#the last one is the other two were straight up somehow given the same soul as maria. whelp.

[prowerprojects]

Canon Soulmates in Sonic:

Silver and Blaze

Sonic, Tails, Amy and Knuckles

Maria, Shadow and Emerl

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Okay, so I kinda stopped the live update thing with D23 since they pretty much moved past animation within 40 or so minutes...

I have several questions regarding... Well, that concept image of TOY STORY 5 revealed earlier in the night...

You'll notice Woody without Bo Peep, along with Buzz, and... Forky...

When does this take place?

Because, in TOY STORY 4, Bonnie made Forky during her kindergarten orientation and then the weekend right after... A road trip! The plot of the movie happens, Woody goes off with Bo at the end...

Given that the story also involves around 50 Buzz toys that are in "play mode" and will serve as antagonists, I doubt this all takes place in a day or two. Or maybe it does, I don't know. It seemed like the road trip just began RIGHT after Bonnie's first day.

So... Does chronology not matter and they're just MAD MAX-ing this? Is it a new Woody doll? Did Buzz get so lonely without his best pal that, in desperation, he somehow found another Woody doll and strong-armed him into being with the gang? That'd be a little different for sure.

Or, does Woody wake up and all of that road trip was just a dream? Complete with the laser-eyed giant Bunny and Ducky? That would be a HELL of a way to retcon TOY STORY 4's much contested (at least, online) ending. Sike!

I really do not know. Other than the basic gist of the movie (traditional toys vs. electronics/tablets/etc.), Andrew Stanton didn't reveal much... I'm sure something's at play here, or there's some kind of explanation. It would be unusual of Pixar, whose teams usually think these things through, to just have Woody there without Bo...

Now, ELIO... Whose major director shake-up *wasn't* announced at D23... And that it lost cast member America Ferrera as the voice of Elio's mom. Zoe Saldana joining as his aunt was the only thing revealed...

So, we knew from rumblings that ELIO was going to see some retooling after Pixar delayed the movie from its original March 1, 2024 release date to June 13, 2025... But, Pete Docter straight up took director Adrian Molina off the movie and reassigned him to a "priority project"... This tells me that this wasn't a typical Lasseter-style director banishment.

His replacements (!), curiously, are two women: Domee Shi and Madeline Sharafian. Shi of course needs no introduction, the director of TURNING RED and also the short BAO, Sharafian directed the SparkShort BURROW, which would've run before SOUL in theaters in 2020 but instead debuted on Disney+ with the same day due to COVID.

Shi was working on an original of her own before she got put onto ELIO, and I don't think Sharafian was getting a feature of her own off the ground, so this is a great opportunity for her. It also means that Shi's sophomore effort, and not a picture she has taken over, will have to wait. Probably won't be out 'til 2028/2029 at this point.

This is very much like what happened to RATATOUILLE. In early 2005, RATATOUILLE's originator Jan Pinkava was taken off the film by the brass. Bird had just come off of THE INCREDIBLES, his first Pixar feature, and they asked him to take over RATATOUILLE. Shi came off of her feature debut, at Pixar no less, TURNING RED. Now, she has taken over someone else's film. A little over three years after her last one, and Bird got RATATOUILLE out 2 1/2 years after the release of THE INCREDIBLES.

Molina is still credited as director on an internal document, so I wonder if portions he directed remain in the movie next to the parts Shi and Sharafian directed. You would think this would be a much bigger deal, though! But I suppose at D23, it's all about sequels and synergy and such. Walt Disney Animation Studios head Jennifer Lee curiously namedropped an original set for fall 2026, but proceeded not to name it, and only spoke of fall 2027's FROZEN III after MOANA 2 and ZOOTOPIA 2 were covered.

Docter said in the interview for The Wrap, tucked away there, that a lot of the problems apparently concerned Elio's character in the first act of the movie. It happens sometimes, a director and team may struggle getting past the first third or so. I know I've had many issues like that writing my stories, so it's not uncommon. Ask any writer or creator, really.

Curiously, after Docter assumed his Chief Creative Officer position in mid-June, this is his first time taking a director off of a movie. ONWARD, LUCA, TURNING RED, LIGHTYEAR, ELEMENTAL, INSIDE OUT 2... all went through, unscathed. Night-and-day from Lasseter, who seemed to upend every 2010s movie that wasn't made by one of his favorites.

Now... INCREDIBLES 3 raises questions about Brad Bird's involvement. He's said to be "developing" it as of now. How's RAY GUNN, his $150m traditionally animated movie, going over at Skydance Animation? There had been rumors and rumblings about him having a hard time there, back with old boss Lasseter, but if $150m was already spent on this thing... Either it's actually far along and he's simultaneously getting INCREDIBLES 3 going, or... RAY GUNN is once again no more, facing the same fate it did at Turner/Warner Animation in the '90s.

Release dates...

Currently blank on the animation boards, title-wise, is a Pixar slated for June 2027...

INCREDIBLES 3 *could* debut in summer 2027, nine years after INCREDIBLES 2's summer 2018 release. Ten years would be another while, wouldn't it? Last time Pixar did sequels back-to-back was when INCREDIBLES 2 came out, followed by TOY STORY 4 in 2019. A repeat, imagine that, this time with the TOY STORY movie debuting first.

As for what was going to be Domee Shi's second film that was a creation of her own, I guess that'll come out in 2028 at the earliest if INCREDIBLES 3 doesn't nab that slot. Even if it does, musical chairs often happens at Pixar. INCREDIBLES 2 originally got scheduled for June 2019, and then traded places with TOY STORY 4.

So... ELIO, Daniel Chong's HOPPERS, Andrew Stanton's TOY STORY 5, INCREDIBLES 3... That looks to be the tarmac here, with Pixar. Of course, something else could sneak its way in or something moves back.

WDAS is ever vague, MOANA 2, ZOOTOPIA 2 (no director revealed or fully confirmed, apparently?), Untitled Original, FROZEN III, FROZEN IV...

ADD-ON... Hours later: Upon further inspection... In the TOY STORY 5 concept art, Jessie is wearing Woody's "Sheriff" badge... So, that kinda tells me, this is set after TOY STORY 4...

Curious and curiouser as to how Woody's back in the fold, and Bo's not present...

[bookwyrminspiration]

okay but i AM truly staring at the floor like ALL OF THIS HAPPENED IN ONE BOOK? cant believe kihrin confessed to teraeth at last in the same damn book. how did that happen it feels so long ago. also i DEFINITELY am repeating things from earlier asks i sent but i have another thought- more thoughts--senera and thurvishar? nature is healing watching two wizards who are incredibly intelligent and gifted and scientific and also seeing their lines of story bend towards each other like look how beautiful. and xivan and talea as short-lived as it ended up being (although.... ah.....talea has so much faith in her). the confession scene made me laugh so hard i couldn't highlight it for a minute because my hands were shaking too much. glad i DID NOT have to see therin and khaeriel for the entire book i was like if they are a constant perspective in these books and they're like this THE WHOLE TIME i gotta go. i cannot take any of them seriously. TERAETH FINALLY GETTING AN EDUCATION ON JORATESE POWER DYNAMICS. TERAETH AND JANEL INTERACTING SO MUCH IN THIS WAY! somehow they are nothing i expected but also exactly what i expected. they are both so sharp not to say kihrin isn't but i think at this point the handle of kihrin's blade is turned towards them both. if this makes sense.

You're so incredibly valid for that; the amount of things packed into this one book is mind-boggling. It feels like the books should be three times longer given how much happens and yet.

As for Senera and Thurvishar, it took me a while to actually come around to them. Not because they aren't incredibly sweet and meaningful to me as a an aroace person, but just because I'd gotten attached to the idea of aroace Thurvishar as someone who was going to be completely devoted to books and studies only forever. So when it started going the Senera/Thurvishar route I was like no!! I want my relationship free academic guy!!

But even though we didn't get that, we did get something else equally as valuable. Which is a relationship between ace characters. Without anything weird about it, just yeah neither of us want that and you don't even really like touch at all. That doesn't mean who we are to each other is any less fulfilling and important. I love Senera so so much.

And Therin and Khaeriel!! They're the super fucked up relationship I was talking about a while back where it's like. WOW. You bought and owned her body and soul as a slave for several years, she killed your entire family and enchanted you to fall in love with her. And now you are both free and...together of your own will in spite of all that? I'm just gonna move on and keep my distance.

AND YES! Someone finally let Teraeth in on what was going on. Honestly though now that I think about it, Teraeth and Janel had been hooking up in the afterlife for a few years prior, did she think he knew already? is that why she explained it to Kihrin within the first like half hour of meeting him but never talked about it with Teraeth? Though I do wish instead of Kihrin explaining Janel had been there to set it even more straight, but that's just personal preference

Also I don't know what you're saying with that blade turned towards them thing but I know whatever it is is super smart and just going over my head atm </3

[tartglias]

Xiao, Zhongli and Venti with an immortal s/o

“Sooo 👀 can i request so some fluff hc for venti, xiao and zhongli with an immortal s/o?”

thank you so much for requesting!! this is my first time writing for more than one character at a time so it was a challenge lol thank you sm!!

Xiao

Xiao never understood the importance of time. Days, months, even years feel like nothing when you’re immortal. What a funny thing that is, immortality. He knows normal humans would do anything for it, and he despises them for that. Nothing so great came free, he knew that well. He was freed from tortures, only to get tormented by karma. He could still hear the voices and screams calling for help from tortured souls, these still haunt him daily. But the worst moments come when he sees that figure, that person who he once considered close. So close he could use the human word “soulmate”, if he believed in those, to describe who that person meant to him.

Many centuries back he met you, such a gentle person who got to break down his hard walls. A smile, a touch, a kiss. That’s all it took. So many meaningless years, and he never once encountered a person as kind yet strong like you. Someone who made the daily nightmares cease, with a simple smile and brush of fingers.

He remembers your last words like it was the day before. You were on top of one of the tall stones in Huaguang Stone Forest, Xiao laying his head on your lap and you placing small qingxin flowers on his hair. He wouldn’t allow anyone do that to him ever, but in the end, you were you. And you were different.

“Xiao” you called, once you were done placing the flowers. He opened his eyes and muttered a “hm?” in response. “I have to leave soon. Mondstadt calls me”

He sat up.

“What do you mean?”

“By tomorrow morning, I’ll be on my way back to Mondstadt” you said, quietly standing up.

He stood up too.

“When will I see you again?” he asked, now not being able to look at you.

“I don’t know” you said, reaching out for his hand and taking it. You placed a soft kiss on his knuckles, and he felt himself calm down at the gesture for a moment.

“I meant it when I said I’ll love you forever, Xiao” you said, finally locking eyes with him. You had teary eyes, he dreaded to see you like that. If it were up to him, he would swallow every bit of pain in your body and soul, just to see you smile.

And with that, you disappeared. As quickly as you broke down his walls, you disappeared just as quick the next day. Days, months and years became even more meaningless, but somehow he felt them longer. He missed you every day, he whispered to the moon every night, wishing that some archon would hear and bring you back to him. He knew you were like him, but he never heard from you again. Were you able to finally cross to the other side? He tried to erase those thoughts from his mind.

He later found himself in that very same stone, the one in which he last saw you. New Qingxin flowers blossomed, and they reminded him of you. He sat down, staring at the horizon. But then, he felt a strange swift of wind, and a presence behind him. He quickly stood up, ready to put his mask on and kill whoever dared to interrupt his solitude. But he didn’t. The mask in his hand dropped to the floor, next to the flowers.

“I’m back” you said, with a shy smile.

“You’re back” he said, more to himself than to you. Were you really there?

His question was soon answered, once you stepped closer and pulled him in a hug. He found himself wrapping his arms around you, holding you as close as he could, while trying to hold back his tears.

“I’m sorry I took so long, my beloved” you said as you locked your eyes with his. You grabbed his hand and held it, but you never once let go of the hug.

“I’m here to stay now” you whispered.

Zhongli

“You need to stop playing with people’s hearts” Zhongli said, as he sipped on his tea and looked at you questioningly. You rolled your eyes in response and put your focus back on your potion. A few petals from the most exotic flower in Teyvat, a little bit of juice made from vines and a teaspoon of slime condensate.

“Sometimes mortals need a little push in the right direction” You said, finishing up the mix and transferring it to a small bottle made of glass. “Plus, we’ve been here for centuries, I’m bored and I need a hobby”

“I don’t think that messing with human’s love lives can be considered a hobby. I don’t think it’s morally correct” he said.

“You’re very dramatic. I can feel the true desires of every being that touches the soil in Teyvat, and if I sense that the desire is mutual, I simply work my magic” You said, sitting back on your chair next to the tall man.

“Can’t you let them figure it out by themselves?” He asked.

“That’s no fun Zhongli” You said, finishing up the sweet perfume-potion you were creating.

You and Zhongli have been friends for centuries. You met when you moved to Liyue as the representative of the Dendro Archon, someone you really looked up to. Zhongli was kind enough to make you feel at home, and soon became friends with the Geo Archon. Though you must admit, you always wished it was something more.

Maybe that’s why you picked up this “hobby” of yours. Unrequited love is something painful and mortals only live a short life, you believe they should live it fully, if possible.

“Are you alright?” Zhongli asked, interrupting your thoughts with a concerned look on his face. You didn’t realize you had a sad look on yours.

“Oh? Yeah of course” You said, quickly brushing it off and proceeding decorating the small glass bottle.

“Y/n-“ he started, placing a hand on top of yours in order to get your attention. “I’ve known you for a long time. I know when something is wrong”

It was funny. He knew you like the back of his hand, he knew how to read you since the first time he laid his eyes on you. Yet he never found out how you truly felt about him, how your heart made like a million flips whenever he did something as simple as hold your hand, or brush a hair away from your face. All these little things and gestures, have been making you swoon over your closest friend for years, centuries even.

“Time and love are strange concepts, aren’t they?” You asked, looking straight at him. Here goes nothing, you thought.

“I believe those are rather simple concepts”

“You can spend a lifetime with someone, know every habit and expression but you don’t know how they truly feel about you” You said staring at him, searching for any hint that indicated he knew what you were talking about. But you saw nothing. Who were you kidding? He’s just your friend, has been for a long time.

You let out a defeated laugh, standing up and letting go of his hand. “Forgive me, I don’t really know what i’m saying” you said, grabbing the potion and starting to leave. But you felt his hand on your wrist, stopping your movements.

“You said you felt the desires of every being that stepped foot on Teyvat’s soil, am I right?” he asked, looking at you. You nodded. “Does it work on me?”

“You wanted to get close to me, as a friend”

“My apologies my dearest y/n, but I think your blessing is wrong” he said, standing up and holding your hand once again. “I did want to get closer to you as a friend at first, but not any longer. I’ve been observing mortals for a while as well, on my daily walks through Liyue Harbor, and I think I finally understood my feelings”

You were sure that if Zhongli listened close enough, he would hear the fast beating of your heart.

“I’ve been waiting for you to use your love potion on me, my dear y/n. I’m sure it wouldn’t have worked anyways since I believe it would take a lot of effort to make an effective potion that could work on me. But it would have given me the excuse to tell you how I really feel” he said.

“How do you feel then?” you asked him, looking up at the tall man.

“I think I’m very lucky to have you by my side, and it makes me want to travel to the Dendro nation and personally thank the Archon for assigning you to Liyue. I also want you to still be by my side for the centuries to come, if you’re okay with that” he said, lowering his voice by the end.

You acted before you could process your thoughts. You stood on your tippy toes and kissed his cheek gently, never letting go of his hand. He liked you, he felt the same way about you. It was real.

“I’m okay with that” you replied.

Venti

It was almost noon, almost an hour after the original time you accorded with Venti to meet. You planned a picnic date by the big tree near the statue of the Seven, your favorite spot. The same spot which later, became Venti’s favorite spot as well.

He wasn’t a person who would jump straight to conclusions. You were late. Maybe you fell asleep, maybe you couldn’t find the guitar you promised to bring so you could play a duet. Being late doesn’t mean something bad happened, right?”

He decided to wait a few more moments, but once the sun set, he had enough. He went out to try and find you. He went to your house, but noticed the door was locked and no one was inside. “They left” he thought.

He slowly but surely started to get desperate. Where were you? Were you hurt? Did you get lost somehow? He went to Angel’s Share, and not even Master Diluc had seen you. If Venti wasn’t in such a panicked state, he would have noticed the rare concerned and worried look Diluc had on his face.

If any traveler walked by literally any road in Mondstadt, they would soon encounter a big rush of wind. Venti went from here to there as fast as he could, trying to find you.

He soon enough found you in Stormbearer Mountains, fighting hilichurls and two pyro mages. You looked tired, sweat covering your body and your clothes were dirty. It was obvious that this has been going on for a while. You gripped your sword as hard as you could, and kept fighting. Why didn’t you call for him? With no exception, Venti tells you daily to call for him if you ever encounter a problem. It’s not that he doesn’t think you’re strong, oh no, he believed you were the strongest mortal in Teyvat. But in the end, to him you were still a mortal. Fragile and over-sensitive. He often told you to call his name, that the wind will carry it and he will appear there to help you out. So why didn’t you?

“y/n!” he screamed, once he laid his eyes on you. You turned around and saw a rush on wind, and felt his presence. What you didn’t feel though, was the pyro attack coming from one of the mages. The mage summoned three pyro artifacts that surrounded you, and burnt you. You felt your energy slip away, your head dizzy and your body burning. Then, you felt the cold wind, Venti quickly finishing off the mages and the remaining hilichurls.

Venti thought it was over. You were kneeled down, burnt skin, gasping for air. It was over, you were going to die. He felt his eyes water and fear running through his veins. He wrapped his arms around you, making you lean on his chest.

“Don’t leave me” he begged. “please”

“My dear, I don’t think I can” you said, letting out a short laugh.

“Please stay strong, I think I can carry you to the cathedral but you need to hold very still so-“ he started saying, now fully crying but you interrupted him by putting a hand on his cheek and wiping his tears with your thumb.

“I’m serious, I don’t think I can leave anyways. Venti, I literally can’t die.” you said, with a laugh and slowly standing up.

“You... you’re immortal?” he asked, looking up at you, not being able to leave the floor.

You nodded. “I thought you knew”

“I hate you” he said, standing up and wiping away his tears. “I do”

“No you don’t. But you’re cute though!” you said, grabbing his face and kissing the tip of his nose. “I’m very sorry I’m late though, my commission took longer than I thought but let me compensate you with dinner and a bottle of wine”

“But you’re still burnt?” he asked you, concern still in his face.

“Oh don’t worry about that, it will rip out when I start walking. I have healthy skin underneath” you said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Why do I feel like this is not your first time getting so hurt?” he asked letting out a soft chuckle, suddenly feeling lighter now that he knows you’re okay and will probably be okay for a long long while.

“Eh, been there done that a few times” you simply said, taking his hand and walking back to the city of Mondstadt.

[starlessea]

𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Chapter 1. Is It A Bird?

A/N Make sure you read the prologue before, or this chapter might not make sense!

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 4869

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury

You watched the bird fly from behind the clear glass, level with the top floors of the office building.

You followed it the best you could, walking the stretch of the room alongside it. The window was long and wide, filling the wall entirely. This whole section of the building was made of glass, and stood tall against the skyline — so that you could often see the flocks of birds that flew by.

Though, it wasn’t as tall as the ones closer to the inner city.

No, this was more of a dwarfed skyscraper.

You reached the end of the office, and placed your hands up against the cool glass as the bird continued onwards — leaving you behind. Below, the street seemed desolate, just as the sky now did. There wasn’t a single soul lurking down there — but you didn’t trust your eyes in the slightest. Especially not here.

You needed a better view. You needed a bird’s-eye view.

The fire escape steps were rickety, and metal flakes crumbled beneath your feet. They had rusted from the rain, and you tried not to think about how precariously they squeaked as you made your ascent to the roof. You’d done it before, but every time felt worse than the last.

You just couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d cave beneath you — and laugh their squeaky laughs as they sent you plummeting to the ground.

You reached the top, and felt the breeze on your cheek as you scaled the roof courtyard. Up here, everything seemed untouched. It always had done. This high up, people would look like mere ants — harmless, and far enough away that it didn’t matter if they weren’t.

The wind blew, and you stared out towards the building parallel to the corporate one you were currently standing on. It had been a hotel once. But now its roof held something far more valuable than deckchairs and a cocktail bar.

There she was, you smiled, and what a beauty indeed.

It was an army helicopter, sat perfectly still against the horizon — like a bird nesting. It was a camo green, but it didn’t camouflage against the greyish sky in the slightest. Though, it did seem like it belonged there; it was a hawk after all.

A Sikorsky Hawk, to be more specific.

You’d never flown her type before, but she’d been there ever since you first took refuge in the building, like an abandoned bird in an abandoned city. The army had been the first to flee, after all — or the first to die. Either way, the hawk had sat alone for nearly two months, teasing you.

You should have just stayed in Georgia.

It was only meant to be a weekend trip, but somehow you’d gotten stranded in Atlanta during the end of the world. You would have cursed your luck, but then again you were lucky enough to get stuck on the outskirts — only narrowly missing the bombs as they reigned down upon the city.

It was like a meteor shower. Except, instead of falling stars, it had been napalm.

You could remember it perfectly. First the power had gone out, then the water mains dried up, and finally the food whittled down to nothing. You’d hopped from building to building until you came across this corporate graveyard — which had enough supplies to keep you alive for a few weeks. But you should have just left Atlanta whilst you had the chance.

This tower had lulled you in with the promise of safety, but had kept you trapped there ever since.

Walking closer to the roof’s edge, you glanced along the building in the distance. You’d checked it a dozen times now — mapping out all of its exits to try and find a way inside. You had to be prepared. After all, it wasn’t like you could just wait until you got there. Your boot hit the fencing, and you felt the urge to peer over the railing at the alley below.

Don’t look down, you told yourself — but you always did.

A narrow sidestreet separated the office block from the hotel. There was a fence at one end, secured with a thick padlock, whilst the other was open. That would have been fine on its own; except, the biters had all stumbled into the alley as though it were a cattle cage — and couldn’t figure out how to leave once they were there.

Dumb fucks, you thought, watching them pile up against the gate as though it were a concert barrier.

Almost every day, you’d come to see that helicopter — separated by a channel of the undead, their heads bobbing like ripples on the surface of water — and every day you’d turn around and head back down the fire escape.

Your stomach gurgled, and you let out a sigh. The stale lunchroom cereal had recently run empty. You felt for your pistol in your back pocket — the one you’d managed to get a hold of during the initial outbreak.

Six bullets, you counted, before slipping it back into your jeans.

You smiled at the irony.

“Six!” you yelled at the man, placing your card face-up on the bar. “It’s my lucky number.”

Dixon knocked back his whiskey and grimaced as it went down. Joe’s was practically empty by now, but the man lingered about like the aftertaste of your drink — waiting for your shift to end.

“An’ why’s that?” he asked, not looking up from his own hand.

You smiled — the alcohol making you loose-lipped.

“It was your closing time. Six in the evening,” you explained, waiting for him to lay his last card. “But you still fixed up the Camaro anyway.”

Your fingertips rested along the hem of the jacket, feeling the worn leather. The air was stiflingly warm, but you kept it on. After all, it still smelled faintly of the man who’d given it to you.

Like whiskey and gasoline.

Atlanta had gone still and quiet, leaving you to your thoughts as you stood on that rooftop — trying to be brave. Military training was meant to beat that into a person, but maybe you’d gone soft since then. After all, you always preferred to stay above the action than be in the midst of it.

Six bullets, a Hawk, and a cattle grid filled with biters.

You laughed. Everything interesting always seemed to happen on a Tuesday.

Glancing over your shoulder at the bird once more, you tried to ignore the way your stomach dropped and your palms sweat. It was probably from the heat, you tried to tell yourself, but you knew better than that.

“I guess today’s the day,” you said, to no one in particular.

Then, you began to descend that rickety fire escape once again — because what goes up must always come down.

//

What you hadn’t realised, is that the same could be said for that Sikorsky Hawk, which spat you out of the sky like you didn’t deserve to be there.

When you finally came back around — after drifting in and out of consciousness for what felt like much too long — all you could smell was burning rubber.

That’s not good, you thought, as you blinked your eyes open.

Black smoke hung thick in the air, melding with the orange flames that flickered in the distance and caught the trees.

Those damn trees.

You hissed curses through your teeth as the pain finally kicked into gear — albeit a bit delayed. In your haziness, you’d barely realised how precarious your situation was. Like a puppet on a string, you dangled from the branches of a tall, leafless tree — caught by your parachute wires.

Your breaths were shallow and strained, and you slowly lifted a hand — the one not tangled in the cords — to feel your stomach.

Blood.

It was shrapnel from the crash. It stung like a bitch, and would probably need stitches. Well, it would if you could get down in the first place.

You glanced up at your other arm, eyes stinging from the brightness of the sky.

That doesn’t look right either, you grimaced.

It had gotten caught during the fall, and had twisted at an unnatural angle which only made you wince as you tried to free it. Like a marionette, if you plucked those wires ever so slightly, your whole body flailed.

The radios whirred below you, letting out a continuous note of high-pitched static as they caught alight. It reminded you of the screeching of wheels as they spun over tarmac — or something like that.

But, then you saw a man.

And the man saw you.

At first, you barely recognised him without his oil-stained work clothes — wrench in hand. But at the same time, he seemed to blend in perfectly with this new world. He had a crossbow slung over his back, and a rope of limp squirrels looped around his shoulder. A natural born hunter, indeed.

With numb toes, and blood rushing to your head, you called out to him hoarsely — hoping that he’d spot you perched among the trees.

“Dixon,” you spoke, and winced straight after.

Your voice didn’t even sound like your own.

Still, the man whipped around, and stared straight through you as though he were looking at a ghost.

“How’s it hanging?” you teased, and recognition flashed on his face.

It had taken him a while to cut you down, untwisting your limbs delicately from the cables. But once you were free, he carried you in his arms — like some trophy game from his hunting trip.

Then, he noticed the wound.

The mechanic looked down at you helplessly. He still hadn’t said a single word, but his eyes told you everything you needed to know. They rested on your hands — which were pressed down firmly to stop the bleeding — before trailing back up to your face.

He looked older than you remembered, and more hardened. And he didn’t view you with the same shy curiosity as before — you had noticed.

No. This was sadness.

You brought a hand up from your stomach and touched it to his cheek. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

You could swear he even leaned into it.

His mousy stubble tickled your palm, and only then did you realise the bloody fingerprints you’d left behind on his skin. You let your head flop against the man’s chest, your ear pressed to his pounding heartbeat.

“Today really isn’t my day,” you murmured there, and he started walking.

//

You watched the sky the whole way back.

It looked so different from the sky in Atlanta. There were no hulking skyscrapers blocking it, nor fast food billboards that had begun to peel away. And there were far more birds flying by — the real kind, not any Sikorsky Hawks.

Dixon remained completely silent, except for when he’d occasionally remind you to keep pressure on that wound. He moved quickly, but he seemed lost in thought — lacking the usual bite you remembered.

He also seemed to have lost his words, you thought.

But then you reached a clearing.

You could hear the commotion before you saw it; there was some rustling behind the trees, accompanied by dry shouts and the clanging of metal. You glanced up at the man carrying you for answers, but he didn’t once look down.

Daryl stepped out into the open air, and squinted from the sunlight. You did the same, turning your head into his chest for some cover from it.

“Ya can drop yer weapons,” you heard him say.

Well, more like felt — since the vibrations rumbled against your cheek.

“Unless yer plannin’ on offing me with tha’ shovel,” he snapped.

There he was, you smiled, that was the Dixon you recognised.

You could feel his heart thumping as he spoke, and you had to coax yourself away to take a look at the scene for yourself.

A group of people holding spades, a bashed-in biter, and a mauled deer.

You laughed. Fucking Tuesdays.

Except, the laugh trailed off into a wheeze as the pain started up, and the blood poured.

Daryl quickly kicked into gear with urgency, and brushed off the group as they tried to ask their questions. “Someone best go get Merle off his lazy ass,” he yelled, “tell him his favourite helicopter pilot jus’ crash landed ‘ere.”

Your head snapped up at his words.

Merle Dixon, too? You weren’t sure you could handle them both.

Except, nobody moved to go and retrieve the older brother. Instead, a small asian man stepped forward — removing his baseball cap and wringing it in his hands.

“I can’t believe it,” he announced, eyes locked on you, “helicopter boy was telling the truth!”

You squinted at his words, trying to make sense of them amidst the heatstroke and blood loss.

But, you didn’t have to try for long. A second man stepped out from behind the frontline of people, also parting with his obnoxiously large hat as he did so. Except, this was no baseball cap; this was a damn country midwestern cowboy hat.

The badge in the centre of it caught the light and beamed it back directly into your eyes, making you cower away. The man shucked his hands into his pockets, and only then did you catch sight of him fully — clad in his King County Sheriff’s Department uniform .

Great, you sighed, letting your head flop back over Daryl’s arm. A fucking cop.

Dixon’s jaw clenched, too. You saw it above you — tensing.

“You come from Atlanta?” the officer questioned, “earlier today?”

That caught your attention. He’d been in Atlanta, too?

You definitely hadn’t seen any survivors on the flight over. But then again, it would’ve been nearly impossible to distinguish the dead from the living at that altitude. You swallowed thickly, and nodded.

“What happened to you?” he pressed.

The group’s chatter had died to a silence, and even Daryl seemed to await your answer.

“Engine failed,” you croaked, parched from a lack of water. “Couldn’t control the descent so I had to jump,” you cursed the last part, “too many trees.”

Then, you pinched Daryl’s arm lightly — feeling woozy from the sun. He nodded, and wordlessly stepped over the rotting corpse near his boot.

“You two know each other?” a voice interrupted, “and you just happened to find her?”

You didn’t like this man’s eyes; you hadn’t since you’d first caught a glimpse of them. He had dark, bouffant hair that seemed far too prim for the end of the world, and was wearing light cargo pants.

Then you noticed the dog tags hanging from his neck, and the combat boots which matched what you knew to be police-issued training gear.

Seriously, you thought, another one?

Daryl didn’t seem particularly fond of the guy, either, because he narrowed his eyes at him in the same way he did the biter at his feet. He looked as though he was considering ignoring him completely. And you couldn’t blame him.

It wasn’t like you were bleeding out, or anything.

“Was trackin’ tha’ deer,” he responded, toeing the dead animal with his boot. “Seen the bird go down an’ followed it.”

Daryl readjusted his grip on you, and you groaned from his heavy-handedness. But you didn’t miss his guilty expression.

After all, he probably tried to be gentle.

“An’ there she was, jus’ swingin’ from tha' tree like a big ol' piñata,” he finished — that southern drawl thick on his tongue.

You watched the other man’s jaw shift as though he were chewing on a bee, and spit at the ground like it had stung his mouth.

“You’re telling me that she crashed a damn helicopter in our backyard?” he barked, narrowing in on you with those sharp, dark eyes. “Drawing walkers from all over?”

Daryl shifted where he stood, making the leather of your jacket squeak as it rubbed together. You were beginning to feel like tinfoil in a microwave — cooking slowly in the sun as you waited for the men to finish brooding.

“Ya hear ‘nything?” the mechanic asked of the group, who turned away from his intense gaze one-by-one. “Din’t think so,” he spat, and you could practically hear his thoughts.

What a bunch of cowards.

“Was in the bow of the woods,” Daryl went on, eyeing the dark-haired man where he stood. “Land dips in at either side, like a noise tunnel.”

He paused, his eyes briefly flicking up to the sky as though seeing the scene once more.

“Only ones hearin’ it were the ones a’ready there.”

Daryl juggled you in his arms again, probably aching from the long trek, and seemed antsy to finally escape those heavy stares. But then, the man shook his head — as though remembering something.

“Now where’s my damn brother?” he growled.

And everyone’s eyes fell straight to the ground, like birds swooping down from the sky.

//

It would be an understatement to say that Daryl Dixon had exploded at the news.

He went nuclear.

If you hadn’t been in his arms at the time, you were certain that someone would’ve been on the receiving end of Daryl’s right hook. You’d seen it before, after all. That man wasn’t exactly one to pull his punches.

But, luckily, you had been there — crumpled in on yourself as the white hot pain also reached nuclear levels.

And so, you were ushered into a small, greyish tent that smelled faintly of oil and gasoline — and the unfortunate alcoholic stench of Merle Dixon — and stripped out of your jacket by a woman who tried her best to quell the bleeding.

But even then, you could still hear the storm raging outside the thin canvas material — the storm that went by the name of Dixon. He’d never shown that sort of temper around you before, so it came as a shock to see it brewing for yourself.

Yells competed with each other outside the tent walls, as a woman with short, greyish hair politely tended to your wounds — pretending she couldn’t hear anything at all.

But, you heard it and bolted upright, straight as an arrow.

Merle Dixon had been chained to a roof like a dog in Atlanta.

What fucking irony.

The smoking ban had loomed over rural Georgia for a while now, but it fell on the deaf ears of the regulars. They still smoked their thickly rolled cigars, and cheap cartons of cigarettes — clogging up the bar and your lungs every time you took a breath.

Dixon sat on the stool, watching as you wiped down the chestnut oak covered in sticky beer rings, and pulled new drinks for the impatient men twice your age. He was mulling over a particularly hard whiskey that day, but wouldn’t tell you the reason behind it.

So, you continued with your rounds until another man approached you, and took the only free seat beside the mechanic.

Big mistake, you smirked, and awaited his reaction.

Daryl Dixon shared barspace with no one - hence, the free seats on an otherwise crowded Friday night. Except, he did nothing but shoot the stranger a side-eyed glance, before returning to his whiskey that needed a top-up on ice.

The newcomer let his eyes slide down over you, in that sleazy way you’d become familiar with by now. He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth and tilted his head back in an exaggerated display of bravado.

And you snorted; you just couldn’t help it.

He scowled at you in response, as his gaze rested on the bare skin of your neck.

“Military dog,” he spat, despite your lack of tags, “where's yer collar?"

Beside him, the mechanic’s jaw clenched as he looked up from the ice melting in his glass.

You laughed. “Howdy, redneck, where’s your cousin?”

And Daryl choked on that same ice.

Surprisingly, the bitterness all but faded away from the unknown man’s face — as he seemed to take your comment in jest. He smirked, and wacked Daryl on the back forcefully as he hacked up his whiskey — yelling something about it being too damn expensive to go shooting out all over the bar.

You couldn’t understand the situation. You’d never seen Daryl act like that with anyone at Joe’s — let alone this particular breed of asshole.

���Feisty, jus’ how I like ‘em,” the stranger quipped back, sending a wink at you that lingered on your skin.

You pulled a face, and went back to wiping down the bar — careful not to lean over too much.

“Knock it off, Merle would’ya?” Daryl shot back, his voice rising in pitch over the name.

The other man — Merle — grinned, before clapping Daryl over the back once more. “No promises, lil’ brother,” he teased.

Then, he knocked back a drink you were certain he must’ve snuck in — because you sure as hell hadn’t poured it for him — and disappeared into the sea of drunkards playing pool and throwing darts haphazardly.

You froze, glancing over to the mechanic.

“That’s your brother? I’m so sorry-”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” he interrupted, before finishing his whiskey and handing you the empty glass. “Asshole deserved it.”

Back then, you saw no resemblance between Daryl and Merle Dixon — but, families always had a strange hold over a person. After all, that was the reason why you’d gotten shipped off to Georgia in the first place; your parents had swept you under the rug like a bad kept secret — simply to try and keep up appearances.

You’d followed your brother into the military, only for it to spit you back out and leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouths afterwards.

The tent door unzipped, and flapped as it caught the evening breeze.

Daryl entered like a hurricane, startling the woman — Carol — as she tended to you. He was followed by an entourage of curious faces who watched as he toed his boots off, and kicked them to the side.

“All of ya best get out,” he grumbled, as he peeled off his leather vest and set it down next to you — his eyes focused on your white shirt that had since been dyed red.

The group seemed to register his words, but no one made the move to leave.

The man let out a frustrated grunt, before fumbling with the small first-aid box near your feet. “Need to give ‘er stitches, an’ I ain’t need no one breathin’ down my neck,” he said, scowling down at the supplies.

You swallowed thickly, that didn’t sound very convincing.

A blonde woman near the tent entrance seemed to think the same, because she chirped up.

“You know how to do that?” she questioned — braver than any of the men who stood in stunned silence.

Daryl’s jaw set. “Y’ain’t believe me?” he bit back. “Think ‘m only good for spittin’ on the ground an’ feedin’ ya damn squirrels?”

The same woman recoiled at his words, and you sighed.

Always had a bark much worse than his bite, that one.

But then the man reached over for the hem of your shirt and you just froze — before slapping his hand away. He also recoiled with the same, exaggerated movements, and scowled at you as though your touch had burnt him.

You wanted to trust him, but part of you just couldn’t.

Daryl must’ve caught the look in your eyes — and recognised it for himself — because he sighed and shook his head, and glanced over at the women nearby.

“Anyone else know how to give stitches ‘round ‘ere?” he demanded, but the majority shook their heads.

All except one.

“I think I-” Carol piped up, before a burly man shot her a look so boldly threatening that it even made you flinch.

The woman paused over her words, before eventually shaking her head.

“I don’t. I’m sorry,” she mumbled, timidly, before that same man slipped his hand in hers and pulled her away.

You recognised that look, too.

And so the rest of the stragglers disappeared from the tent one-by-one, until only you and Daryl remained — deadlocked.

“C’mon, Camaro, quit yer bitchin’,” he coaxed, his voice more soft now that it was just the two of you. “Unless ya wanna bleed out o’er my tent.”

He had the needle and thread all prepared between his fingers, waiting for your permission.

You sighed. “You used to be a lot nicer, you know that?” you remarked, thinking back to the Dixon who shyly smoked cigarettes on that cliff’s edge, watching you like you were brighter than the stars.

You had noticed.

Then, you lifted up your shirt with your trembling hand, as he pressed onto your skin with his steady one.

And so Daryl gave you stitches — filling you up on Merle’s stash of whiskey to dull the pain — and muttering how, despite his work not being pretty, it’d be functional. You didn’t question how he’d come to learn how to sew butterfly stitches in the first place, thinking it best not to ask, nor did you comment on how gentle he wiped away the blood.

Always a man of his word, Daryl Dixon’s stitches were definitely not pretty.

But, to you, they looked like constellations.

He’d made it clear how lucky you’d been that it was only a surface injury; if it were anything deeper, he wouldn’t have been able to patch you up. It was probably thanks to that thick jacket that you’d managed to walk away from the crash mostly unscathed.

You’d seen him eyeing it occasionally as he worked, glancing over at the bloody leather that stained his tent floor.

Like hell would you be giving it back.

After that, he’d also managed to sneak Carol back inside — away from who you could only guess to be her husband. She’d told you that your arm wasn’t broken, but in fact dislocated, and helped set it back into place as your eyes stung with salt tears.

But you couldn’t complain.

After all, they’d tried to put you back together like humpty dumpty after your crash — albeit with staples and scotch tape.

Though, as soon as you were out of the woods and in the clear, Daryl pulled his boots back on and collected his things impatiently — not even sparing you a second glance.

“Where are you going?” you asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Your words left your mouth a bit slurred from the medical-whiskey concoction, but he only pretended not to hear them.

You asked again, until he finally responded. “‘M goin’ to get my damn brother back, where’d ya think?” he answered, frustration laced in his voice.

He stuffed a few things into his rucksack, before slinging it over his shoulder.

“Careful, Dixon,” you cautioned, “you have a habit of finding yourself in a mess when you let your temper get the best of you.”

The man scoffed, and made a point of looking you up and down — calling you hypocritical with his eyes alone.

“Don’ act like ya know me tha’ well,” he growled, startling you with his tone.

But, you couldn’t blame him for his words.

After all, you’d spent more time apart than you had together.

The man sighed. “Gotta go get Merle,” he reasoned, more carefully this time.

He flickered open the tent, and let in the sky. It was not yet black, but a burnt orange, as though preparing to be set alight with stars. It reminded you of those evenings you’d get to close up early, and walk past a certain auto-shop that still had its amber lights turned on, and its door wide open.

And the former mechanic started walking away, leaving you behind out on the sidewalk.

“Daryl-” you called after him.

The word spilled from your mouth like beer overflowing from a glass — pouring over before you could stop it.

He glanced back immediately.

You never called him that.

Even though you knew his name from other people’s tongues, he’d always been Dixon — ever since the moment you read it on his shoddy name-tag. Not once during the month you’d spent with him had you called him Daryl.

Not until now.

“It’s getting dark out,” you whispered, even though the sky was still clearly orange.

You swallowed the dryness from your throat — and with it, your pride.

“Please stay? Until morning?”

Dixon looked back at you, swaddled in one of his clean shirts that he’d buttoned up himself — making you look so small.

And he sighed. He always was the worst liar of them all.

“Jus’ ‘til mornin’,” he repeated, trudging back to that grey tent.

Then, he took a seat beside you, his knees knocking against yours. But you tried to fight against your smile, and racing heart that pounded deep in your chest.

Because what goes up must always come down.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

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A/N Boom. The series has officially been kicked off. Did you like seeing the parallels between Daryl’s POV in the prologue and the reader’s? I really hope you all enjoyed it - please let me know what you think :)

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[arcanadreams]

OM Brothers as Hozier songs

I am a cottagecore lesbian, therefore this post was inevitable. Anyway here are the Hozier songs I think resonate most with the boys and their relationships to MC! Each will have a little explanation blurb (tho I am writing this before I start so I’ll probably get carried away asjdgkdj)

this is very different from my usual style so feedback would be greatly appreciated!! thanks :D

Lucifer -  As It Was

You are the home Lucifer comes to after losing his first one. He can never go back to the Celestial Realm, the place he was born and raised. But he doesn’t even want to when you are with him. 

You, and all that you are, are home. Being with you makes Lucifer feel a joy like he did before the otherness, the War, came. He never thought he could feel that way again. You are as bright as the lights of the Celestial Realm; a light he thought he would never see again. A light he thought he had dragged both himself and his entire family away from forever. But here you are, in front of him, shining with a light he had almost forgotten despite his best efforts to remember. 

And your love for him is unmoving. You know his past, you know his present, you know the worst sides of him. Hell, he tried to kill you before! And yet...your heart remains unmoved. He will never be able to express his gratitude for the way you waited for him, waited for his pride to subside, waited for him to realize the depth of his feelings for you. You welcomed him with open arms when he finally came home.

The lyrics I think resonate most with him:

Just as it was, baby Before the otherness came And I knew its name The drug, the dark, The light, the flame The highs hit the heights of my baby And its hold had the fight of my baby And the lights were as bright as my baby But your love was unmoved

Tell me if somehow Some of it remains How long you would wait for me How long I've been away The shape that I'm in now Your shape in the doorway Make your good love known to me Or just tell me about your day

Mammon - Sunlight

Your love is sunlight. Pure and simple. Your love is sunlight to Mammon, who has not known a soul like yours since the Celestial Realm. He loves his brothers, and he knows they love him, too, but their love feels conditional. Your love for him is unconditional, and you tell him so every day through the way you look at him.

He still doesn’t know how you put up with his waffling for so long. With the way he ran away from your affections, the way he put up walls between you to protect his aching heart. If your love was like his brothers’, if it required him to change...he didn’t think he ‘d be able to bear it. 

But you were stubborn. Almost as stubborn as him! And when you finally reached a stalemate you confessed. The moment “I love you,” left your lips, Mammon knew he was lost to you. He was lost in this foreign feeling and the only way out was in your arms. And from that moment he knew he would never leave your embrace, never leave your wonderful heart. 

He would sooner die before he let his sunlight be taken away.

The lyrics I think resonate most with him:

Oh, the tale is the same Told before and told again A soul that's born in cold and rain Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight At last can grant a name To a buried and a burning flame As love and its decisive pain Oh my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight All that was shown to me, sunlight Was something foreknown to me, sunlight Oh your love is sunlight Oh your love is sunlight But it is sunlight Oh your love is sunlight Oh your love is sunlight But it is sunlight Sunlight

and

Each day you rise with me Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty Oh my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight Strap the wing to me Death trap clad, happily With wax melted I'd meet the sea Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

Leviathan - Like Real People Do

Levi has never cared for the company of others who are real, who are not figments of some grand author’s imagination. All they do is hurt him. He has had too many heartbreaks in his life to let anyone else into his story. He is a lone side character.

But then you came bounding into his book and tore apart every page with self-loathing words written on it. He fought you tooth and nail, but you just kept digging, straight to his heart. You dug yourself in deep, so deep he couldn’t move you even if he wanted to. Which, of course, he can’t even imagine doing now.

You’re real. And so is the love you have given him. With each kiss you prove to him that he is not some side story. He is the protagonist of his own adventure. You are his love interest, written to fit perfectly against his side when snuggling on dark nights. 

It took your arrival for him to realize just how much he longed for the company of real people, for the affection of real people. And I don’t mean in the literal sense of real- I mean people who are real with him. People who are truthful, who won’t hurt him with stinging words, barbs aims right at his psyche. You use your words to guide him without crippling him, and he is so thankful for that.

The lyrics I think resonate most with him:

I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask and neither should you Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

Satan - Shrike

Satan had no idea there was any goodness in him. No idea he was capable of anything with a shred of goodness in it. That was, until you came along and showed him just how long his stone heart had only been lying dormant. It was never useless, as he had suspected. It just needed a skilled stonesmith to chip away at it carefully, which is exactly what you did.

Even as he felt you cracking away at his walls, he would not tell you how he felt. He knew from the first tap of your gentle hand on the rough rock of his heart that he was yours. That he always would be. But he could not utter his love. How was he to know if you did this to everyone you met? Was he as special to you as you were to him? Or was he just another sculpted heart in your collection?

He couldn’t hold out for long, though. Not when you were housing him in your heart’s warmth with no mention of reciprocation required. What was your scheme? Why were you showing such goodness to him, and at the same time revealing he was capable of the same? 

But when you whispered words of love to him, it all fell apart. The last chip of stone covering his heart shattered, as did his resolve to hide his love from you. He knows that you two will always be together, even after this lifetime ends. Perhaps the two of you will return, him as a thorn and you as his shrike.

The lyrics I think resonate most with him:

I had no idea on what ground I was founded All of that goodness is going with you now Then when I met you, my virtues uncounted All of my goodness is going with you now

and 

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn Remember me love when I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

Asmodeus - Nobody

Asmodeus, unlike his brothers, has known love. He has bathed in love, breathed in love, slept in love. He knows love. And yet, in all his years, he has known no love like your love. 

Your love is a wholly new phenomenon to Asmo. So pure, unfiltered, unconditional. Surprise picnic dates you spent all weekend planning, bouquets of flowers waiting for him on his bedspread, hugging him when you’re all sweaty after a jog because you know it bothers him. There is a fondness in your every action, even when you simply pick a nail polish shade for him to use for the week. It is an unfamiliar sensation for Asmo to feel such love through an accidental brush of the fingertips.

Because of this, Asmo never wants you or your relationship to change. Damn everything he has known before, damn the opinions of anyone he knows, damn what he knows of love! Your love is the only love he cares to know, now. Your love and everything that comes with it. 

Asmo has had many adventures and love affairs in his time, and yet you are the only one he never wants to end.

The lyrics I think resonate most with him:

And I think about you though everywhere I go And I've done everything and I've been everywhere, you know I've been fed gold By sweet fools in Abu Dhabi And I danced real slow With Rockettes on dodgy Molly But I've had no love like your love Ooh from nobody I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave But I want you to know that I've had no love like your love

Beelzebub - NFWMB

You are part of Beelzebub’s family. You have been ever since you slept beside him, holding his hand to keep his nightmares at bay. You are his family, and nothing fucks with his family.

Beelzebub’s family is his heart and soul. You are his heart and soul. He would do anything for you. Your little finger is stronger than any arsenal in the Devildom, because you have Beel wrapped around it. But part of the reason you have him in the first place is because he knows you would never use that to your advantage. You do not see Beel as a weapon, or a hungry beast, or a danger, nor even as an annoyance who empties the fridge every two days. No, you see him as Beel. And that’s all he can ask for. That’s all he wants.

Your affection for both him and his brothers is something he cherishes more than anything else. Nothing will harm you as long as he can help it. He has lost his family before, and he will not lose any ever again. The second your fingers interlocked with yours the night you slept at his side, he knew no harm would ever come to you from that moment on. 

Lucifer started a war for the ones he loved once long ago, and now Beelzebub knows that he would do the same.

The lyrics I think resonate most with him:

Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing can get a look in on my baby Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing If I was born as a black thorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies Ain't it warming you, the world goin' up in flames? Ain't it the life where you you're lighting off the blaze? Ain't it a waste it watch the throwing of the shade?

Belphegor - Would That I

Ever since the death of Lilith, Belphegor feared the fires of love, the fires of feeling, of emotion. He stomped on the embers of his heart and vowed never to light them again. It was easier to feel nothing than it was to feel her loss.

And then you...you and your blinding light, arrived. He hated you at first. He killed you, tried to put out your fire the same way he put out his own. But even death couldn’t douse your flame. You were a wildfire, one that had already spread to all his brothers and rapidly came to set him ablaze too.

It didn’t take you long to light him up. He knew it wouldn’t, but he still tried to fight it at first. The first word you spoke to him in the attic told him that if he were to ever burn bright again, it would be by your hand.

And that’s exactly what you did. Even after he had killed you, you fought to ignite the long-dead pyre of his heart. Your persistence wore him down until his lazy nature decided it would be easier to give in and let you burn him. He expected pain, expected scars, but instead he simply felt warmth. Your warmth. All the years he spent in the cold without even realizing it were suddenly over. He was warm in your arms, and he never wanted to leave again.

The lyrics I think resonate most with him:

With the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet Like the ashes of ash I saw rise in the heat Settle soft and as pure as snow I fell in love with the fire long ago With each love I cut loose I was never the same Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Laying waste to my loving long ago But that's not tonight  Where I'm set alight  And I blink in sight  Of your blinding light  And it's not tonight  Where you hold me tight  And the fire bright  Oh, let it blaze, alright, honey 

[semischarmed]

Projection

Have I ever told you about how the astral plane works? So, here’s a little secret about me. I’ve been dabbling the past few years a little in lucid dreaming. Well, it turns out I have a knack for it, and it’s amazing, I can go around doing whatever I want. I climbed Mount Everest, flew through the skies, visited Paris. The possibilities are literally endless. And, me being me, I like to go around in these dreams trying different ways at possessing people.

Of course, since it’s still a dream at the end of the day, the experience is somewhat detached. As fucking hot as it is, flooding my dream self inside my hot neighbor, or phasing into that cute barista at the Starbucks down the street, I always wake up to a sense of disappointment. There’s only so much the brain can make up. I’m not particularly smart or imaginative either, so it honestly feels like half my energy is spent just trying to maintain that dream.

So that led me to try other means. Of course, the next logical step was astral projection. Unlike a dream, when you project, you yourself are experiencing the world- the real world. I wanted to try my hand at projecting into people.

I found a book online that detailed specific steps on how to achieve this. I think this was where the trouble began. In addition to being a great lucid dreamer, I was apparently an astral projection savant. The book mentioned it could take months before I could manifest my full body outside the physical plane, and years before I could untether and explore the world. It took me two days before I was able to leave my own body and jump inside people.

All things considered, astral projection is a bit of a dead end. I thought I’d be able to jump inside people, control them, live as them, fuck as them, the works. Well, the human body is resilient. It knows what soul belongs in it, so there’s not much to do inside someone, you can’t really influence what they do, and people seem to pick up on the odd sensation of someone else being in the room with them, so even when I do jump inside someone masturbating or fucking, half of them stop on the spot. Still, when you’re in someone who’s a little more fearless, you feel their body as them, and, let me just say, it’s hot being inside someone when they masturbate. It’s like feeling your own hand do the deed, but you feel it as them. You feel every muscle, every feeling, every thought. The hot ones kind of suck at it, but the afterglow is pure bliss.

This book gives one strange rule on projection though: Twins, especially identical ones, are unique. They hold a special bond. “Do not project into a twin.” Given this ominous warning and my curiosity, and given how much of an expert I already was at this whole projecting thing, I had no choice but to try.

———

The first time I projected into a twin, was magical. Of course, I knew immediately who I wanted to test this on. The hot twins who lived down the street who were especially close. They seemed to have different people over all the time so at the very least, they were active. I had my sights on one particular twin: Chase. Goddamn what a specimen.

I decided to go into a sleeping Chase as a trial run during one of my late nights. The twins apparently slept on the same bed, which was a bit weird but was perhaps a testament to to their closeness. I thought it was kind of cute. Like with all projection, the body resists the intrusion and I have to claw my way into him. Easy enough.

Chase’s twin Caleb immediately stirred with eyes closed in confusion- “Chase... are you there?” The slumbering Chase did not respond. Upon closer inspection, I caught sight of Caleb’s slumbering form talking to the spirit of Chase that he took inside himself. Oh shit does this mean what I think it means? Then I decided to move inside Chase’s body while his form followed my spirit’s commands. I knew it.

The first thing I did once I realized I had full control of Chase, of course, was to start playing with this new dick. In my excitement, I was immediately drawn back into my own form, awoken by my raging hard-on. Damn it! Fucking tease. I decided to finish beating it out, with Chase’s hot bod on my mind and a resolve from then on to get better at this projecting thing and stay longer inside him.

I made a fascinating discovery that day- a discovery that had probably prompted that ominous message in the first place. Twins are already naturally connected in spirit, so when you astral project into a twin, you can displace them and the owner’s spirit actually has a welcome place to go.

———

The second time I projected into a twin, I went into the wrong one. Equally unfortunate  was that they seemed to have just had a fight, sitting in and angry silence before going to their respective rooms. I really should have done more research as far as who lived where because the person’s back that I slammed into was none other than Caleb. Likewise, it was apparently possible for twins to resist the displacement. This one was a fighter. The first thing I try to do in his body is flow into each limb and untether him. This proved to be fruitless, as he was easily able to fend off my attacks, kicking me right out of his body. I wasn’t one to lose a challenge so I again attempted a different route this time, concentrating all of me into his mind- control the mind and the body follows. Failure again. My final route was perhaps the cruelest, I expanded and positioned my soul to encompass all of him and began an all out barrage for control of his bod. Back and forth, my spirit squeezed in and out into him from all sides until he could no longer defend himself.

Finally, his soul submitted and I felt an emptying motion, accompanied by a quick shout from the other room. “H-What the fuck!” Chase barged in, visibly shaking, hands on his head in a mix of pain and confusion. He looked at me intently with an emotion I could not attribute. In response I gave a quick smirk and flipped him off with his own body before stating “Caleb, you’re pretty cute too. You like this? This is mine now.” As I start doing poses with his body, the emotion of my temporary twin became clear. Desire.

I stripped shirtless and began doing push-ups with his body, easily clearing 70 before finally breaking a sweat. I stood up and raised my Caleb arms, imbuing the room with his scent. Caleb looked on from Chase’s body with silent intent.

I then used Caleb’s nose to sniff his own armpits, used his own tongue to lick it clean, used his own mouth to flash him a demented smile. “Caleb, you taste very good, just like your hot brother,” I stated “-cmon, join meeee Chase... let’s do something sacrilegious” I ended with a wink. Of course, my fucking body woke up again, just when it was getting good. In the process, Chase also fell unconscious, as the real Caleb returned to himself. As I felt the last of my spirit be pulled back, and the waking world return, I caught the troubling sight of Caleb, back inside his own body, furiously masturbating over the events that had transpired.

——-

The third time I projected into a twin, he fell into depravity with me. Truth be told, I was again making a beeline right for Chase because, come on, look this face. Just as I was about to claim that tight ass, I felt myself get dragged into Caleb. A-fucking-gain. This time felt different though- he was still in the body with me. That in itself wasn’t too odd, given our fight from last time, but even  stranger this time around was that his body was willing. It readily welcomed my soul. His form followed my spirit’s every move, yet I still felt his soul present, compliant. I decided to do what I meant to do in Chase and began masturbating. At the end of the day, they were twins after all, Caleb was still fucking hot to cum through, and I was not one to miss an opportunity.

“Well I think today’s little trip is gonna be a two-for one” I said with his voice as I finished. I then purged myself from Caleb’s physical form and headed straight for Chase until I felt a part of my current body pull me back. My spectral form attempted to claw myself back towards Chase, but Caleb’s pull had been too strong. He wasn’t letting me go. My spirit recoiled and slammed right back into his and I felt a part of myself stain Caleb. “I didn’t say you could leave,” he commanded, forcing me to watch as he began to rub our body with his warm seed. Hot. We both brought some of it up to our shared mouth, taking in all that we had just completed. “If you want, I’ll let you go so you can go inside that asshole Chase”, he states, “Make him dirty like me...or I’ll have to”. That last line definitely threw me off. Though I meant to to investigate further, I again felt the pull of the waking world from my own body. He moaned a quick “thank you” before passing out.

The return trip to myself equally odd. The human body naturally resists a little before accepting a spirit, even when it’s the owner of that body but somehow mine accepted me with no push back. Something was off.

Still, being inside these twins was fucking hot and I was not going to let a few unfounded fears stop me. I set plans for my return trip to them.

———

The fourth time I projected into a twin was also the most impactful. I once again aimed for Chase, but immediately ran into a confusing sight...

Standing before me was Chase, or rather, Chase’s body, unconscious in frozen discomfort. As far as his soul, however, I could see its form convulsing and contorting in pain. I then catch sight of the cause of that pain- Caleb’s spectral form was somehow deep inside Chase’s filling into him. It’s like watching an infection in real-time.

I stood, or rather hovered, in silence at the bizarre display I had witnessed. Evidently, that was a mistake, because before I aimed to leave this terrifying sight and head back, I notice Chase’s unconscious form raise its head, turn right at me and give me a toothy, wicked smile. “I can see you”. Chase’s body licks its lips. “You probably didn’t know this but independent little Chase over here has been planning on leaving for a while now. Said we should split. Move to a different cities. Live out our own.” Chase’s body opens it’s eyes and starts walking to Caleb’s slumbering form. He leans over and starts making out with the unconscious Caleb. “Oh Caleb” he moans “Don’t worry. I’m never gonna leave you” Chase’s lips gently pry open Caleb’s and he snakes his tongue inside. Parts of Caleb’s cheek puff up and back down as Chase’s tongue explores every crevice. He sucks a little before letting out a satisfied sigh “so...so that’s what I taste like,” he says breathlessly.

Chase then starts playing with himself right next to his twin’s sleeping form and I couldn’t help but get a bit aroused. “You always were the hotter twin” Chase says to himself as he continues tracing his own calloused hands all over. His attention moves to the unconscious Caleb, who he stops first to ponder for a moment before beginning to pump. He then positions Chase’s mouth over his original body to expertly deepthroat his own dick. This stirs the Caleb body to life, and he makes them both finish on each other off.

With both bodies, Caleb finishes licking himself clean. “Since it’s all me over here, this is technically just masturbating” he says confidently, as if to justify the disturbing sight I just witnessed. Caleb then positions Chase’s sweaty body behind his and has Chase wrap his sweaty biceps into an embrace from behind. “Like I said bro [moan], I’m never leaving you”. Two amused pairs of eyes then look directly at me. “You’re never leaving us either right? We have to thank you somehow for this,” they say, gesturing at their incestuous selves. I am immediately creeped out. After thinking for a few seconds, they chime in unison “Welcome to the family! We have a present for you”. With that, Caleb drops unconscious. That was signal enough for me, giving me shock I need to head straight back for my body.

Of course, by the time I get there, I instead see my own self, sitting naked, eyes rolled back and moaning as he maneuvers my hands all over. I see him continue to explore me, twisting my nipples, which, fuck that feels good, masturbating me, using my own body to maneuver in ways I never did before. With Caleb inside, my body moves with a confidence I never had. The experience is surreal. The sheer pleasure more or less stuns my soul on the spot. When my physical body finishes cumming, Caleb brings our hands to scoop it up and, oddly, it tasted different- slightly salty, slightly sweet, slightly Caleb. He sniffs our armpit and, again, the scent was rank, putrid, and nothing I’ve ever created. What was coming out of my body was undeniably Caleb.

“Mmmmmm... property of Caleb now” he says with my voice, as he rubs my Caleb-smelling sweat all over. Admittedly this was kind of hot. With an assured stride that I didn’t know my body could perform, Caleb opens my door, greeted by a Chase carrying his own unconscious twin. Caleb brings my body to his own and starts defiling himself. He turns his own body around and starts fucking it with my penis. Fuck that also feels good. With each pump, his own body starts to animate, ever so slightly. When he finally cums, my physical form falls unconscious and Caleb stirs awake. I take this as my chance to get back inside me. Success.. and god with Caleb smeared all over me, I smell disgustingly good.

“You’ll never leave me, right?” The body in front of me questioned. I’m a bit taken aback and try to stammer out a response “Uh...-“ before I could finish, Chase penetrates me from behind. “That would be a no” He whispers before giving my ear a playful bite. Why did he have to be so cute. This whole series of events was something straight out of my dreams. Despite this, my self preservation instincts kick into overdrive. Whatever this is, however good this feels, I need to get out. Fast.

As if he could read my mind, Caleb’s body smiles as he makes his twin use his rough fingers to gently grab my hair and pull me back. He leans Chase over to give me a deep, sensual kiss. “Oh well, Chase isn’t here anymore. Caleb took me, all of me. We’ve always had a deep connection... but he wanted more-I trusted him and he used that love to get inside me, pervert my soul... he’s in so deep inside me now that Caleb is all that’s left.” He wipes his sweaty face all over mine and continues making out. He then starts gyrating his hips, pushing more of himself inside my body as the Caleb body does the opposite and swallows more of my still-hardened rod with his ass. I feel the throbbing almost impossibly deep inside me from Chase’s dick as they proceed. “Thank you for this” they moan in unison.

They continue humping me from both sides, locking me in a paralyzed bliss. “We wanted to give you something special for keeping us close” they say. Then I felt it in my soul. Caleb. He pulls my spirit out and with his twin souls begin to fuck me in the astral plane. The feeling is indescribable. Nirvana. Bliss. Ecstasy. Enveloped by and merged to Caleb and Chase’s spectral forms, completion. This could be me. This could be us forever.

Then reality snaps back and I am floating alone. I finally regain my composure I try to head back to my unconscious, smiling body. No dice. “Occupied” it says with a chuckle. I head for Chase’s instead, “mmmm getting close” it moans. My body grins wider and motions to the unconscious Caleb. He spits with both bodies at his own motionless form. “Go ahead, take you new place, Caleb”. With no other option, I fill into the empty Caleb shell.

Chase and my body then start fucking each other. Hard. Messy. He’s doing more things with my body that I didn’t even know was possible, and as the original owner of my body, and the current inhabitant of Caleb’s, I feel both motions amplified. Im sure he feels the same.

As Chase, he turns my body around, and again rams his thick dick inside. My body involuntarily gasps, which causes me to gasp inside of Caleb. He forces a wicked, dirty smile out of my body’s face as he plunges ever deeper. He slips Chase’s sweaty abs onto my body’s back, wraps tone, sweaty Chase biceps over mine into an armlock from behind and takes plump Chase lips into a quick peck on my body’s cheek. My body then sags unconscious. Despite the sight, the smell throughout the sweaty combination was undeniably just Caleb’s.

Chase’s eyes flutter and his body trembles as Caleb repossessed his twin’s body with the extra soul he stuffed mine with. With double the soul inside, Chase exudes double the vitality and in that sweaty embrace, Caleb again gyrated his twin’s body into mine as he fills it with double the seed- double the soul. “T-thank you for the house warming present. I’ll take real good care of you-you’ll take real good care of us” he moans, as Chase’s body now goes unconscious as well. Dread fills me.

Aside from the odd cases with twins, human bodies know who their masters are. The act of imbuing a soul into a different body is, in and of itself, unnatural. So it was at this point that my empty body starts involuntarily writhing, trying to escape. I see tears well in my closed eyes, still unconscious from effort. Of course, as Caleb, I motion to protect myself from whatever was going to occur next and set to pull my unconscious form off the Chase embrace. Before I could pull my body out of the entrapment, it shoots awake, face swinging upward to face me. Bright white eyes shoot open. Behind my skin I see a force pushing deep inside, stretching it unnaturally. The visage of Chase appears, beneath my flesh, wearing my face like a mask. Though it’s Chase’s spirit he melds, the smile growing is undeniably Caleb. When it all settles, eyes roll back into place. Instead of my normal eyes, Chase’s pale blue orbs appear in their place. The crooked smile grows to a laugh on my body, teeth looking odd, until I realize it was Chase’s own molars poking through my own mouth. He takes shallow breaths and smears more sweat around himself, and though I can’t place if it was my own body’s sweat or Chase’s, the smell emanating is fully Caleb. Bones crack, skin shivers and stretch and contract and construct and I feel, from my own soul, a massive wave of nausea.

If astral projection into another is, in itself, an unnatural act, astral displacement, astral merging was another layer of corruption entirely, it was unholy. He was changing something in me, fundamentally. Wave after wave of Chase’s flesh bleed into my body from Caleb’s onslaught. My nausea shifts into a unique pain, a pain of the soul, originating from where he stuffed my physical form full of Chase’s seed-Caleb’s seed, mixing and amalgamating us into a wholly new being. Musculature appears in place of the frame of my body’s previous shape as more and more of it is twisted and contorted. Then, perhaps in one last push of defiance, my body screams involuntarily, and I, in Caleb, scream.

“So you’ll never leave me, like he planned to” Caleb says, with a mix of my voice and his, as he rams the last, massive part of himself into my body. My physical form’s face contorts in discomfort one last time before Caleb settles it into satisfaction. “Look at us” he states as he runs vascular new hands over my body’s new face and then uses that new face to give me a seductive wink. “We’re cute as a button”. The transformation was complete- my old self no longer recognizable in the new brother he had created.

The change, of course, had hit my soul as well. From inside Caleb I screamed...convulsed...shook... moaned... you know, the works. When that last bit of Caleb dug inside my spirit and changed me, I truly felt him, felt my twin, felt his love. I’ll be a better Chase for him than Chase ever was. Our souls are bonded for life. I am a part of Caleb now, and he is a part of me. Everyone experiences it differently, but we’re all grateful after to have Caleb inside us, to be a part of something greater. I like to think I have the extra privilege of being his twin, new and improved, wearing his old body’s skin while he wears and controls mine. And sometimes, with his permission, I get to play around inside the others. Sometimes we switch and he lets me jump inside Chase, like I’m doing now. The only body off limits is my old one. I like to think that makes me special, it’s the only body Caleb keeps his soul in 100 percent of the time. It’s proof of our special connection. And he wears the new me so well, better than I ever could anyways.

And, well, that takes us to today doesn’t it? Why even tell you all of this? Caleb likes you. I like you. We like you. And we think it’s time to expand the family again. You got some good traits to work with- we’ll get a lot use out of that bod, after a few adjustments. You’re probably feeling a little sleepy now. Sorry, guilty, that was me. Oh this thick Chase dick you feel inching deeper inside your ass? Yep, obviously also me. But, cmon future bro, dig deeper, listen with your body. What else are you feeling? Do you feel our love, throbbing in you? Do you something else, leaking inside? Do you feel these calloused Chase hands pulling you ever deeper into us? Do you feel him? Do you feel Caleb already worming himself into you? Good. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you. You’re gonna love us. We’re gonna be fucking hot together after we’re done with you. Welcome Home.

—End —

Wanted to explore something a little different with this one. Hope y'all like it!

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

If possible... Headcannons/fanfic from 2p Germany and 2p Russia, separately, taking interest in a friend from one country? Context: The country's friend is immortal, because of problems she went in her country's replacement at the meeting with the other countries. She has a very affectionate and outgoing personality, so she quickly picks up romantic interest from the attendees.

Sorry it took so long. Here it is!

2p Russia

A lone tall man walked through the basement halls of the United Nations building. His large, long blacked coat protected him from the chill of the A.C. and in his left hand was a simple black briefcase. His steps were quiet along the concrete, but his momentary silence would not last for much longer.

A set of steel doors sat closed and was located at the end of the hall. The sounds that lied within warned of chaos and death. Viktor blew a hard breath through his nose, as much as he wanted to leave, this meeting was important. It was the first time in a long time that all the 2ps were meeting and to avoid it could be costly.

Opening the door Viktor noticed that many nations were grouped together. The Nordics were in the back corner of the room talking about business. Germany and Italy were near their seats, both seemed to be scanning the crowd. Viktor guessed it was to see the missing member of their trio. Once Viktor found his seat, his eyes wandered around again.

This time his eye drifted over to the FACE family. Normally there were shouts and the clink of coins hitting glass, but today it was much quieter. As Viktor looked closer at the four, he realized something. Allen wasn’t there. Instead, there was a woman among them. She was (Y/H) and had (S/C) skin. The strange woman was leaning against the sitting blond Canadian. Both were talking and were smiling. Viktor did note that Matt seemed to have a small blush on his face. His observation was interrupted by a voice.

“All right-a everyone. Take your-a seats and shut-a up!”

Viktor grunted and looked over as the woman moved to take Allen’s seat. His eyebrow rose, this would take some investigating. But that would have to wait.

The meeting went almost as Viktor had expected. Various nations would present an issue, try to make it seem that their homes were thriving, and others would say their piece on an issue. During each part of this song and dance, some nation would then distract everyone. The main offender this time happened to be Macau. He had been going around attempting to piss of Italy so that he could win a bet.

Overall a normal meeting, but Viktor could not help but be distracted by the (E/C) beauty. She had been outgoing the entire meeting. Asking questions to the presenters, offering solutions, and overall being pleasant. It was cute, but there was one habit that stood out, pet names. Each person was given their own.

Despite the cuteness, Viktor was getting annoyed. It was not at the charming lady, but rather at his fellow nations. Their infatuation was apparent in the blushes and sudden smiles that came from their interactions with her. Viktor was not pleased with how others looked at her like a meal or a treasure. He also wasn’t pleased that he was feeling this way over a stranger, better yet a stranger attached to Allen.

With the end of the meeting came the desire for answers. Viktor rose quickly like a weasel looking for prey. He moved calmly and quickly over to the stranger. There he stood, in front of her but unnoticed, while she giggled and affectionately was playing around with England. Viktor felt his ire increase when she gave the killer baker a kiss. His blush made Viktor’s stomach twist in a painful way.

Before confronting her, Viktor looked over to the Canadian that seemed to be looking over at the pair jealously.

“Kaнaдa, who is this?”

“That’s (Y/N) (L/N). An old friend of Al’s, we’ve known her since childhood and since Al’s buried under work, he asked her to step in for him.”

Viktor just hummed in response. This woman was becoming more interesting. With two steps and a cough, Viktor stood in front of the playful pair.

Their attention turned to him quickly. The Brit did not look happy to be interrupted, while the woman smiled at him. Using his practiced grace Viktor reached out and took her hand. A gentle kiss was placed upon it.

“Hello, Ms. (L/N). I am the Russian Federation. Is there a chance you have a moment to discuss some things with me?”

(Y/N) covered her mouth and giggled. To Viktor, and many others it sounded like silver bells.

“Of course, I have some time before I have to get these notes to Al.”

Being the gentleman, he offered her his elbow. She responded with a bright smile and (Y/N) hooked her arm into his and followed the red eyed male out.

It was not long before they found a spot to sit and discuss. Their conversations soon left the topics of business and became more personal. Viktor was intrigued, despite the difference in the centuries she had lived, he couldn’t help but feel connected to her. To him her presence felt like a balm for his soul.

A beeping turned the chatting duo into silent statues. It was (Y/N)’s phone. She glanced quickly at it and grimaced.

“I’m sorry Viktor, I have got to get going. Al’s waiting for me and these papers.”

Of course. Allen just had to cut their time short. Standing alongside (Y/N), Viktor offered to give her a ride. Just something to give him more time to bask in her glow.

Being the true optimist, (Y/N) accepted with an enthusiastic yes!

The trip to his car and then to Al’s apartment felt too fast for Viktor. Before (Y/N) could leave the car. Viktor looked at (Y/N), he felt emotions that could not be explained easily, but he knew one thing. He needed to get to know (Y/N) better. So, he was going to take a chance.

“Would you care to go on a date with me? It is nothing serious, just a chance for us to get to know one another better.”

(Y/N) was not surprised. She just smiled and looked back at Viktor while getting out of the car.

“I would love to, but you need to realize one thing. I have noticed quite a few nations giving me the same goo-goo eyes that you have. So, be prepared for a fight for my heart.”

With a wink and giving Viktor a small sheet of paper, (Y/N) was gone. She had waltzed into Allen’s apartment building like a dream.

Looking down Viktor saw that the sheet was her phone number. Despite his cold heart, Viktor smirked to himself. He would figure out these feelings and if God willed it, he would secure her heart.

2p Germany

It was too loud and cold in this basement. The chaos had decided to get started before the meeting. Nations were yelling and weapons were flying. The A.C. was blowing like it was the reason for the next ice age. It was all annoying. All Luther wanted to do was sleep, maybe people watch, but that wouldn’t happen if these conditions continued.

With a deep groan Luther sat up straight and stretched. The sound of a satisfying pop alerted him that his stretching had relaxed muscles.

Luther glanced at the clock, and his head tilted to the left like a confused puppy. It was about ten minutes after the hour. That means the meeting should have started ten minutes ago, why hadn’t it started? He glanced around and understood one thing. Luciano, aka Italy, was not there.

Luther felt a little embarrassed he should have realized that earlier, but in his defense, the exhaustion and the beginnings of a headache ate at his awareness. Before he could wonder about the location of his missing Genosse, a (Y/H) woman ran over to the podium at the front of the room.

Her hair was wild, her face was flushed, gorgeous (E/C) looked around excitedly. She carried a smile as she reached forward and tapped on the microphone.

“Hello everyone, I apologize for being late. But I am (Y/N) (L/N) and I’m stepping in for Italy today. Sadly, he is out due to getting grounded and he has asked that I lead this meeting.”

Luther raised a brow and smirked. How cute. This pretty little vixen was now attempting to lead the meeting. The next few hours would be fun, well for him anyway.

For many nations the meeting was considered normal. Interruptions and fighting, before the more business-oriented nations took back control. This included the lovely (Y/N), but try as she may to keep the focus, many nations shattered her attempts like already cracked glass.

For one thing, Austria could not leave (Y/N) be. He was constantly interrupting presenting nations by breaking in rock ballads, mostly singing about (Y/N). While Norway was asking her whether or not she wanted to see a flaming heart, no one was quite sure what that mean. Since it was Norway, everyone knew that fire and pyros should not mix, except for (Y/N). Luckily Denmark stopped him by confiscating his lighter. Lastly, Luther joined in. He was dropping pickup lines and teasing (Y/N). Other nations did some stuff too, but it was not as entertaining as those three.

Throughout it all (Y/N) just giggled and responded with affection. In some cases, it was a compliment, other nations got gentle gestures. Those that received her affection either blushed or looked a little shocked.

Luther knew (Y/N) was gorgeous before, but her outgoing and sweet nature made her much more lovely. He thought he might be developing a crush, but Luther didn’t dwell to long on that thought. Mostly because everyone was getting up to leave and some of his rivals were closing in on (Y/N).

Without thinking it through, Luther quickly moved to take a spot by (Y/N)’s side. (Y/N) was surprised but didn’t seem to be against his presence. Luther gave a side smile and asked to walk her out. Somehow (Y/N)’s smile got even bigger, and she nodded.

Together they walked out of the cold, basement room. Luther gave dark glares at nearby nations while (Y/N) smiled and waved at the nations that walked by.

As they walked, Luther decided to get to know this little beauty more.

“So, how long have you known Luciano?”

“Since the third century, after all we grew up together in a way, though I am still way younger than him.”

This comment caused Luther to stop walking. Was she like them or some other thing that he didn’t know existed? Any way Luciano has some explaining to do later.

Luther watched as (Y/N) slowed, stopped and looked back at him. Her eyes seemed to be full of mischief and a cat-like smile rested on her face.

“Luther, if you don’t want to walk me to Luci’s I’m sure some other nation would be more than happy to take your place.”

Luther’s eyes went wide. He wasn’t expecting this sweet woman to be an observant and playful tease. It was hot.

“Liebling, why call someone else when I’m the only one you need.”

Both let out a chuckle as they stepped through the door that led into the stairwell. This seems to be the start of a classic love story.

[needleanddead]

remember when i was like ‘i will probably use this blog to write some horrible reader-insert fanfiction too’? yeah. 

knife-edge, strade x reader, 3.2k

trigger warnings: not sfw, non-con, blood, violence, gore, references to torture/snuff films, honestly i figure you probably know what you’re getting into if you’re seeing this. reader uses no pronouns/neutral pronouns but is vaguely implied to be afab. 

cross-posted to ao3

You do not know how you still have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg.

Well.

That’s a lie, really; you have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg, because you know that the moment you stop – the moment you let yourself truly succumb to that pit of nothingness that lies heavy and waiting in your chest – he will lose interest in you completely, and you will meet the same fate as all of the rest of them do.

Despite the shock collar that lies heavy around your throat; the proof that he had seen some value in you beyond what you might feel like if he tore you into pieces and let you rot, you know that any peace you have here is temporary. He’ll get bored. He’ll lose control. He’ll--

Sometimes you wonder if those things might be better. The idea of death hovers at the edges of your vision like a spectre, waiting for you – and you are a coward and you run from it, whimpering and sensitive with tears rolling down your cheeks whenever he takes you back down the creaking basement stairs and wraps rope around already rubbed-raw wrists.

You don’t think you’d recognise the sight of your own wrists without the rope burn any more. It seems so long since you’ve been anything other than captive. You’re not sure you even know who you are unless you have a blade half-buried in your thigh or thick fingers digging and reopening wounds or pliers too close to vulnerable flesh.

You think he likes that, too – that you don’t seem to exist unless you’re hurting. Delights that he’s broken you without breaking the part of you that he really likes; the one with the trembling lip and the gasping and the tears beading in your eyes. You beg less now; you have learnt that he’s always able to turn a ‘please, please don’t, not that--’ into something that’s somehow worse. But when you’d first woken up all rope-burnt and disoriented with your arms wrapped around a pole in a basement that smelt like copper and oil, you had begged until your throat was sore.

What you had gotten for your troubles was your own hand wrapped around the knife handle as you sliced into too soft, too giving flesh and stared in horror at bubbling rivulets of blood with the dim thought in the back of your mind; I did this to myself.

It’s a dangerous knife-edge that you’re walking; don’t fight too much, but don��t give in too much. Don’t break, but don’t entirely yield. If he gets bored of you, or if you push him too far – then the collar around your neck will be carefully unlocked and you’ll regret everything. You’ll meet the fate that you so narrowly avoided, bleeding and broken and disoriented as your life slips away to the tune of Strade’s fingers wrapped too hard about your throat.

Or worse, you’ll meet the fate you’ve seen some of the ones who have broken too early become acquainted with; bandana wrapped around his mouth and camera painstakingly readjusted to perfectly centre a sobbing, terrified face. You have been far too close to the ones who end up that way; brought down to the basement and given a nail gun as you’re shoved onto your knees in front of a girl who might once have been pretty but is a little too matted with blood and bruises to be called the same any more.

“I thought they might like to see someone else hurt her this time, schatzi,” his smile had not dimmed a watt. When you had first met him, that smile had put you at ease; his eyes had reminded you of honey, and you’d been so flattered, so warmed, to have the attention of someone who oozed easy charm--

You know now his eyes are not the soft amber of honey but the sharp yellow-orange of a hawk; a predator. When he had smiled at you, he had not been thinking of the kindness of making someone feel comfortable – he had merely been imagining how prettily you would break. Which, as he had not failed to tell you after you’d sobbed out every plea you could and had jagged stitches and broken bones and blood crusted on your face to prove it, had been even more lovely than he had imagined.

The nail gun had been too heavy in your hand; the trigger sweaty, because Strade himself was over-excited and flushed dark pink under tanned skin and excitement beading at his brow. Your fingers had slipped all over it as he’d murmured;

“They want you to put a pretty pattern in her up her shins to her knees. Start at the . . . haa, start at the ankle--”

You’d felt something inside of you snap as if it was very far away as you stared at her legs; already cut up a little and stitched messily, as Strade is so wont to do to make sure his captives last longer. You hesitate too long, because suddenly thick, strong fingers are gripping your jaw and squeezing too hard as they turn your face towards the camera like a rabbit caught in headlights.

His fingers will bruise your face, you know – and he will see it tomorrow, and dig them harder, make the bruises deeper until you can barely open your jaw--

“Ah, they think you’re cute, mäuschen,” Strade says, an uncomfortable lilt in his voice that sets your teeth on edge. “They’d be happy to see you as the star instead – and I’m sure our other guest would much prefer it too.”

(The girl in the chair leans forward, babbling words that don’t make sense; bubbling drool slips from her lips, tinged pink, and you think that this one must have talked too much and Strade has done something to her tongue).

“Now,” his tone is endlessly patient. “You know I want to keep you, ja? You’re very sweet. I like you a lot - so be good and do what the audience want, and I won’t have to do something I don’t want to, will I?”

He is hard to read. Cheerful to angry in moments; snapping and bouncing from side to side with a laugh and a wild light in his eyes that you don’t understand. He does like you – insofar as you think Strade is capable of really feeling for other people – but you can’t wager your life on him bluffing. The girl looks at you with agonised eyes and you pull the trigger, the nose of the gun pressed against her ankle.

You hear her scream – wet, through a throat clogged with blood, the sound mixing with the disgusting crunch-squelch of the nail being driven into her skin too close to the bone – and it echoes far longer in your head than it actually lasts. You feel far away as you trail the gun further up her leg, pulling the trigger, your marks on her surprisingly straight considering how much the both of you are trembling – but you know you’re crying because you can hear Strade breathing a little heavy, see the bulge in his pants (level with your face) from the corner of your eye as you finish the first leg and move to the second.

It’s not the last time he makes you hurt someone on stream. Sometimes, he checks the stream whilst you’re there and whichever poor soul he’s got taped to a chair whimpers and squirms, whistling cheerily through his teeth as if the situation is perfectly normal. You see the comments as they scroll by; asking you to do horrible things, the ping of donations, the occasional plea to dig a screwdriver into your eye socket and make you scream or pull out your teeth with pliers or slash a heavy knife through your ribcage and fuck the wound he leaves there--

You think he lets you see them on purpose, as a reminder of what he could do to you. He always makes sure the stream sees your face perfectly clearly, too – and you never fail to think; ‘he is making me an accessory to his murders’.

(It is not just you; you find out that Ren is subjected to this same treatment, this same reminder that Strade’s moods are volatile and he loses self-control too quickly and there’s every chance that one day, he will go too far. You do not share your thoughts with Ren that even if, by some miracle, the two of you found yourself outside of Strade’s control, your face is probably plastered all over the darkest shadows of the deep web. You never talk about what might happen. You do not quite trust each other beyond sharing in patching up each other’s wounds, occasionally seeking one another out for company, trembling in the night. There is a kind of tension between you; fear that the other is the favourite. That Strade perhaps isn’t capable of keeping both of you long-term.

It makes Strade himself laugh when he sees that you’re on edge around each other and he leans forward to rest elbows on knees and tells you with a wicked glint in his eye that he just wants the both of you to get along. Perhaps you two need to share something very special, like what he shares with the both of you.

When he tells you to hurt one another, Ren has the advantage of animal nature. It’s clear to you where you stand in the pecking order of predators. You think, too, that Strade prefers you there. Master, fox, mouse.)

You never hear anything from the room designated as yours; it doesn’t escape notice that there is no other bedroom, aside from Ren’s domain and the one that Strade himself barely uses. Nowhere for someone else, if Strade were to take it into his head that another captive would be an interesting pet to keep--

It has been long enough that there are some things you have asked for, tremulous and whimpering, decorating surfaces and scattered about the room. There are also reminders of Strade, too; a hammer and nails on a chest of drawers, a knife in the bedside cabinet, too many things that could be used as weapons at the same time as being summarily excused as simply the detritus of a man doing home improvements.

You’d woken up that morning (you know it is morning because early fingers of dawn have penetrated even through the curtains you keep closed) to see Strade silhouetted in the doorway, smile on his face, shirt spattered with dark red and brown. You know that expression. You sit up, letting the covers fall, and he keeps smiling as he closes the door behind him and approaches you like a wolf approaches a frightened rabbit.

“Last night was disappointing,” he says, his tone light. You’d heard a thump in the middle of the night; assumed it to be Strade dragging a body down to the basement, and had resolutely buried your face into your pillow and pretended you heard nothing.

It’s easier to think of Strade’s other victims – the ones not so lucky as you or Ren – as faceless, foolish creatures. Food. Sustenance. Not people.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, cracking. Strade reaches across and chucks your chin, too fondly, bright smile and bright eyes.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. He’s pleased with the apology. He likes it when you’re polite. “It just means that I’m feeling a little . . . ahh. Restless. You’ll help me with that, won’t you?”

“Of c-course I will.” The stutter; he likes that, you know. He shifts as he sits on the bed.

A chuckle.

“You’re always so well-behaved,” he tells you. “sehr süß.”

The knife-edge you walk; the tight-rope. Well-behaved, but not broken. Responsive, but not troublesome. You’ve gotten it down to a fine art.

He’s on top of you before you can respond, knees shoved between your legs, your hand shoved hard against the bedside table so it knocks uncomfortably against hard wood and you flinch at the shock of pain.

The brief pain, though, is nothing to the anxiety that crawls up your throat as you realise he grabbed the hammer and nails as he walked in.

He chuckles as he sees your eyes widen in fear, cooing softly to you;

“That expression. So hübsch. Stay still for me.”

Your wrist is shaking as Strade carefully places a nail right in the centre of your hand; testing the angle, the positioning. His breath is uneven and panting in excitement at what he’s going to do – and excitement, too, that he knows you won’t pull away. Because you know if you do, it will not merely be a nail through one hand, but perhaps through your other and your knees and your feet, perhaps a knife slicing through you like butter, perhaps the feel of chisels and needles and sharper and more painful objects (knife, pliers, screwdriver, chisel, bradawl, drill--).

He lifts the hammer. He watches intently. His eyes are lit with bright excitement, chest heaving, sweat-soaked and greasy. You taste copper and realise you’ve bitten through your lip.

You’ve grown used to the smell of copper and motor oil and meat. If it weren’t for the flood of blood across your tongue you doubt you’d have noticed.

Crack. The first blow. The pain is blinding.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Every single hit of the hammer sends a new shock of pain through you that echoes through the inside of your arm through to the bone marrow, shaking you. It’s not the most painful thing you’ve felt at Strade’s hands; but you are still partly asleep, still not quite aware, and you are simply looking at your hand with the crunch of fractured bones (twenty seven bones in the human hand; is that your capitate, that’s been splintered through?) and the sick wet noise of blood and muscle and you can’t think.

You stare, unblinking, at where your hand is nailed to the bedside table - the gore and blood that oozes from the wound as he uses the clawed end of the hammer to drag it out again. Strade’s smile is beatific, eyes wide and bright, sweat dampening his collar and his cheeks flushed and ruddy.

You’re unable to process anything for another long, agonising second; relief flooding you when finally, you respond. The whimper a delayed reaction, the tears that roll fat and hot down your own face taking a beat longer than usual.

You fear that you’ve broken for the moment you’re staring in horror; that he has finally, well and truly snapped you in half. Because if you’re broken, that means he’ll lose interest, and that means the basement and the fear of death finally catching up with you.

Occasionally the thought flits across your mind that death perhaps would be preferable; but you are a coward, and you have hurt people (even if it was on Strade’s command), and you do not want to know what awaits you on the other side of a non-beating heart and the light in a tunnel.

Strade chuckles, affectionately rubbing his nose against the line of your jaw, teeth digging just a little too hard into the flesh of your neck.

“You had me worried for a second, mäuschen,” he practically purrs. “I thought I’d heard the last of your squeaking.” Big fingers, tugging at your thighs, guiding you to wrap them around his hips. Despite the softness of his body, the proof that he enjoys lazing around and cheap beer and meat a little too much, there’s raw muscle beneath the chub. Even his hands on you are a reminder of how strong he is.

(Strong enough to drag dead bodies across floors, to lift them into kilns, to hold down unwilling, screaming captives and make them regret they ever laid eyes on him.)

“Unzip,” he tells you. One of your hands is free; unpierced, though scarred from being pressed against stove burned and soldering irons and heat guns, from grabbing the blade of a knife when he’s told you to fuck yourself with the handle, from sanders applied to formerly soft skin. You do not use that hand.

You force yourself to move the one dripping in your own blood, the ruined hand pierced straight through. The movement of your fingers burns, sending shock waves of pain all through you; but you tug at the zip of his pants nonetheless. You get blood all over his clothes but he just chuckles low and dangerous, as you reach into his underwear too and squeeze your eyes shut when you feel how hot and hard and heavy his cock is in your grip.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you, soft, and you force yourself to open them. He drinks in the expression on your face like he’s a starved man and it’s his first meal.

There’s a bloody handprint on his shaft when your fingers and wrist finally give out and your hand falls onto the sheets and pillows beneath you, staining them too, and you think that Strade is going to drive more nails through your hand just to prove a point about not doing as he says.

But his cock presses hot and needy against your inner thigh, smearing blood and pre-come on your scarred skin, and he’s panting and practically drooling as he murmurs;

“You know you’re not going to break, schatz. You want to live too much.” He leans his face further down. He does not kiss you so much as take control of you; worry teeth into your bottom lip, transfer his own saliva into your mouth, conquer the cavern behind your lips and teeth (one of them is loose; from being hit and squeezed. He pushes his tongue just a little too hard against that one and your body contracts, a whimper transferred from your throat to his mouth, and he swallows it up like your protests are a fine steak). “Ah. That’s what I like about you.”

Are you going to break? The push of him pressing inside of you makes your toes curl, a soft noise that might be a moan escape; Strade laughs, again, the sound too hearty and friendly to come out of the monster that you know he is.

“You like it,” he presses, as his thumbs come to your hips and dig into wounds that have been stitched together; you hear the stitches pop, feel him re-open barely healed gashes. “You like being special to me. You like this.”

You don’t think you do.

You don’t think you like any of this; his body on top of yours, the pain, the mistrust, the fear that prickles hot and sharp and sour in your throat whenever you hear the door (the one you can’t go near) open. But you also know that saying that is the wrong answer. Hitting and screaming like a wildcat is the wrong answer. Saying nothing at all is the wrong answer.

So instead, you open your mouth, you shiver and shudder as his thumb presses deeper into the re-opened wound, and you manage to choke out a mouse-squeak of;

“Pl-please—”

It’s the right answer. His face does not soften; but his smile widens, his hips tilting until you’re so full you can barely move and you ache everywhere, and Strade simply smiles down at you as whatever passes for affection for him leaks into his tone and he coos;

“Don’t worry, mäuschen. I’ll give you exactly what you want. For as long as you need.”

[german translation dictionary;  schatzi - sweetheart/dear/darling/treasure mäuschen - little mouse sehr süß - very sweet/very cute so hübsch - so pretty idk how accurate these are i am just using google translate always]

[dameronology]

everything i need {mando x reader}

summary: din has to rethink his life plans how that you’re by side - not that he’s complaining {i do have a taglist but it’s 1am and i simply cannot be arsed to find it, please accept my not very sincere and very tired apologies}

warnings: much language 

enjoy!! sorry for the lack of imagines lately, i’m back at work and working as a director on two of my group projects so i am neck deep in covid-related paperwork. 

- jazz

p.s this has not been proofread, because i am just that shit 

Din Djarin had never needed a reason to find a home. Settling down permanently wasn’t an option in his line of work. Permanence had never been part of his plan. 

Then again, a lot of things hadn’t been part of his plan. The Child certainly hadn’t; if you’d told him five years ago that his firstborn son was going to look like...well, like that, he probably would have drop kicked you into the next rim. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t imagine his life without the kid now, or that he would rain hell on anyone who would dare lay a finger on the toad-like toddler. His life had gone in a direction he never could have anticipated and his son wasn’t even the biggest detour. That was you. Din wasn’t even entirely sure where you’d come from or when you’d come into his life, but he would have first surrendered his ship and everything on it before even considering the notion of living without you. Whether it was simply luck, or whether there was some higher power who finally decided to give him a fucking break, The Mandalorian had a family. He was no longer a lone gunslinger with nothing to lose; now, he had everything to lose.

The fear that came with his newfound vulnerability was a small price to pay, however. In the quieter moments - when it was just you and him and the kid - he had no question in his mind that everything was worth it. Every fright, every concern, every agonising moment that Din spent overthinking and calculating a million and one ways to keep you both safe was completely and irretrievably worthwhile. It was a little unconventional but a family was a family. A clan of three. 

You didn’t often get to take breaks. They came every few months, usually whenever Din needed had had a particularly had job. You’d found your place halfway between helping him kick-ass and babysitting the Child (who at this point, was essentially your son too). It meant that days you were running across rooftops in Nevarro with a blaster in hand, and others you were running around after your kid, holding a diaper rather than a gun. The duality was astounding.

The last few weeks had been a little hard. There had been one bounty who had been relentless, and another who had tried to take a hit at you. It hadn’t taken long for you to put the bastard in his place but the Mandalorian had taken it a little more personally than you. Before throwing him into the carbonite, Din had broken a little more than six of the target’s ribs and given him a nice shiner on his left eye. He never minded when he was the one who had a punch or two thrown at him but when it was you? Din never took to it lightly. 

Once both bounties had been sent to their respective clients and you’d collected your rewards, Din had set the Crest’s path towards a jungle planet. It was one he had frequented a few years ago - before you, before the kid - and whilst it was a little desolate, it was safe. It was away from any Imps, any potential danger. It meant that you could both let your guards down for a bit and put your feet up. Plus, the Child had been dealing with cabin fever for the better part of two weeks and you were convinced you were going to lose it if you didn’t get the little fucker to some open space soon. Preferably one with lots of frogs, because he was not taking well to the freeze-dried food that you’d been fobbing him with him for the last few months. 

You were laying in an open field, weight propped up on your elbows as you glanced out into the grass over your sunglasses. Din was making his way back towards you, trudging through the long blades; the low evening sun was bouncing off the beskar of his helmet, causing you to scrunch your face up. You could tell from the way he was talking that he was exhausted. He’d been on kid duty all day (it was your turn tomorrow) and somehow, that was more tiring that any bounty. 

‘Where is he-’

Your question was answered before you could even finish it; the little creature suddenly appeared through the grass, hitting your shin with a thump. Digging his claws into your jeans, he scrambled up onto your legs, plopping into your lap and leaning against your stomach. He peered up at you with big brown eyes for a second, before twisting back around to rest his head against your chest for a nap. There went your evening plans.

‘Did he eat anything?’ You raised your arm out to Din, signalling for him to sit next to you.

Aside from his helmet, he had shed the rest of his armour. The material of the undershirt he was wearing was soft against your skin as you leant into his side, letting it a small hmph as you did. He instinctively wrapped his arm your waist - because even on a safe planet, Din was naturally protective - and pulled you closer, using his free hand to run a finger over the kid’s wrinkly head. 

‘I saw him swallow a frog whole.’ His modulated voice replied. ‘It’s still disturbing.’

‘Not as disturbing as when he ate the fish whole.’ You grimaced, glancing up at him. ‘The thing was bigger than him and he gulped it down. Biologically, it doesn’t work.’

‘Nothing about him makes sense.’ He said. 

‘The only thing that makes sense is that nothing makes sense.’ You joked. ‘But I guess we’ll find out a little bit more when we work out where the hell he actually came from.’

It was a subject you didn’t approach too much. You knew that one day, you’d have to hand him back over to his own species; it was all well and good to look after him when he was still small, but you had no idea what he was going to grow to be. Finding his home planet had sort of been a secondary quest for you and Din, between bounties. Given how slow the little bastard aged, time wasn’t too much of a concern. Knowing where to start was the problem.

‘I wish we could keep him forever.’ You quietly murmured. 

‘Me too, cya’rika.’ Din gave your shoulders a light squeeze. ‘But we have to do what’s right for him.’

‘I know.’ You nodded. ‘What do you think we’ll do after we’ve found his home? His species?’

It wasn’t something that Din had given much thought. He was so used to planning everything in the moment - hours ahead, at most. He hadn’t thought in terms of days, let alone weeks or years. It made sense to, because you weren’t going anywhere. He had an opportunity to have a life outside of being a bounty hunter; you’d shown him that much. He’d found a home with you - a sense of contentment and belonging - but in a physical sense, he’d never thought about settling on a planet. When he was younger, the idea of having his own children and his own clan had played on his mind, but it had faded as the years went by. Maybe it was time to revisit the idea.

‘We could get married.’ Din quietly suggested. ‘Start a clan of our own. Something permanent.’

‘I didn’t realise that the word permanent was in your vocabulary.’ You replied. 

‘It wasn’t. Not before you.’ He said. ‘There was a lot of things I never thought about before you.’

‘A clan?’ You intertwined your fingers with his, giving his hand a light squeeze. ‘In a few years, absolutely - but I am not doing it on that pile of junk.’

‘That pile of junk got us here.’

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head - but there was a smile on your face. ‘We don’t have to think about it now. One step at a time.’

There was silence for a minute, as you both pondered to yourselves. In the same way you hadn’t been part of Din’s plan, he hadn’t really been part of yours. When you’d met him, you’d never expected to fall in love with him. You couldn’t see his face, or his emotions or his feelings - but after a while, you saw him. It was though you had seen straight through the armour and right into his very soul without either of you trying. You were first person to see him as Din, and not as the Mandalorian. You understood his humanity, and the fact he wasn’t always a warrior; it meant he could let his walls down around you, and seek support and solace in a way he’d always thought to be terrifying. And it was, at first, but now it felt natural and healthy. He had you and you had him. Nothing else mattered.

‘I’ll go wherever you go.’ Din broke the quiet, eyes falling down to where the child lay in your lap.

‘You’d do that for me?’ You rested a hand on the side of his helmet; it was cold against your skin, but the gesture was there. ‘You’d give us all this up for me?’

‘I’m not giving anything up.’ He replied. ‘When I have you, I have everything I need.’

Din had always been blunt and straight to the point: sometimes it was a blessing, sometimes it was a curse. Right now, it was completely and entirely a virtue. It meant that you didn’t have to second guess his feelings for you, or worry about him leaving you. Everything he said to you was a promise. Talks of your future were mutuals goals, things to look forward to together. 

‘I love you.’ You pressed a kiss to the edge of his helmet. 

‘I love you too.’ Din replied. 

‘So let’s retire right now and get a moisture farm on Tatooine-’

‘- don’t push it.’ 

[airplanned]

All the Trashy Novels Part 25

Part 1...Part 24

It smut.

***

Link waited outside the dining room as the princess had a private lunch with her father.  "He's just going to chide me for my lack of spiritual progress," she'd said, waving a dismissive hand.  "But who knows, maybe he'll be pleased at how well we're getting along."  She'd flashed him a grin that made his stomach drop.  "How terrible could it be?"

Link wasn't sure if she'd been trying to convince him or herself.

When she walked out of the room forty-five minutes later, her back was ram-rod straight and her jaw clenched just as tight.  Her eyes were wide and her face was pale, and she walked straight past him as if in a silent, secret panic.  It had apparently gone very badly.

He followed her all the way out to the gardens, where she let her stiff posture drop in favor of freaking the fuck out.  Her fingers dug into her hair as she paced.  "He took it.  He took it.  What am I going to do?  He took it."

"What did he take?"

"The slate!  He says I'm wasting my time with it, and then he took it!"

He frowned.  Slowly, he said, "The Sheikah said that they were close to building a new--"

"No. No.  You don't understand."

"I understand it will make your research har--"

"I took another picture."

He froze.  "You what?"

Her hands pressed tight over her mouth as she stared at him with begging eyes.  She looked like she might cry from frustration and embarrassment. 

Oh no.

Link's mind raced.  "He doesn't know how to work the slate," he assured.

"Right.  Right.  Yes."  

"He probably wouldn't even try to use it."

"Of course."

They stared at each other.

"I'm going to go get it," he said, and turned on his heel.  He shouted over his shoulder, "Stay out of trouble."

He had a few options.  First, he could sneak in and steal it.  The problem with that was that getting caught would be disastrous, and even if he wasn't caught, the king would immediately suspect the princess, and in a way, he would be right.  Secondly, he could ask for it.  Of course, there was no reason at all that Link should have the Sheikah slate.  He wasn't a researcher. 

He needed a researcher.  

He headed straight for the guest rooms where the Sheikah were staying.  Purah glared at him when she opened the door.

"I thought you got the hint that I'm mad at you."

Link ignored her.  "The king confiscated the Sheikah Slate.  If you asked him to give it to you for your research, he'll give it to you to get it out of the castle.  Then you can sneak it back to Her Highness."

Purah was already grabbing her jacket, shouldering into it as she walked and straightening it at the shoulders.  "Is he in his study?"

Link didn't know.

They headed for his study.  Link made himself scare in the library stacks and waited as Purah was allowed to speak to the king.  She was gone for ten minutes.  When she reappeared, she walked straight past him and he hurried to follow her.

"For the Goddess' sake, tell her to keep this hidden," she snapped, passing it back over her shoulder.  Link had to rush forward to grab it.

"Don't talk to me any more this trip," she called.

Link stopped and took a deep breath.  Then he changed direction toward the princess' study.

She was pacing, one hand on her hip, a fingernail in her mouth, and she hurried to him when she saw him.  He held out the slate, and she sagged as she took it, closing her eyes as if offering a prayer of thanks.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"He thinks Purah has it.  You need to keep it hidden."

She nodded and sunk into her chair.

He shifted some papers and dropped onto the bench.  He gave her a minute before asking, "You took another picture?"

She frowned at him, then narrowed her eyes.  "Maybe."

"Was it better than the last one?"

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed the space between them and plopped down on the bench beside him.  She flipped through the slate and then thrust it into his hands.

It was a bit like being slapped.  He didn't know what to focus on.  The way her robe slipped down her shoulder.  The way that exposed a thin, off-center slice of skin from her shoulder to her chest wrappings, then down her belly to her panties, and down her thigh to where she stood on her knees on her bed.  He was distracted by the small bit of lace panties, by the small divot just above along the side of her abdomen.  He would lick both of those.  He would take her robe by its draping sleeves and hold them tight at the small of her back, pulling it off her shoulders, holding back her hands.  He was distracted by how she held her hair out of the way to show off her neck.  He was distracted by how she bit into the flesh of her lip, holding a blue hair tie in her mouth as if she were about to use it.  It looked like one of his hair ties.  The though made his mouth dry.  Then his vision drew back down to her body.

He crossed his leg to rest his ankle on his knee.

"Well?" she mocked.  "Better than the last one?"

He should really hand it back.  Just...just stop looking at it and give it back.

Instead he pulled his eyes from the slate to give her a look.  "Are you goading me?"

"What if I am?"

"What if it worked?"

She lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

He pressed a hand to the front of his pants, the relief nearly as strong as the pull to continue.  But he stared at her and narrowed his eyes.

For a split second, she showed surprise, but then her eyes narrowed dangerously, and then she was on him, throwing a leg over his lap and shoving him back and sideways on the bench until she was in the same pose as the picture, giving him a far hungrier look than she'd given her own image.  He gripped tight to her thigh and rubbed the butt of his hand harder against his cock, the heat building in his stomach as the heat grew in her cheeks, his breath coming faster as her chest heaved.  Then she was yanking at his shirt, and he was sitting up to help and somehow they tossed the Master Sword aside and got his shirt out of the way, and then she was tugging at his pants, and he was lifting his hips, and she was yanking them down enough for his cock to spring loose, and she was shoving him back, her hands running over his chest, and he groaned as he was finally able to take himself in hand and pump.  Her eyes on him were both embarrassing and hot as fuck, especially the way she bit her lip and moaned.  Especially when one of her hands started dragging up her body.  Her sides, her breast, her throat, absently, as if she were too distracted to notice, as if she were too turned on to care.  It ratcheted him higher, tighter, closer.  Then her furious eyes darted up to his in challenge, and it ended him.  His release came in two ropey bursts that seemed to drag up from so deep it might have been from the souls of heroes past.

He blinked stars from his eyes and panted.  As he came back into his body, back into his senses, he came back to the most bitter tasting embarrassment.

The princess' eyes were wide, as she stared down at him, and Link wanted nothing more than for lightning to strike him dead.  She stood as if he'd burned her, and he moved to tuck his cock away, but then she was back, pushing him back down and wiping his abs ineffectively with one of the rags she used to clean guardian parts.

"I've got it," he panted.  "Don't get messy."

She let him, and when he was done he looked up to stare at her.  

She pressed two fingers to the fading mark on his shoulder.  Then she handed him his shirt.

"Better than the last picture," he said.

She hummed.  "I think there's room for improvement."

***

Part 26

[five-rivers]

Is there any way we could possibly convince you to write more of the Eldritch!Danny au? As it's own phanfic? This, of course, would only be done once you are under considerably less stress, and can comfortably put the effort into that, if there ever could be such a time whilst writing Mortified and Stars Aligned. It could even wait until one or both of those has reached a point that you deem them Completed™. I'm just immediately part of Sam's Cult XD

It’s been a bit, and this is kind of random, but...

.

Clockwork’s avatar pressed the food to Danny’s lips, and he bit down, hard.  Juices dribbled down his chin as the food squirmed.  He moaned in something like relief as the pressure in the venom sacs in the roof of his mouth lessened.  He ate.

He kept Dreaming of himself with fangs and venom. Did that mean something?

A cold pressure under his chin forced him to look up.  Clockwork’s avatar inserted another piece of food into Danny’s mouth.  

Of course, it means something, it said. You are such a generous soul that you must give of yourself before you can even do something as basic and vital as eat.

Something about that didn’t sound right, but Danny wasn’t in a position to argue, not when he found himself so hungry.

Clockwork’s avatar fussed over him, feeding him more and more, past the point of mere satiation to the point where he felt bloated and slug-like.  He wanted to curl up and sleep real sleep.  The image of a caterpillar who, having gorged itself, began to form a cocoon, flittered across his mind.  

You are a long way from metamorphosis yet, dear one, said Clockwork’s avatar.  Come.  I have something for you.  

Danny followed the tug of the chained collar around his neck, blinking blearily, his footsteps just a little unsteady.  

The careful direction of the chain led him to a small table cluttered with trinkets.  Clockwork’s avatar leaned down to press its cheek against the crown of Danny’s head.  Its cloak fell to either side of Danny, cutting off his field of view to the left and right, leaving him with only the table and the wall behind it.  

A gift, said Clockwork’s avatar.

“Why?” asked Danny.  It felt odd to speak here, and much more so in English, but he was still learning how to use his True Voice.  

I wanted to give you something myself, before we celebrate your birthday.  

“My birthday is ages away,” said Danny.  

From some perspectives, perhaps.  But we missed so many of yours.  We must make them up before the next one.  

There was something ominous there, but Danny just leaned into the avatar’s touch, unwilling to devote himself to interpreting omens.  

Pick one, said Clockwork’s avatar, pick wisely.  Gifts received in the Dream become part of you.

Danny nodded and opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look at the trinkets—no, the gifts—again.  Gifts that, like all good gifts, came with strings attached.  

There was something off about that thought.

But it didn’t matter.  It wasn’t as if he could refuse a gift.  

He reached out.  

.

He picked the beaded pectoral necklace.  Mostly because he was curious to see how it went on, what with the collar around his neck and all.  Yes, this was the Dream, and multiple things could exist in the same place at the same time, but usually there was an… internal consistency, of sorts.

It turned out the answer was that the necklace merged with the bottom edge of the collar, which felt weird, but it was fine, because both were manifestations of Clockwork’s Love.  

The unfamiliar weight of it hung strangely off his shoulders, especially given the counterweight that hung down his back, and forced him to alter his posture.  He stood straight and… Well.  Not tall. But to his full height.  

Clockwork’s ticking sounded pleased.  An echo of something where Danny’s heart once was agreed with that assessment.  

When he left the Dream and went on with his life, it seemed as if not much had changed, except—

He felt more confident.  More coordinated.  He didn’t stutter as much.  People listened to him more.  

Even Sam and Tucker remarked on it.  

Only a few days later, Clockwork called him back, reeling him into the deep Dream by the chain attached to his collar.  He had another gift for Danny.  A bracelet.  Its weight joined that of the necklace.

Since you seemed to enjoy this so much, said the avatar, running its fingers over the faience beads.  

And so it went.  

Every few days, Clockwork would call him back and give him some new little adornment.  A ring.  A jeweled comb.  An anklet. A brooch.  A belt.  Each gift seemed to smooth away some almost imperceptible flaw in his waking self, seemed to draw more eyes to him, more attention, more praise.  People who would never give him the time of day before actually sought out his company.

He wondered.  Each thing he was given was a display of wealth.  Did that come across, somehow?  Or was it simply gravity, the mass of his presence pulling in their regard?

The improvements weren’t just in his human life. The others were easier to fight, to distract and ward away.  Their blows did not hurt nearly as much, nor did their ‘appearances’ distress him as much as they once had.  

He noticed, too, the weight of what he wore in the Dream.  Each ring, each bauble, made it easier for him to sink into the depths, made it harder for him to reach the surface.  

Sometimes, after a return, he would like on the floor in his room, panting.

But he was growing stronger, too, and he hoped—

It didn’t matter what he’d hoped.  

He could no longer reach the waking world. He tried seven times before the chain, vibrating with amusement, pulled him back to Clockwork.  

We must celebrate, said Clockwork’s avatar, pulling a sort of woven metal sleeve over Danny’s right hand.  It hooked neatly onto the rings on each of his fingers.  

“Why?” asked Danny, barely holding himself back from falling to pieces.  He had a responsibility to Amity Park.  Not to mention, he wanted to live there with his friends and family.  

Because it is a wonderful milestone, that you are too powerful to reach that place on your own.  The avatar placed a crown of knotted metal on Danny’s head.  This is what a cult is for, my little gem.  To pull you up.  

“What if…” said Danny, “I get too… heavy to be pulled up?”  

Another milestone.  

.

Except, no, Danny’s hand still hovered over the table, undecided.  He let it fall back to his side and blinked, shaking his head to clear it of the vision that had just overtaken him.  

Did it show what would be, what might have been? Or merely a possibility?  

Reality splintered.

.

He put his hand down on a stack of folded white cloth, jostling the bells sewn to the hems.  He didn’t actually know what it was, but it seemed harmless, and the fabric was soft.  

It turned out that the cloth was a set of folded veils.  The bells were weights, to make them hang properly.  

Clockwork’s avatar helped him put them on in front of a mirror, since Danny had never worn anything like them before.  The cloth was thin, diaphanous gauze.  Where the veils touched the clothing he was already wearing, it whispered away, like it never was.  In some places, mostly on his shoulders and back, for some reason, the veils merged smoothly, seamlessly, with his skin.  It was an odd sensation, made more so by the fact that his nerve endings seemed to extend partway into the cloth.  

Although, that might not be by design, but because Danny expected it.  This was the Dream, after all.  

Once all the veils were in place, the only pieces of his body exposed were his hands and bare feet.  It was strange, looking at himself in the mirror through the sheer veils over his face and head.  He almost looked like a ghost.  

It was… it was kind of embarrassing, being dressed like this.  The veils were the only things he was wearing, and even with all their frothy layers, he could make out the silhouette of his body beneath them.  

He spun in place, just enough to hear the bells ring with high, clear tones.  Like this, the subtle embroidery on the veils looked like feathers.  

When he woke again, normal clothes felt rough and coarse against his skin in comparison.  He gritted his teeth and bore it.  He couldn’t very well walk to school in the nude.

“Did something happen last night?” asked Sam, surveying Danny up and down.  

“Um,” said Danny, “yes, but why?”

“You look…”

“Mysterious,” said Tucker.  

“Ethereal,” decided Sam.  “But also…”  She hummed. “Untouchable, maybe?  I don’t know.”

Danny explained what had happened.  

It was in the course of just messing around that they found another effect.  

“Dude,” said Tucker, as Danny sat on his shoulders, “did you lose weight or something?”

“No?” said Danny, turning away from his sticky-note masterpiece on the classroom ceiling.  “At least, I don’t think so.”

“You just seem a lot lighter than the last time we did this.”

They weighed him later, at Sam’s house.  He was.  

The next time he visited the dream, there were changes.  One, the sensation in the cloth had extended.  He could feel almost all the way to the ends of some of the shorter veils. Two, his form beneath the veils was less distinct.  Softer. When he put his hand underneath them to check, his body felt softer, too.  Three, he was glowing.  

Of course, said Clockwork’s avatar, stroking its cold hand down his back in a way that made all of his new nerve endings overload.  As the illusion fades, the truth may shine.  

It did not elaborate, no matter how Danny pressed him.  It did, however, pet him until he was left as little more than a pleasantly chirping puddle of veils and feathers on Clockwork’s floor.  

He did not note the significance of the feathers until his next visit to the Dream, whereupon some of his veils had become wings, bells still attached and ringing with every motion.  He spread them out and flew.  

Flying was even better than he had imagined. Never before had he known such joy.

The changes continued, the form he wore in the waking world becoming progressively more and more alien to him, more grating and uncomfortable.  

“That only makes sense,” said Sam.  “You’re more than us.  Being constrained like this can’t be good for you.”

Tucker nodded in agreement.  “I mean, look at all of this.”

Danny looked around the cafeteria, catching several worshipful gazes.  

“You don’t belong in a cage like this.”

“I want to be able to help,” said Danny.  It had become easier, in some ways.  It was as hard as ever to fight the others, but human aggression stopped dead in Danny’s presence.  

“You’ll still be able to,” said Sam.  “But Tucker’s right, you should be trapped here. You should in a high place… on a pedestal.  Somewhere to give us hope.  Somewhere we can look up to.”

He stood in front of Clockwork’s mirror again. There was a suggestion of a human body beneath the wings, but nothing more than that.  Soon, even that would be gone.  

Even as he thought it, he let his wings shift, forming a more spherical shape.  The light at his center became blindingly bright, but Danny could still see the chains of Love attached to it that kept him grounded.  

One of those chains pulled taught as Clockwork summoned him, not even bothering with the avatar this time.  This time, Danny would be able to talk to Clockwork directly, and it would be fine, because Danny had shed that illusion of humanity and become more like Clockwork.

He entered Clockwork’s direct presence and—

.

Danny reeled as the vision simply stopped being something his mind could interpret.  He felt a part of what he called his sanity crumble.  

Perhaps…  Perhaps not that one.  Instead…

.

He chose the featureless white mask, lifting it with both hands.  It was surprisingly heavy.

Clockwork’s avatar reached out, the sleeves of its robes whispering past Danny’s ears.  Let me help you put that on, it said.  It took the mask and flipped it over, brushing the broad, white satin ribbon out of the way with its thumbs.  

Before Danny could think to protest, before he could decide if he wanted to protest, the mask was pressed against his face.

The soft inner lining fit perfectly snug against his features.   Perfectly enough that it forced his eyelids and lips closed.  The bottom edge of the mask cupped his jaw, preventing him from opening his mouth.  

He could not see, with the mask on. Somehow, this surprised him.  Part of him had expected to supernaturally be able to see through the mask.  

This was inconvenient.  On the other hand, not being forced to see the Dream and its denizens could be a boon in and of itself.  

Clockwork’s avatar finished tying the ribbon.  When you wear this, only those who know you will know you.  And only those who you keep in place of your may have their knowledge progress.  

Danny tested his ability to speak, first with human words and then with his True Voice.  The best he could manage was a sort of hum.  

I know you best of all.  One cannot progress past completion.  Remember, those who Love you will understand you, even without words.  You will be allowed to remove the mask if it pleases you.  

Danny nodded to show he understood, the weight of the mask making the motion more energetic than usual.  

It took Danny time to learn how to navigate the Dream blind.  The Dream was, well, Dream.  It did not follow the usual rules of object permanence.  Things Danny could not directly perceive existed only at the whims of others.  While he was with Clockwork, he could have faith that things would stay mostly stable, but once he left, his world shrunk to echoes and what lay against his skin.

But when he did finally make it home and opened his eyes, he was able to fully understand what the mask gave him.  

He could not see the nightmares and madness lurking just under reality.  His sight was human.  He turned to his mirror and saw not a monster, but simply his physical body.  

He found himself weeping in relief.  It had been so hard.  Even if it was an illusion bought by ignorance, for the first time in far too long, he felt safe, no longer exposed.  

Whether or not it pleased him, he might never take the mask off.  

He walked to Jazz’s room to tell her the good news, only to discover he could not speak.  

After some experimentation, Danny and Jazz determined that, when he wore the mask, his speech was as constrained in the real world as it was in the Dream.  If he wanted to talk, he had to slip into the Dream to take it off.  

It was inconvenient, but still.  A perfectly hidden identity and relief from seeing were more than worth inconvenience.  

With the mask on, he almost felt human again.

Before the school day began, he paused in the bathroom and braced himself.  He had gotten away with being quiet at home, but at school, teachers would require him to answer questions.  

He stepped into the Dream and reached up to untie the knot at the back of his head.  It would not come loose.  Danny pulled harder.  

If it pleased him.  

Well, it didn’t please him to be exposed in school.  Beyond that… Danny suspected that Clockwork also had a hand in when he was allowed to remove the mask.  

A few weeks later, the school psychiatrist diagnosed him with selective mutism.  

“It almost makes sense,” claimed Tucker, gesturing at Danny’s ceiling, “if you think of it like a parent keeping their kid safe on the internet.  Like, you don’t want their identity exposed, so you keep them from giving away personal information or talking to strangers.”

“That,” said Sam, poking Danny’s cheek, “or he wants your cute little face all to himself.  What do you even look like in the Dream?”

“Like me,” said Danny.  He raised a hand to touch his face.  “I don’t know what I look like with the mask on.”  The words came surprisingly easily.  Before the mask, he’d worried that he’d eventually be unable to speak English, what with how difficult it was becoming to translate his thoughts to sounds.

Later that day, there was an incident.  Danny couldn’t help.  He couldn’t see.  

(It was, however, very clear that the others could see him.)

(He couldn’t help but feel guilty.)

That night, Clockwork pulled him into the Dream.

There is someone I want you to meet, said Clockwork’s avatar as its fingers untied the mask.  

“Who?” asked Danny as the mask came away.  He nearly forgot his question as he once again took in Clockwork’s appearance.  He had forgotten how beautiful it was here.  Tears rolled down his face.  

Your brother, said the avatar, gently leading Danny forward.  I think you will get along.  You both like masks.  

It took a few minutes for Danny to distinguish this new presence from Clockwork’s, but once he did, the name came easily to his mind.  This was Nocturne, the Dream Eater.

“Why is your mask different from mine?” asked Danny, because he couldn’t make a good first impression to save his life.  

The mouth and eyes on Nocturne’s mask turned upward in humor.  It plucked Danny’s mask from the hands of Clockwork’s avatar, and, to Danny’s simultaneous horror and delight, Danny discovered that he could feel Nocturne’s claws on the mask as if they were on his face instead.  

That is because it is your face, said Nocturne, the one you show the world.  Why wouldn’t you feel it when it is touched?  When it is damaged?  Nocturne ran his fingers down across the space where eye holes would have been in an ordinary mask, and Danny found himself forced to blink.  For the other, it is because you are a child.  I see and speak for myself.  A child sees the world through their parent’s eyes.  A child has no voice, but their parent speaks for them.  

“Will it change when I get older?” asked Danny.

Nocturne laughed.  You will not grow older.  He moved forward suddenly, pressing the mask to Danny’s face, and putting one of his other hands against the back of Danny’s head.  You will always be the youngest of us.  The most… Human.

.

Is something wrong? asked Clockwork’s avatar.

“No,” said Danny, quickly.  “It’s just hard to decide.”

You could have them all, it said, if it is so difficult.  

Danny shook his head.  “No, I just need more time.”

Maybe if Danny were human, this would be about getting the best deal, choosing the gift with the lowest price, but he wasn’t, and it wasn’t.  This was about choosing the price he wanted to pay.  

It surprised him, how much he wanted to pay some of them.  

.

The set of bracelets clinked merrily when Danny touched them.  They were four bands, each about two inches wide and a couple millimeters thick.  The metal they were made of was smooth on the outside, but on the insides, they had the same fractal patterns as the collar.

The manacles are a good choice, said Clockwork’s avatar, approvingly.  

Manacles.

Not bracelets.  

Unfortunately, he didn’t think he was allowed to change his mind.  

The manacles went around his wrists and ankles, each one closing with a snap.  When they shut, the metal they were made of swirled, the hinges and seams disappearing to present a flawless surface and the overall shape shifting so the inside laid flush against his skin.  

As soon as he closed the last one, and it finished altering itself, Danny felt a sharp pain through the center of his wrists and ankles, followed by a radiating numbness, as if a rod had been driven through each manacle, through each wrist and ankle, stopping only when it hit the other side.  But the numbness soon faded, and as he flexed his hands and feet, he didn’t feel anything like that.  

Still.  The message was clear.  The metal bands were not coming off.  

Clockwork’s avatar took one of Danny’s hands, and examined the band.  The metal, which had warmed against Danny’s skin, turned frigid under the avatar’s touch. For a moment, Danny’s vision blurred, and he saw a multitude of delicate chains leading from the manacle in every direction, connecting it to Clockwork, the other manacles, the collar around his neck and who knew what else.  His vision cleared.  A few long, silent minutes later, the avatar released him.  

They were made with much skill.  I hope you find them useful.  

Danny nodded.  

The manacles weren’t visible in the waking world, but Danny imagined he still felt them.  Especially when he was doing things with his hands or feet.  

‘Made with skill,’ indeed.  

Lots of skills.  Skills like drawing, writing, dancing, sign language.  He didn’t trip or stumble any more but moved smoothly.  It was interesting.  It didn’t feel like the skills belonged to someone else.  They were his, now, wherever they had originally come from.  He knew how to do each thing he was doing, and he did them intentionally.  

Still, his art (which he had always considered at least decent) was now scary good.  He’d also outplayed Ember on the piano a few days back, breaking her hold on the people who had been listening.  She’d been… rather upset about that.  

It was worth it.  

The string attached to the gift didn’t make itself known for a while.  One day, while he was drawing, his wrists burned cold, and he found himself drawing something more than what he’d originally intended.  The general subject was the same, but the skill put into it, the effort, was far, far greater.  He’d meant to doodle a little, maybe for ten or so minutes before he went to bed.  

Instead, it was hours later and if it wasn’t on the back of his French homework the drawing could have been hung in a museum.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to imagine that he was being puppetted, controlled, that the manacles made him into a marionette, but that wasn’t what it felt like.  Instead, it felt as if something had flipped a switch inside him.  

He understood, then.  The manacles granted him skills, but he couldn’t always decide when to use them.  Or how much.

It wasn’t the last time it happened.  He’d suddenly be seized with the urge to do something.  Make use of some skill.  And whatever he did when those urges settled over him was inhumanly good.  Dangerously good.  As in, attracting the wrong kind of attention good.  

Those men in suits had been there for him, and he was quite certain that, if he had been perceptible to people foreign to Amity Park, they would have tried to take him.  Tried, being the operative word.  

More importantly, the mural he’d been compelled to paint on the side of the supermarket last night seemed to be attracting a following.  He’d attempted to keep elements of the others out of it, but he knew they somehow slipped through, slipped past his attention, and into his art.  

Sam and Tucker thought it was fine, though. He was inclined to trust them.  

He was glad that the manacles did not seem to infer any violent or deadly skills.  He wasn’t what he would do if they did and the urge to act turned into an urge to harm.  

The manacles turned cold.  

Perhaps he’d bake a cake.  Something for Sam and Tucker, as a thanks for putting up with him.

.

Danny slumped against Clockwork’s avatar, who held him without complaint.  These visions were mentally draining.  They would be, what with containing weeks compressed into seconds.  

Were they seconds?

.

The picture frame caught Danny’s eye.  It was a picture of him, as an infant, being held by Clockwork’s avatar, the great expanse of Clockwork himself in the background. Danny wasn’t quite sure he knew the picture was of himself.  Really, he’d been a generic-looking baby.  But he did know.  

He took the picture.  

Nothing happened.  He went home, woke up, and went about his normal life.  On occasion, he would look at the picture when he dropped into the Dream.  It warmed something in him.

It took him a month to realize he was aging backwards.  

To be fair, no one else seemed to notice, either, even though the change was much more rapid than normal forward aging.  Danny suspected they were being blocked from noticing.  

No, that wasn’t quite right.  They treated the age he appeared as the normal state of things, but they also treated him as if he were his apparent.  Something which had bothered him all last week, even if he didn’t realize why it was happening.  

It made it slightly more embarrassing that he himself had only noticed when he’d gone to retrieve a cup from the top shelf in the cabinet and couldn’t because he was too short.  

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz were confused when he brought it up to them.  They seemed to be under the impression that he’d always been a few years younger than Sam and Tucker.  That he’d been skipped forward a few years to be in the same class as them.  Danny had let the subject drop.  He had no idea how to even begin fixing this.  If it even could be fixed.  

Every day, as he got younger and younger, he also seemed to attract more and more attention.  Positive attention.  People would smile at him, tell him he was cute, give him presents out of nowhere. Danny couldn’t say he hated it.  

Until he got small enough for people to carry around. Which they did.  Frequently.  Without asking for permission.  Even this wasn’t so much of a problem.  

Until the cult.  

Until the knife.

Until the sacrifice.  

(And Clockwork was so thrilled to be able to raise him from infancy.)

.

He hadn’t decided yet.  

How could he decide?  They were amazing gifts.  Terrifying gifts.  Gifts he could not refuse.  Gifts he didn’t want to refuse, at least on some level.  

But this wasn’t about what he wanted.  It was about what he could live with.  

The pectoral gave him power and the respect of his peers but took away his ability to use those things in the defense of Amity. Although being powerful in the Dream was an idea that tickled at the shadows in Danny’s mind.

The veils gave him something he always wanted – flight – but at the cost of his humanity and individuality.  

The mask would protect him, let him hide and return to a mostly ordinary life, but he would lose the chance to face his new existence on his own terms as well as some of his autonomy.  Not to mention, his ability to actually help his people.

The manacles gave him skills he’d enjoy, but also made him a hazard for others.  

The picture frame…  Something twinged inside Danny’s chest… The picture frame gave him a new life with Clockwork, from the very beginning.  But he’d lose everything else and kickstart an unmanageable cult.

He couldn’t give up his friends, his family, his human life.  He couldn’t give up his ability to protect Amity.  Perhaps all those things would fade from importance in his mind as he became more and more other, but for now they were razor sharp.  That made his choice clear.  

“The manacles,” he mumbled to Clockwork’s avatar. He could work around the drawbacks (even if part of him resisted the notion that the drawbacks were drawbacks).

The avatar stroked Danny’s hair.  An excellent choice.

“How,” said Danny, trying to recollect his thoughts, “how do they work?”

Danny’s eyes fluttered as he saw the chains on the manacles again.  The way they felt on his skin was just like what he remembered.  

Skills that go unused are lost in the Dream. These find them and bring them to you, bind them to you, so they are never lost again.  Clockwork’s avatar plucked one of the chains.  It felt as if someone had traced their fingers possessively up one of his arms.  Although some of the chains have other functions.  It nuzzled Danny as something deep below in Clockwork’s depths began to chime.  One can never be too connected to those they Love.  

Danny woke in his bed and moaned.  His pillow was wet with drool.  Evidently, he had left his body behind this time.  That happened, on occasion, when he went to the Dream. He was never sure how he felt about it.

He raised his hands up above his head.  As expected, the manacles were not visible, but he did feel more… connected to the world around him.  Being connected was good.  It meant that what happened before wouldn’t happen again.  It meant that he wouldn’t be lost.  

He lowered his hands, clasping them over where his heart would have, should have been.  

The connections, though, were mostly to Clockwork, who was as inhuman as any of the others Danny protected Amity Park from. Should that bother him?  He thought of what Nocturne had said in the other timeline, the one where he had chosen the mask.  He’d known, already, that as much as Clockwork protected him, he also kept him in a state where he needed that protection.  Wasn’t it natural?  Wasn’t it the desire to keep Loved ones close?

His breath hitched as he briefly felt the soothing mental weight of Clockwork’s Love increase.  

It was fine, wasn’t it?

[watevermelon]

Cheating!Haikyuu x Reader

✧ Summary: Akaashi and Kuroo getting caught cheating and begging you for forgiveness ➳ A/N: Honestly, I don’t think ANY of the boys would ever even consider it. They’re all so loving in their own ways and for anyone to actually do this would be absolutely horrible to their partners. ➳  Masterlist 

But ask for angst and you shall receive. kuroo’s is funny and akaashi’s is not

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✧ Intro: 

You trusted your boyfriend of the past year explicitly. Your relationship was built on a mutual friendship, going from casual classmates to one day dating when he had asked you out. You were surprised to say the least, this was one of the members of the volleyball team. They were popular throughout school with the entire student body. And so for him to show interest in you? You honestly hadn’t believed it.

But as the months went on and a few became your everyday norm, along with even getting invited over his house to meet his family, you were sure that the man you were dating was the one.

You remembered the first time he kissed you, the first I love you that he ever whispered in your ears.

And so it broke your heart to find out that you were not the only one he was saying these words to.

The school you were attending was known to be a powerhouse regarding volleyball. You were proud of the national spotlight your boyfriend was fighting on. And you fully understood the times when he would be gone or busy for weeks at a time - whether it was for traveling far away for various training camps or just practicing long into the nights for upcoming tournaments.

You remembered the first time you saw it, the text that was very much not from you. The phone had vibrated while he was out of the room and you were not trying to be nosy - calling his name that he received a notification and glancing at it briefly through the motion.

I miss your lips on mine.

You knew from the beginning that Akaashi always had a special connection to Bokuto. Even before you were close to the quiet setter, you admired how he always seemed to know how to lift Bokuto’s spirits. From the preliminary matches against Nekoma to just seeing the two in school, it made you want to foster such a close relationship with him yourself.

And on more than one occasion, you had to remind yourself they were just friends.

Your friends warned you ahead of time, that the two had a strong bond despite being separated by a year and not even attending the same junior high. You knew this and simply attributed it to his patience and overall ability to read people.

When you had once asked Akaashi about his relationship with the nationally acclaimed ace, he smiled and said, “He can be a lot to handle. But I love watching Bokuto-san play when he’s in the zone.” 

You took it a face value, instead relishing in the comfort knowing that your boyfriend was wrapping his arms around you.

Months later, with that insecurity pushed in the back of your mind, it all came swarming out at Bokuto-san’s text. There was no denying what you were reading or who it was from. It was even accompanied by owl emojis of all things - as if there was anything cute about your boyfriend’s affair.

Your attention was caught and you needed confirmation, scrolling up through their conversation and seeing similar words spanning the last few hours alone. Had he been texting Bokuto the entire time he was sitting here with you?

You threw his phone back on the couch and stood, moving before even thinking about how you looked. 

Why would Akaashi do this? Akaashi?? The kind, loving Akaashi Keiji who had the love of the whole school? Hadn’t he chosen you?

Standing in the middle of his family’s living room, you put a hand on your chest to steady your breathing. You felt the onset of panic gripping your chest, threatening to force tears to the corners of your eyes. There was nothing you could say, you just had to see if it was true.

How long had this been going on? Is it possible that this was before you were even dating? Why was Akaashi stringing along the both of you? Were any of the promises Akaashi told you true?

There was no denying the sudden jump of fear you had when Akaashi walked back in the room, a questioning look on his face as he saw you try to level your breathing.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

As if he had no idea, no reason to truly think that he was the cause behind your unease.

You tried your best to feign a smile, but there was no point in hiding anything to someone as cunning as Akaashi, you figured. He was best at reading other people. Instead, you held your frown and motioned to your phone, “I got a bad text from my mom - I need to go home.”

Akaashi was already moving toward you, arms reaching out to steady you at the shoulders. He was such a comforting foundation for you. And yet now, his close proximity brought nothing but anxiety and anger.

He seemed to notice since Akaashi dropped his hands to his sides. “Alright, let me walk you home?”

You nodded in agreement, not trusting your voice. You worried that you were going to unintentionally spill out the word vomit - accusing words ready on the tip of your tongue. He still reached out to encase your hand in his own, silently walking side-by-side for the entire time.

Thankfully, you had different homerooms and could avoid him for the first initial hours of school the next day. Did you have a plan? Absolutely fucking not. But you knew that you had to see them together - see them in their element and see why. 

You needed to know the reason why Akaashi would throw away everything you built together.

You stayed silent to your friends, not even telling your best friend what happened. Not that you were afraid of Akaashi finding out that you knew somehow, but you wanted to see what was naturally between them, without anyone else’s interference.

Akaashi had thankfully given you your space, probably assuming that your family emergency from before was what was holding you down. It also helped that they had a practice match against Itachiyama at the end of the week, so he was called to practice especially more.

He always had such beautiful hands, despite the hours of practice he dedicated to his sport. It made you wonder what he did with them. There were a number of times before where Akaashi would text you late into the night, citing that Bokuto had demanded more practice with his spikes. 

Was Akaashi really setting a ball for five hours straight after your last mid-terms?

You had a million questions in your head as you sat in the stands with your friends, watching the game of Fukurōdani vs Itachiyama. Bokuto was at the top of his game today, none of his usual vices holding him down as he played against his rival, Sakusa. For you and the other students cheering on the team, it could have been easily seen as just another game.

But it wasn’t.

You watched how Akaashi’s gaze would sometimes linger on Bokuto, long legs guiding his stride to a spike. The ace seemed to fly above the net, passion for their shared sport radiating even up in the stands where you were sitting. The fond expression Akaashi had only brought up his earlier words to mind - I love watching him play.

The interaction was so strangely intimate and yet public for any spectator the game. The moment passed, time moving forward as you continued to analyze every smile Akaashi shot the ace. Bokuto’s raised an overjoyed fist in the air in his excitement over the single point. He yelled his usual, Hey! Hey! Hey! And while you found the action usually humorous, you could only stare in blank realization as Akaashi fondly smiled at the spiker’s words.

There was no rising panic this time, nothing inside you screaming at you that something was wrong. 

Your eyes kept following the scene, the game playing out while you stood stock-still among your friends. But your mind was already made up, long before the game ended. You thought about it a few times over the past few days, why Bokuto? Why you?

Why did Akaashi even approach you in the first place?

Thinking back to any conversations you had with Akaashi that surrounded volleyball. All their little volleyball antics - it was always about Bokuto. He got in trouble with the principal, got depressed during a game, even something as simple as being overly hungry before a match. And who was the one to always pick him up? 

Akaashi.

And this was not something that could be as simply waved off as teammates. Neither Haruki nor Konoha were like this with the ace and both of them knew Bokuto longer than Akaashi. Kaori had even joked to you once that Akaashi was capable of reading Bokuto’s mind.

You were a fool.

You hadn’t told Akaashi you were going to attend this practice match in the first place and you honestly had no intention of doing so.

Instead, you texted Bokuto during the game to meet you outside by the entrance stairs, alone. 

Most of the other students had already filled out of the gymnasium, out into the streets on their way home as you leaned against the cold railing. You could hear Bokuto’s quick steps around the corner before you even saw him.

“Hey, (L/N)-chan! What’s up?” He greeted you in a friendly manner, waving with one hand fully outstretched even though you were only a few feet away from each other.

You weren’t going to smile and pretend.

“Bokuto-san.” You stated, looking him in the eyes head-on.

Despite his amicable disposition, Bokuto had quite the intimidating disposition to outsiders. The tall spiker was built with muscles, arms and legs looking seemingly sculpted. And here you were, pointing a heavy glare with your chin held-high at a man who could very easily over-power you.

“Don’t smile at me like everything’s okay.” You started, “I know.”

His smile immediately squashed to a straight line, eyes hardening as they looked down at you. Bokuto crossed his arms, his athletic duffel pushed to the side of his body.

“I won’t apologize for being in love with him.” His voice rang through the calm outdoors, not a single soul to hear his confession other than you.

You scoffed, “How did I already know you’d say that?”

Bokuto kept your question rhetorical, for once staying uncharacteristically silent. His gaze never wavered off of yours, eyes boring right into you as you wordlessly sized each other up.

“I tried to let him go, once.” Bokuto continued, “When you first started dating, I tried and couldn’t.”

They were together before you were even in the picture.

You bit your lip, asking. “And you’re going to ask me not to make you do it again?”

Bokuto paused, uncrossing his arms and looking heavenward for the right answer. How could he? They were already on the road to love before you even really knew Akaashi. Why did he ask you out in the first place? Why progress this far in your relationship? 

None of this was right and you had every bone in your body screaming at you to beat the ever loving shit out of the two volleyball players. But there was one thing you needed to cut off now.

“I don’t need an answer to confirm what you’re thinking.” You stated, “Treat his heart kindly.”

Bokuto sputtered, raising his arms in defense. “Akaashi chose you - he asked you out!”

You almost snarled at the irony, “As if that matters! What’s a label against the fact that he’s been in love with you during that entire time?”

He recoiled, nothing to say against your true question. You were his girlfriend, but how could that possibly matter when his heart continually lingered on the ace in front of you. And, since the volleyball God’s hated you, it was no surprise when the setter turned the corner to your impassioned conversation.

“What’s happening here?” His voice rang out, meeting Bokuto’s worried expression and your hardened one. 

Akaashi stopped in his stride the moment he saw the both of you, not moving closer to you or Bokuto and simply guarding his expression from leaking any of his inner thoughts.

“I thought about this a million times over the past few days.” You said low, but voice strong enough for the others to hear. “How I would yell at you, curse you to your face... But now that I see you, you’re pathetic.”

Akaashi was the master of a blank expression, but now there was nothing but panic and hurt written all over his face. Whatever words he was going to say, to somehow excuse his behavior, died on his lips when you calmly raised your palm to stop him.

How dare he.

"I don’t want to know why you led me on for so long. Or why you decided stringing along Bokuto this whole time would be good to the people you claim to love.” 

Bokuto frowned, looking to the side away from the two of you, but said nothing to refute your statement.

“Don’t ever talk to me again.”

You walked away from Akaashi then, turning away and heading home without looking back. There was nothing left, no words that could ever explain or fix the situation, not that you wanted him to try either. Bokuto’s voice reached you mid-way through the steps, his words low but aimed toward Akaashi.

The words were low and you were surprised you were even able to hear them: She’s not wrong.

The next day at school neither of them were present.

You laid it all out to your best friends at lunch then, all of you sitting under the apple tree and quietly listening to your story. They offered you small condolences, never bringing up the volleyball team or practice matches around you ever again. Konoha shot you a wilted frown in passing, no words enough to even start that conversation.

You only saw Akaashi one more time. It was no surprise that Fukurōdani was progressing to the Spring Nationals and everyone at school were quick to congratulate various team members on their victory. You saw them, preening around the lunchroom as the student body wished them luck.

They were holding hands.

You lingered on the sight for a single second. But it was enough for Akaashi to notice your eyes, shooting a withered smile in your direction. 

There was nothing you wanted to do in response, nothing left for you to say and hope for when it came to the setter. And so you simply turned back to your friends, rejoining the conversation with thoughts of the volleyball team long behind you.

You had to re-read the text three times, your mind whirling in circles to accept the fact that this was for your Tetsurō.

It was only when your hands flew to scroll upwards that you realized yes, this was really happening. It was all so quick - he had left the room to use the bathroom, or whatever, at this point you hadn’t even remembered why. Just his phone, which he always had on him, had vibrated away on your coffee table.

You grabbed it half-mindedly, original intention to bring it to him and maybe leave it at the door in case it was some type of volleyball-related emergency. He was the captain, after all. And so when the actual contents of the texts grabbed your attention, it was all over from there.

The profile picture was of the popular student body president, her shining face radiating even now. The other boys of the volleyball team had always complimented her and brought her up in conversation. Before you were even dating, you remembered that Kuroo particularly agreed with many of her features: long-hair, mild temper, and good grades even in college prep classes.

You were on the average scale of things - average grades in college prep, a member of photography club, but not particularly motivated - you were easily replaceable in the fast-paced world that Kuroo and others were constantly facing. And while you tried not to dwell on it too much, Kuroo was at the top of class with many of the female student body interested in him - there were times he had inadvertently made you felt small.

But Kuroo did try to wave those thoughts away, saying that you were the one he was in love with. It was only for you that he showed his soft side and only you were the recipient of his loving gestures.

And yet now you had in your hands evidence that none that was true.

You wanted to scream - reading all the affectionate phrases he had typed away to this woman.

Were you going to accuse him, then and there? What were you even going to say to him?

Kuroo made the choice for you.

“What are you doing with my phone?” He asked, voice promulgating the silent room.

You were sure that your eyes were glossy as you responded back quietly, “I was going to bring it to you when it kept ringing.”

“Thanks babe, just pass it over.” He said calmly, outstretching a palm in your direction.

You held the phone to your chest, there was no way you could feign a reaction now. This was no longer the simple interaction that you could pretend would pass over, the adulterous text was still open on the screen, open for both parties to quickly see.

His grey-eyes surveyed you silently, not a single word uttered, as if it would break this unmoving conversation. You always found his observant stare endearing, how his greatest weapon on the volleyball court was something he used on you to understand you better. 

And now, you could only imagine what he was truly thinking throughout your relationship.

Kuroo’s fond looks, those kind smiles, they were all calculated actions to keep you on his hook. They were not the loving terms of endearment you believed them to be. They were deliberate ways to sate your relationship, nothing more.

You frowned, handing him the phone and biting out coldly. “I want you to leave.”

“Listen babe, it’s not what you think.” Kuroo was reaching for you, taking steps to close the distance before you fled away entirely.

“Of course! What was I thinking?!” Your voice was raising with every word, anger seeping through toward the middle-blocker. “Some other girl texting you: I dream of waking up to you every day, could be some other context that what I’m too small-minded to know? Right?”

He followed behind you as you traversed through your empty house. You just wanted to get away from him, just the very image of Kuroo was enough to make you angry and inescapably hurt. There was so much you wanted to just yell at him, but at the same time you knew this was the man who held your heart.

And the same one who chose to break it.

What was there even to say to him? You’ve won? Congratulations? Get out of my house?

“Get out!” You settled on that and yelled behind you, your voice weak as you sucked in air between tears. Kuroo continued to follow behind you despite your loud command.

You pushed open the door to your bedroom and attempted to slam it behind you, but a simple kick of his foot and it stayed open. Instead, Kuroo closed it and locked it as he followed.

He had you cornered.

Would it be crazy if you jumped out the window?

Your eyes shot to the opening at the side-wall of your room, but it seemed his gaze followed your own path when he grabbed your elbow and pulled you to him.

Kuroo had his hands on your shoulders, trying to calm you down. “Please just listen to me.”

“Listen to what?” You were trying to push him away, but Kuroo refused to budge against you.

He leaned his chin against the top of your head, one of his arms going down to wrap around your waist. “Stop, you know I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Then why...?”

“It looks bad. I know it does.” Kuroo started to explain, “But I can prove to you that this isn’t what you think.”

You sniffed, not saying anything as you waited for whatever bullshit response was already formulating on his lips.

What you hadn’t expected was for Kuroo to raise the phone to your ear, the ringing of the outgoing call blasting next to you.

What was he doing? Was he insane? 

You didn’t want to listen to her voice, listen to whatever she was going to say when she picked up the phone. Loving words, teasing innuendo’s, all of that you shared with Kuroo and now he was going to show-off what he had with another girl?

You twisted against him, ready to fight out of outrage of not only being cheated on, but also Kuroo doing the utmost stupid thing he could ever do and showing it off in front of you.

The voice that rang out froze you in your actions.

“Captain! Was my text really bad that you had to call?”

“... Yamamoto-san?” You near-whispered back in recognition.

You heard what was almost a yelp back. He stuttered over your name, before asking, “Ah, you and um. You and Kuroo-san are spending your day off together?”

Taking hold of the phone yourself, you looked at the screen and saw that it was indeed to the same student body president that the call was going through to. Same icon, same everything. So why was Yamamoto on the other side of the line? You looked up at Kuroo briefly, the middle-blocker staring at you right back. He urged the phone back to your ear, reminding you that Nekoma’s ace was still on the other side of the line.

“...Yeah.” You answered back weakly, remembering his initial question.

“... Was there something you needed?” He asked nervously.

“Um.” You bit your lip and looked at Kuroo, “Why is your name saved as our student body president in Kuroo’s phone?”

“Aasdfgh.” The strangled noise lasted for ten seconds before Kuroo cleared his throat next to you. “Captain! You’re there too!”

“Explain it, now.” Kuroo said flatly, his voice plain as his grip on your waist tightened. You put a hand on his chest in an attempt to keep him at a distance. You were still mad, admittedly also confused, but you didn’t want Kuroo to just hug the issue away.

Of course, he pushed your hand away and continued to hold you close.

“Please, don’t judge me (L/N)-san!”

Your confusion was only growing. “Um. What’s going on?”

“somycrushgavemehernumberbuticanttalktogirlsandididntwanttomessupsoiwaspracticingwhattosayonkurooandtherestandthentheygotmadsosometimesitextmyselffromtheirphonenumbersaspractice!” 

The words were so fast, you held the phone closer to your ear in an attempt to decipher anything that was just said.

“Wait, what?”

Yamamoto sighed loudly before exclaiming, “I can’t talk to my crush!”

You tilted your head in confusion, “... Kuroo’s your crush?”

The middle-blocker sighed above you, moving to flick your forehead while Yamamoto was near screaming in outrage on the line.

“No!! I.. I don’t have a lot of experience talking to girls! And then my crush gave me her number and she started texting me! And believe me, I tried practicing on otome games and even they dumped me!”

“Uhh...”

His loud voice kept going, explaining the strange tale, “And so I was begging the guys to help me practice and eventually they got sick of me too! She was really into me too and we were flirting and I wasn’t ready!! I don’t have anyyyy experience, (L/N)-san!!”

You shot a look up to Kuroo, his gaze locked on you without any other hints of an expression on. You were sure that your face was a mix of incredulous and worried, was this for real?

“And then she started texting me dirty things and I wanted to do it back, so Kuroo taught--”

“Skip it.” The middle-blocker stated harshly, cutting off the ace.

“Aasdafhauh.” Yamamoto outwardly struggled, remembering that both Kuroo and you, a female, were on the line. “I thought all was lost and then Kuroo let me practice texting myself and seeing how it looked from his phone!”

Oh.

lmao

“Wait, what?”

Kuroo summarized it plainly for you. “It means he was practicing sexting himself from my phone.”

“Ca-Captain!” His voice rang out.

You could not help your growing, amused smile. “Is it true?”

“I - well, yes...”

His voice trailed, but you held in your chuckle. “Ah, thanks for clearing that up.”

Yamamoto paused before asking, “Did my impassioned words led to a misunderstanding?”

“I’m sure your words are the least of your problems tomorrow at practice.”  Kuroo answered this time, earning an anguished exclamation before the middle-blocker hung-up and threw the phone away.

That was not what you were expecting.

Your mind was in a million places, not sure what to say and what you were just witness to. Kuroo pulled you along to your bed, near throwing you on top while you were distracted in your thoughts.

He hovered above you, placing a light kiss on your forehead and then trailing down the side of your face. You cupped his cheek, still trying to process what the hell just happened, but moved to slot his lips against yours and reassure yourself that this was real. 

Kuroo pulled away and whispered against your lips, “I know it looks crazy, but please trust in me - in us.”

You nodded silently, simply stating an okay when Kuroo continued to stare at you.

“I want this... more than just now in high school.” Kuroo looked to the side, before returning his gaze back to you.

Guiding his head back to yours, you pushed off your elbow to lean up to him. “Me too. I’m sorry for being so quick to accuse you.”

“Stop.” He murmured against your skin, small pecks following his wake. “I should’ve explained it to you before.”

“I mean, it does sound pretty crazy.” You joked, a fond smile growing on your face as Kuroo continued to shower your neck with small kisses. “To think you were flirting with Yamamoto of all people.”

“Oi.” A small scowl was already on his face.

You were ready to tease your poor boyfriend, “Sorry, you were sexting him.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, a hand already sneaking its way under your shirt. “Why don’t I show you what I was teaching him?”

You felt your eyes comically widen at his boldness, any hint of your previous teasing falling away as your boyfriend’s sly smirk crawled further and further down your body.

The love you felt for Kuroo was undeniably mutual, but you had to learn to trust your boyfriend.

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oop lmao hope you enjoyed these short stories!

Come checkout some of the added-on endings to Cheater!Akaashi’s story: ➳  Masterlist 

[iwaisuke]

i like you so much, you'll know it

ft. kageyama tobio, semi eita, iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

genre: fluff (prompts are based off lines of the song)

masterlist

a/n: from the c-drama a love so beautiful :) i wrote this at like 4am so sorry if its crap haha. not proof read either. also, sorry in advance if they're too ooc lol im a mess rn.

» ˚⸙͎۪۫⋆

i like your eyes, you look away when you pretend not to care i like the dimples on the corners of the smile that you wear. i like you more the world may know but dont be scared cause im falling deeper baby be prepared.

» today was your first day at karasuno highschool. honestly, you were so scared. that was up until you found out kageyama was going too.

» the two of you had been childhood friends due to each others grandparents knowing the others. you had been with him through his ups and downs. his victories and defeats. almost everything kageyama did, you were there with him.

» actually, you didnt know kageyama was going to karasuno until you walked outside your door to find the raven haired boy in the same school uniform as you

» "tobi? you never told me you were going to karasuno?" giving him a side eyed grin. "i thought you were planning on going to aoba johsai like oikawa senpai and iwaizumi senpai"

» you viewed kageyama as someone who expected others to reach his level in order to be a good match for him. he had a strong head on his shoulders. naturally gifted in volleyball, like everything was given to him on a gold platter. of course, he wasnt perfect and thats where you come in and keep him level headed. helping him understand his faults and weaknesses as well. doing your best to encourage the setter

» he let out a sigh. a slight frown forming on his face. "i didnt get in.." he quietly said. "karasuno has a good volleyball team though and i can feel myself growing here" he stated bodly

» and boy was he right. something about kageyama did changd that day. he usually was so bitter and angry. a very pessimistic look on life if he and others weren't at the top. maybe it was the orange haired boy, hinata, that the setter and you became friends with. and maybe it was his great senpai's who were patient with him and gave him the opportunity to grow

» kageyama started smiling more often. his small unnoticeable dimples showing. he became kinder. softer. and more carefree. he was a growing boy both mentally and physically.

» what you didnt realize was that not only was kageyama changing, you as well, had something changing and growing in your heart.

» but kageyama noticed. oh boy did he really notice, the way you seemed to become happier and livelier by the day. how the stars sparkled in your eyes when you talked about something you enjoyed. the kind of perfume you would wear and how you would tie your hair differently each day. the weird trinkets you just seemed to love that decorated your bag. but most importantly, how much bigger your heart has become, loving everyone and their faults. always encouraging and motivating him and his team.

» was she always like this? he would constantly think to himself. all of a sudden being hyperaware about you... but he would NEVER let you know that, let alone his senpai's. it was just too embarrassing. just thinking about the never ending teasing he'd get from tanaka and noya senpai made him shiver.

» all of these things he felt about you hit kageyama like a truck the day everyone started to wear their winter uniforms.

» picking you up to walk to school together was a normal thing since the two of you lived close, but how was kageyama suppose to do this now when you're standing in front of him. thigh high socks to keep your legs warm, an oversized jacket that you had borrowed from him a while back you forgot to return. white mittens to cover your cold hands and the slight blush on your face from the wind chill.

» "does it look weird?" you shyly asked. kageyama was silent. "ah.. give me a second. I'll go back in and change real qui-"

» kageyama tugged on your hand. "its fine. lets just go to school or we'll be late." refusing to look you in the eyes. heat rising to your cheeks as tobio dragged you along with him.

» your feelings for the setter had blossomed over the past few months. falling deeper and deeper into him, and at this point you felt like you couldnt hide it anymore. you just had to tell him. tell him all the wonderful things he's done. the way he's grown and how much he means to you.

» "tobi..." your soft voice spilling out. eyes closed, the fog of your breath coming out as you exhaled. "i lik-"

» you felt something wrap around your neck. "wait y/n..." kageyama spoke, interrupting what you were about to say. not gonna lie, you felt like your heart was about to be shattered like ice eventhough kageyama continued to wrap his scarf around your neck.

» "dont say it..." he quietly said as he began to walk forward without you.

» ah... is this what rejection feels like? i didnt even get to say it properly... your hands felt colder now that kageyama wasnt holding them anymore.

» he took a quick glance back at you. blush on his cheeks. "be prepared because i want to be the one to tell you first."

i like the way you try so hard when you play ball with your friends. i like the way you hit the notes in every song you're shinnin' i love the little things like when you're unaware, i catch you steal a glance and smile so perfectly

» semi eita, your 3 year heart throb from the moment he first spoke to you.

» at first, you had suppressed these feelings, telling yourself he would never look at you the same way. but something about the blonde tsundere struck a chord in your heart that you just couldn't forget.

» the two of you ended up becoming friends. closer than you had actually imagined within these past 3 years. doing everyday life with you. waking up and saving you a spot at breakfast. helping you with your studies in exchange for being his workout buddy and motivator.

» semi kept his tabs on you. your likes and dislikes. the things that made you smile and the things that made you groan in disgust, but he would never let you know that.

» to semi, you were his breath of fresh air. the song he has on repeat everyday. the kind of person who would keep him on his toes. in a good way of course

» "oi what are you daydreaming of this time?" semi asked as you zoned out while drinking your carton of strawberry milk. "hm? oh nothin. just thinkin about whats in store for us today!" reaching your arms above your head letting out a stretch. "i just know for a fact. today is gonna be a good day." semi chuckled at your optimistic claim. "how do you know for sure?" "i dont know how. i just do" you replied with a smile on your face.

» today, shiratorizawa had a practice match with aoba johsai and today, eita was picked to be in the starting line up. the pure joy that radiated from his body. maybe today was a really good day just like how you had said.

» semi took a quick glance up into the stands, you gave him a thumbs up and wished him good luck. his smile was brighter than you had ever seen it and his eyes shined like stars. he always told you that whatever chance he got on the court, he would be sure to not let his team down no matter what. he was in his zone. playing his best and sure enough, they had won all 3 matches.

» after practice, semi and you would hang out at his dorm afterwards. he liked to show you all the new songs he was working on. whether it was a cover or a song or a song he was writing on his own.

» the two of you leaned against the wall as you sat on semi's bed. his sheet music all sprawled out before him on his bed sheets. guitar in his arms and you beside him.

» "what are you working on semi?" "a song" "well obviously dum dum" you laughed, reaching out for a paper in front.

» "so who's the special lady?" you teased him as you read the lyrics. deep down inside you could only wish these words were meant for you. a blush formed on eita's face. "just... shut up about it... its not ready yet"

» it was getting late and falling asleep at semi's place was a normal occurrence at this point. your eyes became heavy and your head started bobbing.

» "sleepy?" eita asked as he noticed your eyes drooping. "mhm. sing for me semi? please?" his voice was so soft like a mothers touch yet somehow had the power to pierce through your soul sometimes. although, it never failed to help you fall asleep when you needed it.

» hesitantly, semi started humming. softly speaking some lyrics here and there. you didnt know where the tune was from so you listened the best you could.

» "... till the last of snow dissapears ... till a rainy day, becomes clear. never knew a love like this, now i can't let go..."

» your eyes had closed. slumber taking over you as you fell onto semi's shoulder.

» "im in love with you... and now you know..."

» yeah. today was a good day. just like you said it was going to be.

in a world devoid of life, you bring color. in your eyes i see the light, my future. always and forever i know i cant let you go. im in love with you and now you know

» to iwaizumi, unlike volleyball, oikawa, maki, mattsun, school, anything life threw at him; you were the thing in his life that was constant yet at the same time a whirlwind of new beginnings. not in a bad way though.

» ever since you were kids, you showed iwaizumi the beauty in things he would have never guessed had. he was bold and tended to look over things without giving them much thought. his eyes straight ahead to the trials before him. you on the other hand, stopped him and slowed him down from rushing into them blindly.

» "every moment is precious. you should learn to cherish it because you never know when it's gonna be your last" you always said

» your views of the world were beautiful compared to how cruel it actually was. naivety maybe? or maybe it was just because you were blessed with a kind soul.

» iwaizumi always knew he had feelings for you. you had been with him through thick and thin. he could depend on you and you could depend on him. in his eyes, you were the most beautiful person on earth. deep down he had hoped the two of you could stay like that forever. nothing could ever change that.

» or so he thought...

» "iwa chan~ you owe me a meat bun" oikawa whined as the group of friends were walking to the gym for volleyball practice. "shut up crappykawa. i already bought you one last week" "oi isn't that y/n over there?" maki said, shaking iwaizumi's shoulder.

» sure enough it was you. apparently you had told iwaizumi to go ahead of you today because you had something to take care of in the afternoon. telling him you'd meet up with him after practice was over. not thinking much of it, he bid you a farewell and went on in his day.

» "oooou by the looks of it, this is the perfect confession scene" mattsun teased. "oi stop messing around" iwaizumi's voice hoarse. not gonna lie, iwaizumi felt his heart drop when mattsun said that

» the 4 boys crept closer to see what was going on.

» there you were, standing in the middle of a classroom with a black haired boy. "mhm. definitely a confession." oikawa stated. "shut up tooru we cant hear" maki retorted.

» you weren't considered popular in school but that didnt mean people didnt know who you were. iwaizumi knew you were gorgeous and on top of that, smart, kind and one of the sweetest girls, so it was only natural that people would be drawn to you.

» they watched as the boy got closer and closer to you. voices barely being audible to the 4 boys outside. iwaizumi's heart could bear to see this right before his eyes.

» without even thinking, his feet moving on his own, iwaizumi barged into the room. all eyes towards him.

» "iwa what are you-" without letting you finish, iwa dragged you out of the classroom. "iwa where are you taking me" asking him as he took you to who knows where, leading you up the stairs of the school.

» up on the roof, he finally let go. "sorry..." he mumbled.

» "sorry for what iwa?" "for ruining that confession... i just-"

» "you just...-?"

» "i just love you ok?!"

» your heart shook at the resonance of his voice. iwa liked you? he liked you back?! wait no- he loved you.

» you had loved iwaizumi from the moment you met him and as the two of you grew up, your love for him only grew deeper. he was the only one you'd ever look at. the only one who would ever cross your mind. you had hoped he felt the same about you but he was always so busy with other things you only felt like you would be able to support him on the sidelines as he faced the world head on like he always does.

» just being in iwaizumi's presence was enough for you. no need to be greedier, you thought. its good to be content with what you have, but just knowing that he shares the same feelings... its ok to be a little greedy right?

» your silence being louder than it should have been, iwaizumi took it the wrong way. "look I know this isn't the greatest confession. heck it's not even the way I wanted to confess to you, and get it if you like that other guy, you don't have to-"

» shuting him up with a kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. needless to say, he was shocked, but embraced you as well.

» "you're overthinking too much iwa. that's so unlike you" you chuckled. his face bright red at the previous actions.

» "i love you. I've loved you for a long time actually. every single second. every moment we've shared. i cant picture myself with anyone but you hajime."

» iwa let out a sigh of relief. a smile being brought back onto his face. "good because all I know is that i cant let you go. in the past, present and even in the future...."

» the blue sky slowly changing into shades of coral warmed your heart even more on top of his sweet words that you've always longed to hear.

» "im in love with you, and now you know"

-» ˚⸙͎۪۫⋆

enjoy your order! have a great day!

[itsclydebitches]

Why do people get hung up on whether a gay person in media is a good or bad representation of them? I'm gay and I can tell you we aren't all the same? Being gay is our 1 common trait. So as long as they're gay then you've done it. Gay people can be kind, mean, racist, open, kinky, reserved, shy, outgoing, sexist, and literally anything else under the human experience.

Because I am perpetually hungry, let's tell a story about cookies.

You are a bright-eyed, optimistic, baker in the making. Your goal is to wow the world with your culinary skills, so of course you head to The Best Baking School for your degree. Over the course of your studies you learn how to perfect a thousand different cakes, an equal number of pies, and more versions of brownies than most would even assume exist. But cookies... oh, cookies are your passion! You can't wait to learn about the wealth of cookies you can make too. Then, sure enough, that part of your education finally arrives.

Funny thing is though, it's just chocolate chip.

Surely there's been some mistake? The cookie experience is vast and nuanced! Why in the world are your instructors — supposedly the best in the world — reducing cookies to a single class about baking chocolate chip and chocolate chip alone? Hell, why are cookies so sparse in the curriculum as a whole? You're never asked to bake them as a demonstration, or practice with them, and they're definitely not a given across everyone else's baking experience. Cakes, pies, and brownies... they're the default. Cookies are comparatively rare and when you do get to study them, everyone is super focused on the chocolate chip.

Then you graduate and head out into the world, only to find that pretty much everyone is as cookie-blind as your school. A few years back you never would have found cookies in the average grocery store and yeah, the fact that there's a cookie section now is great, but it's, uh... all chocolate chip! Many bakeries still don't carry cookies at all, but when they do it's - again - chocolate chip. Chocolate chip out in restaurants. Chocolate chip at the bake sale. Your friend invites you over and proudly presents a massive sweets tray that includes a single, sad looking, chocolate chip cookie. They beam at you in pride. Isn't it so great?

"Uh..." you say. "Well..."

Every once in a while someone will switch out milk chocolate for dark chocolate, or add nuts alongside chocolate chips. One bakery was even crazy enough to exclude chocolate chips entirely! Crazy according to the press, anyway. Because for years now you've been shaking your head, wondering what exactly is so progressive about realizing that sugar cookies exist. You've found other bakers interested in cookies and, by god, there are thousands. So many flavors! Gluten free and allergy conscious! Someone even made a sweets tray that was predominantly cookies, can you believe it? The problem is, almost none of them are mainstream. Your friend baking cookies out of their personal kitchen is doing fantastic work, but their baking doesn't have the impact that those grocery chains and established bakeries do. Their work isn't going to fix your school's curriculum. Too many people still think that cookies are exotic somehow. They're not the default. And when they do acknowledge their existence, it's chocolate chip over and over. Until one of them adds those nuts and suddenly the whole country is losing its mind about how inspired, creative, progressive their baking is. Meanwhile, you're ready to scream because that baker doesn't even know that something as "exotic" as a gingersnaps exist!

The worst part? Most of these cookies are... bad. Like they exist, yeah, but good god most don't taste good. And that's the whole point of a cookie?? What is the point of buying cookies if the cookies themselves are awful? You go to these bakeries, these restaurants, your friend's house, and you try the very limited cookies on offer, only to find that they've been sloppily baked. Doesn't anyone care that the baker burned their cookies to a crisp? That another straight up forgot to add sugar? This one dropped his on the floor and still tried to serve it to you! But the overall sense is that you should be grateful for getting any cookies at all. "That cookie is an offense to my taste buds," you say and people shake their head at you, disappointed. "I liked the taste of it," one says. "If you don't like it, go buy a different cookie!" Well... easier said than done. "It's not that bad," another says, shrugging in defeat. "I mean yeah, I don't really like it, and the baker stopped making them two years ago... but I'm just happy to have had any cookie at all, you know?" You do know, but that doesn't mean it's any less frustrating. You look at the hundreds of cakes available, these bakers spending decades perfecting their recipes, and wish cookies had even a fraction of that work put into them. You find people who agree with you, absolutely, but there's this this prevailing sense that a cookie is a cookie. Any cookie will do. Supposedly.

Except go long enough and you feel like you're ready to lose your mind. You take some poor person by the shoulders and go, "Doesn't this bother you? Doesn't this make you furious? There is more to the cookie world than these three flavors, 90% of which is chocolate chip! And we deserve well-made cookies, not the crap they've been upholding as the next culinary masterpiece!"

But this person just shakes their head. "Well of course there's more to cookies than three flavors. There's a huge variety of cookies! I know that."

"Yes, but the world isn't selling that variety."

"Of course they are! Just last week I had an oatmeal raisin. That's amazing!"

"Yeah and how many years did it take you to find that?"

"Well..."

"And how did that oatmeal raisin cookie taste?"

Your prisoner pulls a face. "Ugh, not good. Oatmeal raisin is definitely not for me. It's hard as a rock! I really don't understand why someone would want to eat that on a regular basis."

"But it's not supposed to be hard as a rock!" you cry, waving your arms. "That's the problem! Oatmeal raisin is so goddamn rare and then the one time we get it, it was badly baked. Of course people are turned off by it. Everyone who already loves oatmeal raisin is getting pissed because their favorite cookie is misrepresented, they're unlikely to see more of them now, and everyone is still serving the most tasteless chocolate chip cookies I've ever had, acting like this is the pinnacle of cookie baking! Do you even know that a macron exists?"

The person pats your hand consolingly. "Of course I do. My roommate's sister's boyfriend used to bake macrons, you know. I don't know why you're so hung up on this. Cookies can be whatever the baker wants them to be. Provided they're a flat-ish sweet cake, they're still a cookie!"

You hang your head, giving up. "Yes, they can be so many things, but they're not. Let me know if you ever find a bakery actually making the variety you keep acknowledging exists. Bonus points if those cookies are edible. My soul if they're delicious, as a cookie should be."

"You know," they say, still patting your hand. "There's a bakery making chocolate chip with dark chocolate next year. Everyone is talking about it. You should think about buying one before they take it off the menu!"

You contemplate just walking into the ocean.

Now, incredibly long metaphor concluded... switch out "cookies" for "queer rep"! The representation matters because no, just making them gay isn't enough right now. You're right that queer people can be anything under the sun, but right now media isn't providing us with that variety. It's not enough to acknowledge that such variety exists, it actually has to make it into our books and onto our screen. Taking just characters who identify as gay and putting aside the HUGE variety of other identities for a moment (of which we are mostly lacking in terms of rep), where are the gay asexuals? The gay people of color? The disabled gays? Trans gays? Did your gay character appear for just a handful of episodes? Were they killed off? Are they nothing more than a stereotype or comic relief? Is this the only gay character in your entire story? We need to ask questions like this because though gay people can be anything under the sun, our media landscape has only shown a miniscule portion of that variety.

Today, even in 2021, our representation of gay people is still pretty limited to:

You are only coded as gay and evil

You are only coded as gay and queerbaited

You are canonically gay, but a cis, ablebodied, white person

You are canonically gay, but were written terribly/killed off/punished by the narrative/generally making the real gay people watching you feel awful about their identity

You are canonically gay, but you're not human. Gotta other the queerness by making you an alien/robot/fantasy being

You are canonically gay and that's your entire existence. There is one (1) narrative of how you knew by the time you were four, never questioned your identity after that, suffered through a family that rejected you, and now all your major arcs revolve around being gay. You are gay and that is it.

Despite being a list of six, that's still incredibly limiting. Are there exceptions to such a list? Always, but that doesn't mean the list isn't still dominating. We can look at any individual gay character and say, "Of course they can be evil/white/killed off/a joke/etc. because gay people can be anything at all," but when we look at the trends, when we look at ALL the media together, we see that gay people aren't actually depicted as being anything... they're depicted as being these handful of things, severely limiting how gayness is represented. Bad rep. If you hit up the bakery and question why there's only versions of chocolate chip available yeah, the baker can go, "But cookies can be any flavor! Including chocolate chip!" They are not, technically, wrong. The problem is not that chocolate chip exists, but that chocolate chip dominates and other flavors are rare, ignored entirely, or baked so badly it's actively damaging to that flavor as a whole. Yeah, your gay character can be mean. Or kinky. Or murdered by the story. But when so many gay characters are mean and kinky and murdered by their stories — when you're not getting other versions to balance that out and gay characters are still rare enough that it's just 1-2 characters trying to carry representation for an entire franchise — you start realizing that the claim of "Gay people can be anything else under the human experience" is an easy way to shut down the conversation of whether that variety actually exists in our storytelling yet.

It's not enough for the baker to acknowledge that yeah, of course there are hundreds of cookie flavors and of course cookies taste great! They've actually got to learn how to bake them properly and fill up their store with them.

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE BLOOD Vol.2: Mukami Kou [Track 7+8]

Original title: 堕落した証 & いらいらする

Source: Diabolik Lovers More, Blood Vol. 2: Mukami Kou [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kimura Ryouhei

Translator’s note: Oh boy oh boy. I should have kept my mouth shut during the last few tracks because these two tracks had me wriggle around in my seat as my stomach turned upside down. > < Those of you who have been around since last year might recall how I struggled with Shuu’s D-S Kyuuketsu CD because of the ‘bodily gore’ noises when he cuts the MC with a knife and then stirs his fingers around in the open wounds. KOU DOES THE EXACT SAME THING GDI. I had to pause several times because I got nauseous. :’’) Please no more of this Rejet. 

Track 1+2 ll Track 3+4 ll Track 5+6 ll Track 7+8 ll Track 9+10

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 7: Proof of Corruption

“Well then, where should I bite you next...~? Both your neck and arm are already dyed a bright crimson from your blood. Fufu~ While I’m at it, I guess I should make you even more red...Perhaps that’ll improve your looks a little.”

*Rustle*

[00:25] “Hmー Such slender wrists...Fufu, I could probably twist them with ease. If I were to plunge my fangs in, they might just pierce right through, don’t you think? Come on, show me your hand.”

*Rustle*

“Hm...These marks are still fresh. Hmー They weren’t left behind by me, which means they belong to one of those guys? Heeeh...Now what a lovely decoration you have here. You really are a maso-kitty, aren’t you? I sort of get now that you’re not doing all of this on purpose. Which means...is someone controlling you behind the scenes?”

*Rustle rustle*

[01:18] “Take flowers, for example. They don’t particularly wish to bloom beautifully, do they? However, some larger force in nature is ordering them to do so to lure in birds and insects. So perhaps you were put together by someone with the specific goal to seduce us Vampires? If not, a plain girl such as yourself couldn’t even dream of having someone like me suck you, not even out of pity. Fufufu...~”

*Rustle rustle*

He digs his finger inside your skin.

[01:59] “Ah-aaah...Since the wound hadn’t fully healed yet, my finger sank in the moment I pressed down. Does it hurt? Fufu~ I’m digging my nail into the open wound after all~ I bet it hurts...Then suffer more...Scream...! Nobody will hear you here. This place has been equipped to ensure that they won’t find you.”

*Rustle*

“But...Well...If they did know you were here, I wonder if they would come and get you? These guys who seem to be oh-so obsessed with you, I mean~”

Kou continues to stir up the wound with his nails.

“Are you writhing in pain? Ah-aaah...Your ugly face only became even more hideous. Should I say it has a certain charm to it? I’m incapable of loving you while you look like that though. However...”

*Rustle*

[02:57] “In regards to these wounds, I feel a strange sense of attachment. I wonder why? Perhaps it’s just fun to compete with other Vampires over a prey such as yourself? Hahaha...But in that case, I have to leave behind my own marks as well or it’s no fun, right? ...I’ll leave my mark on top of these wounds, as if to overwrite them. It’ll be perfect proof of how thoroughly corrupted you’ve become.”

*Rustle*

Kou bites you.

*Gulp*

“Mmh...*

*Gulp gulp*

“ーーHah!”

*Gulp*

[03:50] “Mmh...Haah...I can smell them from here...It pisses me off...Hahn...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Hah, haah...It makes me want to just rip up your whole arm with my fangs...”

*Gulp*

“Fufu...This must be the taste of hatred...~ Exactly...I can’t forgive them...Never! That’s whyーー”

*Gulp gulp*

“Haah...Haah...”

*Rustle*

[04:38] “I won’t return you to them. You’re basically mine now. Offer both your body and soul to me...And go mad. Fufu...Damn~ What’s wrong with me? Am I being spurred on by you? Uwaah...This is a first for me. Fufu~ I truly got my hands on a nifty toy. I was just going to have a little taste before handing you over to Ruki...but I might not want to let you go again.”

*Rustle*

[05:22] “Haah...Let me suck more...Your blood is messing with my head...as I find myself wishing you would offer more of that delicious blood pumping through your veins to me and me only.”

*Rustle*

“Oi. I bet you have other marks left behind by them as well, don’t you? Tell me. I’ll make you go through those painful memories again. Come on, hurry up and fess up.”

*Rustle*

[06:00] “Hey? Are you listening? If you space out like that, I’ll do something much, much more painful and rough?”

You muster a response.

“Hm? Your belly? Eeeh~? Now where could they be...~?”

*Rustle rustle*

“Ah, you must be talking about these. Marks spotted~ They really don’t hold back when devouring you, do they?”

He licks the marks.

“Oh, this one smells different. So, tell me. Did you have them bite you from head to toe? Hah! What a slut you are.”

You protest.

[06:46] “Hm? You didn’t wish for any of this to happen? ...Che. Why are you giving me that defiant look? Do I have to repeat myself a million times before your idiotic brain gets it? I was reminded once more the moment I sucked your blood. You’ve been tampered with in some way to lure in Vampires. I wonder who could be behind it...~? Fufu...Somehow that piques my interest...”

*Rustle*

“But for now, I’ll cover you with my marks. So I’ll thrust my fangs inside these wounds as well...”

Kou digs his nails into your skin once more as you flinch.

[07:31] “Aren’t you happy? I’m the one saying these things after all. ..Aaah-aah, such filthy marks. I’ll erase them right away.”

He bites you again.

“Hahn...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Hah...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Haah...Haah...”

*Sluuuuurp*

“Haah...This stench is persistent...It won’t disappear...Ugh, it pisses me off. If I can’t get rid of it with my fangs...It just makes me want to mess you up as a whole...”

*Rustle*

“Haah...Guess I’ll just have to sink them in deeper and deeper...Like thisーー!”

*Gulp gulp*

“Hah...Nnh...”

You cry out.

[08:41] “Ah...It hurts? Look at you gushing blood all over the place. You really have no shame, do you? But you shouldn’t be able to feel the pain, you know? My fangs have already made it so you perceive everything as pleasure. Fufufu...”

*Rustle*

“I can tell you want me, so try and voice it out loud? Beg for me with a cute tone. Come on, hurry...Ask me to make you feel ever better~”

You whimper.

[09:24] “Hmm~~? I can’t hear you...~ You’re going to have to speak a little louder. Also, don’t forget to sound cute, okay?”

You repeat it.

“Fufu...~ Exactly, like that. Just be honest with yourself...Perhaps then I’ll be able to feel a little affection for someone as ugly as yourself.”

You beg again. 

“Mm~ Good. You managed to beg for it cutely, so I’ll love on you in return. ...With these fangs of mine, that is.”

Kou bites you again.

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“Hahn...Mmh...”

*Sluuuuurp*

[10:14] “...Hah...! ...Hm? ...’More’? ...You can crave it more. I kind of like it when people yearn for me. ...I’ll plunge them inside even deeper than before...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Haah, haah...Ugh...Haah...I guess the smell is starting to fade a little?”

You moan.

“Fufu...Seems like you’re feeling rather good as well. Your body has completely given in to the pleasure, it feels as if your blood has become sweeter as well.”

Track 8: Irritation

Kou inspects your body.

*Rustle*

“Where else have they bitten you...? ー Ah, don’t tell me. I’ll try finding it myself this time...~ After the stomach, it has to be...The legs, right~?”

*Rustle*

[00:18] “Yes, I got it right! ...They sure love going for the risqué spots, don’t they? Hah! Right near your crotch (1) ...How lewd. On top of that, you can tell they’ve sucked from here repeatedly...Very dirty! I wonder what kind of expression you made as they sucked from here? Perhaps you didn’t realize it yourself, but they pretty much got a full view of aaaall your embarrassing places.”

You squeak.

“How embarrassing, gosh! ...But I’m sure you love that sorta stuff, don’t you? After all, I can see a glint of anticipation in your eyes. Or am I just imagining things? Is it because I’m the one doing this to you? ...Well, I guess I’ll figure out the answer to my own question once I bite you. Well then...”

*Rustle*

“Where should I leave my mark? ...Right here. I’ve settled on this spot.”

He bites you again.

*Gulp*

[01:28] “Mmh...Hah...Haha! What a lovely view...Fufu...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Seems like it’s making you weak as well...Look at you twist and turn your body like that...What a dirty girl you are.”

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“ ーーHah! We’re still nowhere near done...Let me suck more and more...Hahn...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Hah...Hah...”

*Gulp*

[02:11] “Haah...Fuck...Could this be a trap of some sorts...? Fufu...I feel as if your blood is leading me straight to my own demise...Well, I guess that’s fine. As long as it feels good...whether it’s a trap or whatever, I’m not scared. Perhaps the person who set you up this way predicted this all along? ...Say.”

*Rustle*

[02:44] “I bet they knew that we would try and snatch you away like that. Guess we’re being mocked, huh? That pisses me off. ...You seem to be feigning ignorance but you’re part of the whole scheme, aren’t you? ...If you think this will all pass as long as you just obediently spread your legs, you’re gravely mistaken. I’ll give you something much, much, much more painful, you’d find yourself wishing you’d be dead instead...!”

*Thud*

Your eyes widen in horror.

“Hehe...”

*Gulp gulp*

[03:26] “...Heh. Does it feel good? Lucky you! I think you might be the first human who has gotten the honor to receive this much pleasure from me. Well, under normal circumstances, one bite is plenty to make any human ascend to Heaven, but in your case, the more I have, the more delicious your blood becomes and on top of that...You dare oppose me. It pisses me off. ...Mmh...”

*Gulp*

“...Hm? There’s marks on your thighs as well!”

*Rustle rustle*

[04:06] “I have to engrave my own mark here as well. ...Geez, I wonder what they find so appealing about these stick legs? I can’t relate, but I don’t like the idea of there being marks from someone other than me. ...Mmh..”

*Gulp*

“Nnh...”

*Gulp gulp*

[04:37] “...Hah...Ah...Haah...~ I feel sluggish for some reason...Have I been numbed? In that case, your blood is to blame. ...This is bad...Fufufu~ I just don’t understand how I want to keep an ugly girl such as yourself all to myself...Makes no sense, does it? I feel irritated by it myself but...I also just can’t help it. This strong desire for you keeps on welling up inside of me...What is happening to me? Geez...Honestly, it pisses me off! I’ve never felt this strongly attached to anything or anyone before!?”

*Rustle*

“Hahn...”

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“...ー Hah!”

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“Mmh...Haah, haah...I can’t get enough...Do you want me more? ...So do I.”

*Gulp gulp*

[05:57] “Hah...Yearn for me more and more...You just need to keep your eyes on me. ...You belong to me now. Happy? Of course you are. If you continue to writhe around like that, I’ll give you never-ending pleasure.”

*Rustle*

“Mmh...Haahn...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Mmh...Nnh...”

*Gulp*

“Haah, haah...!”

*Gulp*

[06:37] “Haah...! I can’t...I still haven’t had enough...Hm. I still refuse to give you up. I’ll make you forget about those other guys in no time. I’m obsessing over you, so it only makes sense. ...Unlike those guys, I won’t call you prey either. You’re mine after all. ...Doesn’t that make you happy? I’m a gentleman after all~ I know how to make a girl happy. I’m sure you didn’t like being degraded by having them call you ‘prey’ either, right? Fufu...~”

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー 

Translation notes

(1) 足の付け根 or ‘ashi no tsukene’ is the root/base of the leg where it connects to the hips.