was a well-kept secret between himself and — well, himself.

But it was hard to control the flush that ran up the back of his neck every time Draco so much as existed in his general vicinity. The stuttering and general idiotic behavior were merely other symptoms of Draco’s unresistible charm.

Ron’s heavy-handed pat brought him out of his thoughts. “Face it, mate. You wanna shag Malfoy.”

“I do not!” Harry sputtered, slamming his pint down so hard that the liquid sloshed over the edge. It was painful to note that not only was he now in possession of less beer, he also was really, really bad at lying.

Three pairs of raised eyebrows bore down on him until he felt almost forced to respond. He opened his mouth to deny the accusation once more, but Hermione reminded him that she had the right to deny Harry his status as Godfather to soon-to-be-born little Rosie.

“Okay, okay,” he groaned and placed his face in his hands to hide the blush that was beginning to spread across his cheeks. He took a breath and tried to find the words to articulate his feelings. “It’s just… he always comes over to my flat every Saturday after pub night and changes into those stupid green silk pajamas that he keeps at my house. You know the ones with his initials sewn on the breast pocket? Anyway, he looks absolutely brilliant in them. All we do is watch Muggle films, but I can hardly pay attention because he’s just so beautiful that I want to—”

He paused to breathe. He felt his heart hammering in his chest as a small smile graced his lips. “It started during eighth year, and we just— we never stopped. Most of the time, he falls asleep on my couch, and sometimes— sometimes when he is asleep, I kind of just look at him, and my mind drifts to what our future could hold. You know, if he just— just returned my feelings. It feels like every moment that I’m around him, I just fall more and more, and there’s literally nothing I can do to stop it.”

He was breathless by the time he finished, heart skipping a beat and eyes closed. He’s admitted that he was in love with Draco once before, but that was in front of a mirror, and Harry cringed so hard he felt like he would die if he were to ever do it again.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes only to be confronted with three pairs of eyes blinking owlishly at him, mouths agape. Ron and Hermione shared a look before blinding smiles enveloped their faces, and Blaise laughed out loud.

“Goddamn it, you’re in love with him,” Ron murmured.

“Well, I— yeah?” Harry was confused; wasn’t that what they were talking about?

Hermione reached across the table, grabbing Harry’s balled fist in her soft hands; all former ire melted away. “Oh, Harry. We thought you just wanted a shag! We didn’t know you were in love!”

“Have you been pining for three years, mate? That’s kind of pathe— Ouch!” Blaise abruptly leaned down below the table to rub his shins, presumably where Hermione had just kicked him.

“Harry,” Blaise hesitantly tried again, gaze trained on Hermione, “you know he loves you too?”

Harry scoffed and looked back at Draco talking to Stupid Prat by the bar. Draco was shaking his head, and the man looked annoyed but started walking away. Draco turned to approach their booth.

Just before Draco made it back to their table, Ron whispered, “He never pulls Harry, do you notice that? He always goes home with you. Why do you think that is?”

Harry opened his mouth to let countless other explanations pour out of his mouth, but Draco’s relaxed drawl beat him to it. “James Bond tonight, Harry?” he asked.

Harry smiled, the inevitable flush staining his cheeks once. “Again?”

“Always.” Draco held out his hand to help Harry out of the booth, and Harry took it.

Hello, Anon! I tweaked the prompt just a little! Hope you don’t mind. This took a long time and I’m not satisfied, but here it is! Hope you enjoy! 🤍

[estamba]

She had had the world...well, a world at least, and lost it.

Everything she wanted. A safe, secluded space filled with beings that she and her God had created and formed to be her librarians and companions. Sometimes a mist wanderer would come through--but the occasional company and knowing full well she could expel them at her whim was not a bother. She had read and she had written and she had been content in chronicling her God and his movements.

And then darkness. She should have, by all rights, been terrified. But she had been born into darkness and it was only through her own hard work and the help of her God she had achieved the bright in-between she had made her home. A return to the darkness was...unexpected, troubling....but not terrifying, even as her twisted children and her books slipped through her hands and all sank into the void. It would have been easy, restful even, to stay there. Things would have been over, a finite end to questions--but to leave without so much as an explanation to Isambard? A high priestess could not so easily abandon her duties, even for a fellowship of one.

So she did not fade into nothingness alongside her books and her librarians and her little world. She fought and fell and woke to familiar sounds and smells. Of salt water and the bumbling cooing of a Quaggan. A while later, days, maybe weeks, found her nestled in the corner of the Inn at For Mariner, clean at the least, her pale hair whisping into soft curls, wearing soft shoes and pants under a rather too large purple shirt that had been belted at the waist, with a mug of tea in hand, listening to those around her. Soft words and falling back on old fortune telling skills from the streets of Divinity's Reach--along with no small amount of pity she was sure--had gained her a bed and enough to eat while she considered the situation she found herself in now.

She had lost all but...this was not the first time. She doubted it would be the last. No, indeed who should arrive at her table but her own Gods’ estranged kin? Asking for her help. Well...asking for one who could help mend a broken mind with a deep dedication to truth. It would have served him better if she still believed in Kormir as a benevolent being instead of selfish and uncaring...but she would not turn him away. Not for his sake. He had all the admirers and fawn devotion a man could hope for--but for the sake of his kinswoman who had placed herself between the world and Jormag among so many others and suffered now for it. So set aside was her inherent dislike for the man. Not that he had ever done anything to merit her ire other than existing as he was. Alluring, intoxicating to be around, like little golden strings coiled around one’s fingers and wrists and drew them closer. It was deeply unsettling. Today though he was on his best behavior...open, calmed, restrained, she suspected for her sake. It did not go unappreciated nor unrewarded. So she took his hand and let him take her from the Inn and outward--stopping of course for a fresh set of gloves.

[ddarker-dreams]

Wouldn’t It Be Nice. Yan Jotaro x Reader [COMM]

warnings: isolation mentions, very brief and minor injury ment, just general yandere stuff word count: 2.1k

“We’re here.” 

You let out a low hum of acknowledgement at Jotaro’s statement, lifting your head from its previous position of resting against the car window. It’s bright and early in the morning, the sun just starting to peak up over the clouds, bathing the world in a soft glow of warm colors. Jotaro turns the keys, the engine’s purring dying down into a final sputter. Throughout the drive from the hotel you’re staying in, you’ve been in and out of sleep, not used to being up bright and early. Normally your repetitive days blend together like watercolors, faint and indescribable from each other. This serves to be a new palette, an opportunity to see the world with your own eyes. 

Ignoring the dull ache from your legs, you step onto solid ground and stretch. Jotaro’s preoccupied with opening the car trunk, gathering his equipment and the few items you wanted to bring along. An umbrella, beach chair, towel, and some books to read. You fiddle with hands, shifting your weight as silence encompasses you both. He doesn’t so much as struggle with all the heavy items in hand, but the part of you that feels polite feels inclined to offer assistance. 

“Do you, uh, need any help with that…?” You inquire, taking a step forward and preparing to reach out should he agree. Aquamarine eyes flicker towards your clumsy proposal, searching for something unknown and coming up short. As you expect, he turns you down with a decisive shake of the head. It’s impossible to quell the curiosity of knowing what flashes through his mind, his body language hardly ever giving hints to his intentions, aside from taut muscles and grimaces.

“I’ve got it.” 

His tone isn’t meant to sound harsh, it’s just how his voice naturally sounds. You still can’t control the natural reflex of shrinking away at his rebuttal, an uncomfortable silence drowning over you both. He pauses for a brief moment, staring you down, parting his lips before closing them. Time feels like it’s at a stand still, until his attention returns to the awaiting beach. Neither of you make any further attempts at conversation, you trailing a foot behind him as he walks onto the sand. The tension from before melts from your person at the sight of soothing ocean waves, the ground underneath you growing softer, nostalgia coming in full force.

He sets up your area before getting to work on his own tasks, steadying the umbrella in the sand and unfolding the beach chair. You mutter a quiet thank you as he places the finishing touches down, a cooler that had water and sandwiches for if you needed them. The details of this trip are still largely muddled, Jotaro never has been one to over indulge his business. All you managed to squeeze out of him is that he’s taking samples, something about plankton and checking on the local ecosystem. The jargon went over your head. What matters most is that, after being on your best behavior, you’ve earned a trip outside of your normally reclusive lifestyle. Anything is better than having to stare at the same four walls everyday, trying to reminisce on what your life was like before you met Jotaro Kujo.

“I won’t be too long.” Jotaro calls over to you, walking towards the receding waves and setting off to work. You nod your head, settling back into your seat. The beach you’ve arrived at has no other signs of life, aside from seagulls calling to one another and the occasional crab you spot. Human beings are out of the question, Jotaro likely having chosen this spot for the lack of them. He can’t always keep an eye on you, no matter how much he wants to. Having him stuck to your hip like glue has been suffocating, and you’re grateful for the break. 

Staying within the confines of the shade the umbrella brings, your mind drifts into a land of daydreams. The world around you fades away, replaced with thoughts of better times. Where you didn’t have to constantly be on guard, around a man who claimed to care for you, despite rarely showcasing it. Your quality of life improved the slightest bit when you stopped acting combative towards him, taking a more passive approach to get through the days. Jotaro didn’t change his conduct around you much, aside from a few offerings to travel alongside him if his job required going to a secluded area. These opportunities are few and far between, and you always jump at the chance to see the world you were stolen from again. 

Preoccupied with your thoughts, you’re unaware of a presence lingering over you, until something wet and slippery drops onto your leg. A startled gasp leaves your lips at the unexpected sensation, your body jolting up to identify the source of the feeling. Eyebrows furrowing together, you spot Jotaro wading in the ocean, bending over and observing different objects. So where did this come from…? Squinting, you continue searching around, before spotting Star Platinum staring at you expectantly. 

Oh. So that’s what’s going on here.

Now having a better understanding of the situation, you realize the item on your thighs is a bunch of seaweed. Cold droplets of water fall onto your skin, causing a shiver to course throughout your body. He hovers above you, eyes almost doe-like as he excitedly searches for a positive response to his gift. Lazily rubbing away the sleepiness that threatens to consume you, you pluck the seaweed up to inspect it closer. You’re not sure what led the Stand to giving you this bizarre gift, but decide to thank him for the effort regardless. He’s never given a reason to earn your ire, a friendlier companion than his own User.

“Thank you,” you glance from his gift and then back to him, placing the seaweed by your side for safekeeping. “So, this is for me?” 

He nods his head, offering a soft “ora!” in excited confirmation. Star Platinum doesn’t make any movements to disappear, and you can only assume Jotaro has no idea his Stand is wandering about on its own merit. The first -- and likely last -- time that you surprised Jotaro was when he realized you could see his Stand, having a Stand of your own. Ever since then, he’s made it a point not to allow Star Platinum around you, for whatever reasons. There’s no way to confirm the gnawing suspicion that it’s because he’s embarrassed by how enthusiastic the Stand is in your presence, though it’s the theory you go with.

You realize in the time spent searching for a plausible explanation, Star Platinum had been gathering more knick knacks. Settled in his muscular, phantom arms, are various objects that litter the beach. Seashells, sea glass, and a few colorful rocks. The one item that sticks out to you the most, is a very peeved looking hermit crab, its legs flailing in the air. 

“Star, you have to put that little guy down. I think he’s wondering why he’s floating…” You sit up, pointing at the huffy hermit crab. The Stand blinks, considering your proposal, then concedes with your wishes. If only Jotaro were this agreeable, your life might be a bit better. With surprising care, he places the crab back onto the sand, then looks back to you. Is he hoping to be praised for following through with your request? Tilting your head to the side, he mimics the movement. 

“What else did you find?” While you ask this, you cross your legs together, waving for the Stand to come closer. He does so without hesitation, dumping the treasures in front of you. You search through the combination of items, fixating on a pretty, amethyst sea glass. It feels coarse in your hands. You inspect it, a rougher side of it managing to nick your finger in the process. Dropping the item at the unexpected jolt of pain, a small curse leaves your lips. Star Platinum floats to your hand, frantically taking hold of your hand. 

“It’s all good,” you reassure him with a sheepish smile. “Just a small cut. It won’t do too much damage.” 

Star Platinum doesn’t appear convinced, fawning over your effected finger with great displeasure. This serves as further reinforcement that he’s Jotaro’s soul manifest, as they both worry over you the same amount. Star Platinum doesn’t look to be convinced by you. Larger, ghost-like hands envelope your own. It’s strange how a Stand so powerful is capable of showing a softer side, only for your eyes. You can’t help the fluttering of your heart at its potent concern, not used to being fussed over having physical touch accompanying it. Jotaro will chastise you should you ever do something to displease him, without laying a hand on you. Star Platinum is different in that regard, taking every opportunity he has to touch you.

“Here, how about this,” you grab into your bag, procuring a book that Jotaro bought at your behest. “I can still hold it, see? It’s not a big deal at all.” 

Not wanting the Stand’s guilt to transfer over to the User, your mind searches for a way to mend the situation. This time without Jotaro breathing down your neck is to be relished, you won’t let it end earlier than it needs to. Opening back up to the page you left off on, you motion for Star Platinum to look over your shoulder.

“Do you want me to read for you?” You ask, taken aback by how swiftly he nods his head in confirmation. This wholehearted approach to life is so unlike Jotaro, you sometimes wonder how this can be his Stand. It’s in total contrast to the man’s stoic, seemingly dispassionate way of going throughout life. Maybe you’ll ask if you can interact with Star Platinum more often, with how eager he is to please you, it can be a bit addicting. Your own Stand is stirring within, though you don’t want to let it out in fear of how it may be interpreted. Revealing your Stand is often associated with trying to use it, and knowing Jotaro, would be taken as a sign of rebellion. Maintaining the delicate balance that consists of your turbulent relationship with Jotaro takes priority. 

“Well, this story is about a girl who has a ghost, and lives in a town full of them. Unlike Stands though, her ghost is haunting her, and tells her people’s thoughts…” 

Jotaro secures the final amount of samples required for testing, having just finished the checklist he was assigned. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sets back to shore, thinking about the plans for the rest of the day. You’re probably going to be hungry by the time he gets back. Maybe a visit to a restaurant wouldn’t be so bad…? It’s been over half a year since you’ve made a fuss over your situation, and he hopes it stays that way. Jotaro is uncertain of what to do when you’re crying, overwhelmed by the tidal wave of emotions that came with your initial resistance. He decides that going around that many people is too much of a risk, you’ll both get room service when you’re back at the hotel.

He doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary at first. That is, until he spots his own Stand hovering right by your side, bewitched by your every word. Jotaro clicks his tongue, calling Star Platinum back, pushing down his hat to hide the flush of his cheeks. When did his Stand come out, and how did he not notice? Internally, he prays that Star didn’t do anything unsightly in front of you. At his appearance by your side, you stop reading aloud your book, realizing that Jotaro must be the reason Star Platinum disappeared. 

Frowning, you close the book. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.” 

“I finished up here,” he doesn’t want to talk about the flustering events from before, already bringing the umbrella down without asking if you’re ready to leave. “We can go get breakfast.” 

At the mention of a solid meal, you shoot up, thinking of what you’re going to order. Jotaro’s grateful for how well he knows you, and how adept he’s grown at redirecting you. It’s a most useful skill, not that you ever seem interested in teasing him. Without thinking, he hands you the container that holds his samples, hoping it’ll serve to keep your attention. 

It works like a charm, you asking about the nature of the water samples on the walk back to the car. 

[treenissanderssidesstuff]

Flawed Logic

Chapter 1: Everybody's Favorite Side

Main Pairing: Analogical

Trigger Warning: self-harm

Ao3 Link

Summary: Logan writes.

Logan wasn’t sure how this got started. Okay, that wasn’t quite true. He knew this traced back to the days of childhood, an innocuous punishment meant to force a point on a young mind. Logan supposed the better question was, how did it get this far?

The Logical side stretched the fingers in his left hand, out and in, out and in, twirling his wrist joint to work back in some feeling.

He felt…fuzzy. Like he was underwater. Logan knew there were voices speaking around him. He was aware he was in Thomas’ living room, called once again for god-knows what reason. Logan certainly didn’t. He could barely keep focused enough to stay upright, much less put in the effort to care about what was going on around him. It’s not like it was anything new. It never was these days. It was just more of the same shit cycling over and over again, making it a pointless venture to give his own opinions anyway. He’s given them before and they certainly weren’t listened to in previous cases. Instead he simply let the voices wash over him like raindrops in the imagination, pouring over him as he sought out the storm. He had taken up standing in the center of it all, letting the cold H2O molecules fall against his figmented skin and freeze him to his very core.

It was the only thing that made his thoughts feel clear recently.

“-gan? Logan?” A voice cut through the undefined ringing in his ears.

He jerked to the sound of his own name, turning toward the speaker without even intending to. His eyes met purple.

“Lo, you okay?” a quiet voice murmured underneath Roman’s latest monologue that had only been interrupted by Janus’ occasional quips.

Patton tried his best to keep the peace between everyone under their new arrangement. Since the Deceitful side’s entrance to the (as Roman dramatically puts) “lightsides,” Patton had been making an extra effort to try and calm the turbulence Janus had caused with Roman and Virgil. Outside of dilemmas, Logan hardly saw the heart anymore. As things currently stood however, it seemed nearly impossible that any kind of harmony could be found between Roman and Janus. They had apparently each taken recent events quite personally and refused to listen to any sense when it came to trying to set aside differences for their common goal of helping Thomas. The arguments were almost silly at this point because the pair nearly always wanted the same thing but refused to listen to each other.

Logan sighed and took the time to simply rub his eyes beneath his glasses and returned them to their rightful place before focusing his attention back to Virgil.

“I am fine Virgil. Thank you for asking. I am simply fatigued by the circular progression of the conversation and looking forward to it’s conclusion,” Logan replied back dryly, not bothering to lower his voice the way Virgil had. He wasn’t ashamed of his own ire. Had any of the other sides asked him about his current state of being, he would have replied the same.

“Oh look! Everyone’s favorite side has something to add!” Janus replied, mockingly clapping his hands. “That never happens.”

Logan rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, clamping his mouth stubbornly shut as Janus dramatically gestured his way with a bright yellow glove wiggling in a half-hearted jazz hand. He let himself glare toward the snake side until the count of five, in which he let his eyes fall, causing Janus to disengage and the others to turn their attention away from him once more. Despite popular belief, Logan didn’t have anything against Janus. The deceitful side could be generally annoying and bafflingly skewed in his perspective, but he could also be insightful. Logan appreciated the few rare philosophical conversations they have had since his inclusion to the consciousness. He didn’t often agree with his counterpart, but he appreciated the engagement none the less. Janus had proven to be thoughtful and an interesting conversationalist when other factors weren’t at play.

When it came to Thomas though?

Janus was frustrating.

He was stubborn with his beliefs and logic didn’t always sway him away from problematic behavior. As hard as Patton tried, he tended to veer toward emotionally based arguments, which never held up against Janus’ thoroughly researched counterpoints, even in the cases Patton was right. In those cases, the emotional side just simply didn’t have the data to show why he was right. Logan did, but again, he wasn’t welcome to the conversation.

Roman wasn’t helping either. Mind you, he tried, but rather than actually focus on what Janus was saying, Roman verbally attacked his character and tried to eject him from the conversation altogether, leaving him to rot in caliginosity with the duke—not that Logan himself wasn’t essentially in the same situation.

Even Virgil hadn’t been much better in the beginning either, usually taking Roman’s side on what seemed principle alone. That had only begun to change recently, Logan noticed. He was not certain what had prompted the anxious side to quiet himself to Janus’ disturbance among the others, but he had. He watched, waiting for the right moments to provide input and counter-arguments, but rarely called Janus out for simply existing in the same space anymore.

If only Logan could have that kind of luxury all around.

But no, he was not like Janus. He would not push himself where he was not needed. It would be illogical to try and force an opinion or explanation where one was not wanted, where it would not be listened to anyway. That would be a waste of time, for him and for everyone else involved.

So no, he would not push himself where he was unwanted.

The current thread of conversation had moved on without him anyway, as was usually the case as of late. Logan let himself breathe a sigh of both relief and disappointment, the feelings mixed uncomfortably in his stomach. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to refocus his breathing and get through the moment of uncomfortable lurching. As it slowly passed, he pressed himself against the wall of the stairwell, knowing the others were too wrapped up in the snake and the prince’s current discourse to pay him any mind.

“Lo, you sure you’re okay?” a slightly rough voice muttered from his right.

All except Virgil.

Virgil was watching him.

Logan would have to be more careful around him in the future.

“I am fine,” Logan muttered, trying not to drawl attention his way again. His muscles wanted to droop and a fog swirled around his brain, clogging up every spare bit of space he had for cognitive functioning. He just felt much too tired to be a part of the conversation anyway. Perhaps it was favorable that he was excluded.

He only wanted to give them his best.

“Really? It’s just…” Virgil said, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. His lips were parted just slightly, as if he were holding the words he wanted to say on his tongue, but wasn’t sure if he should say them. “You just… you have some anxiety at the edges… I can see it sparking around you a bit.”

“The continuous arguing is just beginning to aggravate me, you need not worry.”

Virgil frowned at him, narrowing his eyes, but seemed to accept the sentiment and after a hesitant moment, he nodded. Logan tipped his forehead forward just slightly and letting his feet fall away from himself to sink out of reality, watching a wince come over Virgil’s face as Logan let himself fall away. He should have left ages ago. There was no point in staying when Logic was ejected from the conversation.

With a heavy sigh and a hand running through frustratingly floofy locks that constantly made a point to obstruct his vision, Logan pushed his bangs aside for the umpteenth time and let himself slump into his desk chair, just taking a moment for himself to breathe. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t something he had to do but as human as Thomas pictured them, it certainly made him feel better sometimes. There was a heaviness to him. His shoulders wanted to droop until he sagged into his chair and slowly melted away into the metaphysical floor beneath him. However, Logan did not allow himself such folly. He buried those urges to instead sit straight in his chair, shoulders back, and feet apart for proper posture as he grabbed a notebook that had recently taken permanent residence on his desk. After locating his smoothest pen, Logan pressed pen to page. It was his favored study method when trying to drill in some concepts he needed to understand.

I am not the favorite side. I am not the favorite side. I am not the favorite side. I am not the-

[ct-7386]

Beans are Spilled

[So, I mentioned this in another post, but I copy-paste threads to a gdoc so that I can keep track of the story, write more coherent responses, and go back and reread at my leisure. Please go read that post, because I'm also using it as a general disclaimer for all the completed threads I'll post as oneshots. If you've reacted to that post, thank you ^^ I've had so much fun with everyone.

Anyway, here is the first thread - both chronologically and the first thread I was a part of.

Please keep in mind that this will have an odd flow to it bc it was written by two people, each writing as their own character. I've done my best to edit for basic mistakes, but otherwise everything is as we wrote it originally.

Authors: myself and @cc1010fox Characters: Commander Fox (them); CT-7386, Commander Stone, Corporal Cory (all me) Rating: T TW: mentions of suicide; depicted depression and anxiety; clones bullying each other; referenced reconditioning and decommissioning

If I forgot any warnings, please let me know ^^

Thank you!]

Commander Stone comms:

"Sir, I have a situation down in Lock Up. Two of our troopers got into a fight with each other, and they won't tell me anything. I know you're busy prepping for that upcoming gala, but..." His grimace is audible, and his volume drops slightly. "I have a feeling this won't be pretty. Can you spare any time for this osik, sir?"

Vod drama sounds like it might be just what he needs to break himself out of the monotony of his current work, so he decides it can't hurt. "I'm on my way." It takes a short while on foot, but he needs the exercise and to expend the energy he, like his vode, was created to have. When he arrives, he's let through without much hassle. After all, he's easily recognizable. "Where's the idiots?"

Stone takes off his bucket and runs a hand over his head. He gestures at two of the holding cells. "Here, sir. When they wouldn't break it up, I had them forcibly separated and thrown in the cells." He steps forward and raps on the dome of his helmet. "Attention, men!"

The clones in each cell snap-to, each with their bucket set to the side on the uncomfortable looking cots.

"Because of your ridiculous behavior, Commander Fox has deigned to address this problem himself." His eyes are narrowed, but there's a tightness around them that betrays his quiet worry. It's just not normal for there to be in-fighting among the older troops.

"With everything the Coruscant Guard has to deal with, you want to add each other to that list?" Fox barks, his tone every bit the reason his men stand at attention when he enters the room. "Who here is going to tell me what's going on first? Because you're both going to, or I'll have you working in such close quarters you won't have a choice but to learn to get along."

The clone in the cell to the right instantly bristles and tenses.

"Work with it?!" He gestures to the wall that separates them. "This shabuir, aruetii, vod-killer!?!"

The entire room stills.

It stills indeed. A vod betraying their own is nigh unheard of, especially in the Coruscant Guard. All they have is each other. Most won't even speak against a vod to save their own lives, even when wrongfully accused.

Fox eventually breaks the silence, looking to the accused, but not speaking to him. His gaze is suspicious, untrusting. Do they have a vod-killer among them? "Those are some heavy accusations, vod. Explain yourself."

The trooper in question stands stiff and almost unnaturally still, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes hyper-focused on Fox's lower face.

"... It was," he finally grits out, "information shared in confidence - a mistake, apparently, and no one's business but my own. Sir. Corporal Cory" - the other trooper, then - "holds a personal grudge against me, and today it interfered with my duties. Not only has he betrayed the trust I had in him, but he could have put the lives of every trooper present at risk."

Corporal Cory looks ready to throw himself at the energy barrier in the door to his cell to confront the yet-unnamed trooper. He is livid. "I betrayed your trust? What about the trust of your vode, huh? What about the ones you -"

At the last second he bites back his words - a surprising show of restraint, given the situation. And yet, every vod in the room feels chills at what the corporal has just implied.

The unnamed trooper swallows and closes his eyes briefly as if to gather himself. "I confronted Corporal Cory," he says quietly, "about his actions. Our argument got... heated. That's when Commander Stone was forced to intervene. Sir."

There's a tired sort of anguished resignation that hangs over the trooper. He's willing to accept whatever his punishment will be if it will keep him from having to relive the past all over again. He just hopes everyone will leave well enough alone.

"You're glossing over pertinent information, trooper," Fox tells him, his tone holding a warning. "Did you kill a vod? Do I need to worry about my men around you?" It's clear he's dodging the subject, but Fox's aim is better than most. He always keeps his eye on the target.

While he may view the vod as a danger currently, there's still no question he would protect him. Vod-killer or not, he's one of the Coruscant Guard, one of them. He just has to know what to do with him, like separate him from the others if necessary.

The look of anguish intensifies for a brief moment before the trooper replaces it with a blank mask. "The only danger I pose is to myself, sir. As for the pertinent information..."

He grinds his jaw, frantically searching for a way to answer the indirect order while maintaining some dignity.

"It was on Kamino," he says at last, voice painfully small; he seems to fold slightly in on himself, as if the weight of his words is almost too much. The trooper swallows. His voice is slightly ragged as he finishes, "It was a - a mercy kill."

There's a moment where the air echoes with the silence, and then he's straightening once again wearing that mask.

"With all due respect, sir, it was a long time ago and has no bearing on the current situation or my performance as a soldier of the Republic. Corporal Cory took the few facts he had and blew them out of proportion." The corporal does look a little guilty. "I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary for my actions, sir, and for lying by omission, but I request that you not alter my duties in any way. I'm the only clone with my specific qualifications, sir, and my skills are needed in the Senate building almost constantly. On top of that, there are still a couple senators I need to contact to finish smoothing over the ruffled feathers the corporal caused with his... overreaction earlier."

A mercy kill. Questions need to be asked, specifically whether or not the deceased vod requested his "mercy". Otherwise, it was unforgivable, merciful or not. It would be merciful to kill them all, to put them all out of their misery, but it's their choice whether they live or die. Most would rather live so they wouldn't have to be replaced by another innocent vod. They survive and fight through the osik for each other.

Fox wants to ask the question where the others can hear the answer, hoping it will clear it all up, but--

"Senators?" His ire is turned on the other trooper. "You started a fight in front of senators? Do you have any idea what danger you put us all in? Fresher duty. A month's worth. If I hear one complaint, I'll extend it another month." Fox needs the senators to feel safe around them, not wonder when the unstable brutes will snap. The more on edge they are around them, the more likely they will be to have them reconditioned for the tiniest mishaps.

Somewhat surprisingly, the unnamed trooper hesitates slightly and shifts in place. "With - With all due respect, sir, Corporal Cory knows better than to start a fight in front of the senators. He just - I'm a translator, sir, and the corporal interfered with my work and nearly caused a diplomatic incident without really understanding what it was he was doing. I confronted him because he knows better than to interfere with my work yet did it anyway because of our petty rivalry. He didn't - He didn't mean to, not really."

“He knew what he was doing. He knew the senators were there.” It is, however, reassuring that he’s trying so hard to protect a vod. There is definitely more to his background than he’s made known.

The trooper straightens. “Understood, sir. And my punishment?”

He knows he played his own part in this debacle. There were ways he could have deescalated the situation sooner; he could have requested a transfer to another squad when Cory became a problem months ago; he could have not started a fight with Cory afterwards - hell, he could have not told Cory anything. That would have been a fantastic idea.

And now - Now he’ll feel obligated to go to Commander Fox, a man he has barely seen since being stationed with the Guard, and explain this all to him against his own better judgement. What a kriffing disaster.

"An explanation. Whether your past affects your work with the Guard is up to me, not you. Do you understand? We can discuss it in private." Besides, from what he can tell, Cory started the fight, not the other vod.

Fox gestures to his cell, a silent order to release him so they can go elsewhere. He obviously doesn't want to divulge what happened to the others.

Commander Stone follows the silent order and presses a button on his vambrace, and the barrier in the trooper's cell disappears.

The trooper himself snaps a slightly shaky salute. "Yes, sir!" He turns and tucks his bucket under his arm and steps out of his cell, very deliberately not looking at any of the other vode in the room. Then he walks to stand in front of Fox, waiting to be led to - what he sees as - his inevitable doom.

"To my office, trooper. March," Fox orders. In his office, they can't be monitored by curious members of the Guard. At least there's no one in the building brave enough to press their ear to his door.

The trooper quickly marches out of the room, all-too aware of the Commander behind him. He leads the way briskly down the halls all the way to Commander Fox's office where he waits at the door.

His own professional, yet more casual, stride beside him tells witnesses that the trooper is in trouble, a walk of shame. At his door, Fox relieves him of that humiliation, "At ease..." before he opens the door.

Once inside, Fox pries the helmet from his head and sets it on his desk. He then seats himself behind the desk and gestures to the chairs opposite his own. "Have a seat. What's your name, trooper? Do you have one yet?" Not every clone has a name. Sometimes, they're just too attached to their designations and, other times, they just haven't found the right one.

He takes a seat but hesitates to answer the question. "I..." The trooper swallows and looks down at the helmet in his lap. "I go by my designation, sir. CT-7386, or sometimes just 86. I gave up any right I had to a name back on Kamino. I don't -" His voice drops almost to a pained whisper, and he sort of starts to curl around his bucket. "I don't deserve one after what I did."

This vod is not a cold-blooded killer, nor does Fox believe he has it in him to kill a vod without being coerced into it by that vod. The guilt is clearly eating him up inside. The ori'vod, which is what he is to most of his vode, in Fox is making him want to comfort him. He resists the urge to hug him, but not to use his words. "What happened, 86? Look at you, vod. You need to tell someone..."

His eyes snap up to Fox, wide and terrified. "Sir, I - I can't. You would - You would never look at me the same, sir. I'm already isolated from the rest of the Guard, already defective, and now they know -"

86 shudders and curls even tighter around his bucket as if for comfort. It was an order, he reminds himself. This is my punishment, so I just gotta take it. He forces himself to open his mouth and begin speaking even though he refuses to straighten and look at the Commander. 86 doesn't want to see the disgust in Fox's eyes.

"We - We were an experimental batch, sir. The Kaminiise wanted to see what would happen if they tried enhancing our senses beyond perfect hearing and 20/20 vision. Only, because they'd never done it before, a lot went wrong, and they kept us mostly isolated from the others in order to keep studying us."

His breath hitches slightly, and he tightens his grip on his bucket.

"Not all of us survived. We were down to six by the time we learned only I would ever be deployed, the others kept in the labs. And we couldn't - We were afraid. We didn't want to live like that, didn't want to be test subjects, didn't want to live that waking nightmare anymore. So 7301, our second youngest, he came up with this - this crazy plan: stage an accident that would kill us. Only - Only we needed one to stay alive so that someone would remember we had ever existed. They chose -" His voice breaks, and his eyes burn. "They chose me, because I was the only one who could be reassigned and deployed. So I - I sabotaged the program on our training deck. I killed them - all of them."

As he listens, he tries to put himself in 86’s place. The pain he would have felt, not only from the experimentation, but from watching his vode suffer too.

As far as clones go, Fox has always been privileged, selected for the ARC training program, encouraged to embrace his individuality, and given power over his vode. It might be hard at times, but he’s never been experimented on extensively or used as cannon fodder.

Still, he knows what it’s like to suffer, to want to be free from his suffering, and what it’s like to love his brothers so much he’s willing to endure anything for them. If his vode came to him, in pain, desperate for release from this life, would he kill them?

…Yes.

He leans over his desk, that little bit closer to his vod. “You didn’t kill them…You set them free…”

86 laughs bitterly. “Freed them - and enslaved the next poor bastards the Kaminiise decided to continue the experiments on. I know there were others who ‘benefited’ from the results we produced. Freed them?”

Another laugh, though this one he chokes on. He finally looks up, revealing the tears rolling down his cheeks and the absolutely broken look in his eyes.

“That’s not what the ghosts in my head say.”

"Yeah, well, those ghosts aren't your vode. They are thankful." As much as he would love to lay a hand on his vod's shoulder to comfort him, he stays put and lets the sympathy show in his eyes alone.

"You're not responsible for what the Kaminiise do..."

86 shakes his head and scrubs the tears from his face. "I know that logically, but that will never change the fact that my batch was killed by their ori'vod." He sniffs a little and straightens. "Is there anything else you'd like to know, sir?"

"Like they wanted," he insists. It was almost cruel of them to ask 86 to do it, leaving him to live with the crushing guilt. He wasn't handling it well at all. "We don't have any licensed therapists in the Guard, but our medics are willing and able to act as one if you need them to. You also have me. You've really twisted it in your head to make yourself a bad guy when you're not." It's the pot calling the kettle black, and Fox can't see it.

His next huff is supposed to be bitter again, but it comes out just so tired. “With all due respect, sir, I’ve been with the Guard just as long as you have - you’re only a dozen or so batches older than I am, even. This begs a couple questions.”

86’s eyes harden just slightly, more in suspicion and vague distrust than actual anger.

“First, don’t think I haven’t seen just how hard you are on yourself, so, with respect, don’t ask me to do something you wouldn’t. I know exactly how responsible you feel for all of us, and even though I could never imagine the amount of work you’re doing, I know it’s way worse than any of my own problems.

“Second, I’ve managed this long just fine. It took a vod betraying my trust and then having to admit my recurring nightmares under duress for anyone to give a kriff. I don’t see what will change now that I’ve bared my soul.” Okay, that might have come out just a little upset.

“And finally, again with all due respect, but -” His walls once again crumble, eyes bright with tears he refuses to shed, voice hitching with the raw emotion held back purely by strength of will, “why has no one cared before?”

Before Commander Fox can answer, 86 is holding up a hand to stop him.

“No. No, I’m sorry. That -” He swallows, blinks away the shine in his eyes. “I know you’re busy. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I know everyone else is busy too. And I work every day in the Senate Building with no one except the natborns; the only time I see vode is when I come back to HQ to sleep.” 86 laughs incredulously. “I don’t - I don’t even know who the medics are? I don’t” - He blinks, brow scrunched in mild confusion and distress. “I don’t think I’ve been to the medbay since our mandatory exams when we were first stationed here…”

Fox doesn't tolerate much blatant disrespect, but he knows what 86 is going through at the moment. When emotions take hold, they're uncontrollable, torturous, until they're finally unleashed like a violent storm. It always ends the same, always. The tears come, shining in his vod's eyes. Again, he's assaulted with the nearly irresistible urge to hold him through it. That isn't Fox, though. He can't risk that sort of bond only for it to be broken by their rank imbalance.

"With all due respect, vod...which is every ounce I've shown you, when was the last time you told anyone the whole story? You hide your pain so well, apparently better than I do," he chuckles, a tinge of bitterness to his laughter, "so how was anyone supposed to know you were suffering? Let your vode know. They will care. They will support you.

If you don't mind, I'd like to recommend our CMO, Paws...and my personal "therapist", Thorn." Yes, he does talk to someone, as much as he's comfortable doing so at least. It helps that they're married in the Mandalorian tradition. "They're both more understanding than you ever thought a vod could be. No matter what you tell them, they'll try to see it from your point of view."

86 blinks, eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry, sir,” he stammers, head ducking in shame. If Fox is talking to someone… maybe he should, too. “If you think this is what’s best, I’ll - I can try.”

He worries at his bottom lip with his teeth while he thinks.

"I think... I think I can try talking to Paws? I - I know I need to visit medbay soon, anyway. This one senator -" He stops himself. "Maybe a story better saved for Paws," he mumbles. Yeah. Yeah, he can see what Fox means about talking to someone.

He inhales deeply, closing his eyes and centering himself before releasing the air slowly and steadily.

"I've never told anyone the whole story. Corporal Cory was... He's in my squad. I had a nightmare and woke him up a couple months ago. When he asked me about it, I was... I was shaken." He's ashamed of it, really, but nothing can be changed now. “Without thinking I admitted it was about my batch and how I’d caused their deaths, but that was it. He - He blew everything out of proportion. So, yeah. No one really - really knows.”

Another measured in-out of breath.

“And you’re wrong, sir: I don’t hide my pain all that well.” 86’s smile is wry, his tone self-deprecating. “It seems I’m just really good at hiding myself.” He swallows. “I know I’m not around the vode a lot just by nature of my duties, but - I could have made more of an effort to reach out to them.” He can - He can maybe still try. Maybe. Just - later. When he can think about this all clearly.

Once again he squares his shoulders and straightens. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask, sir? Or have I fulfilled the parameters of my punishment adequately?”

“There’s one last thing I’d like you to try… A mediated conversation between you and Cory. I know he was cruel, but think about what he thinks you did. It’s unheard of. He’s shocked. If he just knew…” he tries. Cory is a vod, so he can’t be completely unreasonable, can he? Honestly, Fox wonders if anyone outside of 86’s guilt ridden mind could possibly interpret what he did as cold-blooded murder. 86 is clearly a victim in what happened too, he just didn’t have the merciful release of death after it all.

That in mind, he really admires this vod. It would be too easy to swallow his blaster, but he’s chosen to stick around and keep his position filled so another vod doesn’t have to suffer through it. After Fixit, Fox knows all of the vode who suffer with suicidal ideation have been struggling to find the strength. He knows because he’s one of them. With 86’s background, he must be so much stronger than all of them, most of which are just victims of Coruscant.

The moment 86 hears Cory's name, he tenses hard. After a long moment he grits out, "As long as you're the one to mediate, sir, I think I can do it. I still - I still wanna shoot him for that stunt he pulled in front of the senators earlier. He could have gotten all of us killed. Thankfully, the senators I was translating for were easily persuaded to ignore the incident," he grimaces.

"Here, there's a good chance he will be shot because someone hates clones so much they can't bear to see us live. You don't want to wonder if your hatred for him was petty when he's already gone, vod. Trust me." It's always the ones who were arguing with the victims that cry the most when they're gone. "I'll mediate."

86 looks away guiltily. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He hasn’t known hardly any of the vode lost to Coruscant, and it’s not exactly a lesson he wants to learn any time soon. He’ll talk to Cory. 86 looks back at the Commander. “If you’re too busy, sir, I’m sure someone else you trust can mediate. And -” He hesitates. “I think the rest of the squad should be there, too.”

“I’ll make the time. You bring whoever you’re ready to tell.” Besides, he already knows what happened, so he’ll be able to correct course if 86’s self-loathing gets in the way and he portrays himself as a heartless killer.

86 honestly feels a short rush of relief at knowing the Commander will be there. Having someone, anyone, standing next to him while he bares his soul to the most recent vode he feels he has wronged will help give him the strength he needs to get through this.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready,” he hedges, “but I - They deserve to know the truth.” The truth of why I’ve basically abandoned them, too. “Just name the time and place, sir. We’ll be there.”

"Will three days be enough time for you to plan your wording?" He doesn't want to rush him, but he also wants to pull it off like an adhesive bandage. Three days just seems like a good in-between. Besides, the longer he waits, the more time he'll have to convince himself it's a bad idea. At least that's how Fox's brain works.

86 nods. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” He’ll need all the time that gives him to think of what to say.

[cruelfeline]

Agh, it got so long I had to read-more it; no one look at this; I just had to get it out of my mind, but don’t look at it just ignore this and go examine a pretty nature photo; honestly these just keep getting worse why does this keep happening? And I hate dialogue. And I hate characterization. Ugghhh... just insert a Mermista groan here.

also a more mature Catra helping Hordak on his journey provides me with happiness don’t judge me

Please consider, a concept:

A few months have passed since Prime’s demise. Reconstruction of Etheria’s damaged settlements is well underway, and all parties involved have gotten... if not entirely comfortable with one another, then at least able to interact with civility. Enough so that, when Entrapta and Bow end up delayed on one of their interplanetary trips, Hordak is only moderately uneasy about heading off to Bright Moon on his own. Oh, of course he’d rather wait for Entrapta, but certain planned meetings (dictated by Etheria’s terribly inconvenient seasons) simply cannot be delayed. So off he goes, determined to maintain decorum and dignity and uphold his end of all relevant treaties. He is received by Glimmer, Adora, and Catra. The other Princesses are all otherwise engaged (with what, he cares little, though he is admittedly amused to learn that Mermista and Perfuma are occupied with an apparently disastrous seaweed-related snafu). So it is the four of them against a whole mess of administrative work.

The girls, for their part, are equally uneasy but likewise determined to proceed as usual (Adora and Catra seeming particularly determined). They meet Hordak’s reserved politeness with a tentative poise of their own, and the group’s work commences.

And for a number of days, it goes fairly well. Even Glimmer has to admit that, whatever anyone’s misgivings about how an Entrapta-less Hordak might behave, things are running smoothly. She maintains control of the meetings, guiding them through agenda after agenda, while Adora and Catra provide input based upon their recent scouting trips to Etheria’s various corners. Hordak rounds the discussions out with whatever technological information is relevant. Their sessions run long most nights (too long, if Catra were asked her opinion on the matter, which she pointedly is not), but they are productive. The four of them get an impressive amount of work done, and all without any tense moments or uncomfortable quarrels. One might even say that they are getting along quite well, all things considered.

In fact, Catra is nearly certain that, when Adora mentions appreciating the work of some Dryl-made construction bots in a seaside village, Hordak subtly quirks his lips in what a careful observer could term a smile.

So the three girls are legitimately stunned when, about three-quarters of the way through their intended time together, Hordak’s behavior abruptly changes. His calm demeanor turns sullen and tense. Previously comprehensive explanations gain a taciturn edge, eventually devolving into clipped, half-snarled responses and sneered refusals to provide clarification. More and more often, words are accompanied by the baring of red teeth and the angry glare of red eyes. 

Glimmer is... less than pleased, but between her own determination to make this treaty work and Adora’s dogged, somewhat frantic optimism, she strives to maintain civility long enough to get through the last few days. But, well... limits are limits. And limits are surpassed when, one evening, Hordak furiously declares that he has lost patience with their “embarrassing incompetence” and, with nary another word, storms out of the conference room. 

“That’s it! How dare he?!”

Glimmer promptly explodes, and Catra spends the next few minutes watching Adora try to quiet what is proving to be a very loud, very angry, moderately uncouth Queenly rant. It is in the midst of this rant that Adora catches her eye and, with a quiet groan and a nod and a mental wish of good luck, Catra slips away with Melog silently following at her heels. 

“I guess this is better than dealing with Sparkles,” she mutters to herself as she stands at the door to Hordak’s temporary quarters. Beside her, Melog trills encouragement, and she sighs. They’re right, of course: between the two of them, Adora has more experience dealing with an upset Glimmer. And Catra... okay, so she doesn’t have “experience dealing with an upset Hordak.” Not... not good experience. But she worked with him for nearly a year. And, given what she’s seen, what she knows... she has a fair idea of what’s been happening. She’d been quietly hoping that it would work itself out, or that it wouldn’t become enough of a problem to cause trouble before they finished their work, but alas: it seems that that sort of luck just isn’t on their side.

Which, given the fact that Hordak seems to have the worst luck of anyone she knows, probably should have been something she’d seen coming.

Melog trills again, adding a gentle headbutt this time.

“Okay, okay... give me a second.”

She takes a breath, lifts a hand to knock, grimaces, and drops said hand. She clears her throat.

“Hordak?”

Nothing. She frowns and tries again.

“Hordak? Are you-”

“Leave.”

His snarl is all-too familiar, and even muffled through a door, it causes her hackles to rise, her ears to pin back, her tail to lash.

“Look, I just-”

“Go. Away.”

She grits her teeth, clenches her fists, and turns away, ready to return downstairs with nothing to show for her efforts but a bad mood. Next to her, Melog meows in protest. She rounds on them.

“What? If he wants to be a jerk about it, then that’s his problem! Besides, what am I supposed to do? Break down the door?”

And she resumes making her way back to the staircase, ignoring Melog’s continued protest (which, come to think of it, sounds fairly alarmed, but... well, what is she to do?) and... she freezes. The world around her is starting to shimmer. She knows that shimmer: teleportation via alien cat.

“Wait! I said-!”

And just like that, they’re in his room, and though Catra’s first instinct is to make her displeasure very loudly known, said instinct quickly fades at the sight of Hordak.

“Oh, damn it.”

From his place on the floor, crumpled in a sweating, trembling heap, Hordak looks up at the intrusion. His eyes widen, face twisting with fury as he prepares to shout what Catra predicts will be his trademark “get out,” only to choke up and curl in on himself as some sort of painful spasm races through him. 

Once upon a time, this sight might have spurred Catra into a bout of cruel gloating, but circumstances are vastly different today. 

Today, before either of them can really take stock of what is happening, she helps him up and half-leads, half-carries him to the corner sofa, depositing him with a strained grunt before taking a step back and giving him a moment to collect himself. Which he does while glaring at her.

For some time, the only sound between them is the ugly rasp of Hordak’s panting, then: “Get. Out.”

Ah. There it is. As expected. As anticipated. Catra’s ears flick at the command.

A part of her still bristles at his snarling, at his combative ire, at his accusatory glare... but a different part notices instead how that glare comes through dull eyes, how that snarling fades into exhausted panting, how he’s still trembling, even before his very unwanted audience. As the seconds pass, this part maintains its position at the forefront of her mind, until:

“You want some water?”

“...”

“...”

“...what?”

There’s a sudden lightness to her thoughts.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Just... stay there, okay?”

Melog punctuates her words with a happy chirp before providing the necessary teleport. A minute later, they’re back from the kitchens, glass of cool water in hand. Hordak remains where they left him, though he actually gives a bit of a start when they reappear. The momentary surprise disappears under a scowl as Catra holds the glass out to him.

He curls his lip. He doesn’t take it.

Catra remains steady. Next to her, Melog sits, tail waving a constant, slow path in the air.

Hordak bares his teeth.

“I do not require your pity, Catra.”

“Good, ‘cause all I’ve got is this glass of water.”

He gapes at her.

“Which, y’know, you should take. Because my arm is getting tired.”

His expression closes off again in another scowl (he never did see the humor in her sass, did he?), but after a few more moments, Hordak relents. Slowly, clearly trying to keep his hand from trembling too much, he takes the offered glass.

Catra sighs and, suddenly drained, sits down on the ground a few feet away from him, resting her back against the arm of the sofa. Melog stretches out beside her, and Catra turns her back to Hordak to focus on providing the desired belly rub. She swivels an ear towards him, listening for him to finish draining the glass. He does so. 

She can hear that his breath has lost that ugly rasp, and a tightness in her chest that she hadn’t been aware of loosens.

“So,” she begins, trying to keep her tone casual, “do you... need to call Entrapta? Is it... is it your-”

“Entrapta is currently beyond the reach of our communication modules.” She’d steeled herself for another snarled response, but his voice is calm, almost quiet. “And no; it is not my armor.”

“...oh.”

A minute passes. Two. Catra starts to tentatively turn around, wishing to steal a glance, but Melog thrusts their head into her lap and refocuses her gaze downwards. Another minute passes, then:

“It... it has proven somewhat...” He starts, stops, starts again. Stops again. Something that is not pain chokes his words, and though she wants to somehow encourage him, a soft rumble from Melog compels her to wait.

“Even with the armor, there are times that I... have difficulties.” He is breathing quicker again, she can hear; not quite panting, but definitely breathing quicker. In her lap, Melog seems attentive but otherwise unconcerned.

“Particularly during periods of higher stress, or exertion. Though,” he suddenly hisses, and Catra hears claws scrape against fabric, “hardly anything about our current work should merit this... exacerbation.”

He falls quiet, and for what feels like a long while, neither of them say anything. Melog’s soft purring fills the silence.

“Sparkles is mad,” Catra finally says, “Adora’s calming her down.”

This time, when she tries to turn her gaze back to him, Melog remains quiet. She watches Hordak nod, sees his ears droop.

“My behavior has been... unacceptable. I shall go request an audience with Queen Glimmer and make an apology-”

“Uh-uh.”

He frowns at her. 

“Oh, I mean, yeah! Definitely apologize. You were a jerk. But not now; you should rest first. I’ll go tell them that you’re not feeling great, and-”

His scowl returns.

“That is not necessary.”

She matches his frown with her own and scoffs. “Uh, according to what just happened, it is. What? You’re just gonna... pretend you’re fine and keep going?”

He looks like he wishes to say something less-than-polite, scowl deepening, but instead he turns away with a quiet huff. His ears droop even further.

“The terms of the treaty are fair, and it is my duty to adhere to them. This... lapse... aside, I am entirely capable of doing so.” He sighs and seems to will his ears into a more neutral position. “So yes: I shall ‘keep going.’” 

Catra blinks at him.

“That’s... really stupid.”

He blinks at her. 

“...what?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s stupid. What’s the point of it... pushing yourself like that when you’ve obviously had enough? If you need a break, then-”

Suddenly he snarls, he rounds on her, teeth and eyes glowing too-brightly, and she nearly jerks back. Melog tenses beside her but remains still.

“Then what?! I should inform the Queen, and she will suspend proceedings and accept needless delays for my comfort? That is... that is-”

He stops abruptly because she’s laughing, a dry sort of chuckle that might have infuriated him save for the fact that, when she notices his attention and stops, it’s to smile at him. Catra smiles at him, and the expression holds an honest sincerity that he’s never seen her exhibit before. His indignation fades; his aggressive posture deflates.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what she’ll do.”

At first, he only stares at her, as if uncertain that he has heard what he believes he has heard, but eventually Hordak swallows, glances away, glances back, presses his lips together.

“That is... highly illogical, given the circumstances. I am not... I do not...” His voice fades, and his ears all but wilt.

For the second time that day, Catra does something without thinking, settling herself into the seat next to him and placing a hand over one of his. It’s tense and cold to the touch; her thumb begins to stroke his knuckles without her realizing it. Hordak remains silent, lips slightly parted, transfixed. He does not even react when, on his other side, Melog presses their body gently against his leg.

“It’s a treaty, Hordak,” she begins, and her voice nearly strains for a moment when her brain catches up with her actions, but she steels her resolve and continues, “not a sentence. Not a punishment. I thought it was, at first. I figured it had to be, because of all we’ve done... all I’ve done. But it’s not.”

Catra remembers how she first felt, all those months ago, and she makes the connection between her old fears and his current ones, unconsciously pausing to squeeze his hand; her ears have pinned back, and her chest is suddenly tight again.

“It’s not supposed to... to hurt. For either of us. Y’know? I mean... I was out with the flu for a week a couple of months ago, and the worst thing that happened was having to choke down Perfuma’s gross herbal junk.” She huffs out a laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. “This...”

Now her voice does strain, and she has to stop for a moment before continuing. Beside her, Hordak is breathing quickly again and trying very hard to stop.

“This isn’t the Horde. Either Horde. How we feel matters. How... how you feel matters. So if you need a break, you get a break. ...okay?”

It takes him some time to answer, and in that time Catra realizes what her hand has been doing; she snatches it back just as he finds his voice.

“If... if you believe that your suggestion is... appropriate, then I shall agree to it.”

Catra lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The smile returns to her face, and she nods. Melog trills happily and rewards each of them with a gentle headbutt.

~

For what had seemed such a dramatic conversation, the aftermath is anything but. Catra and Melog return downstairs and tell Glimmer and Adora of what has transpired. Their reaction is as expected: the work is postponed, and Hordak is given leave to rest as long as is necessary, no questions asked. 

He spends the remainder of that day and the next in bed, rising in the late afternoon to deliver a very formal, semi-awkward apology to Glimmer. She responds with a very formal, semi-awkward acceptance. Their working session resumes, though Hordak finds that he needs to excuse himself again after only a couple of hours. That evening, Glimmer has a basket of strawberry tarts delivered to his room. She also makes a point of ensuring that their sessions no longer extend into the late night hours.

Catra remains nearby, much to Hordak’s (admittedly only half-sincere) chagrin, and between her stubbornness and Melog’s perception, he is kept well-supplied with snacks, water, extra blankets and, though both refuse to admit it, friendly company. Adora spends her time trying to contact Darla; when she succeeds, Hordak happily accepts Entrapta’s enthusiastic check-in (and assures her that, yes, he is being provided an adequate amount of soup). 

A few days later, he is able to rejoin the group in full capacity, and they finish their work with little harm done by their extended schedule. 

Then it is time for him to return to Dryl (Entrapta arrives the next day), but before he boards his transport, he takes a moment to do something he’d once never imagined he’d do: thank Catra. Awkwardly, as seems is his communicative style this trip, but sincerely. 

She grimaces slightly, refusing to meet his eyes, and scratches absently at the back of her head. Next to her, Melog utters a noise that sounds like a warbling coo, their mane glowing a faint pink.

“Yeah... well... better than you passing out and bringing the wrath of Entrapta down on us. Bright Moon’s still rebuilding, y’know.”

This elicits an actual laugh from Hordak, sudden and rather loud, and Catra fails to keep the surprise from her face as he regains control of himself and gives his final farewell with a small, genuine smile.

Despite Melog confirming for the world that she is blushing under her fur, Catra smiles back.

[rainbowsky]

Hi I needed your help for explaining me these terms if you would like to. I have always wondered over Zhan's usage of two phrases which I don't understand- "Are you sick?" And "are you toxic/poisonous?" I do understand the basic meaning of both the phrases but the context in which he uses doesn't seem to match with my understanding like mosquito bts and similar situations. Can you please help in explaining as English and Mandarin both are not my primary languages? Thanks

Well, I don’t understand Chinese either so it’s hard for me to give you a really insightful answer on this. I can only tell you what my understanding is. I understand those phrases as similar to, “What’s wrong with you?” or “Have you no heart?” or “You’re unbelievable.” Just slang ways of expressing exaggerated shock at someone’s behavior or words.

@potteresque-ire would likely have a much better answer than this for you, Anon. I’m a bit out of my depth beyond that.

EDIT: Thanks to @buwang2018 for their explanation: 

It is a kind, close and sarcastic way of excusing the person who says something out of their ordinary self, either by poison or sickness. This is spoken usually to someone you are close with as you know they will not take offense.

[nafeary]

Can I have some really short headcanons with MC spending time with the Ikevamp boys?

✧✎ A/N: Hiii sweets! As I’m dealing with pretty heavy topics right, both in life and writing (my cheating!mc headcanon, oh my), I decided to make this short fluffy one first. Make sure to drink water and to sleep well :))))

Also, these kept on getting longer (and longer and longer)... I dunno how that happened 🤷‍♀️

Napoleon Bonaparte

While you enjoyed accompanying the former emperor and Isaac to teach the children in town

Or going for tranquil evening strolls

Or watching him spar with Jean (HOT)

Both of your favourite past time by far was you waking him, and the cuddling that would always follow (among other... activities *wink wink*)

He’d nuzzle up against your neck, enklindling giggles from you as he protested about you wanting to help Sebastian with breakfast

You couldn’t bring yourself to care too much (sorry Sebas)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Music is the centre of his life; but so are you

He had to learn to give you the attention you deserved, and he’d often wonder if you were were truly content with sitting beside him as he played

You’d love to watch the genius in action, humming and singing along when you happen to recognize his songs

If you don’t already know, he’d teach you to play the piano and the violin

And despite being the ever strict instructor, you’d often catch his tranquil simper as his hands would ghost over your own

Leonardo Da Vinci

After all your chores would be completed, you’d hunt down the Renaissance man

Which would be quite time consuming, as he could be anywhere. Literally.

Once you succeeded in your mission, you’d sit beside wherever he decided to sleep this time (sometimes with one of your heads resting on the other’s lap) and you’d talk. As simple as that

You were, of course, aware of the scientist’s unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and you were more than glad to tell him about everything you knew about your time in detail

In return, he’d find a way to charge your phone, as you always expressed the desire to show him actual pictures of your old life

Curious boi is impressed

Arthur Conan Doyle

If his girlfriend were to be a social butterfly, you’d probably enjoy tagging along with the third wheel Theo to their regular bars, sharing embarrassing anecdotes of each other

Both of you could often be seen taking Vic for a walk, and Arthur would, no fail, try to get your attention away from the dog acting as his love rival

You could only roll your eyes at his histeronic behavior as he pulled you close, hiding his flaming cheeks at your teasing

If you tend to be more quiet loving, you’d indulge in some alone time in his room [goddammit, not that type of indulging]. As you listened to his calming puffs or air, he’d sometimes ask you to read some of his drafts

Whatever the case was, it would always end with Arthur sweetly pecking your purses lips, a smile gracing his handsome face

Vincent Van Gogh

Wanderlust is a mutual feeling you two shared, and Theodorus had to come to terms with the fact that you two could disappear for hours to end

As soon as you two would find a stunning location, he’d unpack his painting supplies while asking you questions about your old life

You two preferred to stay until the sun would retire for the moon to reign, so that the artist’s canvas had the chance to dry

Sebas would always prepare some snacks for you two upon Comte’s suggestion (because Sugar Daddy takes care of his kids)

As the picnic blanket lay beneath you two, Vincent would pull you close, basking in the serene serenity of your embrace

Thedorus Van Gogh

Baking!

Whether you know or don’t know (in which case Sebastian would gladly help you out) how to cook, the others would find the resident couple in the kitchen as Theo judged your pastries

Of course, he might be mean about it, but that was just apart of him that you’ve learnt to live with; after all, you weren’t perfect either

You discovered that he preferred his sweets... well, sweet, so you have grown used to making two batches of every dough/custard/anything, really: one for you and the other residents, and one solely for him

He’d sometimes saunter behind you, swiftly swiping some saccharine cream onto his finger from a bowl you were currently using. Before you could utter your protests, he’d paint your lips with it, a smirk parading across his cheeks

Successfully shutting you up with a tooth rottingly sweet kiss, he’d say, “Your creations are quite delicious, wouldn’t you agree, knabbletje?” [Would you look at that, Food Play!Theo has returned]

Your knee joints were seemingly replaced by the jelly chilling in the basement

Dazai Osamu

When he’d require inspiration for his novels (or simply felt trapped in his own misery), he’d find himself looking across the vast expanse of le Comte’s land

And somehow, he’d find you more than often amongst the flowers, waving at him to join you

He’d assist you as you cared for the flowers, watching your lithe and nimble hands as they practically danced across the fields

A few butterflies would appear, and he somehow had the ability to make them land on his finger as he explained each of their meanings, explanations spanning from eastern culture to Native American even

You’re always so fixed on the little butterflies resting on him, the writer can’t help himself but kiss your forehead, the subsequent crimson staining your face eliciting such a calm expression from him that you can’t help but smile at his joy

Isaac Newton

As you were both more than busy during the day, you’d vacate your time as the first stars speckled the horizon, Isaac busying himself with mapping the stars

You’d sometimes ask him to teach you, but you tended to zone out as the lectures became more and more scientific and “can you please repeat that in English”-like

Despite the ire lining his voice when he noticed your blank stare, his pouting made it rather apparent that he didn’t mind

He’d scoff whenever you’d start with astrology. “But you’re determined, just like a Capricorn.” “That doesn’t mean anything.”

As more and more stars would appear, you’d catch yourselves gaze more into each other’s eyes than the sky, alabaster rays illumining your loving eyes

His research would be entirely forgotten as your head rested upon his shoulder, liking the prospect of your figurative weight resting on him

Jean d’Arc

You want to watch him spar

Soft boi doesn’t want you to watch him spar

You want to try using his foil

Soft boi doesn’t want you to try using his foil

More than adamant about not revealing his dark side (you couldn’t care less, him sparing was hot but you didn’t know how to bring that up)

As such, you’d ask him to go shopping with you, arguing that his presence would act as the perfect protection

Foolproof way to persuade the stoic soldier: Volume I

You’d enjoy spending time with him in quiet cafes, enjoying him struggle to contain his expressions of content upon trying all the delicacies

Stone on the outside, panic in the inside when you decided to lower yourself onto his lap, telling him that no one could see you two (soldier life did not prepare him for his flirty amour)

William Shakespeare

Stabbing is his favourite past time

To Theo’s disgust, whenever you and and his broer would visit THE creep, he’d often return alone, relying your wish of staying at his mansion for a little while longer

He’d be besotted by all the stories you relayed to him, all the anecdotes of modern life

As you saw his latest works, you were glad he wasn’t using the residents for his drama anymore

He also liked dancing with you, in the moment the clock would hit midnight. As you would both sway beneath the moon’s embrace, he had never felt more at peace

Comte de Saint-Germain

Sugar Daddy likes buying you stuff, that’s it. That’s the headcanon

Jk, but he genuinely enjoys the prospect of shopping clothes with you

He’d even draft some on his own (I mean, have you seen his fashion style? Yes babayyy). If you were a fan of design, you’d both make outfits for one another

Would buy you the best silk if you wanted it... would buy you holo fabric from the future if you wanted it

After your shopping would be done, you’d walk along the Seine, reminiscing about the times none of you have gotten to life in

He enjoyed having you in his office, allowing you to vent about noble ladies that thought they could do as they please and parade around your man

As your ire left your ears fuming, he’d muse how scrumptiously adorable your jealousy it

He’d probably lift you ontop his desk to show you that you had absolutely nothing to fear— if you get what I mean ;)

...What are you talking about? I wasn’t talking about that 🙄. He’d simply show you all the designs you’ve made together smh

Sebastian

Vampires were goddamn lucky creatures. They, unlike him, didn’t have to deal with those horrid muscle cramps

However, his pain was more than familiar to you. Thus, one evening, you proposed as you prepared for bed if he’d like a massage from you

It would... sometimes lead to other acts, but that’s a story for another time 🙃

...I- that’s- I was talking about him massaging her... I should probably omit these insinuations

Now, you’d also spent time by adjusting your (and Dazai’s) favourite Japanese dishes with ingredients the 19th century France granted

This would oftentimes lead to questionable results, but you two would laugh it off with mirth enjoying your company

I am physically unable to write a Theo without foodplay, or Dazai without angsty undertones