#this is a bunch of half formed scenes in my head

[etheries1015]

We share the love language of biting. Now imagine TWST beatsfolk has that as an actual sign of courting. Like you're chilling with Leona, not dating or wooing him, and then you bite his cheek in affection. And all of Savanaclaw is shocked because among them, it's the same as i.e. proposing marriage. The utter chaos XD

OHH MY GOSSSHHH YOUR BRAIN >>> I LITERALLY LOVE THIS SO MUCH??? HAHAHA SODEFHSELKJD i'm gonna expand on that for a few characters...

Accidentally courting them

General warnings: Gender-neutral reader, not really proof read lol. Obvious Malleus and Lilia favoritism <3 I also decided that they ARE dating in this scenario, I think its cuter that way in my head heuheu

Featuring: Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Malleus, Lilia, ... and Rook HAHA.

TW: none! Just a bunch o' fluff of biting your non-human lover without realizing it was a sign of courtship <3

Leona

It was a typical day for Leona. You two were sitting in the lounge where most of the other students lingered, Leona becoming rather... possessive as of late. Instead of resting in his bedroom away from prying eyes as you had requested from your lover, he ignored all your feeble cries requesting privacy. Instead, he holds you in his lap without worrying what others are thinking. A form of showing others you were his, and his alone. You were conflicted in your feelings, staring at him. His eyes were closed, but he could feel your gaze burning into his head.

"How long are you-" Then it happened. You gave in. You gave his cheek a bit of a nibble. All of the sudden the chattering stopped, all eyes were on you, before they start patting Leonas back and giving him congrats while a few seemed to pull presents right out of their asses.

"Wha- what's going on?" Leona grumbled with a light blush before growling and pushing the face of someone who tried to hand him another gift.

"You all look like idiots! You know biting means something different to us. Don't be dumb." Okay, now you were extra confused. Seeing your utter ignorance, Leona sighed.

"Biting in our land is a sign of courtship, herbivore." ...Oh. You blush deeply and hide your face in his chest, Leona looking away flustered and ruffling your hair.

"Try again in a few years, and I just might bite you back."

Ruggie

You were walking down the halls with your boyfriend when suddenly you had the urge to just...bite him. an overwhelming sense of love and affection for the fact he had given you some of the bread he (probably legally) got ahold of. You smiled fondly at the bread and back at Ruggie before placing your mouth on the bulb of his shoulder, causing him to yelp in suprise and dropping his half of the bread.

"wha- huh?! What was that for?" He became flustered, bending over to pick up his bread and slowly move away from you with bright red cheeks. You furrowed your eyebrows and hugged yourself, almost embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I just...I dunno," Your cryptic and non specific response left him with his jaw open and eyes wide, spluttering out things like "We're still in school! I don't have the funds yet-" before a familiar fist came and knocked the back of Ruggies head. Leona stood there smiling in amusement and chuckling at you.

"I don't think they know what that means to us beastman, Ruggie." Even more confused then before, you asked for clarification.

"You just asked him to marry you with that bite of yours, herbivore." Now YOUR mouth was wide open, and Ruggie managed to get flee from the scene without much notice from you nor his senior.

Oh brother. You have a lot of communicating to do with that one.

Jack

You were sitting at the lunch table eating away at your food when you noticed...Jack's biceps. You marveled at the sight of his bulky arms- it's a wonder to you how he managed to become so strong and have the motivation to train all day. With a burst of admiration, instead of biting into your sandwich - you took a bite into his muscle. He yelped in suprise and just stared at you, face slowly turning red. Ace and Deuce laughed at his reaction, ready to ask you what was up before Jack took it upon himself to... well, flustered and rapidly spit-firing plans.

"W-we are still so young! Are you sure about this? I-i never knew our relationship was at this level!" He grabbed both of your hands and looked you in your (bewildered) eyes.

"If you're serious about this, I promise I will protect and love you for the rest of my life. But before we go ahead with the ceremony, I want you to meet my parents and get their blessings. Oh, and I need to get a stable job after we finish school first, too, so I can support you and our future. know we haven't talked about marriage before but-" You quickly cut him off in astonishment before crying out,

"MARRIAGE?! Jack, WHAT are you talking about?! I am absolutely not ready for marriage! What got into you?!"

...Queue Ruggie and Leona hysterically laughing at your utter confusion, reveling in the ignorance of it all for a few moments longer before explaining properly what you had just committed yourself unknowingly to.

Malleus

You were laying in the bed of Malleus Draconias's dorm, scrolling on your phone whilst his tail wrapped around your waist as he sat next to you reading a book. You sighed lightly and leaned your head back against the board of the mattress, turning slightly to look at your handsome fae lover. Your eyes then went down to his pale and perfect skin of his neck, the way it was free from all blemishes, smooth, and bright. Something about it made you want to taint it a light shade of red... He felt you shuffle slightly to adjust your body to be in just the right position where his neck was in full view. He glanced over to you feeling you wriggle free from his tails grasp, tilting his head seeing the look in your eyes crazed as you leaned over and just...chomped down on his collarbone.

You felt his tail twitch and his hands quickly throw the book he was reading aside to grasp your wrists, turning your body around and pinning you to the bed and carrassing your cheek with his tail.

"Biting..." He murmured, "Does this mean the same to humans as it does to Fae? You wish to be wed?" Your jaw dropped and cheeks took on a rosey hue, stuttering over yourself.

"W-wed?! I mean, I like to bite when I feel affectionate b-but marriage...I mean maybe one day b-but-"

"Biting in Fae culture is a sign of courtship and ownership. How brazen of you to mark me," he chuckled, "I shall take it you wish to own the next king of Briar Valley?" You could tell at this point Malleus was teasing you, something he picked up from the time you two have been dating.

Malleus could not help but return the favor by riddling your body with his own bite marks. Although he understood you perhaps did not have the intention of marrying him with your silly little form of affection, he knew in his mind with every bite that he was very serious about your future with him.

Lilia

Lilia already knew that biting in the human world did not mean marriage, yet was akin to something more of "cute aggression." So when you have the habit of biting him in the privacy of yours or his room, he knows you simply meant it as a form of affection, letting him know that you had an overwhelming sense of love for the old fae. He bit you back consistently on many occasions, it just seemed to be the perfect form of showing love for one another.

You didn't actually know it meant something much deeper, until you were in the diasomnia lounge and unable to control yourself as you grabbed Lilias hand and bit down gently on his wrist. You couldn't help it, he was being so entirely silly and loving towards you, that you couldn't help but show this public display of affection. Much to everyone else's dismay, however. Sebek stares at you with his mouth agape, sounds of disbelief escaping past his lips yet a sentence unable to form. Malleus as well seemed surprised at this.

"(y/n)," Malleus said, "You wish to marry Lilia?" You coughed at the sudden question and let out a feeble and awkward chuckle.

"I mean...I wouldn't mind one day, of course. We haven't really talked about it. Why the sudden question?"

"HOW DARE YOU," Sebek cried out after finally finding his words, "How dare you bite Lilia and be so insolent as to not move forward with your actions in dignity! YOU MUST TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR PROPOSAL-" Lilia started snickering, cutting Sebek off with a wave of his hand.

"It's quite alright, Sebek. Biting means something much different to humans than Fae, I suppose this is the first you had seen us put on a show of affection, hence your confusion." He turned to you, who had furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips at Sebeks sudden outburst.

"Biting, my dear, is a form of courtship to us fae. It is a sign of ownership," He chuckled.

"Why didn't you tell me that?!" You exasperated, "I mean, it wouldn't have changed anything I have done, but I would have been more careful about it... especially if it means something more to you," Lilia gracefully explained he understood it meant something slightly different to humans, before gently grabbing your hand and raising it to his mouth.

"Well, now that you understand what it means," He put your ring finger into his mouth and took a bite at the base,

"Would you like to bite me once more, my dear?"

Bonus:

Rook

You bit his arm and he immediately was on one knee.

"Was that a proposal? You know mon cheri, biting one affectionately is often a declaration of courtship-" You hit the top of his head and walked away from your interesting boyfriend.

"You're not a beastman or a fae! I'm never biting you again!" Your face red and folding your arms, turning away (ah, his cute tsundere lover.)

Oh woe is Rook! He begs and begs you to bite him more, he wants to be covered in your marks. It means you were claiming him as your own, right? RIGHT??

~~~

This was so fun to write DFSEFDSFIHSLDKJF thank you for the brain rot heuheuheueheueh

Masterlist

[duck-a-doodle]

The Rumoured Casper’s Honeybee (1/2) [EDITED]

A/N: Hello there! This is a little unedited drabble that has been stuck in my head, so I hope you enjoy it!

P.S.: I have edited and changed some grammar and the plot point to fit the second half better.

WARNING: Potentially OOC Simon 'Ghost' Riley. The reader is 'married to work' and is slower on tphe uptake. Let there be ANGST then fluff.

SUMMARY: Simon "Ghost" Riley, who has shockingly grown accustomed to you, seeks your medical attention. Masterlist

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The role of a medical professional under military services is nothing to choke at. Sounds of barked orders and the bright glint of hospital lights have become a familiar environment, and your eyes have grown accustomed to the olive drab greens and the standard heavy gears that came and went in a clinical setting, and that scene held true, even after your transfer to the 141.

Of the men in this base, the most outstanding ones you knew were Captain John Price, Sergeant Garrick, Sergeant McTavish and — Ghost. Tales of their stunts would float down the hallways thus naturally, you knew of them before you were properly acquainted. Loosely acquainted. Before you found your place in the 141, you were reserved, fastidious and competent, earning yourself the call sign 'Honeybee'. That had been your impression to many others of your field before you joined, and that was not to change now at your newly designated location.

It would not be uncommon for the clients to remember their practitioners and vice versa, but your case just seemed a little more special than the rest.

Ghost, who you prefered to refer to as ‘lieutenant’, seemed to have made himself familiar in your routine for the last two months. Prior to your arrival as the new medic of this organisation, you were told that he avoided the clinic like it was the plague, only showing up for the bare minimum of checkups. The turning point, some of your colleagues pointed out, appeared to be around the time you showed up, right as the team had returned from the Las Almas fiasco. No one person dared to deal with the lieutenant after witnessing his demeanour, and where he stepped, a repelling effect took place; anyone and everyone who had ever vaguely heard of him parted around him like the red sea, all except for you who refused to waver at any of the ‘Ghost rumours’.

The commanding officer was yours to manage ever since. For any wounds, illnesses, obligatory checkups or medical documents that he bore, it would be you who handled them. Not that you had any choice in that regard, given that whenever he set foot into the office, a clear path that led to you would reveal itself before him.

Never did you consider it a hassle when you understood it as part of your duty during government time, and soon a routine was formed after every operation he takes on.

He would come back more battered than a steak, and you would be at the ready with your gear, aid kit and all. On the rare, exacting moments of your career, you were even assigned to go out in the field where he had to be, for in the words of Captain Price, “our lieutenant recommended you for the role.”

Even with that, you thought nothing of it. Until you slipped.

The medical room was empty save for yourself and the medical equipment that needed sorting after an intensive few hours of patients filing in and out for appointments and health check-ups. After the last of the bunch left you wired and riddled with a terrible tension headache, you turned around to retrieve some aspirin, only to stop short at the sight of a tall, mass of black standing by the examination stable, waiting.

“Oh for god’s- hello, lieutenant,” You let out a breath after closing your eyes to gain your ground.

“Doc.”

“One moment, lieutenant.” Striding towards the cabinet which held your relief, you quickly popped yourself a pill before returning to address your surprise patient of the day.

Ghost simply lifted his mask slightly, to your surprise, and you looked away instinctively. Moments pass before you realised that the problem laid under the mask; a lip lasceration, there on the corner of his mouth. Wordlessly, you sprung into action despite your exhaustion and the throbbing sensation that weighed on the back of your mind. Carefully, you applied the L.E.T. Gel before going in with absorbable sutures, making sure to puncture the skin surfaces appropriately. Your eyes trained on the gash on his lips, away from the faint scars that litter his lower face, away from the details of his sharp nose and light five o’clock shadow that formed around his jaw.

Through, over, then through again went the needle, pulling the thread together in a quiet, steady rhythm. He never moved an inch; the only signs of life you felt from his were the warmth of his skin and the slow deep breaths that flowed through his chest. And when you were done, you cannot help but find that he is, of all the patients you have had, one of the most disciplined.

Perhaps it was the headache, perhaps it was your sleep-addled mind at play, or perhaps it was your lack of water that made you do it — but in a brief motion, you behaved contrary to your character. Before Ghost could fix his mask properly, you hand reached up to pull it down, lining it smoothly to his jaw before giving his head a soft, gentle pat.

A fleeting eye contact was all it took for your actions to dawn upon you. His eyes froze your hand in place and rendered you near speechless.

“I- My apologies, Capta- I mean, lieutenant. I forgot myself,” embarrassed, you removed your hand from his head immediately. He did not move. He did not blink. You watch cautiously, waiting with bated breath for him to reveal his displeasure. Instead, he chose to drop his head ever so slightly, closing his eyes.

Unsure of what to make of the situation, you followed his implications. Slowly, you rest your full palm against his skull, feeling the top of his head through the coarse fabric of his mask. You move your fingers lightly over his balaclava and feel something soft underneath — it was a bouncy, curling texture under the cloth. He has hair. A huff left your nose before you could stop it and his eyes snapped open to look at you.

Awkwardly, you offered him a small, tight-lipped smile, patting his head twice more before letting your hand drop to your side.

“For being a good patient,” you jested in an attempt to compose yourself.

Not long after he left, you shut your eyes and berated yourself for behaving like an utter fool, for losing your own decorum like a green-faced soldier despite your years of experience. You could not stop thinking about the glint in his eyes before he left that day. It felt almost playful, akin to that of a mischief about to stir awake, and by the devil did that memory return far too often for your liking.

*

Something certainly has shifted.

Soon, he began to visit you more often. You had suspicions that he may have memorised your timetable, and you had even deeper suspicions that it was one of your colleagues who has let him privy to said information. During unforseeable times of the week, a certain lieutenant of the 141 would show up to the clinic, requiring salves for a bruise, requesting ibuprofen for pain relief or even seeking combat gauze for his raw knuckles, of which you were certain that he must already have a few, considering his occupation. Once, he stood waiting behind you silently as you worked on your computer, waiting to ask for a bandaid. Needless to say, you were beyond startled to find that a skull face was poised quietly behind you for goodness knows how long.

You fail to remember exactly when he began to refer to you by your call sign ‘Honeybee’ instead of just ‘Doc’, and all you could think of was the way it rolled off his tongue. Funny, you thought, that the very name should sound just like honey coming from his own scarred lips.

A most prominent change, however, came not in the form of his unprompted visits, but in how they would end. Upon attending to his laughably miniscule thumb injury and amusedly pressing the medical ointment to his palm, he sat stock still on that same medical bed when you thought he would up and go. Mild bewilderment rested upon your knit brows, and you decided to voice your bemusment.

“Is there anything else, lieutenant?”

“Was I not a good patient?” He asked with a solemn expression.

Clearly, he has you dumbfounded. “Well — you are quite well-behaved during treatments, if that’s what you’re asking. So, yes, you are a good patient.”

Watching him closely, your eyes followed his line of sight and it lands, unexpectedly, on your hand. You looked between your raised hand and his unwavering, sharp pupils.

Oh.

Oh.

Once again, you dared to cross the boundary of his space, (or was it a boundary anymore?) and rest your hand on the side of his head this time, rubbing delicately, hesitantly. Fondness flutters warmly in your heart when his eyes shut serenely, enjoying your caring ministrations.

“Did it not bother you, lieutenant?” You whisper through the quietude.

“No,” came his gravelly reply.

He would clarify a little later, another detail that would occupy you for days on end.

“It’s comfortable. Like medicine to the head.”

All the air had tightened in your lungs at his admittance. There was something picturesque about a towering, muscle-bound killing-machine, bending to chase the sympathy of another’s warm fingers. It was almost endearing, the way this light gesture soothed him.

He had felt so — human.

*

Each time he came and went, it seemed to go further, like wading into the deep end of the pool in search of something, with only the vague impression of what you were about to find. Ghost would lean further in with every visit, and with every visit you would hold his head softer still, basking in the warmth of his face in one palm, then in two. He would breathe slower, as if savouring the air, the space, and eventually, his head would come to lean on your shoulder without any questions asked, and you would give him the medical attention he needed.

Cute.

It was, as he said, medicine to the head.

The method was unorthodox, yes, but if it can ease his temperament, then no doubt that a working solution should keep on. Through the two months which this had ensued, he was noticably less irritable and his team, who figured you were the source of his better nature, made sure you knew of the change whenever they came by the clinic. Only a few visits in, and sergeant McTavish, (who insisted that you call him ‘Soap’,) already has the nickname ‘Ghostbuster’ made for you, all in your honour. Even the staff now looked forward to Ghost’s visits too, despite still keeping a clear distance from him. They would observe the man covered in black from head to toe make a beeline for your office like clockwork, and the chatter between colleagues would be unending.

The amount of time with you spent treating on his physical wounds have been abbreviated as much as your call sign whenever he uses it, and it always warmed your ears considerably.

“G’d evenin’, Honey.” His guttural voice would greet.

“Lieutenant Riley,” you replied good-naturedly.

In exchange for shortening your name to something more familiar, he offered you his.

Simon Riley.

Something too intimate lay behind the use of his name, and so you both of you had come to a compromise; the lieutenant may go by Ghost to many, LT to some and Simon to rare few, but to you, he was lieutenant Riley.

He must be.

You were his doctor, and he was your patient, receiving an unusual prescription of several pats on the head every other day. It was a routine, just like any other meeting or appointment.

Speculations of a medic by the callsign ‘Honeybee’ began to spread around base alongside Ghost’s exaggerated talk, and when it reached your own ears through a closer colleague, you all but responded with a cocked brow, and went on with your day. People do little else, you had always known so. With the rising frequency of contact between the both of you, you felt that such hearsay was natural. And as long as nothing brewed inbetween, it was of non-consequence. On the occassion that you do hear the whispers firsthand down the hall, an amusing saying stuck with you; "the Honeybee’s caught a ‘emselves Ghost". Nicknames have been floating about, calling you a "Ghostbuster" or a "Ghost Hunter", and the most ridiculous one being "Lazarus", which was based on an old movie you have heard of but have never seen in your life.

You then caught wind of the lieutenant’s new nickname.

Casper. Such a silly name.

And then yet another nickname, "Kat" has surfaced for you, only this one had made zero sense to you at all.

Regardless of the silly teasings and harmless jibes from your colleagues about Ghost’s very frequent doctor appointments, you went on, working around the clock and going by the books.

Nothing has to change, especially if it meant nothing.

And yet, that silly little "nothing" began to occupy you through the quiet hours, and through the night.

An odd weight began to settle in your throat and chest whenever you saw your special patient, and the nicknames had begun to bother you more and more. You were too busy to think, too overwhelmed by people for an appetite, and too tired to make head nor tail of the week.

"... Doc?"

Your spine snaps straight at the sound of your name. How long have you been floating down your reverie?

"Ah, I'm sorry — yes?"

You colleague, who stood poised in blue scrubs whilst holding a clipboard, grins at you. "Casper was just looking for you. He left though, think his captain called for him or something."

"Ah, I see."

He shook his head lightly and turns to leave, but you stopped him with a question that you could not bear to have unanswered any longer.

"Why do you call him Casper?"

The man hummed, leaving you to sit with a disconcerting moment of silence as the answer sat on the precipice of his tongue.

"You know the plot of Casper, don't you?"

*

You swiveled on your office chair across the tables to your computer, a new task set to mind. Frantic fingers tapped away to solve that nagging mystery, and you felt the fine ends of a thread beginning to pull at the seams of your logic.

From the 1995 movie, he said.

The tab screen loaded your search, and your eyes scan the brief descriptions under each link. A small drop-down bar caught your attention, and in your gut you felt a twist of discomfort at the words that displayed before you.

Casper (1995) Plot What is the relationship between Kat and Casper?

Your breathing stopped at the insinuation, and a weight pulls on your lips as you read on.

… Casper, the ghost protagonist of the movie, falls madly in love with James' loner teenage daughter, Kathleen “Kat” Harvey, who is also looking for a friend. 

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FOOTNOTES:

"Lazarus" is the machine that was meant to bring Casper back to life, so the rumours are suggesting that the reader gives Ghost life.

[my-cat-ate-your-appendix]

A few theories floating around in my head that aren't based on anything, just me wildly speculating possibilities (and when I saw wild, I really mean it):

1) That book and that key

As was pointed out by user goodbye432, we can see that Violet's key comes out of the book, but this key still remains.

I feel like this could be a gateway key that helps all the keys find each other? Or it could be the book that acts as a gateway. Or maybe both of them as a combination act as a gateway?

Point is, that key definitely isn't a key that gathers narratonin

It doesn't have the narratonin compartment that all the other keys have

The whole structure is different, actually.

So it's probably not a key that was in the original story-key roster. Maybe it was created after the other keys to help them find each other better? Maybe Nox himself created this key while he was still a human? Maybe Nox created this key after he became a key? Maybe Nox didn't have anything to do with it at all? Maybe it was accidentally made by a cat named Prunella?

Personally, I don't think that key is sentient (like, I don't think it has a tiny goober form like the other keys), either, but that really has no basis at all. It very well could.

2) Are the stories themselves sentient?

The story just wants to be enjoyed, the story just wants to be finished, the story doesn't want to be destroyed. The story's sounding an awful lot like a sentient creature right now.

We know that the keys don't decide anything about the story, and nor do the holders of the keys. So who decides when the story ends? Who decides the amount of enjoyment (and therefore the amount of narratonin) received from the story? My bet's on the story itself.

I don't think this is going to have much relevance in the actual plot, but it was just interesting to think about.

3) Silver is in on it

Silver knows something. This has such major foreshadowing with this particular panel:

and then the scene immediately cuts to Silver

Suspicious. Also, so far, Silver's key is the only key that was left around with a note. Bronze and Goldie were literally on sale in a flea market. Silver's key, on the other hand, was left in the library, very clearly intentionally. It was meant to be found, just not by Chase.

And why was Silver broken? What happened? Did she just like, fall? I don't think so.

This is not necessarily a bad thing, since we all know that Silver adores Chase as well as her family and would never agree to endanger them again. Maybe she escaped and was supposed to help the other keys escape too? Maybe she was supposed to help Nox escape? Maybe she did help some of the keys escape, but not the others? Maybe she's part of the FBI? Who knows? Not me, that's who.

4) What's up with Ex Libris anyway?

So far, we've been hearing of Ex Libris as this kind of Big Bad Organisation, but we've never actually seen them make a move? I think it's clear now that Nox wasn't working for the Ex Libris, but rather for his own motives, so it isn't as if the Ex Libris sent him either.

So does the Ex Libris just like, not know that half of it's keys are missing and another key is trying to turn human? Or does it know and is deciding to not do anything about it?

Or does it know and can't do anything about it? What if the Ex Libris has been disbanded, and the keys just don't know about it? That's not quite feasible, I know, considering that Violet and Buddy are probably in the Ex Libris facility right now but that's just our assumption, y'know? They might be in hiding. I'm pretty sure Ex Libris wouldn't want Buddy turning back into a human, so they're definitely going behind Ex Libris' back to do what they're doing, so why can't they be in hiding? Why can't they be totally unaware of what's going on in Ex Libris?

Or maybe the Ex Libris isn't evil at all? They seem more like a bunch of sleep-deprived scientists making one mad discovery after another. If I'm right about the artificial key Buddy theory (see this post) then I admit that would make them more evil, but maybe they're aware of that. Maybe they know that what they did was wrong, and regret it. Maybe all the unethical experimentation was done by a far, far older batch of the Ex Libris, and the new generation of the Ex Libris is strictly vegan and on the keys' side. Maybe they're choosing to help by ignoring. Maybe there's a helper on the inside. Maybe it's Chase's dance partner who never shows up to practices.

Maybe he never shows up to practices because he's too busy trying to save the keys from the Ex Libris. Poor guy.

5) Chase's friends

Yeah, they're definitely not just there to show us that hey! Chase actually has friends his own age! It just doesn't line up.

Maybe one of them's going to coincidentally show up in the same book as Chase and Nox some other time, and Nox is just going to stare at Chase and Chase will be like "Dude I swear I had absolutely no idea this time."

I just think that would be funny.

That's all I can think of right now. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk, I'll be disappearing off of the face of Earth now.

(On a totally unrelated note, a few months ago, my school counsellor told me I should test for ADHD)

[peachdues]

okay, as promised. A sneak peek.

CW: description of wound/blood • general panic

Shinobu Kocho did not like chaos.

A strange dislike to have in a place like the Netherwood, so thick with creatures which fed on mayhem from their place in the shadows. Ones that gleefully drove unwitting travelers halfway to madness before shredding them apart to fill their aching bellies, their deaths a kindness against the endless stretch of ancient, rotting trees; the suffocating darkness.

Such chaos was expected, though. Natural. It was something she’d grown up with, and so, she could mind it. Besides, life in the Wolves’ territory had entailed a level of comfort and security she’d never found elsewhere. Not in the human villages snaked through the mountains bordering the Wood’s borders to the south, nor in the River Isles to the west.

Yes, the Netherwood was full of shadows and tumult; but this shining little oasis nestled deep within its valleys had been immune to it all.

Until it wasn’t.

Chaos arrived at her doorstep in the form of Sanemi as he nearly tore her door off its hinges, naked and wild, and covered in blood that wasn’t his. Chaos was the sight of his mate lying limp in his arms; Sanemi’s broken, desperate expression. The strangled half-cry that died in his throat, an explanation he could not piece together enough to give.

Shinobu Kocho did not like chaos; and yet, for all the ways she loathed it, she thrived on it all the same. Chaos drove her into action, cleared her head and sharpened her senses. It ignited her reflexes, inspired movements that would have seemed impulsive, if not for their fluidity.

The chaos of the scene itself — of Sanemi’s wild, erratic heartbeat and the rush of words that rolled from his tongue; of the grisly mess left behind on Y/N’s face, blood coating her skin so thickly, Shinobu could scarcely see the source of the wound — even dulled out the shock of the gaping hole in Y/N’s head where her left eye was supposed to have been.

The young doctor swept her arm across the wide, oak table that sat in the center of her den, knocking scrolls she’d been studying and bunches of dried herbs to the floor. “Put her here.”

Sanemi’s mate cried out as he gently settled her atop the makeshift work space. Shinobu’s hands reached for her, the doctor’s cool, unblemished fingers gently brushing below Y/N’s chin and turning her head to the side.

A whisper of air blew past her parted lips, the only sign of shock Shinobu would allow herself to show.

The three jagged lines extending down the left half of Y/N’s face were brutal; deep. Each had perfectly flayed open the skin along her temple and cheek, carving right through muscle and tissue. The longest curved nearly to the corner of her jaw, while the shortest ended somewhere near what would’ve been the apple of her cheek.

The middle line was what held her attention; slightly deeper than the other two, and thicker. It cut down from the arch of Y/N’s brow, right over her left eye, tapering off just under her cheek bone.

Her mouth tightened into a grim line. There was nothing to be done; nothing she could salvage.

Tentatively, Shinobu sniffed at the wound. Beneath the thick iron was the something pungent; old in the way of rotted tree roots and dirt.

The scent of magic. Magic that stung, magic that burned. As ancient as the very Wood which surrounded them, and twice as unsettling.

Wide-eyed, she looked to the trembling Wolf. “This is —“

“My seal. He broke it.” Sanemi answered. He spoke as though in a daze, his eyes fixed hard on his mate’s face. “The fae.”

The ground beneath Shinobu’s feet tilted. “And now?”

Perhaps he heard the slight tremor in his packmate’s voice, or perhaps the shock of the question snapped him into focus. But, the clouds in Sanemi’s eyes briefly parted, and finally, he met her wary gaze.

“I don’t know.”

[science-lings]

okay this has been going through my mind for days and I have to get my thoughts out before I explode

Disclaimer, this is not talking about a specific artist/person and would never condone or participate in anon hate or online bullying for any reason but especially this one. 

I get why people are mad about Link being portrayed as this buff, hypermasculine, tall guy. I am too (again don’t fucking attack people over it though) and it seems like such an infuriating way to change the character just to fit into some ideal of hypermasculine attractiveness or to make a ship fall into a more hetero lense by making him a decent foot taller than whatever girl he’s being paired with. 

The world of video games and action movies and every form of media ever is extremely saturated with male characters that are swole and manly and whatever other descriptors people are trying to push onto Link that don’t fit into his actual character. There are so many characters out there that already fit this male standard and having a clearly androgynous elf guy was like a breath of fresh air. 

Link was literally designed to be a character whose lines on gender were blurred, ‘a girl with a masculine touch or a guy with a feminine touch’ so that anyone could project themselves onto him. His physical design in botw/totk was specifically made to be feminine enough to wear a certain outfit to pass as a woman (which includes a nearly mandatory cutscene where he puts on the clothes and blushes after being called pretty, like you have to be blind to think that its an experience that he doesn’t like at all) and in totk there are a bunch of outfits made for Link that are blatantly gnc, ones that are practically dresses, include nail polish and lipstick, you can even dye his hair bright and vivid colors and that’s half way to giving him new pronouns. The whole reason Linkle isn’t included in more mainline loz games was because her existence would force Link into a gender dichotomy, if there's a clearly female version of the main hero, that means the main hero has to be a man, and they would rather abandon a potential reoccurring character than make Link conform to a gender binary. 

So pardon me when it feels disingenuous and even malicious for him to be morphed into these clear masculine ideals, where he towers over any female romantic partner (even when in canon he is regularly depicted as noticeably shorter than her) or even in m/m fanworks he’s really beefed up, perhaps to make the scene feel more gay or something. 

Perhaps it’s because his more twink-y/ femboy body type is so heavily sexualized (though obviously when people are sculping abs on him it’s totally not because they’re horny about it) and that’s an issue in itself that bothers me. But it’s just so tiring to see one of the very few popular main characters who is short and feminine and androgynous be molded into just another bland muscle-headed action hero over and over and over again. 

I’m not mad at the creators for portraying him differently than how I like him portrayed, I’m mad because we really do get so few characters like him in good popular media, and to be honest, I really like him the way that he is. I love that he’s tiny and has long hair and has the option to dress any way the player likes. It seems a little distasteful to make him taller than a female love interest just because that’s how straight couples have to be, there’s just never been a real straight couple where the guy is shorter than the girl, that’s just Impossible! (/s) 

[tamiart]

I wrote a little romance scene between Halsin and Tav, mostly imagining Halsin’s POV.

Summary: Tav is breaking down under the pressure of the enormous task ahead of her, and Halsin happens upon her.

Since I don’t consider myself a writer, I have never tried to write anything like this before. But I love this game so much, and especially when it comes to these two characters, my imagination is continuously running away with me. I need more material with them, so I tried to create some of my own. I hope you like it.

Midnight Solace

Everyone was finishing up their duties in setting up camp. Halsin looked over to see Tav talking to Wyll and Gale, who were arguing about something as they tried to come up with a strategy for some fight or other, which was now an almost daily occurrence. Tav looked worn out, barely listening to the two of them bicker as she studied a map they had drawn in the dirt. The others were always going to her for help with their problems, and by Silvanus did everyone in this group have catastrophic problems. In all his many years, Halsin had never met such a varied, volatile bunch of individuals. They reminded him of his younger years when every mishap, every mistake, felt like the end of the world.

Tav was the most intriguing to him. She couldn’t be half his age, and yet this young, unassuming slip of a girl had gone out of her way, putting aside her own troubles and fears, which must be plentiful though she never voiced them, for weeks throughout their perilous journey to help many along the way, including himself. She was helping him find a way to lift the shadow curse, which had haunted him for a century as his greatest shame and failure. She had risked her life to infiltrate a horde of nasty, treacherous little goblins to free him - a huge, threatening wild bear that could have tried to kill her too for all she knew. But even in his most savage form, she wasn’t afraid of him. 

Halsin had never met anyone like her. He often found himself watching her from across camp as she went about the daily routine that everyone had settled into - helping to prepare their meals, eating, talking and laughing with everyone around the fire, getting ready to go to sleep, preparing to head out in the mornings. He wondered about her as he performed his own duties. He felt himself drawn to her, and realized he was reluctant to leave her side. He was sorely tempted to forsake his druidic duties and stay with her, to be there for her and protect her for as long as she would let him during her quest to save them all. She stirred long-dormant feelings in him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way about anyone.

Later that night, after everyone had sought their bedrolls, rest seemed to elude Halsin, so he gave up and headed towards the woods to lose himself in a hunt. As he walked past Tav’s bedroll, he noticed she wasn’t there. He looked around briefly, but did not see her. Slightly alarmed, he enhanced his senses and picked up her scent trail heading into the forest. Wanting to make sure she was alright, he followed it.

As he approached the stream nearby, he heard the sound of someone crying. He stopped and peered through the trees in that direction and saw that it was Tav, sitting by the water, her head resting on her bent knees. He felt a sympathetic pang to see and hear her so distraught. Not wanting to frighten her, he made his footsteps audible as he rounded a bush and approached her, and she started up and noticed him, and immediately turned away to surreptitiously wipe away the traces of her misery. He felt his heart stir.

“Oh, Halsin,” she said, “what are you doing out here so late?”

“I could not sleep,” he responded, “so I was going for a walk. I could ask you the same thing. Are you alright, my friend?”

At that, she failed at reigning in her emotions and burst into sobs once more.

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered through her tears. “I don’t know what’s come over me tonight.”

He hurried over and sat beside her. “It’s alright,” he tried to reassure her. But she could not stop, and he hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder.

His touch seemed to relax something in her and she leaned towards him. He put his arm around her and held her closer. The feel of her sobs shaking her slight frame melted away his final resistance, and he knew then that he would do anything to help this girl. He was lost to her. He held her until her sobs quieted into sniffles. 

“What is it, my friend? Can I do anything to help?” He asked her gently.

“No, I’ll be okay.” She sighed.”Ugh look at me, I’m such a mess.”

“You are still beautiful. But stay here, I’ll get something for you.” Halsin quietly returned to his tent and found a clean cloth, poured a cup of water and grabbed a blanket as well, then returned to Tav’s side. She had calmed down and sat quietly staring into the stream with a troubled expression on her face. He draped the blanket around her shoulders and handed her the water and cloth.

 “Thank you. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” said Tav, wiping her tear-stained face. “They’re all depending on me to be strong. I need to be strong for all of us if we’re going to get through this.” She took a sip of water and put the cup down on a rock.

He placed his arm around her again and pulled her close. “No one expects you to be invincible. You don’t need to carry all of it alone. We’re all here to help you. I’m here to help you.”

She looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyelashes. The distance between them was too close. The urge to kiss her was overpowering, and it took all of his will to resist. She needed him to be strong just now, and he would give her his support.

“Thanks, Halsin,” She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “That’s nice to hear. I just… I’m so afraid. I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time. Why does every decision have to fall to me? Every time one of us gets injured, I wonder if I should give it all up. Maybe I’m just leading us all to our deaths.” Her voice choked on those last words, and she covered her face with her hands and pulled away from him. “I can’t… that thought… it’s too much to bear.”

“Your fears are completely understandable under the circumstances. We have far too much leveled against us, with no end to our journey in sight. What an incredible amount of pressure to undertake. But Tav, you’ve been amazing thus far. Why do you think everyone trusts you so implicitly? No one else could have gotten this eccentric group of misfits this far, to survive as much as we have. Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed it. You don’t realize how extraordinary you truly are. My dear friend, we would all follow you anywhere. I would follow you anywhere. If anyone is going to get us all through this, it’s you.” 

Tav looked up at him again, a new light and curiosity in her glance. “You truly believe that?”

“With all my heart.”

Suddenly she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. Oak father preserve him, Tav had him wrapped around her finger. “Thanks, Halsin,” she whispered into him. She looked up at him again, and her face finally softened into a smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Tav, I - “ he tried to find the right words. “Please know that I’m always here for you, if you ever need to talk about anything. I will do my best to help you, in any way that you need.”

She was still looking up at him, her gaze searching. She was so beautiful, he could hold back no longer. Cautiously, he lowered his face down towards her, watching her expression as he did so. She did not pull away, and her lips parted as her glance fell to his mouth. He closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. He tasted the salt of her tears as he kissed her, and she kissed him back, tentatively at first, but quickly growing more eager. Her lips were full, soft and warm. Finally they both had to pull away, gasping for air. He had to stop now before he took things too far. He couldn’t ask that much of her just now in her current vulnerable state.

Tav stared at him, stunned. Then as if suddenly realizing where she was, she blushed and gave him a shy, tentative smile. “Wow,” She gasped as she found her voice. “What was that?”

“I’ve dreamed about kissing you for a long time,” he confessed to her.

“Really? But I didn’t… I thought… you’ve never…” Tav stammered.

“I know. I didn’t want to do anything to upset you or harm our friendship. And I didn’t want to distract you during such a crucial and difficult time. I’ve been trying to keep my distance, to let you focus.”

Tave let out a breathy laugh. “Well, it’s a very welcome distraction.” She hesitated, then looked up at him shyly once more. “I’ve been thinking about that as well, with you.”

He wrapped her in his arms once more and held her in silence. They sat together, listening to the night sounds of the forest and the babble of the nearby stream. Gradually, he felt her relax in his arms. Her head began to droop against his shoulder. He could have stayed this way all night. But reluctantly, he gently shook her awake.

“You should try to get some sleep,” he told her. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

She sighed. “You’re right.” She stood up and handed the blanket back to him. She tried to return the cloth as well, but he told her to keep it. She seemed reluctant to go. “Thank you, Halsin. This was… it means a lot.” She smiled at him once more.

And she was gone before he could respond, leaving him alone once more in the woods, the blanket in his arms, all of his senses full of her, and his mind a whirl of thoughts, emotions and desires.

[aalinaaaaaa]

2024 In a Gift Box

Hey, everyone, greetings after another year that has flown by all too quickly! Featuring new friends, a few awards and 400% more holidays (rip my wallet lol), this has been a wild year for me. And that's only half of it.

For some strange reason, my desire to write increases with the hecticness of my life. Much of Obsidian Sapphires' revival/troubleshooting phase occured during the latter part of the year, from October onwards (though I had been tinkering with its plot for some time now). All because I woke up one morning with the solution to a plot hole appearing in my head.

Anyway, preambles aside, here's a few major highlights from my year (in writing terms):

First up, thanks to @druidx for the Year in Review Tag! The premise of the tag is to post one's favourite five or so pieces that they've written throughout the year.

To be truthful, some of Obsidian Sapphires' scenes would make this list only the respective chapters for them aren't completed yet 😅

A Pawn for a Greater Cause — I had a ball writing the starting dialogue, and the prompt gave me a few revelations regarding Petrius' character.

Regrets — This made me cry at 1am, the catharsis was unreal.

To Perpetuate Life — Amazing how almost falling asleep gives me ideas. This piece helped me answer a few questions about Orlaith's backstory, and also gave me extra questions surrounding the lore.

Blue Moon — This feels like a nice deviation from my usual style, it's more dreamy and whimsical. Also, this reminds me to go and work on its second part, lol (because the scope was too big for one piece)

That angsty pining scene — This is not posted as one scene, but rather in splinters because parts of it are dripping in spoilers for Obsidian Sapphires. However, I enjoyed writing this scene too much not to post some snippets.

WIP Roundup

First things first, an ode to the WIPs that I've put on ice to focus on Obsidian Sapphires.

The Lady's Lament, a brief idea born out of a plot bunny inspired by a plot on Wattpad. The idea sprouted in April 2023, but it lives on in the form of worldbuilding ideas for South Arobyre.

And then also, Flamebearer, one of my oldest wips but also arguably my most complex one. It's a story of grief, religious dilemmas and romantic/familial drama, all under the backdrop of sociopolitical turmoil. It's going to take a lot of research and planning, that much I know. Hence why I want it to be as perfect as I can make it, when I have the knowledge and writing practice to do it justice.

In April this year, one of my Flash Friday pieces (Duel to the Debt) sowed the seeds for another piece (An Endless Round) in May, and later on Soulswapped derived from it. I intended it to be a short enough story, a novella of sorts that would be woven into a larger compilation, but it's become its own thing. Already, I think it may get a sequel. But I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Obsidian Sapphires

So its progress this year has been skewed. Like, 'a lot of its progress spawned in October or thereafter' sort of skewed. I woke up one morning and the cogs for the rigmarole surrounding what is currently Chapter 2 all clicked, to the point I yanked out my laptop and starting writing notes until I had to run for class.

Since then, I've had a bunch of ideas, but currently I'm deliberating on the story I wish to tell. It seems more cohesive and easier to plan for when I cut Eshani's perspective out, but at the same time, cutting her perspective would cut or at least hide much of her character development. That and I love her to bits, and she may/may not be a readers' favourite also.

In terms of actual tangible content, bits of the angsty pining scene got posted, as did sections of the first and second chapters. It even came with a few memes, lolololol. (And there's more memes sitting in my gallery/Scrivener notes, this story's quite memeable honestly).

The antagonists got their time of day, however brief so far. And not just the lead meshai, but also the septet of folks angry at the meshai and his fellows.

And this gets onto something that has existed as tags and headings and brief little mentions. A collection of pieces, leading up to answers surrounding some major events in the history of the country Obsidian Sapphires is set in.

That would be This Blood-Stained Charcuterie. It is going to be the anthology of short stories and one-off pieces surrounding Morilast's High Councillors (and indeed, the Court's other denizens and its namesake himself!). A lot of juicy details surrounding certain characters' backstories are going to feature here, I can't wait to get into it. (It's also my excuse to figure out all the bits of lore and convoluted ancestries [who murdered who], lol).

When I finish with Obsidian Sapphires, that is about when I'll start releasing this one. The title could change upon me getting to the end, but we'll see.

Flash Fiction Friday

I started doing these pieces in late 2023, so it's been about a year since my first one (Contemplations). In all, I've completed a total of 28 pieces so far :D

The masterlist came about in early January, because I was inspired by other people who had masterlists for their pieces. It's very satisfying to see it develop from a few pieces to what it is today, a decent few pieces.

Whatsmore, it reflects the trends in my writing, such as the wips that the prompts inspired me for, and what periods I was consistently doing it week-by-week and when the major gaps were.

For whatever reason, I have a tendency of getting inspiration for these at about midnight or so. Even if I get a handful of basic notes written down, it may not still be until late in the night that I can get a piece together, lol.

To commemorate the end of the year, I've started a series known as Flash Friday Flashbacks to celebrate what I've made and show off behind-the-scenes when it comes to notes, context, deleted scenes, etc.

There are a few pieces left in this year's version, which will be reblogged close to the end of the month (to celebrate the New Year).

Next year's edition is going to feature the December 2024 pieces in addition to all the 2025 stuff (which hopefully is a lot). There will also be a 2025-specific masterlist too.

Writeblr Community Events

What is writeblr without its community? It's beyond a pleasure to be part of a group so lovely and talented, everyone has something amazing going for them.

As part of this, there are some people here who create events, discords and/or other initiatives that bring people together. Shoutout to everyone who has done/is doing something along these lines ❤️

Special mentions in my case go to:

@flashfictionfridayofficial for taking the prompt submissions, making the posts, and reblogging everyone's stories (with fantastic comments) every week

@writeblrsummerfest for making a lovely event spanning the entirety of August, encompassed by a well-organised theme and all

@bardic-tales for establishing the @creators-club and doing all the various types of ask/tag games to foster interaction and support

@agirlandherquill for her first ever Writemas! These prompts are impeccable and it was really fun looking forward to the next day's prompts! I wish I could've participated more, but alas, that's how the cookie crumbles. (Also, high five, we're in the same timezone, woo!)

Plans for 2025

Continue with Obsidian Sapphires — I'd love to get the draft finished

Doing as many of the Flash Friday prompts as well

Reblogging people's posts more and hopefully improving at reaching out to people

Learning to draw is something that I've always wanted to do, but I want to get focused with it this year. It would be cool to put my characters in visual form

Getting a handle on the lore and background information needed to compile This Blood-Stained Charcuterie

The Tags

That brings this post to its natural course, the end. Merry Christmas everyone ❤️🎄

Giving a Year in Review Tag to everyone who is on at least one of my taglists (ask, comment, etc to be added/subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @original-writing @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @rae-butter @corinneglass @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51 @mundanemoongirl @scarletteflamerald @ceph-the-ghost-writer @flock-from-the-void @mattresses-and-macaroni @limitlesswritingvoid

...As well as all these people I'm tagging here: @winterandwords @finickyfelix @wintherlywords @anyablackwood @cherrybombfangirlwrites @kaylinalexanderbooks @angelfevr @thatndginger @thepeculiarbird @ominous-feychild @oh-no-another-idea @space-writes @veneritia @the-golden-comet @jev-urisk @cljordan-imperium @an-indecisive-nerd @mauannacreates @laureleavess @theeccentricraven @paintedbutton (@/bardic-tales, @/agirlandherquill, both of you are tagged for this too)

...And most importantly, here's a tag for everyone in the audience!

Here's to a hopeful 2025! 🎉

[delicatebarness]

The Avengers Bunch | Avengers Assemble (Ikea's Version) #002

Summary: You buy new furniture for your bedroom, apparently building a bookcase isn't in your agent skillset.

Warning: DIY. Fluff.

Word Count: 834

Series Masterlist | Tips

A/N: Requests are open for this series. Anything domestic and homey you want to see happen in the compound? Let me know. - B

Tags: Let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts.

Optimism drove your determination as you admired the neatly arranged boxes that arrived today from Ikea. Assembling a bookcase seemed like a simple task when you finally decided to make the purchase. Little did you know, the so-called straightforward process was about to turn into confusion and frustration in a matter of minutes. 

You emptied the contents of the boxes onto your bedroom floor. Step one is to organize the pieces. Done. Step two, follow the instructions. Simple enough, you thought to yourself. You were wrong.

Hours had passed, and a task that should have taken half an hour at the most has now turned into three and a half… you found yourself surrounded by a jumble of wood and tiny screws. You swore you could hear each piece mocking and laughing at your attempts at assembly. Cursing under your breath, you noticed sweat forming on your forehead. 

Just then, your bedroom door creaked open, and in walked Bucky. Your colleague, bedroom neighbor, and the most attractive man you had laid eyes on. His smile illuminated the now dimly lit room, you couldn’t help but release a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

“Hey there, trouble,” he teased, his eyes wandering around your room, they twinkled with amusement as he took in the chaos before him. “Need a hand?” 

You chuckled nervously having realized just how comedic the scene must look. “I might have bitten off more than I can chew,” you admitted, gesturing to the pile of unassembled wood.

Bucky made his way over, his confidence contrasted with your frazzled state. He knelt beside you, you watched the features of his face contour as he examined the pieces and instructions. 

“Lucky for you, I happen to be somewhat of a DIY guru,” he quipped, a smirk tugged at his lips as he looked back at you. 

Together, you made a start on the assembly, your laughter mingling with the sound of clinking screws and the odd muttered curse… mainly coming from you. Bucky’s hand occasionally brushed against yours as you passed each other screws, hammers, and Allen wrenches. 

As the last screw tightened and the final shelf slid into position, a sense of victory washed over the two of you. Stepping back, you admired your handiwork. Okay, you admired Bucky’s handiwork. You looked back at each other, your eyes lingered on each other just a little longer. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” you murmured, your voice soft and filled with gratitude.

Bucky grinned, and his hand reached up to push a stray hair behind your ear. “Anytime you need a hand, remember mine's Vibranium,” he replied, his tone laced with a slight hint of flirtation that sent shivers down your spine. 

Great, you thought to yourself, now you’re thinking about his hand. 

Bucky began to get ready to leave, “Well, I guess my work here is done, I’ll let you enjoy your new piece of art in peace,” he said, his smile evident as he turned towards the door. 

But before he left, a thought struck you. “Wait,” you rushed, causing him to pause mid-step and turn back to face you.

“What is it?” He asked, his eyes darting around the room, his instinct to look for danger.

You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts before speaking. “I just realized I have all these books,” you gestured towards the boxes of books piled on your bed. “And now, I have to figure out how to arrange them and some of the shelves,” your tone started to sound more sheepish as you dropped his gaze. “Some of the shelves are quite high.”

Bucky shook his head at you, his eyes once again filled with amusement. Before you could finish forming words to ask for his help, he had already sprung into action. He effortlessly gathered books and started arranging them into alphabetic order. 

Before you knew it, the books were neatly arranged. You admired Bucky as he stood back with a satisfied smile. “There you go,” he said, gesturing to the small plant he added to one of the shelves. “All done.” 

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you at his kindness. It still amazes you that people saw this man as a monster. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, you took a moment to build the courage to stay what you wanted to. “Would you like to stay for a bit longer? Maybe we could order some pizza and I could show you another 90s movie?” 

To your relief, Bucky’s smile widened, “I’d love to,” he replied, his tone sincere. 

And as you settled on your bed, you enjoyed your pizza and movie together. The glow of your laptop casts soft shadows against your walls and the air is filled with the scent of cheese and tomato sauce. You both laughed at the same parts, you may have cried at one part, but, throughout the whole film, his arm was wrapped securely around you.

---

Series Masterlist

[maddy-k-reads-all-day]

Okay so in Play My Way...

WHICH IS CANON BTW WE ARE NOT DEBATING THIS!

I slowed down the video and screen capped the images that flashed onscreen during the choruses. (I skipped the ones of Amanda and Wooly dancing because they seemed to just be cute lil pictures and not lore-important).

First off we got monster Amanda here with a bunch of eyes... watching her?

Then we have Amanda with a tragedy mask. This does happen during the line "play our part" so it could be referencing the fact that they are performing for the TV... that said... I don't like Amanda's face here... it almost appears like she's playing a tragic character on purpose... which I guess makes sense... but could this imply that her intentions may be more... nefarious than we originally thought? I mean she is the main character of this HORROR game. (But they could never make me hate you Amanda.)

Wooly's section is even more interesting

During the whole "play our part" line there's a drawing of Amanda and Wooly playing with a demonic hand dangling over their heads. Hameln no longer seems to be actively involved with Amanda... they seem to be trying to "destroy the evidence" that said... could the demons be in control of the show now? If the show is trapping souls that would make a lot of sense. While it does look like the hand of Amanda's demon, it could also just be representing Hameln. It does seem rather ominous the way it's looming over them. Or is it helping them? (if it is Amanda's demon, that is).

When it says "don't let it break your heart" I didn't notice this the first couple watches but... Amanda and Wooly are holding hands here. Though their heads are obscured by the words... interesting...

But this is the most interesting thing to me. "Just play along and never-" Wooly half-transformed in his monster form (the way Amanda is in the lonely kitten scene shows up). Let me be a little indulgent and say that I think this could imply that Wooly is trying SUPER hard not to demon-out like Amanda did. Like... not to lose control or whatever. No mental-breakdowns allowed. This just... even if it's not that I think this reveals something and that something is A LOT.

Actually... all the images are shown clearer at the end... so here's what I notice further. (IDK where some of these came from. I had the video at 0.25 and they all still went by super fast).

Okay so yeah, the demon hand thing.... um... wait a minute... what the heck? Why is Wooly's face scribbled out? That's kind of dark Wooly... Still Amanda is smiling in this. So she seems to be okay with the demons presence- Actually the whole face-scribbled out thing here could be a reference to how Wooly isn't aware of the demon's presence? Like in the story book tape where his eyes went black? But I have a feeling there's more to it then that.

There's Amanda and Wooly holding hands and being friends. That picture is way more cute colored. All of the drawings shown in Amanda and Wooly's segments seem to look like they were drawn by kids, like stylistically wise with the scribbles and crayons.

Amanda is BREAKING IT DOWN. I saw this pic in the video but didn't cap it because it didn't have much lore relevance other than maybe we could say Amanda might be a good dancer ig? :)

Wooly on the other hand broke all of his bones... oof.

And his face is scribbled out again... dang it Wooly. Amanda looks really sad in that picture too. Maybe it represents their falling out. They are a lot more distant than all the other pictures and their body language is closed off so maybe?

It's interesting how they were clearly still friends in all the Hide and Seek material... I wonder what happened.

[toournextadventure]

movie nights iv

Summary: You gather the Woodsboro survivors to go over your suspect list. Maybe you're just trying to impress Tara. That's for you to know and no one else to find out.

Word Count: 6.1K Warnings: swearing, Scream levels of violence Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader (pt.i) (pt.ii) (pt.iii) (pt.iv) (pt.v) (pt.vi) (pt.vii) (pt.viii)

The door was open. It was wide open, all that rat bastard had to do was walk right through it so you could kill him yourself. No fire escape, no hideaway, only the door. Why hadn't he walked through the goddamn-

"-You're not listening to me."

You blinked once before looking back over to your Aunt Sherry. By some miracle - it was still unclear if it was a good miracle or not - she had been the paramedic on scene. She hadn't truly questioned you yet, but you knew it was bound to happen. Your family was nothing if not nosy.

"What did you say?" You asked, fighting against the natural slip of an accent that would mimic Aunt Sherry's perfectly.

She gave you a pity-filled look. "Did he get ya anywhere else?"

"No," you instantly replied with a shake of your head. "That's it."

"Then you're all set," she said as she went to pat your shoulder. Thankfully she caught herself in time and patted your back instead. "And you don't want to go to Mercy?"

"Absolutely not," you mumbled as you hopped out of the back of the ambulance. "And don't tell Ma or Pop!"

"It's already on the news, kiddo," she said with a shrug. "If they know, they know."

"You're good for nothing," you shouted as you backpedaled to where Tara and her bunch were still standing. "See ya at mass."

Aunt Sherry waved at you and shook her head, but otherwise let you go. You looked down at the stitches now keeping your bicep together. Only five; it could've been much worse. If that was the bastard you were up against, he wouldn't be much of a challenge. Couldn't even swing a knife properly. Talk about pathetic.

You mouthed a “hey” at Tara when you finally got closer. It was cold now that the adrenaline was wearing off and you were finally feeling the cold autumn air. Would have been nice to have some sort of jacket. Or your shirt that Tara was still wearing. Well, you supposed everyone could enjoy seeing you half-naked. You would just freeze to death, it was fine.

“You okay?” Tara asked quietly, her eyes darting to the stitched up wound.

“Course I am, sweetheart,” you said with a shrug. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was starting to sting like a sonofabitch.

“Are you hurt?” Sam asked, and both you and Tara turned to look at her. If you were cold before, you were frozen under her icy stare.

“I mean… I’ve been worse,” you said as you did your best to avoid her gaze.

“Good,” she said. You didn’t have time to brace yourself before she slapped your uninjured arm. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” You complained. “The hell are you getting mad at me for?”

“I told you to stay away from my sister,” Sam continued. “You could have gotten her killed.”

“You think I called your stupid little serial killer?” You asked; you could feel the accent coming back in full force. All it did was make you more frustrated. “Isn’t he supposed to call me?”

“Guys-”

“-Nothing happened until you got Tara alone,” she interrupted Danny. “And that’s just a coincidence?”

You scrunched your face up and shrugged your shoulders. “Yes?” You said. “Why would I want anything to do with your psycho killer?”

“Hey, that’s enough,” Tara said, moving to hold Sam’s arm.

It didn’t stop her. “We were doing just fine until you came along.” Sam jabbed her finger into your chest.

“You really think the two ‘a youse were doin’ fine?” You asked. “You’re trust issues and repressed trauma in human form.”

“Hey,” Tara scolded, her eyes now on you.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m right,” you said, holding your hands up in mock surrender. “And you can be suspicious all you want, but why the fuck would I interrupt myself finally gettin’ laid for the first time in months?”

“Oh my god,” Tara whispered to herself as she turned her back to you.

“I have priorities too,” you defended.

“Fine,” Sam said quickly. “If I say I believe you, will you please shut up?”

“Yes,” you said.

You all finally fell silent, Sam still giving you a look that meant she did not believe you, but at least she had stopped arguing. Danny was giving you that stupid “I’m not mad, just disappointed” look, and Tara still wouldn’t face you. What was going on in the world? You were just supposed to get laid, you weren’t supposed to be dealing with… whatever the fuck all of this was.

“So,” you finally said as police continued to mill around you. “What do you guys normally do now?”

“Seriously?” Tara asked, finally turning back to look at you.

“I’m no Ghostface expert,” you said defensively, again. “Do we just… go on as normal?” A chorus of groans followed your question. “Because I still need to go clean up the kitchen.”

“I do too,” Danny said, looking at Sam for a moment before turning back to you.

Unfortunately for him, Tara noticed and she stood up straighter.

“What was my sister doing in your apartment anyway?” She asked him. His mouth flopped open and closed like a fish out of water.

“Oh how the tables have turned,” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest and cocked your hip. “About damn time.”

“I was helping him carry up groceries,” Sam said with a slight shake of her head.

“Oh, so you can go into a stranger’s apartment and I can’t even have someone I know over?” Tara asked.

“Okay, hang on,” you said, somehow turning into the middle man. This whole night was turning into a disaster. You needed a drink. Or five.

“No, she doesn’t get to accuse you when she’s acting suspicious,” Tara said with a shake of her head before looking at Sam and Danny again. “So do you know him or not?”

“Tara-”

“-no, Sam,” she interrupted. “What is he to you?”

You locked eyes with Danny at the same time Tara and Sam locked eyes. Part of you wanted to just break the awkward tension and say Danny was with Sam. It would get Tara off his back and you could all go about the real problem; finally getting you back into a shirt so you wouldn’t freeze your tits off.

Sam sighed. “He and I are… a thing.”

“I knew it,” Tara said softly.

“Tara-”

“-I would’ve been happy for you,” she said. “If you hadn’t accused my partner of being Ghostface.”

“I’m your partner now?” You asked, perking up immediately.

“Shut up,” she said quickly.

“Yes ma’am,” you said, snapping your jaw shut. God you loved when she was mean.

“If I may-”

“-You may not,” Tara said, turning to face Danny. “I don’t want to hear from any of you right now.”

“How about from me?”

All four of you shut your mouths and looked around, finally seeing Detective Bailey walking toward your little group. You sighed and looked around. The last person you wanted to see at the moment was him. Well, okay, the last person you wanted to see was Ghostface, but Detective Bailey was a very close second.

“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” He asked, clapping you on the shoulder of your hurt arm. Oh fuck it hurt.

“Always a pleasure, Detective,” you said politely through a forced smile.

“You sound just like your old man,” he said.

“Bet I do,” you mumbled as you turned your head away.

“I’m going to need the two of you to come down for a talk,” Bailey said, pointing to you and Tara.

“Not us?” Danny asked.

“I’m coming too,” Sam said without waiting for Bailey to answer.

“You’ll be waiting in a separate room,” Bailey said. You didn’t blame him for not even arguing; if anyone knew Sam, they knew to just roll with the punches. “Come on.”

You followed him, Tara quick behind you. With a glance, you saw Danny and Sam talking for a moment before he backed away toward the apartment. She, on the other hand, caught up in only a few strides and forced herself in between you and Tara. If it hadn’t been for the whole just-nearly-getting-murdered thing, you would’ve teased her about her territorial tendencies.

“Don’t put me back there with her,” you said quietly when Bailey tried to put you in the back of the squad car. Right beside Sam. “She’s not my biggest fan.”

“Neither am I,” he said with a smile before pushing your head down and shoving you into the car. “Get in.”

You practically fell into the car, your knees banging against the front seat. It was still cold as hell and now your arm was strained. A quick glance down showed a few little spots of blood. Great. Now that was split again too. Why couldn’t anyone just let you grab some clothes?

The entire ride to the station you could feel Sam’s gaze on you. No, not a gaze, it was a full-blown glare. If you had died in that apartment, you didn’t think she would’ve been too upset about the fact. And Tara was being diplomatic and keeping her mouth shut, looking out the window as the city passed by. It was smart.

“So,” you started, “did you and Danny have a nice night?”

“Shut up,” Sam mumbled.

“Okay,” you said quickly.

Well, at least no one could say you didn’t try.

It was a short drive to the station, and you felt like you were going to combust under Sam’s eyes. The scrutiny didn’t stop when you pulled into the station, and it certainly didn’t stop when you walked in. If looks could kill? Yeah, it was a real thing. It might not kill, but it definitely made you want to die.

“Hey, Y/N,” Linda at reception said when you walked in.

“Hey, babe,” you said with a wink, walking over to lean on the desk. “How’re the little rascals?”

“They’re good,” she said, leaning forward on her arms. “Found you a girl yet?”

“Think so,” you said, fully putting on the charm. “Right over there,” you gestured your head behind you.

“I’m guessin’ it’s not the one givin’ you the “eat shit and die” look?”

You both turned your head to look at Sam, who had now crossed her arms over her chest. Tara wasn’t even trying to stop her; you didn’t blame her. Samantha Carpenter was a force of nature that no one wanted to fight against. Tara had probably learned that after the first Ghostface attack in Woodsboro.

“Good guess,” you mumbled.

“Keep moving,” Bailey said as he walked past you with Tara and Sam hot on his heels.

“We’ll catch up another time,” you said, sending Linda a wink and smile.

“Countin’ on it,” she replied before blowing a kiss in your direction.

Your brother was going to kill you for flirting with his wife.

It was a familiar walk back to Bailey’s interrogation room. While Sam was directed to a separate room, you walked in ahead of Tara and sat down in the seat that you had secretly designated as your own. At the rate you frequented, you might as well just carve your name into the wood. Just so Bailey would always have a reminder of you whether he wanted it or not.

“Here,” he said when he walked in and threw something at you. You flinched, but caught it. “Put that on.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you pulled the NYPD shirt over your head. You sneezed. “Sorry,” you said when you wiped your nose. “I’m allergic to pigs.”

“Stop,” Tara whispered to you.

“What can you tell me about tonight?” He asked, completely ignoring your comment.

“We were just having dinner and watching a movie,” you said with a shrug. “Bada bing, bada boom, little rat bastard interrupts.”

“Did you find him?” Tara asked. Why was everyone ignoring you? You were the one with the injuries, right? Shouldn’t you have more of a say than anyone else? Maybe you had a lot more to learn about this whole Ghostface thing than you had thought.

“We didn’t find anything,” Bailey said with a shrug. “Got anyone who has it out for you?”

They both turned to look at you after the question had been voiced. You looked between the both of them. Oh for fuck’s sake, now it was just getting insulting. There was no winning for you, was there? First you’re interrupted, then you’re attacked, then interrogated by not only Sam but now Bailey too? Well, fuck you, you guessed.

“Why are the two ‘a youse looking at me?” You asked. “I stay out of trouble.”

They both gave you exasperated looks.

“I mostly stay out of trouble,” you corrected.

“Was your sister accounted for?” Bailey asked.

“She was across the alley with a guy,” Tara answered with a shake of her head.

“Danny,” you filled in. “He didn’t do this.”

“And neither did Sam,” she said.

“Did he target one of you more than the other?” He asked.

“He turned to face Tara,” you said as you recalled the event. Most of it was a blur, but you could pick out one or two pieces. “But he didn’t have enough time to really target anyone.”

“Then you need to stay safe,” he said directly to Tara. “I would guess he’s going after your Woodsboro crew.”

“Typical,” Tara huffed, falling back against her chair.

“What do we do?” You asked, doing the opposite of her and leaning forward on the table. “Twiddle our thumbs until you maybe catch the guy?”

“Are you calling us incompetant?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “I am.”

“You’re going to go home and let us do our jobs,” he said.

“And if you don’t do your jobs?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“You’re still going to stay out of it.” He wasn’t even looking at Tara anymore. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” you answered.

You kept your eyes locked on his. It wasn’t your first stare down with Bailey, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last. You knew you were on his permanent shit list, but quite frankly you didn’t care. His group of piss poor detectives had let you all down time and time again, you weren’t going to trust him with your life.

And you certainly weren’t going to trust him with Tara’s.

“You’re both free to go,” he finally said. “We’ll be in touch.”

“I bet you will,” you said, but stood up anyway.

Tara left the room before you, and you sent one more glare at Bailey before following suit. To no one’s surprise, Sam was already waiting. She checked on Tara and gave you a once-over before starting the walk out of the station. You gave Linda a smile and a little wave before walking outside.

Where the news stations were waiting.

It was absolute pandemonium. Too many voices, too many flashing lights, you were amazed the Carpenters weren’t fazed. Well, you were amazed but not surprised. You knew all the shit they had to deal with since Woodsboro. They were probably used to all the commotion that came with being survivors of a brutal series of killings.

“Don’t talk to them,” you said as you quickly got between them and the reporters. “Keep walking, I’ll take care of it.”

You turned around and held your arms behind you to keep a hold of Tara and did what you knew would work. As your godmother had taught you, you started swearing up a storm. Every word you could think of to form the most colourful string of curses you could come up with. The looks of pure agitation and frustration on the reporters’ faces was enough to make you smile.

“That doesn’t work on me, sweetheart.”

Your smile fell when Gale walked into your view.

“Now’s not the time,” you said with a pointed look. “We can talk later.”

“An exclusive?” She asked, following behind you as you pushed Sam and Tara down the sidewalk and away from the station. And the reporters.

“Without your cronie,” you said.

Gale gave you a look of pure exasperation, but only a moment later waved for her cameraman to leave. You waited for him to be out of earshot before you gestured for her to follow you, and she instantly fell into step with you as you both caught up to the Carpenters. They didn’t seem as impressed, but at least they knew her.

“Are you okay?” She asked you. “I heard you got hurt.”

“Just a scratch,” you said with a shrug. “Far less than you lot have gone through.”

“I had wanted to keep you out of all of this,” she said.

“Well,” you sighed. “Seems I’m in it now.”

“What are you doing here, Gale?” Sam asked, turning around quickly and stopping the four of you in your tracks. “I think you know we’re not too happy with you.”

“No one is ever happy with me, sweetheart,” Gale said with her News Smile. “I’m actually here to check up on Y/N.”

“With your cameraman?”

“How do you know Y/N?” Tara and Sam asked at the same time.

Everyone turned to look at you, who was in the process of biting your fingers off. You froze under the scrutiny, your hands slowly falling back down to your side where you shoved them in your pants pockets. It seemed like you were just going to be interrogated for the rest of your life.

“I’m their godmother,” Gale said when it was clear you were a little too frazzled to talk.

“Excuse me?” Tara asked.

“My Pop went to college with her,” you finally managed to say. “Suppose he liked her enough to make her part of the family.”

“And you just failed to mention that little fact?” Tara asked, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. Oops.

“Didn’t think it mattered,” you said with a shrug, “I’m not Woodsboro.”

“Can we focus?” Sam asked. “What do you want, Gale?”

“What happened?” Gale asked. “No recorder, no camera, just tell me.”

The three of you looked at each other and sighed. They might not trust Gale - which was understandable, she had written a book when she said she wouldn’t - but you did. She might not be blood, but she was family. You gave the Carpenters time to stop you before turning to face her and telling her what happened.

You ommitted the little detail that you were mid-lay.

“I’m going to go do some digging,” she said with a dazed nod of her head. “You do the same?”

“Yes ma’am,” you said with a shrug. “I’ve got a few things to go over.”

“Good,” she said before looking back at Sam and Tara. “Stay safe.” She looked at you. “All of you.”

All of you nodded and mumbled an agreement before bidding Gale goodbye. You watched and waited for her to be gone before turning back around to face the others. Now that everything had mostly calmed down, you were starting to focus on the real issue at hand again.

“What now?” Tara asked, her eyes flicking between you and Sam.

“We need to meet up with Chad and Mindy,” Sam said. “Fill them in.”

“I’ll head to my apartment,” you said. Tara opened her mouth to protest almost instantly. “I need to go over a few things.”

“We need to stick together,” she said.

“We can all meet up at my apartment tomorrow night,” you said with a gentle voice. “I’ve got some digging of my own to do.”

“No one even knows where you live,” Sam said. She looked at Tara and waited to see if she knew. Thankfully, she didn’t, and Sam let out a barely noticeable sigh of relief.

“I’ll call you from a burner and tell you the address,” you said. Both girls looked at you with raised brows. “Can’t trace a burner, and it guarantees it won’t be mirrored.”

“That’s some sketchy shit,” Tara said. “How do you know this stuff?”

“Got a few tricks up my sleeve,” you shrugged. “Still not Ghostface,” you defended when Sam gave you a judgmental look.

“Then we’ll see you tomorrow,” Sam said. “Come on.”

She turned around to leave, and you stood there watching her go. Tara hesitated, looking between you and Sam. As much as you wanted her to stick around, you knew she needed to be with her gang. No one could understand them the way they understood each other, and one little half-hearted attack didn’t make you one of them. You knew that.

“Go on,” you said softly with a gentle smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She looked at you for a little too long, long enough to have you shifting your weight from foot to foot. You inhaled deeply, trying your best to calm your racing thoughts and pulse. Tara stepped forward slowly and grabbed the front of your shirt, pulling you down just enough to plant a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Stay safe,” she said. “I mean it.”

“Yes ma’am,” you said with another smile.

Tara took that as good enough and turned around, jogging to catch up with Sam. You could see the both of them talking, and Sam’s arm wrapped protectively around Tara’s shoulders. It was sweet. You couldn’t even imagine what all they went through on a regular basis. All the chaos was enough to make anyone insane. They were lucky to have each other.

You shook the thought out of your head and started the long walk back to your apartment. If they were all coming over tomorrow night, you would need to have all your ducks in a row. No way were you inviting veterans into your home only to look like a fool.

—---

By the time everyone showed up at your apartment, you were running on 43 hours of being awake, your seventh espresso, and your 13th RedBull. Were you going insane? Yes. Could you smell colours? Absolutely. In fact, red smelled like black pepper. Or maybe that was the disgusting takeout you had been munching on for the past nine hours.

Damn, you needed to clean. Thank god Garret wouldn’t be back from his parent’s house until next weekend.

The knock on your front door pulled you back to the current situation. Right. You were going to show everyone what you had discovered. Which, not to brag, but it was pretty impressive. You managed to sweep the majority of the trash into a trash bag and put it off to the side before tripping over papers on the way to the door.

“Hey,” you said with a frazzled smile when you threw the door open and saw the entire gang standing there.

“When was the last time you slept?” Anika asked.

“Or showered,” Chad chimed in.

“Just get in here,” you said as you stepped aside. “I’m definitely on to something.”

“Good, because I have my own theories,” Mindy said with a smile. She was the first to enter.

You said hi to every one of them as they came in. Anika gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek and Quinn patted your unhurt arm. When Tara finally walked in, at the very end of the line, she gave you a look that you… couldn’t quite describe. She didn’t look sad. You supposed “worried” was a much better descriptor.

“You didn’t even change out of the shirt,” she said, pulling lightly on the NYPD shirt that you were still sporting.

“Shit,” you mumbled, “you’re right.”

“Go change,” she said, and you nodded before shutting and locking the door behind her.

“Get settled,” you told everyone as you walked into your room. You left the door open as you dug for something to wear. “All ‘a youse stayed safe, right?” You called.

“Safe and sound,” Anika called back.

“Good,” you said, tossing the NYPD shirt onto the bed. You were still trying to orient the new shirt as you walked back into the living room. “I’ve got some information you’re all going to love.”

“Who is that guy staring at us from across the alley?” Chad asked.

“What?” You said as you finally pulled the shirt over your head. You walked over to the window to see who he was talking about. “Oh, that’s Tony.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“My older brother,” you said, shooting a wave at him. He waved back and smiled. “After the other night, I asked him to keep watch. His bedroom window watches the fire escape outside my room.”

“How many brothers do you even have?” Quinn asked, mostly to herself.

“Five,” you answered anyway, “and two sisters.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Tara asked incredulously.

“What can I say,” you shrugged. “We’re Catholic.”

“And you trust Tony?” Mindy asked. “Like really trust him?”

“With my life,” you said. “Now, everyone sit down, I’ve got a few things to show you.” You looked around. “Where’s Ethan?”

“Econ,” Chad answered.

You looked around for a moment, collecting your thoughts. “Alright then,” you said. “Mindy, would you like to enthrall us with your theories while I get my stuff situated?”

“I would love to,” she said with a smile as she stood up in front of everyone.

You listened to Mindy’s talk about sequels and remakes and upping the budget and yada yada. It was all very flashy, very out there, but you could respect it. If anyone would know what was going on, it would be Mindy. And she managed to fill more than enough time while you finished pulling everything up on your laptop and hooking it up to the projector on the ceiling.

“Now we shall hear your theories,” Mindy said as she practically handed you the floor.

“Not necessarily theories,” you said, “but I dug up some dirt.”

“And how did you manage to do that?” Chad asked as he leaned back against your couch.

“Well, Chadwick,” you said, ignoring the glare he sent you, “I learned from a very reliable source.”

“Gale is their godmother,” Sam explained.

“And my sister Martha is a tech guru,” you said as you pulled up your powerpoint presentation, “so I learned from the best.”

“Did you turn this into a TED Talk?” Quinn asked with a tilt of her head.

“Why yes I did, Quinn, thank you for asking,” you said as you pulled up the first slide.

“How long is this presentation?” Tara asked.

“Long,” you said with a smile, “so buckle up.”

You went over everything you had managed to dig up for the past 18 hours. From all the Reddit conspiracies, to possible motives. You pointed out how all the theories of Sam being the killer had all managed to come from different sock puppet accounts, which all connected to two different real accounts, which shared IP addresses.

“And you learned how to find that out from your sister?” Anika asked as she leaned forward on her thighs.

“Yes I did,” you said, “and she’s never wrong.”

“Who do the two accounts belong to?” Tara asked.

“Now that I don’t know yet,” you sighed. “But we got our two potential Ghostfaces right there.”

“Two?” Sam asked.

“There’s almost always two,” you said. “Except for, uh, what’s his name,” you shuffled through some of the papers on your table. “Ah, that Roman guy.”

Everyone looked at you with a mix of shock, confusion, and amazement. And maybe a little bit of fear.

“I told you I did my research,” you defended. “Unlike you guys, I didn’t grow up with Ghostface as part of my school curriculum.”

“So you did all this just to tell us you still don’t know who it is?” Chad asked.

“I’m not a detective, I’m doing my best,” you huffed. “It’s more than that pig Bailey ever did.” You instantly looked at Quinn. “No offense, doll.”

“None taken,” she said with a shrug.

“But I do think this means he’s going after you, Sam,” you said. “He painted a bullseye on you with the Reddit bullshit. Must’ve pissed someone off.”

“Seems that’s all I ever do,” she said with a huff.

Everyone got to talking, going over what you had managed to find out. You continued shuffling through your papers, seeing if there was anything else you had left out. All the adrenaline and caffeine was starting to wear off and your eyes were fuzzy, but you could focus long enough to read. Mostly.

Your phone vibrated on the table, and you looked down. From the area code, the call was from the Bronx. If anything, one of your siblings got a new phone and was calling you to let you know. It had happened far too many times anyway, you shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Quit breakin’ your goddamn phone,” you said immediately after answering.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You froze.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

Everyone was still talking amongst themselves. You didn't know if you were supposed to tell them about the call or not. No one was looking at you, so you walked over to the window. When Tino looked over, you signed for him to watch.

"You and your buddy showin' up tonight?" You asked. "Or are you both a couple 'a pussies?"

"You're bold," he said. "Have you learned much from your research?"

"A bit," you said. You were eying the streets below. Surely he was somewhere close.

"Then I'll ask you the single most important question," he said. "What's your favourite scary movie?"

“Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure,” you said. “Large Marge will haunt me till I die.”

“You think you’re funny.”

“My Ma told me I’m a natural comedian.” He wasn’t in the alley. Where was he?

“You ever seen Stab?”

“Not really,” you said. You were vaguely aware of the fact that everyone had fallen silent. “I think they're insensitive."

"Insensitive?" He chuckled. "How chivalrous."

"You gonna play your game or not?" You asked, finally turning back around to see everyone staring at you.

Oh no.

"Did you check Garret’s room when you got home last night?"

Your eyes darted to Garret’s closed bedroom door. No. No you hadn’t checked it last night. The phone fell from your hand as you vaulted over the armchair in your way. Someone was calling to you, but you couldn’t hear what they were saying. Without any hesitation or sense of self preservation, you threw the door open.

No one was in there.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Don’t go in there!” Mindy shouted at you from the living room. “Have you never seen a horror movie?”

“Just shut up,” you called back. “Get out,” you said when you grabbed one of the baseball bats you kept in every room of the apartment. “Tony’s apartment number is 413, it’s a four floor walk-up.”

“I’m staying,” Tara said.

“Come on,” Chad said; you hoped he grabbed her and forced her to leave.

This is a stupid idea, you thought as you stalked your way to Garret’s closed closet door. Sure, you had a bat, but you had no idea what you were going to do if that fucker was in there. What, you were going to just bludgeon him to death? Yeah, that would look great on your rap sheet.

“Here goes nothin’,” you mumbled as you turned the doorknob and threw the door open, the bat primed and ready.

No one was in there either.

“What the-”

-screams came from the front door.

Shit. 

You tripped over Garret’s duffel bag that he had left and hit the floor with a hard *thud*. The stitches on your bicep pulled tight. You could hear your pulse racing in your ears as you pushed yourself back up to your feet and ran out of the room.

Just in time to see Ghostface pulling the knife out of Anika’s stomach.

You saw Mindy not too far away holding her bleeding arm, but you couldn’t find anyone else. That was probably a good thing.

Ghostface lifted the knife again.

The wood of the bat rubbed harshly against the skin of your palms as you swung. It hit his head with a hollow *thunk*, and he groaned and fell to the ground. You didn't recall crossing the living room.

“Go,” you shouted as you pushed Anika and Mindy into your room and slammed the door behind the three of you.

Mindy helped Anika onto your bed and pushed against the wound that you could now see went all the way from her sternum to her stomach. Your own stomach twisted at the sight. The muscles in your legs were frozen even as your mind ran rampant.

Something grabbed the doorknob.

You dropped the bat and lunged, slamming into the door right as it opened. Your hands wrapped around the doorknob as it twisted erratically. The metal started to heat up from the friction and you could feel it burning the skin on your palms.

"We're going to die," Anika cried.

"Try to stay positive," Mindy told her even as she was looking around the room for… you didn't know what.

The doorknob twisted again. The door opened slightly, and you slammed your shoulder into it again. Why didn't you fix the fucking lock when you had the chance last week?

"If we get out of this alive, I'm fucking strangling you-"

-The gleam of a knife shut you up and took over everything in your sight.

You followed as it pulled out, leaving a hole in your door right beside your head along with a light smear of blood.

"Get out," you said, your eyes still glued to the blood smear on your door.

"What?" Mindy asked 

"Fire escape leads to Tony's room," you said.

"Tara will kill me if I leave you-"

-the knife drove through the door again. You jumped back but felt a sharp sting in your hip.

The door tried to fly open again. You yelped, but pushed against it harder. Your bare feet dug into the carpet and you could feel the strain in your thighs.

"Give me the chair," you ordered, waving your hand vaguely in the direction of a metal folding chair.

Someone shuffled around the room, and in seconds you felt the chair in your outstretched hand. You placed it underneath the doorknob.

The knife pierced the door again.

And again.

And again.

"Come on," you heard Mindy say to Anika. At least you assumed that was who she was talking to.

Anika groaned, but the sounds meant they were moving. Hopefully to your window. Your pulse was rushing in your ear.

The doorknob jiggled again.

"Grab my hand!" Okay, that was Sam, the window was open.

The knife came into your field of view.

Oh god this was so stupid!

"Y/N, come on!"

Tara?

The doorknob quit moving and the room was enveloped with a deafening silence.

You let go of the doorknob slowly and took a few hesitant steps back. The heel of your foot hit the bat, and you reached down to pick it up without taking your eyes off the door.

"Just get out here!"

The grain of the wood rubbed your palms raw as you tightened your grip on the handle. It hung in the air above your shoulder, ready to swing.

I dare you to try it.

"Tara wait!"

Someone stepped onto the fire escape before climbing into the window. You didn't dare turn from the door. A familiar hand touched your ear. It stung.

"You're bleeding," Tara said softly.

You didn't answer.

There was banging in the living room. You twisted your hands around the bat and planted your feet. So help you god, if Ghostface even so much as sneezed you would-

"-It's Bailey!"

Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe two.

"We have paramedics downstairs," he continued, "open the door."

Your eyes stayed on the door even as you toed the chair, pulling it until it fell to the ground with a *clang*.  Your grip on the bat tightened as you watched the doorknob twist.

Detective Bailey stepped into the room, hands held up in surrender.

You exhaled sharply and felt all the muscles in your body relax.

The bat fell to the ground as your vision went fuzzy. Tara's hand fell and rested on your hip.

You supposed you had just survived attack number two.

[lycanpunk666]

Out of topic but who the fuck is Jimmy and what he have done?? (I just know he's probably a horrible person and is hated by half of the fandom)

Genuinely horrible disgusting guy. Okay so explaining all of this essentially involves every Mouthwashing spoiler conceivable but essentially the plot of mouth washing is centered around Jimmy and his horrible, selfish decisions. And I'm going to need you to think critically about his character and read my whole post and not just highlight a couple of words and immediately disengage. The cast consists of a 5-person team of people making a cargo delivery (Curly the Captain, Anya the Nurse, Jimmy the Co-Pilot, Swansea the Mechanic, and Daisuke the Intern) through space on a trip that was supposed to last about a year and a half or so. Jimmy sexually assaulted Anya (foreshadowed first with Anya mentioning to Curly in a flashback saying something along the lines of "Did you know that the nurse's office is locked but the bedrooms aren't?") leaving her pregnant. This is the catalyst for every single event in the game through a bunch of chain reactions, but essentially, Anya ended up telling Curly, who said he'd do anything to protect her but ended up trying to just keep things "neutral" after talking to Jimmy, who said he'd "fix things" because he's mainly spiraling about what would happen to HIM once they landed, and started ranting to Curly about a story the news would make about nobody on the ship surviving the trip in some tragic accident. Curly doesn't think Jimmy's serious and he's generally trying to figure out a way to defuse the situation and he's willing to sweep a lot of what's going on under the rug for his friend. Jimmy ends up crashing the ship on purpose, resulting in the fire that permanently disfigured and disabled curly and left him unable to speak (Jimmy framed him for crashing the ship, and Curly, not being able to speak, not being able to convince anyone otherwise. But people don't hate Curly at all on the ship, since to them, he's a good captain. Jimmy's not too pleased about this whole situation at all but he keeps talking about how he's responsible for everything because he's the captain now (and he's being haunted by hallucinations of crying babies and horses) and he's deliberately avoiding everything that has to do with thinking critically about what he did to Anya and is instead focusing on what he did to Curly especially. The crew slowly starves and slowly goes insane, there's pretty much nothing to eat anymore but the cargo they have, mouthwash, something specific happens but I don't entirely remember what (I think it was Anya trying to OD on purpose to abort her pregnancy and ending up dying) but it resulted in Daisuke getting injured to the point of no recovery and getting PUT DOWN by Swansea, Jimmy shooting Swansea in the head, and one of the last scenes in the game involves Jimmy cutting off Curly's leg and feeding it to him. My description here is genuinely not doing the game justice, there's a lot more to it and a lot more nuances that I missed here ("I hope this hurts", the lack of autonomy with the painkillers, the surprise birthday party, Jimmy's obsession with Curly that's a bit more subtle, the fact that Anya's character is purposefully muted due to Jimmy's perspective of her in the game, there's so much more) but yeah holy moly this game is insane. (It's less of a game and more of an interactive movie) Jimmy is such an insanely interesting character, he's like a train wreck given human form. Absolutely understandable that people hate him. But by god it is sssssSSSSSSO repetitive to hear nothing BUT how much people hate him.

[ppumeonae-bigvibe]

under his watchful gaze

↖ navigation: ateez masterlist || main masterlist 

pairing: mingi x gn! reader

↬ tags: implied that mingi and reader are childhood friends (about why they are roommates now the author herself isn't too sure just roll with it), you can assume reader and mingi are going to the same school, mingi is 3 years older than reader in this one

summary: you have a guardian angel that watches you while you sleep. that's mingi

word count: 807 words

a/n: can't put any labels on what mingi is to the reader because the agenda of this fic changed course MULTIPLE times, the bonus scene will explain a bit of the backstory (it was only added because the story wouldn't have made sense without the backstory)

a loud knock on mingi's door grabbed his attention and he swivels around in his chair to face you. he removes his headphones, game paused in the background. you stood shyly by his doorframe, greeting him all while clad in cozy sleepwear, "hey mingi, i'm not disturbing you right?"

he shakes his head, "no, what's up?" you waved your hands in front of you, "oh, uhm. i just wanted to tell you that if you're going to play games, could you tone it down a bit? i'm gonna head to bed now, i've got an early class tomorrow." you shoot him a half grimace half smile at the mention of your class.

unfortunately for him, his friends were counting on him to tank a match. he clears his throat and gave you a curt nod.

"yeah, i'll try. have a good rest." he bids you goodbye and his door closes with a whoosh, mechanism clicking shut. mingi tears his gaze away from the door and returns his focus back to the game.

"mingi what's taking you so long?!" he rolls his eyes at the way his gaming mates hollered at him.

"my bad. someone was talking to me. let's go for another round?" mingi cracks his knuckles, before poising them over his keyboard.

"that's the spirit! one more win!"

-----

"ah damn we almost got that team!" mingi groans, rubbing his eyes. "yeah no shot. we nearly got obliterated! if mingi didn't advise us to defend our base i think we would have lost more." his teammates chatter idly, agreeing to take a quick bio-break. mingi stretched his legs out, and wonders if you were asleep now.

picking up his phone, he notices that you sent him a message on social media just a second ago. a second chime signals a new message and he clicks on the notification.

just a bunch of animal reels from this evening...and wait, why were you online?

mingi shoots you a quick text, somewhat apologetic.

mingi: was i too loud?

a small grin appears on his face when he spots that familiar green dot beside your profile icon. you were still awake. awake and purposely avoiding his texts.

mingi: ahem.

mingi: excuse me, but i thought you said you were going to sleep 2 hours ago??

you: well uhm...i couldn't sleep ;-;

mingi: come to my room?

-----

a while later he hears his door open and he turns to look at your tired form, "you seriously need to sleep, like now." he knows you can't quip back at him for he had no classes the next day. he removes his headphones on one side to hear you better.

"well! i just can't, what about it?" you leaned against the ajar door, crossing your arms in front of you. mingi couldn't help but burst out laughing at how you were pouting, clearly annoyed for not being able to sleep.

"why didn't you just come and sleep in my bed, just like last time?" he pats the empty bed behind him and you flushed, sputtering, "i...i mean! it's not...it's not like we're kids again or whatever." you locked your hands behind you, averting your gaze.

"mingi? hey! we're gonna start another round." his friend's voice called out through his left ear and he unmutes himself to speak, "give me 5 minutes." in one swift motion, he gets out of his chair and drags you into his room, pushing you down onto his bed all while ignoring your protests.

you huffed, mumbling under your breath, "it's so embarrassing that you still have to coddle me to bed at this age." you surprisingly let mingi tuck you in, pulling the covers to your shoulders. he takes your phone from you, earning him yet another eye roll from you.

"can't stand you being grumpy the next day, so you better rest now. if your bed doesn't work, then my bed it is." he dims the bedside lamp, the only source of light being his monitor in the room. he squats down beside you and you flipped to your side to gaze at him. he locks eyes with you, a wry smile growing on his face.

"are you afraid i'm gonna let the whole world know that you can't sleep without me around? silly twerp. get some proper rest, not some half-assed 3 hour sleep on a school day." you reached out from under the covers to flick his forehead, accepting your fate. mingi knew you couldn't say no either.

"fine. goodnight mingi."

-----

mingi keeps one side of his headphones on, occasionally hearing you toss and turn in his bed. he mutes himself for the rest of the rounds, choosing to text his teammates in-game instead. mingi switches to the quieter keyboard and mouse to avoid waking you up. in the end he couldn't focus for long--not when you were in the same space as him-- and quits the game.

"i'll go off first. see you all same time tomorrow?" chimes of "sure thing" and "see you" came from his fellow gamers and he logged off. mingi ambles over to you, lying down beside you. he stares at you intently, every rise and fall of your chest under his covers made him happy knowing you were getting rest.

"look who's sound asleep now huh." he murmured under his breath, warm hand gingerly carding through your hair and you stirred from his touch. he hides his pleased chuckle behind his other hand when he realizes that you were nuzzling into his touch, seemingly unresponsive after that sudden movement.

"goodnight to you too."

-----

bonus:

10 year old mingi was shaken awake from his sleep and blearily he reaches out to switch on his bedside lamp.

"w-what..." mingi glances in your direction as you perched at the end of his bed, your half-lidded eyes meeting his barely opened ones. you fiddled with the ends of his blanket, "i can't sleep. mommy and daddy are talking loudly again."

he sighs, opening his blanket for you to crawl in. you slipped into the space beside him, and he drapes the blanket over you. "don't kick me or i'll push you off the bed." mingi threatens jokingly. he flicks off the light and the two of you lay down in silence, the hum of the ceiling fan the only things both of you could hear.

"i'm sorry." you whispered. even though mingi's eyes were closed shut, he can feel your intense stare through his lids. "what are you sorry for? auntie and uncle were nice enough to take care of me until my parents come back from their trip. so it is also my duty to take care of you when they can't." mingi doesn't know if you understood what that loaded statement meant, but you seemed satisfied at the fact that he was beside you and that was all that mattered to the 7 year old you.

he gently pats you, and you fell asleep under his care.

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Eighteen

Word count: 18,484

fun fact this would have been uhhhh 27,424 if i didnt cut out like three scenes and the smut that's probably happening next chapter (probably. we'll see.)

notice anything weird or a half finished sentence, PLEASE let me know and i will go to fix it as soon as i can. long chapters are hard to keep organized and edit ;-; I also don't really read back through the whole thing so i miss typos and inconsistencies sometimes.

Ao3

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

The vessels leave with Terzo and Omega the next morning, the Papa offering to drive them home. Vessel silently frets that it will be out of the way for them, but II accepts the offer easily enough. Omega stuffs his large frame into the driver's seat, Terzo slipping on a pair of sunglasses as he rolls his eyes and urges Cardinal Copia to return back to the main branch and inform Sister Imperator that, and Vessel quotes, "We'll be home within a day or so, she needs to untwist her undergarments and remove the stick from her ass."

III laughs into a closed fist when Copia flounders for a response, only quieting when II jabs him in the side, letting out a harsh 'oof!'.

Cetus, Nova, and Orion all see them off, all six of them, vessel and ghoul, masked. Orion remains a bit away, sparing only a sharp nod in Vessel's direction as they leave. Somehow, Vessel feels as if they've become acquaintances, at least, though he's sure Orion must still greatly dislike him. Vessel waves, a little meek, but trying to carry himself with the decorum Terzo seems to think he is capable of. Nova jabs Orion in the side, and he reluctantly waves back. Vessel smiles underneath his mask, then, leaning onto III where they're all shoved into the backseat, Vessel behind Omega, then III, and finally II behind Terzo. II had tried to sit in the middle, but Vessel had quickly moved to one corner so as to avoid touching II more than Vessel deemed allowed.

Their belongings are all shoved into the trunk, though they had little with them to begin with. Their clothes had long since been worn and traded out for spares, only for those to have needed washed and switched out for their original outfits. Cetus had seen to their washing, never once complaining or accepting the help Vessel quietly offered every time. It had been just another kindness afforded to them.

The car speakers play ABBA's discography at a moderately acceptable level the entire drive, Terzo and Omega both faintly humming along. II perks up when Voulez-Vous begins playing as they roll onto the gravel driveway of the Ministry branch, tapping out the beat on his thigh with one hand and holding III's hand with the other. It isn't long into the drive before II falls asleep, Slipping Through My Fingers being sung quietly by Terzo from the front seat. Vessel wants to ask him about the music Ghost makes, and resolves to pose the question to III at some point, leaning his head onto the blonde's shoulder. It's a bit of an uncomfortable stretch for his neck, but Vessel doesn't mind, not when III hums the songs into his hair between gentle kisses, more of a pressing of fabric to soft strands than actual kisses. Vessel sinks into the heady warmth of affection III's attention causes, gently pushing his love down the bond so as to not wake II by drowning him with it. The drive is long, and its glaringly obvious it's out of the way as the hours pass by and Omega asks for directions more and more, as things become unfamiliar to him.

With time, II's sleeping form starts sliding down, the movement bringing a spark of pain to the bond. It wakes him up, once or twice, sleepy eyes a bit unfocused from exhaustion. When Omega stops to get gas, III and II switch places. Even as a fully grown man, despite his shorter than average stature, II manages to curl up in the backseat with some difficulty, feet and legs bunched up on III's lap while his head and some of his torso are in Vessel's. Slipping off his hoodie is done without much thought, folding it up for II to use as a pillow. He falls asleep again before Omega gets back into the car, Terzo watching through the rearview mirror with fondness hidden beneath his sunglasses. Gnawing at his lip nervously, fearing for his secret or fearing II's closeness after Vessel hurt him, he rests an arm around II's frame, thumb stroking over a palm as he holds II's hand. III snapping a picture from the opposite end of the car goes unnoticed, one hand moving back to hold II's ankle.

The trees part for the Ministry car at Vessel's will, but they don't get far onto the dirt road before Omega is forced to stop. The rotting stag stands at the side of the road, large frame stagnant and head tilted curiously. Vessel rolls down the window, motioning the stag forward. Sleep's presence can be felt faintly, curiously poking at the edges of their awareness as if to make sure they're all alright. He doesn't speak, magic feeling sluggish and faint, but relieved perhaps, guilty if Vessel dared to think about it any further.

"It's here again!" III whispers, leaning over II slightly to get a better view of the stag.

"Mm. I don't think it likes visitors, or for us to leave for long periods." Vessel replies softly, letting the stag sniff at his fingers.

He must smell different after so long in another God's domain, not to mention he is still glamored. The stag reaches down to nibble at a coin on his necklace, antlers keeping it from moving it's head too far into the car. Sensing what it wants, Vessel glances up towards the front seat before slipping his necklace off. His mask is still on, thankfully, but the rest of him can be seen. Pitch black arms, golden cracks almost like veins, marred only by grey scarring just a few shades lighter than the black of his skin, the ink reaching up towards his shoulder where hints of an apple tree's blossoms peek over. He truly looks like a vessel for a God, Sleep's marks seen by so few.

The red sigil on the hollow of his throat, bared by the stretched out collar of his t-shirt, is in full view. Secretly, III longs to reach out and run a thumb over it, to see how Vessel reacts. II shuffles, beginning to wake, and III focuses on very quietly informing him of the situation as he sits up carefully. Whether knowing or unknowingly, he takes Vessel's hoodie with him, face half buried into the soft material, breathing in deeply with sleepiness like a loose net over the bond. He slumps over into III, wincing at the movement but uncaring so long as he can cuddle up to his lover. For the time being, II is uncaring of the displays of affection. It is only the vessels here, well, and Omega and Terzo. II doesn't think they would say anything rude though, observant eyes and a keen mind putting things together not long after he'd awoken from his long rest. One day, II hopes they can love each other freely.

The stag - and they really should come up with a name for it - turns it's head to level an empty stare at Omega, stomping it's foot and dragging it across the ground. Vessel knows what it wants immediately. He looks between the stag and Omega, nervously weighing his options. Ultimately, he decides to just ask. Omega can always just... tell him no, right? He thinks that would be II's opinion on the matter.

"Your glamor, Omega... the stag needs to see you as you truly are." Vessel speaks up, voice breaking with his nerves, only one pair of eyes blinks, the others closed more out of uncertainty than anything else.

Omega turns to share a loaded look with Terzo before the Papa gives the go-ahead, quiet and encouraging, "You can remove your mask, and let your glamor go. This is nowhere near the ministry."

Omega's voice is a low rumble, a trace of fear, of hesitancy within, "Are you sure, Papa? I will not be the only one affected should Sister Imperator find out about... well, any of this. About us. She hates you and we both have rules we must follow."

"Sister Imperator is not here, my dear, there is no one who knows her, nor will tell her if we asked them not to, right boys?" Terzo's voice is loving, metaphorical mask slipping off easily once he receives a quiet chorus of agreements.

Taking a moment to contemplate, Omega eventually reaches one hand up to slip his mask off his face, simultaneously letting his glamor fall away in a soft shower of glittering purple magic. He hunches over further so the sharp point of his horns, that start at his skull and begin sweeping back before jutting up into points aimed at the heavens, do not tear into the fabric over the ceiling of the car. After a moment, they disappear again out of necessity, but the way the rich purple color, almost as dark as his hair, had glittered with tiny amethyst-like cracks and sparkles, was captivating. His skin was a cloudy grey color, and where a human would be colored pink with a blush or naturally warmer tones, his skin was a murky purple, as though fading berry stains lay upon his flesh.

He was a magnificent creature, something clearly God-made as the vessels were, but with Lucifer as his maker. There were similarities, though, like the black sclera and, painted claws that were more impressive than Vessel's own.

"There you are, my love." Terzo murmurs, open affection being shown as he takes the dull silver mask from Omega's hands, setting it in his own lap.

Omega's tail slowly slithers through the air to wrap over the top of Terzo's thigh in lieu of an answer, resting there, spade end flicking now and again in a very cat-like manner. It makes Vessel miss Elvira, greatly. He cannot wait to be home, to see her.

Turning away from them to give them some amount of privacy, Vessel sets his attention back onto the stag.

"Have things been well while we were gone?" Vessel asks quietly, the stag snorting in response, air leaving the bones as if it were a creature not rotted beyond being able to perform that action.

"I choose to be optimistic and consider that a yes!" III chirps, smiling as they reach a long arm out.

The stag sticks its large snout into the car window as far as it can go, rubbing hard bone against soft flesh, III's smile contagious. He goes back to leaning against the car seat, patting the side of the stag's jaw once in farewell. The harsh scraping of antler against the metal of the car's exterior was not easy on their sensitive ears, after all.

"Drive slow, but don't linger in one place too long. It doesn't trust you and I don't think your Sister Imperator would be pleased if this car ends up with a dent." Vessel suggests, petting the stag's hard snout one last time, letting his hand fall back into his lap.

Terzo laughs, Omega huffing lowly as the stag backs away a few feet. Vessel tilts his head just slightly, confused. He hadn't been trying to tell a joke.

When Omega slowly begins driving again, the stag follows beside the car, easily keeping up. Terzo watches the stag curiously, turned in his seat to observe it, unbothered by the gore. He glances in the rearview mirror at Vessel every once in a while as if comparing them, sunglasses pushed up into his hair and exposing green and white eyes.

Omega stops the car not far from the house, letting the vessels get out and grab their meager belongings from the trunk.

"Would you two like to come in?" II offers, slightly breathless from the ache in his side, breathing in deeply and feeling the twinge of Sleep's - and Vessel's - presence in the air, their magic strong and ingrained into every inch of this forest.

"No, not this time, Two. Perhaps another time, when your God is not so eager to reunite with you and you're not injured. Go inside, rest, heal." Terzo declines, smile kind.

II nods, accepting the answer for what it is. Terzo reaches a hand out in offering, and II stares at it in confusion, exhausted brain lagging behind. After a moment, something seems to click and he reaches out to take Terzo's hand. He starts to shake it, but Terzo merely places his own hand overtop of II's, patting gently, a fatherly motion.

"May the Eye of the Evil One shine upon you." Terzo utters, something other in his voice as his eye glows.

II would compare it to wishing Sleep's own gaze be cast upon someone with good intentions in mind, a warmth settling at the base of his neck. Terzo releases II's hand and then beckons III forward, who is grinning.

"Three, my boy, I hope your time spent learning our ways was fruitful."

"It was, Terzo! It was a pleasure to meet you properly, despite the situation. Your religion is so interesting and rich in history. I've never had the chance to see the opposing viewpoint before. Not to mention all the different botanical and floriculture books stored there! I've learned of so many new flower species I'd never heard of before!"

"I'm glad it was a learning experience for you. If I come across any botany books, I will send them your way, if possible. My eldest brother Primo has always had a similar fascination. You and he would get along well." III is nodding eagerly, a teethy smile pulling uncomfortably at their cheeks.

"I would love that. Thank you! For everything, really."

Terzo repeats the prayer he said for II, and III's smile widens impossibly at the warmth traveling down his spine, an unfamiliar heat, "We don't really have any prayers or phrases. But... hm, worship. We all worship."

Terzo's grin matches the liveliness in III's eyes, "You're right, my boy, we both worship though our gods differ."

III pulls Terzo into a hug, tall frame leaned over into the car and wrapped around Terzo's similar build. From over III's shoulder, Terzo watches Vessel, brow furrowing as if in thought. Vessel wonders if he has noticed how Vessel never hugs his lovers. He hopes he doesn't ask.

When III pulls away, heading back to II's side and taking their bags from his capable but shaking hands, Terzo beckons Vessel forward. Afraid he is going to be pulled into a hug in front of his partners, Vessel goes slowly, unsure. Terzo only smiles encouragingly, a gloved hand taking Vessel's own. "You have come far from your rebirth, haven't you, Vessel? I'm proud of you for growing beyond the rot, for letting fragile life bloom within. You are a good man, as I've said, and in time, you will find that which you have sought, and it will be eternal."

Vessel's crimson eyes widen behind his mask, all six welling up with tears. Terzo seems so assured that Vessel will be happy ifgiven time for him to grow further.His selfish desire is to attain happiness, to keep it for eternity. To hoard the love granted to him like a possessive dragon with it's amassment of treasures, shove it into the empty cavity of his chest as a replacement for what he gave away to attain it. He's so tired of denying himself these things that he desires, and tired of watering the seeds of hope that his lovers have sown within him with gentle hands and kinder words.

He cannot deny that he has... changed, grown, since II's arrival, then III's. Sometimes, he doesn't recognize himself in the mirror when he can bring himself to gaze into it. Sleep has changed him, and he has changed himself further for the sake of his lovers, but his evolution is more than just physical. Vessel has always been afraid. To fear is such a human thing. Everyone is afraid. Though, with time, with their love, Vessel is finding some things to be less terrifying. For every step forward, it often feels like outside forces and his own mind drag him two steps back. But he is trying, he is trying so hard. He wants to be worthy of the love he receives.

"You are so kind to me, when I have done nothing to deserve it." Vessel whispers, blushing up to his ears when one pair of eyes glances over to find Omega smiling at him with no small amount of fondness.

What has he done to deserve these people smiling upon him so kindly? What has he ever done to deserve all of this? Not just this kindness, but II and III's? What did he do to deserve his God choosing him out of the entirety of the human race to be His First Vessel? He feels so unworthy of it all, but is too selfish to let any of it go.

"Kindness is a gift given regardless of merit. If I want to be kind to someone, then I will be. You do not need to be worthy of something like that, Vessel. It is okay to just give and receive kindness. The world is not an entirely cruel place. The worst people just so happen to have the loudest voices or the most money. You'll try to take this advice to heart, yes?" Terzo implores, careful of Vessel's claws as he still holds his hands.

The surge of emotions over the bond was unexpected, a rush of respect, of affection. Terzo reminds Vessel of what a father figure should be like. He doesn't know what to do with that realization. All he knows is that he wants to soak up the feeling like a sponge, bask in what he knows he was rarely given by his own parents. They did not respect him, barely even paid him any mind lest it was to make sure he stayed trapped in that house like a prisoner. The only thing they ever gave him was music, the ability to understand it, play it, to sing to his fullest potential. He thinks that gift was due to how it kept him at home when he wasn't being taught by differing instrumental teachers, absorbed in this new world music offered him. His parents were never proud of him, but it felt like the closest thing to it and so Vessel had grasped onto their not-approval tight with bloody, callousing fingers and a heart made for music.

It's a cluster of good memories Sleep brought to the surface after being remade, to rekindle his love for music, since their worship was music based.

"Yes, sir. I will." Vessel agrees, willing to try, if only so he can feel this rush again.

"Good, my boy." Terzo smiles, squeezing Vessel's hands with gentleness that has only ever been afforded to him by II and III.

When he repeats the same prayer of Lucifer's blessing unto Vessel, he tries his best to murmur along, following III's lead and adding on his own, "Worship."

The word feels weighted, almost like a proper prayer. A touch of Sleep lies within it, and Vessel thinks it could very well become a prayer for the vessels. What matters is intent, anyways. The surprisingly tender moment comes and goes with the passing of time, and soon enough, Terzo is seated properly in the car again, one hand wrapped tightly in Omega's. Vessel's hands have the faintest tingle of warmth, likely his mind tricking him into thinking some of Terzo's heat seeped through his gloves into Vessel's cold flesh again.

"Thank you for trusting us with your true self, Omega. I know it was not an easy decision." Vessel stresses, reaching up and removing his own mask with a bit of thought and a splash of magic.

Six eyes blink unsurely, fearing that even to a creature of Hell he is ugly, but Omega merely reiterates the sentiment back at Vessel with nothing but kindness and acceptance. A mimicry of warmth settles into Vessel's bones, spreading through him like heat from an open fire, settling there in the empty cavity of his chest. He smiles, vision going a little fuzzy as his bottom eyes scrunch with the movement of his cheeks. His empty chest, filled with vines and thorns left behind by those who hurt him, feels a little less heavy, like some of the vines have been clipped or rotted away. No, maybe not the vines themselves, but the thorns attached that have dug in, sliced him up from the inside out for as long as Vessel can remember.

Soon enough, Omega is pulling away when II waves them off with a heartfelt thank you and instructions not to stop until they're out of the territory. Terzo calls out through the open window as they drive off, instructing Vessel to keep in touch, slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes leisurely. His skull paint remains immaculate, head tilted towards the window to follow the stag as it, too, begins to walk along the road. It will be seeing them out, it seems. III helps II inside, nervous hands fluttering about as if to catch II should he stumble or fall, though II only spares him a fond, bemused sigh as he tells Vessel to go on to bed. Despite the injury still causing pain, II is able to walk without much difficulty, beelining for the kitchen to make a mug of tea, grumbling about the mess everywhere. III follows, and Vessel longs to do the same. He doesn't deserve to be near them, though, not after the mess he caused. He turns away from them once they're out of his direct line of sight.

"Three?" II asks quietly once he's sure Vessel is out of earshot, carefully setting his favorite mug down onto the counter with shaking hands.

"Yes, Doll?" III hums, busying himself with sweeping up the shattered remains of some of their spare mugs.

"The knives in the sink-" II starts, voice faint, and III turns quickly.

They'd forgotten-

"He didn't hurt himself!" III rushes out, widened eyes almost begging II to remain calm and not jump to conclusions, "He used them to kill Hate and it's minions. The blood isn't his, the creatures just... kept reforming."

II leans over onto the counter, cradling his head in his hands and sucking in deep, relieved breaths through the pain. "Okay. Okay, I trust you and what you say. I just- I saw them and thought-"

"You thought he'd hurt himself again, I know. I thought the same when I saw the knife block was empty. He used his telekinesis to float them back in from the living room. He's been doing well, aside from some hiccups when you got hurt." III explains, understanding thrumming gently down the bond, going back to sweeping.

He's only at it long enough to sweep up a small pile before a pained whine has him turning around, panicked.

"Can you- I can't reach my jar of apple tea leaves..." II laments, head pillowed in his arms on the counter.

"I'll get it! I'm sorry, I didn't even think-" III is nodding before II has even finished speaking, setting the broom aside to make his way to II.

As they're pulling the labeled jar of tea from one of the higher shelves of the cupboard above the counter, II snaps, ashamed, "Don't you dare apologize."

He finally lifts his head as III sets the jar on the counter, righting his position slowly and then turning to pull III into a hug. He tries first to hug as he always does, arms around shoulders, balanced on his tippy toes to reach properly so he can thread a hand into III's hair or cup his nape, caress a hand down their spine. The movement of lifting his arms sends pain through his system, just like mere moments ago, pulling a gasping moan of frustration. His hands fist into the back of III's shirt, clutching at them desperately as II gives in to his body's protests and just wraps his arms around III's middle. Frustration bleeds freely throughout their bond, relief and fear alongside it. II melts into the hug when III wraps their arms around him with no hesitation, pulling him tightly to their body so there is little space between them.

"I do not like feeling weak, and ever since Hate invaded our home, it is all I have felt. Waking up after all of that, knowing when I lost consciousness that you both were safe but it wasn't because of anything I'd done... knowing how scared you both must have been because I could not-"

"What, II? Fight off a God? One intent on playing with us like we were nothing more than insects. Having it's freaky little minions attack us and reform, over and over and over again? Hate wore you down and only then did it actually come after you, only then did it take you down. You fought hard, you held your own." III rests his head overtop II's, pushing love and reassurance down the bond, "It wanted us to devote ourselves to it, and when we wouldn't, it went for Ves. What a foolish God, to think they could sway Vessel from Sleep. Or us from Vessel."

"You're right. I know you're right, I just- Knowing something and accepting it when it hurts is difficult. Shit, Three, I haven't been awake with this injury more than a couple days and already I am sick and tired of how it hinders me. I can't even pull my fucking tea jars off the shelf. Every movement hurts, pulls on my side and sends... fire through my veins." II explains, something fragile in his voice that III has never heard before.

"I- I still remember the heat, the way I burned." It is an admission that sends ice through III's heart, cradling II to their chest as though the smaller man will splinter apart and shatter completely.

III knows II won't, far too strong willed to ever truly break apart, but the fear of it and the willingness to hold him together has III trying to pull him impossibly closer anyways. A small wet spot grows on their shirt, a faint sniffle from II follows what III says next, "You don't have to be strong all of the time, Doll. I'll love you either way, and so will Vessel. I want you to rely on me as much as we rely on you."

II doesn't say anything in response, knowing and hating that he can't promise such a simple thing. To even have admitted this much is instilling a sense of wrongness within him. He needs to be able to take care of the others and if he can't do that, then what use will Sleep have of him?

II knows well of his God's dislike for him. The love is there, but to a God, is that even a blip on His radar in comparison to His desires? III had gotten away with reprimanding Sleep for keeping Vessel awake for so long and then demanding He fix it, but they were still punished. If II were to say everything he wanted to, demand answers to every question that festered in his mind, what would Sleep do? Erase him, no doubt. And II doesn't want to leave III and Vessel. So he toes the line of insubordination, but does not cross it entirely for fear of the repercussions.

"Let's get your tea made, hm?" III offers, reaching up for a mug from within one of the lower cabinets.

II remains pressed to his side, surely making movement more difficult for III but neither one release each other. It makes II ache for Vessel, though, suddenly missing how Vessel follows him around in the kitchen like a particularly clingy puppy. It takes a bit more time than normal, but eventually II has a steaming mug of apple tea being pressed into his hands, III smiling gently. The heat startles him, staring into the steaming liquid as if it will jump out and burn his face. It's a ridiculous thought but II...

"Do we have any ice?" II asks quietly, unable to look up and meet III's searching gaze, setting the mug back on the counter with hands that tremble faintly.

"Yeah, we should, Doll." III comments, already turning towards their fridge and its connected freezer.

II is thankful III doesn't ask, he's not sure he could answer with a level voice. III plops a few pieces of ice cubes into the mug, sticking it in the fridge for a few minutes to speed along the cool down process. As they wait, III pulls II into another hug, leaning their weight down onto II and humming into his hair. II closes his eyes, arms around III's waist and head leant against his chest, listening to the comforting thump!thump!thump of their heart in his ear. III leaves long enough to grab the mug from the fridge once a decent amount of time has passed, handing the mug to II who takes it with shaking hands. The tea is cold when II takes a sip, and at first, his face scrunches up. It is not exactly displeasure that shivers down his spine, but the taste of cold tea is definitely something he will have to get used to. III holds him from behind after that, broom forgotten as II slowly sips at his tea and focuses on calming down the tremors wracking through his frame. III is warm behind him, arms wrapped loosely around II's waist with his cheek smushed against the top of II's head. It makes II feel small, in a good way. Protected instead of ruled over.

Sometime soon they will have to speak about the form III had taken, but for now II just wants to enjoy this. Enjoy being home in their ransacked house, with the ivy creeping along the walls, and III's garden outside. Where they are safe, as safe as they can be as vessels of a God.

Vessel's feet weigh him down as he climbs the staircase and enters his room, Elvira meowing happily as she shadows him. When II's panic lances down the bond, Vessel turns back, nearly back on the landing between the first and second floor when III shoves reassurance down the bond. Vessel hesitates on the first step down the landing, vines brushing gently along his arm in greeting, straining his ears to hear what II and III are speaking about quietly in the kitchen. After a moment, he decides that things truly are under control and starts towards his room again. He forgets to close the door (he should have closed the door- why didn't he-) as he crawls into bed in the middle of the day, not even bothering to change into pajamas. He closes his eyes after setting his mask on his nightstand, shivering underneath a blanket he pulls over himself. Elvira curls up at his head in a little ball, big eyes staring up at him. Vessel feels a swell of affection for her, so happy to see her again, and yet...

He is cold.

Vessel rises, grabs another blanket to cover himself in, and lays back down. Elvira meows, batting at his hair with soft paws. Petting her is done with shaking hands, little mrrphs and purrs rumbling through her chest that causes Vessel's lips to twitch up into a weak smile.

He is still cold.

Does he even remember what it was like to be warm? Truly warm?

Terzo immediately comes to mind, the warmth of his hands holding Vessel's, the way his arms wrapped around him and kept him close. Vessel wants that with II and III, he wants to be warmed by their natural body heat, to feel their hearts beat against his own still chest. He does not want the warmth of heavy fabric, he wants the warmth of a gentle touch. Vessel wants to be held, craves it desperately. He has seen II and III hug, how tightly III wraps II up in their arms, sometimes lifting him off his feet just to get a playful scowl in return. How II would move his arms from around III's shoulders, grab him by the waist, and swing him around as if III was as light as a feather, always so gentle when placing them back on their feet. Vessel... he wanted that. He wanted them to hold him in their own special ways. Would III try to lift him off his feet? Would they pull him close, press kisses into Vessel's hair? Would II get up on his toes so the angle isn't so awkward as he hugs Vessel around his shoulders? Pull him down into a kiss that sends a thread of adoration down the bond, warm like the gentle rays of the sun on a spring day?

Vessel runs a thumb under his eyes, swiping away gathered tears as they start to slip down his cheeks and into his hair. He wants that. He wants to be held.

Would Terzo let Vessel hug him next time they meet? Would that be an acceptable greeting as acquaintances?

He gets up again, grabbing a third blanket from over his desk chair, a thick blue one with simple white fish on it. The blankets are heavy when he spreads them over himself, curling around Elvira when she decides she has had enough of him moving around and lays half stretched out over his side in an unusual position. Still, he shivers and shakes, hands shoved under the pillow his head lays upon in some attempt to warm them.

Sleep claims him slowly with heavy eyes and then all at once while Elvira purrs cuddled up to his chest. He opens six eyes to Sleep's forest.

He's running, stumbling over roots and shoving past low hanging branches that scratch against the soft skin of his face. Bare feet squish into mud that slows him down as Vessel frantically follows the whispers of the trees around him, leading him to his lovers with a phantom hand pulling tight on the bond they share.

He has to find II and III, quickly.

A root lifts, and Vessel trips. He goes rolling as his forward momentum works against him. It should hurt, and his mind registers pain, but his body doesn't feel it. That should have indicated something was off, but Vessel can't think straight. Not when II and III are in danger, they're hurt, they're going to die- leave him all alone- please-

A quiet whimper of pain falls on Vessel's pointed ears, and he looks up, hunched over form bent into itself.

II lays a few feet away, weak hands struggling to free himself from where he is pinned to the forest floor. Vessel cries out, but no sound leaves him. Crawling desperately to his side, Vessel takes II's hands in his, pulling them from the solidified blood in his side almost too roughly. II screams, the sound echoing in Vessel's ears and II tries to wiggle away.

'Don't.' Vessel mouths, 'You'll bleed out.'

"You didn't come back for me? Why Ves? Why didn't you come back for me?" No more than a whimper of pain, II's words send a dagger through Vessel's empty chest.

'I tried! I tried, I swear!' Vessel wants to shout, wants to beg II to understand. 'Sleep took then kept me. I couldn't. I tried, Two, I tried. I'm so sorry-'

"You left us to die." II accuses, bloody lip curling up into a sneer as he coughs weakly.

Vessel sobs, shaking his head, cradling II's face ever so gently in his large hands.

'I would never.' Vessel mouths, hoping II will understand him. If the only limb Vessel had left were his arms, he'd still find his way back to them, digging broken, bloody nails into the ground and pulling a mangled body behind. If he had no eyes, he would still know each of their breathing, the sound of their steps, the exact cadence of their voices. Were he deaf, Vessel would know the feeling of their skin on his, their lips against his own. He would remember it all, in every lifetime, and no God would ever tear those memories from him.

Something tickles the back of his mind, like a realization, or the lead up to one, something right on the edge of his awareness, but it is plucked out before he can grasp ahold of it.

Vessel moves to try and lift II, but his hands go right through. II remains pinned, no matter where Vessel tries to lift him, and he lets out a weak cry of frustration, fresh tears bubbling over as he returns his hands to II's face, tracing over pale cheeks tenderly. He can touch him, hold him, but he cannot lift him. Cannot save him.

Vessel is forced to watch, to wait, to listen as II's life slips through his fingers, as black blood boils him from the inside and the god of Hate takes the first of the two most important people in Vessel's life. Time passes at once slowly, and so fast he cannot keep track of it. It could be hours, seconds, and Vessel would still only know the time through each breath that II takes, slower and slower, gasping, weak.

"You don't really love, Vessel, you just hate to be alone." II murmurs, icy blue eyes, once so warm with his love, beginning to crack into shards, freezing Vessel from within as he is trapped in his gaze.

The lyric, a truth, a fear close to Vessel's heart and soul, uttered by someone Vessel adores with every inch of his being, is like ripping his heart out all over again. To have it spit back in his face like this is a pain he would wish on no one, yet feels as if he deserves.

As II's breathing slows, stuttering in his chest, Vessel watches the light slowly leave his eyes, frozen in place and helpless. He waits, dead eyes boring into II's pretty blues, filled with ice, for death to claim his lover so that he can follow. There is only one final thing II can manage to utter, leaving Vessel feeling as if his world has fallen apart around him, burying him beneath rubble and shattering his bones, his soul.

"You should have let Hate kill you." The light starts to leave his eyes, and before that final star winks out, Vessel wakes, choking on a sob.

He trembles, struggling to escape from whatever is holding him down. Scrambling out of bed and hitting his floor, Vessel whines, partially at the pain, and partially at the dream he can't get out of his head. He crawls away, frantic, curling into himself against his nightstand that he slams into. The lamp rattles, but doesn't tip over as he paws blindly at the surface of the nightstand for his mask. He knocks it off instead of grabbing it, coordination off as he panics. It thuds against the floor, the bone white material making a loud clattering sound. Vessel doesn't even notice, giving up on that endeavor quickly. The confusion, the terror, the panic, causes Vessel to instinctually shut his part of the bond off.

The noise wakes II, the pain of his healing injury leaving him sleeping lighter than he is used to. He and III had crawled into bed with Vessel quietly, carefully, III bringing their own blanket and covering both he and II up with it after they squeezed in to the other side of the bed beside Vessel. The First did not stir, barely even moved as II and III got situated. His door was left cracked, an open invitation, and so they took it. Why wouldn't they have?

The immediate feeling of emptiness in the bond has II sitting up hastily in concern, knocking the breath out of his lungs as a pained whimper follows. For a few tense seconds, II has to struggle to catch his breath, still not quite sure what's going on. Sensitive ears soon catch the faint sound of sniffling and heavy breaths, tired eyes finding Vessel quickly.

Vessel is curled up into himself, leaned against his nightstand and facing away from the bed. His clothed shoulders shake, crying silently. Claws flex against his side, desperate to dig in, to rip and tear and maim-

"Ves, love, are you okay?" II asks, slipping out of bed carefully, shoving aside the minor pain the action still causes.

"Ves?" II tries again when he receives no answer but a shaky sob, the tail end silenced quickly.

"Don't touch me. Don't- I don't deserve your comfort-! It's all my fault. Almost killed you. Almost lost you. Almost lost you." Familiar with how Vessel falls into repeating phrases when he's upset, II kneels next to him, a hand hanging midair from where II automatically obeyed Vessel's command.

"Sweetheart, it wasn't your fault. We knew a god could attack at any time, we just weren't prepared." II reassures, frowning when Vessel only shakes his head in dismissal, still turned away.

The bond is not as devoid of life as II thought, but it's nearly completely hidden away. Vessel is keeping to his promise by a hair's breadth.

"No, no, no- You hate me. You hate me. Its all my fault, and neither of you will tell me so."

"I don't hate you, Vessel." II shoves as much love and devotion into his words as he can, but knows by the way Vessel's bond grows clearer, but only with more distress, that nothing he says will get through to him.

"Don't lie to me!" Vessel snaps, turning his head so II can finally see him, hands coming up to claw at his own face as he tries to hide behind his hands, "Don't you lie to me!"

There's a faint glow to his pupiless, red eyes, making it obvious that magic is at work here. Whether Vessel has any control over it is unclear.

"I am not lying." II almost snaps back in his sudden influx of worry, afraid Vessel will hurt himself, only iron will and his complete adoration of Vessel leaves his words softened.

Vessel flinches back anyways, dragging his nails down and leaving the faintest of red lines down his cheeks. He barely misses his bottom pair of eyes, but doesn't seem to care. Tiny droplets of red and black bead at the lines he's created, sliding slowly down his cheeks. II wants to reach out and wipe them away, tear Vessel's claws away from his face. He knows the action is likely to do more harm than good despite his best intentions and so he tries to calm him, think rationally about this. Vessel trembles, and not just with the cries he keeps quiet. II grabs the blue blanket from the pile spilling over the side of the bed, clearly having gone down with Vessel. It strikes him as odd. Vessel usually wears a shirt, yes, or even his hoodie, and while he runs cold, there is never any indication that he really was, no shiver down his spine, no chatter to his teeth. He has always explained the clothes as more of a comfort than a need due to a lower temperature. How cold was Vessel to have piled at least three or four blankets on himself?

"I should have let Hate do what it was here for. You were right. I- I shouldn't be-" Vessel mumbles, eyes a bit unfocused, like he's still caught in his nightmare, a fly in a web waiting for death to claim him.

Not letting his confusion at Vessel's words shine through his expression, II tries to slowly inch his way closer, socked feet helping him scoot across the flooring quieter. He remains a couple inches away, but reaches out again to attempt to pull Vessel's hands away from his face.

"Honey, let me just hold your-"

"No! I'll hurt you again- Don't touch me- Don't-" Sobs break Vessel's words into fractions, breaking II's heart with every syllable, "You already hate me, I don't want you to leave if I fuck up again. I'll hurt you and you'll leave. You'll leave, and Three will follow. I'll be alone. I don't want to be alone- Not again- I won't live like that again-!"

Sucking in a shuddering gasp, shock freezes II's face into an expression of horror. There's a sudden buzzing in II's skull, growing louder and louder around the echo of 'I won't live like that again.'

'I won't live like that again.'

'I won't live-'

II shakes his head, desperate to rid himself of that train of thought. Vessel self-harms, yes, but that does not mean he is also suicidal. Vessel wouldn't- He wouldn't.

"No, sweetheart, it's not your fault. I didn't get hurt because of you-"

"It is my fault! Of course it's my fault, why would you think that it isn't-" Vessel cries, six leaking eyes sliding up to pin II in place, the confusion and the heartbreak almost too much for II to bear.

Frantically, II stands. He moves too fast, Vessel flinching back, hands flexing to cover his face. More tears slide down II's jaw, and he takes a moment to rub both hands down his face, swiping away his tears resolutely. He turns to III, who has managed to sleep through the whole ordeal so far, and tries to wake him, not without guilt. Everyone is still exhausted, Vessel's bond filled with it alongside the ever present self-loathing and the fear.

"Three." II shakes the other man's shoulder, trying not to let any more tears fall, "Three, wake up, please."

III mumbles something incoherent, the bond slowly losing the fuzz of sleep, but eventually sits up, rubbing his tired eyes to try and focus. They clear quickly once the distress in the bond becomes apparent, going wide as their brain lags behind. Everyone was so tired when they got back home, and it was no different for III, who can barely think through their exhaustion.

"Three, I need you to hold Vessel for me." II can't quite keep his voice from breaking, looking between Vessel and III helplessly.

"He won't let me touch him." II whispers, a few traitorous tears breaking free.

Not trusting themselves to not slur or say the wrong thing, III nods shortly, moving to stand. Their bones protest the movement, but they ignore it in favor of crouching down beside Vessel who barely notices him. Gentle hands pull Vessel's claws from his cheeks, leading to Vessel finally taking a good look at III in front of him. A nail drives itself right into II's heart, a valiant effort being made to not let hurt bleed out into the bond despite how much it pains II to see Vessel letting III touch him so freely right now.

"Hey, pretty, what's wrong? Did something happen?" III keeps his voice low, aiming to pacify the terrified frenzy Vessel is in.

"Two hates me. Didn't go back for him. He hates me because I left him-"

"Oh no, hun, Two doesn't hate you. You came back for us, remember? Defeated a God just to make your way back to our sides?" III soothes, trying to spark the memories.

"He- He was bleeding out, wasn't he? He was- I saw it. He was all alone, Hate must have hurt you, too."

Vessel is clearly confused, the lack of sleep and the continuous stress finally catching up to him. III knew the crash would happen at some point once Vessel finally let himself sleep, but they couldn't have predicted this, didn't even want to imagine how terrifying it would be for Vessel, and seeing just how much worse it is in reality. He knew Vessel was taking II injury hard over the course of their stay at the ministry, he knew. But nothing III said or did ever amounted to more than minorly lessening that strain. Nothing they did truly helped, and now it's all crashing down on Vessel at once, it seems. If Vessel had slept at all while at the ministry, III is sure the nightmares would have swamped him then.

"That was just a dream, Sugar, we kept the object in Two so he wouldn't bleed out, remember? I was right there next to him the whole time, uninjured, even after you got there. We got Two help and he's fine now." III hopes his words will jog Vessel's memory, and those hopes aren't unfounded as some of the confusion seeps out of the bond.

"He... He is fine, now." Vessel murmurs, finally allowing himself to properly look at II, six eyes roaming over his form, catching on the tears II keeps wiping away, "You're both... alright."

The fogginess of sleep seems to finally clear from the bond, releasing Vessel fully from his dream. II hands over the blanket, III taking it from him and wrapping it around Vessel until a solid layer is between them. Only then does III pull Vessel to their chest, arms wrapping completely around him in a hug that offers none of the loving warmth of such. His fear and concern makes way for fondness as Vessel visibly sinks into the welcome warmth. Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, II lets the last of his fear slide away, gathering himself. His side aches something fierce, ignored in favor of trying to help Vessel, but it will not be so easily brushed aside now.

III pulls him impossibly closer, gently shushing quiet whimpers and heavy breaths as Vessel sobs. II watches, helpless, longing to wrap both of his lovers up in a hug, to smother them in his affection and shelter them from their pains and fears. Where before Vessel would immediately shut down his cries, desperate to not be heard, now he does not falter in the agonizing sounds spilling forth as he apologizes profusely as if there was anything to be sorry for at all.

"I'm sorry." Vessel cries, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Two, I didn't mean to hurt- I failed you. I couldn't protect either one of you-"

The apologies eventually taper off, a slow trickle down from sobbing to crying to mere sniffles. At some point, III has them all moved to the bed, leant against the headboard closest to the wall with Vessel practically in his lap, all four of his blankets laid over him carefully. II sits at his other side, nearest the nightstand, hesitant to lay down and rest no matter how his body and mind begs for it.

"I made you cry again." Vessel says weakly, so quiet II almost didn't hear him.

More gold gathers in Vessel's eyelashes, slipping over his cheekbone and onto the plush material of his jellyfish plushie that III hands him, eyes no longer glowing. "It's alright, Ves, it's good to cry sometimes." II hushes, aiming for a smile that falls flat despite his best efforts.

"Not... not like that... You look so-" Vessel cannot even finish.

"All I ever do is cry." He whimpers, reaching up to try and wipe away tears that just keep flowing.

"That just means you feel, love. You have a big heart, and you feel strongly. There isn't anything wrong with that." II says, offering up his hand.

Vessel stares for what feels like a long, long time, biting at his lip and peeling up the chapped skin. Then, he takes it, with no small amount of hesitancy. A thumb seeks out II's pulse point, and II just lets it happen, understanding it is a necessary comfort Vessel needs right now. The silence that follows is punctuated only by the breaths still hitching in Vessel's chest and the purring Elvira has kicked up at their feet. Time passes, and somehow II thinks they need this. Not Vessel's nightmare, no, but the time to just be with each other, alone in their home, finally.

Eventually, light filters in through Vessel's window around the edges of his blackout curtains, indicating it must be early morning. II sighs, rubbing a hand heavily over his face. Vessel had finally fallen back to sleep just a few minutes prior, curled up under a mound of blankets as small as he can manage with his tall frame. III is asleep, too, leant against the headboard with Vessel practically in his lap, a hand still weaved in his hair from where they were comforting the First. II stares at them, just taking his lovers in, then moves to stand. His side pulls, bringing pain with it, but he does his best to move past it, gritting his teeth. Elvira meows from the end of the bed, big eyes watching every move II makes. II pets her, smiling as she shoves her head up into his palm. With some regret, he does leave her eventually, softly ordering her to keep an eye on his boys. She meows in agreement as if she understood, and then II is exiting Vessel's room.

II has a God to speak with, after all.

The altar room is dark when he enters, but his improved eyesight that allows him to see in the dark makes getting around easier. He suspects his vision is no where near III's, nor even Vessel's, but he can see well enough. The room is untouched by the whirlwind that swept through the rest of the house, everything as they left it before II got injured. It brings him pause, curious eyes sweeping across the room. Vines cover every inch of the walls, all congregated around the rune etched into the wall, still dripping crimson. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as II walks forward, picking up the matches resting beside the golden offering plate. II lights the candles one by one, leaving only the centermost candle untouched for Sleep. When he is done, he sits back on his haunches with a pained gasp, and waits. It isn't long before Sleep arrives, the flickering golden flame casting the room in a shimmering gold glow.

Sleep does not speak, so II takes the chance.

"Take those nightmares away from him. I know you can."

"I cannot see his dreams anymore, my Second, let alone take them from him, now. I believe he is blocking me out, subconsciously." Sleep whispers, or, as close to a whisper as His many voices can, "He is gaining control over his dreams, becoming more than I ever intended. I gave him too much but if I hadn't..."

"You are a God, what do you mean you can't-" II spits, frustrated, hands clenching into fists in his lap.

"I cannot do it, Second. He is... He is becoming like me, my gifts are becoming his own and he is gaining his own power. I cannot take his nightmares from him for they are apart of his own domain, now."

II's brow furrows, confusion warring with creeping understanding. "Is- Is Vessel becoming a God?"

Suddenly, a lot of things make a whole lot of sense. It all started with his new sets of eyes, the forked tongue, scrawling golden cracks on the ink black of his skin, and now the silvery white hair... Each time he took more of Sleep's power, divine power, for his own use, Vessel would change. He is turning himself into a God for them, sacrificing his humanity.

"Not quite a God, no. He is approaching what could be considered a halfway point, and it is unlikely he will overcome that."

"What, like a demigod from myth? Does Vessel even know about this?" II's mouth falls into a flat, pale line, unease swirling in his stomach.

It would be just like Vessel to become a demigod for their sakes. No, not even just for their sakes. If Sleep had chosen some other people to be His vessels, if they were even half as nice- If they treated Vessel with even a shred of human decency, II is sure Vessel would do as he does now. Though, if II really thinks about it, it is not a matter of how kind they have been, but of how strongly Vessel's love for them runs. Had II ended up treating Vessel like his past partners had, if love had still bloomed in Vessel's heart because painful love was all he knew, then Vessel would still have done the exact same thing. It was in his nature to be gentle and kind, and... well, he is far too self-sacrificial for his own good.

Sleep responds, "I suppose a demigod would be an accurate title, and yes, I have told him of his growing divinity. My Second, I know my word means little to you, but believe me this once, if I could spare my First the pain of these apparitions, I would have. I wanted to take everything from him, when I first remade him, but there was so much damage to his... So many terrible memories and so few good, he would have been nothing but an empty shell. Some gods prefer that of their vessels. I do not."

"Sometimes, I wonder if that would have been better for him. I would have helped him, loved him, regardless. I can't speak for Three, but I'm sure he feels the same."

Sleep does not respond, but His presence, which had been faint and centered in the crimson candle, settles like a crown on II's head. In the next moment, the pain he had been feeling is gone. Something tells him it is only temporary, but there is no chance to ask for Sleep leaves, all of the candles going out with Him.

II is left staring at the sigil on the wall, at the paint perpetually dripping off of the lines of the rune. His heart still races, and only when II stands and leaves the altar room does the pounding leave his ears.

Once III and Vessel wake up, closer to evening, they find that II has begun cleanup on the house. The mess in the kitchen is swept up, the knives clean and put back in their rightful spots in the knife block. Vessel follows behind III, a hand clutching at the back of his shirt as the bond leads them towards the living room. Books are still strewn about where the creatures had carelessly tossed them, II sitting on the floor around a multitude of stacks that he is actively sorting. The tv is on, playing one of the Lord of the Rings movies at a low, unobtrusive volume. III goes to help without a second thought, Vessel following.

II turns and smiles up at them as they make their way over, offering up a soft greeting. He looks exhausted, guilt making a home in Vessel's gut at the sight of the bags under his eyes, thankful the emotion won't be visible on his face at least, thanks to his mask. Vessel wraps the blanket tighter around his shoulders, shivering where he lingers at the edge of the couch. A glance down at it shows blood and faint burn marks in the material, and Vessel feels suddenly nauseous.

"I've got this, you two, why don't you go check on your garden, Three? I'm sure Vessel wouldn't mind the fresh air." II suggests, but it comes across as more of a command.

"Sure, Doll, I was planning on doing so anyways! Come on, Ves, let's head outside." III agrees, smile widening, well aware of what II is doing and thinking it's a good plan.

"Just let me change into some outdoor clothes, be right back." III calls, already bounding off and up the staircase.

Vessel stares after him with something close to panic beneath his mask, fingers fumbling together nervously. II hates to see him so unsure of himself in their own home, as if Vessel had done something wrong or did not think he deserved to take up space. Or was it something II did?

"Are you going to go change as well?" II asks, taking in Vessel's rumpled clothes, which are the same as when they got home the day prior.

Vessel slowly shakes his head side to side instead of answering verbally, not meeting II's gaze from under his mask. It causes II to frown, hurt but not sure what is wrong. Quick as a lightning flash, III takes the stairs two at a time as he returns to the living room, sporting a t-shirt and a faded pair of blue jeans. It's one of the more casual outfits II has seen them in yet, but is unsurprised. III hates to ruin clothes when he works outside, and so has some outfits designated for garden tasks if they are doing more than watering. III grabs Vessels hand, lacing their fingers together, and soon enough they disappear out the front door. II wonders if it would be difficult to put in a door out to III's garden from within the kitchen, so they don't have to keep going the long way around.

The pathway to III's garden is littered with leaves, bits of moss creeping up and over the stone steps. There's a gentle breeze ruffling their hair, birds singing their songs all around them. Vessel keeps his eye's resolutely locked on the chipping paint on III's fingers, clasped in his own.

"Do you think we should clear some of this foliage off?" III asks, toeing at a bit of the moss with their foot.

"I like it." Vessel says, and so III replies, something terribly fond in their voice, "It stays then."

The words make Vessel smile, looking up from his bare feet for the first time since they left the house, and it's then that Vessel notices Kiwi looking at Vessel from her perch on III's shoulder. Vessel lifts up his hand to wave, smile growing wider when she waves back. III's garden looks mostly as they left it, all of the different types of flowers growing well in neat little rows. Vessel stands awkwardly behind III as they bend over to brush gentle fingers along a few petals of beautiful peony's. III plucks one, turning to gently tuck it behind Vessel's ear. Vessel blushes, thankful the mask he wears hides most of it, though it does nothing for the creeping redness of his ears. The kiss to where his nose would be under the mask only serves to make Vessel more... not embarrassed, shy? He is flattered, at least.

Not long after III begins clearing the few weeds that had popped up, cooing gently at his marigolds as they do so, Vessel wanders off with a quiet call over his shoulder, "I'll be back."

III turns to watch him go, contemplating whether he should go with him or not, but Vessel moves quickly, disappearing into the tree line still wrapped up in his blue starry blanket, accompanied by a crow on his shoulder. Feeling like they are being watched, III looks up and finds II staring out the kitchen window at the forest where Vessel wandered off, looking terribly sad. When he notices III looking, he smiles, but it does not lose the melancholy that fights to tilt it down into a frown. Before long, II is back to staring after Vessel, and III can only send his love down the bond as an attempt at comfort.

It is some time before Vessel comes back, long after II has gone back to organizing the bookshelves. III has finished watering his entire garden and clearing some fallen tree litter, Kiwi holding onto a braid by his face and speaking to him in wonder about the forest (which she has never seen before) and all the webs she has made in only the best corners of III's room since they'd been gone. There's dirt and bits of twigs on one side of the blanket Vessel has still wrapped around him, but the bond feels, lighter, almost. The peony still sits behind his ear.

The rest of the day is spent cleaning up the rest of the house, or what of it they can. Some things need repaired or replaced entirely. Something to be done when II's range of movement is not so limited. III and Vessel take on the brunt of the work when II inevitably is forced to take a break. Many of them, in fact, despite his mild complaints. III won't take no for an answer, forcing II down onto the couch with a glass of iced raspberry tea.

Vessel feels as though he is experiencing all of this at a distance, his mind continually going back to his nightmare and what dream II had said. Should Vessel ask? Does he dare? There was no way II and III knew of what Hate said to him, what It offered.

That night, Vessel crawls into II's bed (after III had informed II that he would probably not want to be in III's room due to all the spiderwebs Kiwi had made, and the little spider herself). He is careful of how the bed shifts under him, II's wound still tender enough to hurt if he moves even slightly the wrong way. Vessel wants to hold him, wrap his arms around II's waist and lay his head on the smaller man's stomach. He doesn't feel as though he deserves that, however, not with his nightmare still fresh from the night before. He settles on III's other side instead, letting III wrap Ii up in his arms and pretending he's perfectly alright with only reaching an arm over III's waist to lay on II's hip. As with the night before, Vessel layers blankets over himself, making sure to share with II and III, though it doesn't escape his notice that II barely covers himself with them. When Vessel goes to sleep, it is to the sound of his lovers steady breathing and the hope that his nightmare was just a one time thing.

It was not.

Vessel is running, stumbling over roots and shoving past low hanging branches that scratch against the soft skin of his face. Bare feet squish into mud that slows him down as Vessel frantically follows the whispers of the trees around him, leading him to his lovers with a phantom hand pulling tight on the bond they share.

He's running as fast as he can, for once thankful for his long legs that carry him over the rough terrain quickly. Like the first night, II is laid out over the forest floor, solidified blood pinning him onto the dirt as if he were a butterfly on display. III is there this time, hunched over II and holding a hand close to their chest. Vessel nearly trips when he sees them, so overcome with relief it brings immediate tears to his eyes. The relief is short lived, III tipping over onto his side just as Vessel reaches the both of them. His gaze zeroes in on the black blood protruding out of III's stomach, the dribble of crimson in the corner of III's mouth.

Time slows down. If Vessel had pupils, they would be mere pinpricks in the mass of his crimson irises, eyes widened in horror. When he makes his way to their sides, it is with shaking legs, stumbling steps that threaten to send him careening down onto the forest floor. II is completely still under III, glassy eyes staring up into the trees. Vessel sobs, pulling III up by his shoulders to at least check if they're still alive. III's chest is empty of air, not even the barest bit of movement to signify breathing. Vessel shakes him anyway, sobbing loudly with every sharp intake of panicked breaths, breaths he doesn't need.

Around them, the forest begins to bleed. 

Red drips down from tree trunks like sticky sap, leaves staining from stem to edge a deep scarlet. Green moss froths, dying crimson. The dirt begins to swell, deep browns becoming rich, bloody red. 

His hands slip, blood from III's wound, protruding straight out of his back, coating his fingers. The same thing that hurt - killed- II is sticking out of them, burning into Vessel's skin. His flesh blisters but Vessel doesn't care, barely even feels it. III's head lolls over Vessel's shoulder as he pulls them to his chest, careful of the protrusion. A hand comes up to cradle III's head, weaving into their loose hair. 

"Why..." III gasps, coughing harshly, "Why did you come back?"

"Why would I not come back? I will always come back for you." Vessel whispers, voice breaking on the tail end of a shuddering sob.

"We don't want you anymore." Weak hands try to shove Vessel away, beating against his stomach and chest, pushing against his arms, but in an act of pure selfishness, Vessel does not allow it.

Vessel's world shatters into pieces. III's breath hitches, splatters of hot, wet blood leaving his lungs. Where it hits the ground, more blood rises from the cold dark earth.

"No, please, you said you'd never leave me. You promised-"

"I've broken promises to you before." III spits, breaking out into a coughing fit.

"Only one, only one, beloved." Vessel mumbles, "You've kept every important promise to me. Every single one."

"Two and I said we would never leave." Vessel's hands tighten where he is grasping desperately at III's shirt, dead eyes boring into II's equally as lifeless ones, waiting for the final blow to land.

So quiet now, fragile and dying, Vessel is only able to hear due to their close proximity, III's next words follow what already felt like a death knell, "We'll leave you, now. As you left us."

"No-"

III makes a horrible gasping sound. It rattles his lungs, seeming to echo in the silent forest. Vessel waits, pulling III closer. It is as close as they've ever been, Vessel thinks, despite the solidified blood protruding out of III's back. He wanted to hold them, but not like this.

When their last breath finally leaves them, Vessel makes not a sound. All at once, time starts again. Every tick of the clock rings in Vessel's ears, marching him to his awaited end. Golden tears are smeared in III's hair, wetting both of their clothes as Vessel continues to cry. 

Carefully, gently, as though cradling the most fragile artifact in the world, Vessel pulls III away to lay them at II's side. Deft fingers close blue, blue eyes, starting with III, then moving to II. Vessel sits at their side, golden tears dripping freely off his pale cheeks. Claws threaten to dig into his thighs where he rests them, flexing and unflexing, over and over and over. 

He has a promise to keep. He will not break it, he refuses to. Yet, he never promised not to... Yes. That's it. 

It is as easy as breathing to summon a knife, the golden bladed ritual knife he used to cut out his heart. The dream bends to his whim, and if Vessel were not so caught up in 'his home is gone. His lovers are dead. He has no purpose. They're dead, they're dead and he must follow-', he would know that this will not kill him in the way he wants. He would recognize this as a dream. But the mind is an easy thing to deceive when it is shown it's worst fears. No matter that the fears were conjured up by the mind itself.

He really should have let Hate kill him. It would have hurt less than this, he is sure. Vessel deserves this though, as always. When he goes, when Sleep welcomes him, Vessel can ask to be eradicated. Maybe with a little begging Sleep will do it. Vessel doesn't mind giving his body over to the God to use as a true vessel for His will. Connected as they are, it should be possible. And if it isn't, will Sleep be able to erase Vessel's mind? Keep him locked up in a little box in the back of his own head, asleep forevermore and ignorant of the world that no longer is home to the only things that kept him going?

Pressing the knife to his throat, it is quick work to glide it against soft, yielding flesh.

"Vessel! Wake up! Please-"

Vessel startles awake, a burnt hand coming up to hold his throat. It comes back wet with blood when he pulls it away. Six eyes slowly slide up to meet the panicked, tear-filled eyes of his lovers, wide awake and surrounding him as though it was Vessel on his deathbed, like he hadn't just watched them both die-. 

The sight of them rips a relieved sob from Vessel's chest. Instinctually, unable to help himself, he sits up with the intent to reach out for one or both of them, but pulls back at the last second. 

"Vessel, honey, what's happened? You were so upset in your sleep that it woke us up and then we couldn't wake y- Ves!" II starts, cutting himself off in alarm when Vessel practically launches himself from the bed. 

Like the first night when all of this began, the blankets follow him, try to keep him pinned onto the bed. 

Vessel is cold. He wants- He wants-

Vessel is gone and out the bedroom door before II and III can process what is going on. They'd both awoken to the distress (and that word feels utterly lacking in the face of the pure emotion Vessel had felt) in the bond, overflowing and practically being shoved at them, like an alarm bell blaring within their souls. 

It filled them with dread, and that feeling only worsens now as they watch Vessel flee away from them. III will not forget the red blood trickling slowly down Vessel's neck as if something had cut him there, tried to slit his throat...

II and III clamber down the stairs after Vessel just in time to hear the front door click shut, II lagging behind severely, hindered by his aching scar. III is unsure whether to leave II behind and follow after Vessel, or stay to help II down the stairs. 

II decides for him, "Go. Ves is more important, go."

III gives a short nod before he is also out the front door. Frantic eyes scan the clearing around their home, searching for Vessel. He doesn't have to look far.

Vessel sits on his knees just at the edge of the clearing where well-kept meadow transitions into forest. He is hunched over into himself, folded in half with his arms over his head. Afraid that calling out to him will make Vessel flee again, III makes their way to his side, kneeling just beside him. Close now, the sobs wracking Vessels' frame are apparent though not for the noise they make, but how they shake his shoulders. 

"Sugar?"

Vessel's whole body flinches, but he does not move to run away. He says something, but III cannot make it out, warbled and quiet as it is. 

"Can you say that again, beautiful?" III asks, voice gentle as they hear the front door close as quietly as possible.

"Keep me. I'll be good. Just keep me. Please, keep me. Stay. Stay." An audible sob is finally hear, and then Vessel is sitting up, turning his torso so he can reach out and curl into III's lap.

II walks up beside them, struggling crouch down, an expression of insurmountable sadness seemingly etched into every pore. III lifts on hand up, already moving to wrap his arms around Vessel, urging II to stay standing to not strain his side. II barely listens, anguish, whether physical or mental, flashing across his face. He stays upright, and III settles their arms over Vessel's back, rubbing soothing circles over a bony rib. 

"Please keep me. I don't want to lose the only home I've ever had." Vessel trembles, cold hands grasping at III's shirt so tightly his knuckles go grey.

III tightens his arms around Vessel's back, trying to pull him closer. Vessel cries against his stomach, wetting III's sleep shirt. There is not an ounce of care about it, the clothes can be washed of gold. "You're not going anywhere, Ves. We'll keep you forever if you'll let us."

"We want to keep you as much as you want to keep us." II whispers, settling on resting a hand on III's head.

It feels like a long time before Vessel pulls away, cries quieting to small sniffles, the sun yet to rise. The moon shines above them, the forest is silent. Things aren't okay yet, but III has to hope they will be soon. Vessel does not protest when III gets them both up, leads all three of them back into the manor. Elvira waits just inside the door, following their little procession to the bathroom and the first aid kit within it.

It is II that has to put a bandage over the thin cut on Vessel's neck, hurt by Vessel's nervous expression but resolved to treat him regardless. It had stopped bleeding quickly, black and red blood crusted around it. II wants to ask. So does III, leaned against the doorframe as II works and carefully avoiding the red so his fears don't send him into an illogical panic. They will not leave their partners right now, refusing to even think of it. His fear will not keep them apart. The burns aren't severe, somewhere between first and second degree. It is easy to guess what Vessel's nightmare may have been about. 

The burns do not explain the wound on Vessel's neck.

Vessel lets III herd them all back to II's room, leaving momentarily to grab more of Vessel's plushies and make tea. Vessel and II long to touch, but Vessel will not reach out and II will not force it on him. They are left stagnant, yearning, Vessel's trauma once again making things difficult. It leaves Vessel guilty, lessened when II offers him a beautiful, lopsided but sad smile. 

Vessel's empty chest warms, and some of the guilt alleviates. He has not apologized yet, he realizes. His mouth opens, closes, opens again. The apology for hurting II never comes out, and instead Vessel bites into his lip, angry with himself.

A glass of iced tea is handed to II from an old antique silver tray, carried by III with surprising ease. Vessel is handed a mug of hot chocolate, beverage type shared with III within their own mug. They all sit on the bed, Vessel finding himself under blankets again as they lean squished together along the headboard. Tired of the silence, III pulls up a movie on their phone, some superhero movie about a rich man who makes a suit of iron. The phone remains propped up on III's legs with a pillow, the screen the only source of light in the dim room. Curled against Vessel's feet and kneading the blanket strewn over them, Elvira purrs.

The movie catches Vessel's attention and manages to distract him, bringing out a couple smiles over the jokes and enraptured by the action scenes. II, relieved, presses a kiss to III's shoulder as the credits roll and discreetly wipes away the swelling of tears in his eyes. Hope that things will be alright now keep II going, sleep claiming him quickly, head leant against the very shoulder he kissed minutes prior. Vessel and III end up watching another movie, the second in the Iron Man franchise as the sun begins to rise. Their empty mugs sit forgotten on the nightstand.

Vessel is not okay, but he can pretend to be, throw himself into needed distraction and the affections of his lovers. It's easier to pretend, that way.

By the third night, faced with the same reoccurring nightmare as the two nights previous, Vessel dreads falling asleep, and yet he lays down to let it claim him anyway. Expecting the same outcome as previous nights, III holds Vessel to him, an arm over his waist, plushies piled between them for Vessel's comfort. II is on III's other side, desperate to touch but knowing Vessel will likely start crying again, begging II not to touch him, and putting II's recently fragile heart through a shredder.

When Vessel sleeps, he dreams in loops of the same nightmare. Sometimes they are the same, sometimes there are small differences. Sometimes, those loops include III injured or stuck in his spider form begging through their minds for Vessel to turn them back. It is not a gift they've been given, so Vessel knows that those at least, are dreams. Other times, times where reality and dream blend together, it is III laid out over the ground with II over him, tears streaking down their face as he tells Vessel to leave, to never come back. That everything was all his fault and if he'd just killed himself properly instead of pathetically begging a god for love, none of this ever would have happened to them. 

The worst dream is always the exact same as the second night's. II already dead and gone, III dying in Vessel's arms. His splintering mind keeps going back to it, playing it over and over, each time worse than the last.

Throughout all of the dreams, the place where II and III died remains stained by red, the crimson part of the forest slowly seeping out further and further. 

Terzo and Orion's words seem like a distant memory compared to the maelstrom within him. Vessel had said he would try, but every step forward seems to be followed by two steps back. He is trying, he swears it.

That third day, Vessel cannot manage even a word of greeting. He spends the day and then the night in his own room, the door closed and locked. That night II and III linger outside of it, hands clasped together. It is II who raises his fist to knock, and when he does, he receives no answer. The bond, their only lifeline throughout this, is quiet but not completely gone. Vessel has pulled away in that way too, keeping to his promise to not disappear, at least. They had hoped things were improving, but this has dashed those hopes completely.

Inside, Vessel lays shivering under a mound of blankets, face buried in his plague doctor plushie as he cries. He wants comfort, but every time he closes his eyes, all he sees is his nightmares, the cruel words of his dream lovers taunting him as the silence in the house stretches on. He knows if he gets up, opens his door, II and III will be waiting for him. They'll welcome him with open arms, grace him with pretty smiles and warm hands. They'll hold him as close as he allows. Vessel will not be alone, unloved, and his partners will be safe.

And yet, in the silence, the faint sound of breathing begins to reach Vessel's ears. A shuddering gasp, a low gurgle, the accusing call of his name.

Vessel lays awake, eyes wide open, trembling, tearful, carefully attuned to the tether of the bond connecting him to his lovers. As long as he is awake, he can make sure they still live. They will not die in his dreams if Vessel never lets himself dream in the first place. The night is long, and after it, Vessel refuses to spend his time being unproductive, refuses to let his mind wander around in circles as the worst nightmare of his life and rebirth replays itself.

II and III try their best to coax Vessel out of his room, attempting to lure him with chocolate or his favorite shows or movies (of the very, very few he's watched), anything, but the other is stealthy, quiet. II only catches a brief glimpse of Vessel lugging his electric keyboard up the staircase to his room. II audibly curses when his healed wound keeps him from following Vessel up the stairs quick enough. The sound of the piano is heard often, then, throughout all hours of the day. When II or III knock on the door, they receive no answer, just a gentle tug of the bond, a bit of reassurance sent their way. The vines move to cover the door a few days in, further entrapping Vessel inside by his own will.

As the days wear on with no sign of Vessel, III begs Sleep at His altar every day to convince Vessel to at least rest, to eat, even just to see them. Sleep, to II's continued detestation, refuses. Within a matter of a day, II was concerned Vessel had begun to hurt himself again without them there to comfort him. His only solace is the reassurance from their God that Vessel keeps to his promise. That, all things considered, he is doing rather well. A stern reminder is given that Vessel has gone longer than this without rest, and then the God is gone. II feels hate festering in his chest, holding III to him that night, side aching fiercely.

Outside their room, the faint sound of a piano sounds from Vessel's room. The instrument is a constant, and it is how II and III know Vessel does not rest, ever. It let's them know he is alive, so they take comfort in it where they can.

The thirteenth day finds Vessel listless, heavy eyebags stark against his pale skin under the mask he has kept on through every waking moment. Ever since the third night, the third nightmare, Vessel hasn't slept. He knows a nightmare will be waiting for him, and he doesn't want to see what horror his own mind will cook up. In weaker moments, being crushed under the loneliness of his self-imposed isolation, he hopes that he will spontaneously die. Just- Die. So he can at last have a peaceful rest. He wouldn't deserve the kindness the universe would have to grant him for that to be the case.

He finds his resolve wavering, exhaustion weighing him down. He had not yet gotten enough rest to recover from the two or so weeks he'd spent awake at the ministry, and again he is doing the exact same thing. He is tired.

He is glad, though, when he lays on his bed and allows his eyes to rest. He falls asleep quickly, body finally giving in to it's needs. Three restless nights of Sleep did absolutely nothing to abate his exhaustion. When he next opens his eyes, Vessel is back exactly where he hoped he wouldn't be.

II is where he always is, laid out over the forest floor. Instead of running through the forest to him, Vessel is already there, straddling him. Compared to the last few nights, II has a knife through his chest, blood spilling over his lips as he gurgles. Under him, spread out like an oil spill, is a concrete sidewalk, the grime of a city darkening it to something akin to an abyss, swallowing both he and his lifeblood.

Confusion and terror course through him. Vessel tries to lift his hands away from the knife but they will not move as if glued there. He tries the rest of his body next, but not an inch of him will move. Tears come quickly as II whimpers and gurgles punctuated by stilted, wet breaths as though he was drowning. 

"Two. Two, I'm not- I wouldn't-" Vessel can speak, at least, and so he gets to begging the universe to save them from this.

"I would never do this. This has to be a dream. This- This isn't even how it happened! This wasn't how it happened!" Vessel almost wails as he tries to lift his hands from the knife.

His magic pulses weakly underneath his skin, a faint tingling down his spine. Vessel's chest aches, gold beginning to drip down onto II's barely breathing form. There's a weight growing on his skull, weight settling lightly over his shoulders as something else slides down his back, the gentle caress of magic slipping off of him. Golden tears fall onto II's paling cheeks, his lover mouthing something Vessel cannot hear, cannot understand.

It looks almost like 'I love you.'

"Hey! What the fuck is going on?" A voice shouts, but Vessel does not hear it, too lost in his panic and the confusion ripping through every bit of his body.

There's splotches of red on one of the fingers holding the knife. Is it blood? Is it II's blood slipping through the crevices of his fingers? He's killing him- He's- He didn't do this-

"I didn't kill him! He- he was robbed. I saw it. I didn't do this. I didn't. I would never- Please, I don't want to be here any more, I want to wake up from this terrible dream. I want to go home. I didn't do this-" Begging to anyone or anything that will listen, Vessel struggles in vain to move, to get up, to force himself out of this dream - he knows now that that is what this is.

He has never woken himself up before, but he thinks it might be possible. It has to be. Vessel would kill himself permanently at even the barest chance he would ever hurt one of his lovers like this. He would never do this.

"Hey! Fucking get off of-" The voice is closer now, almost directly next to him.

A force shoves him harshly, a body crashing into his.

For the briefest, most glorious moment, Vessel is relieved. He will not keep hurting II. Then, his mind catches up to the situation. He and whatever has just hit him both go rolling. Dirt the color of old blood and dead leaves fly up around them, getting in his mouth and eyes, crimson moss cushioning their bodies to no avail. Arms hold Vessel down by his shoulders, and he panics, flailing, trying to free himself of the weight settled over his thighs, a sob catching in his throat. His eyes sting, he doesn't understand what's going on.

He doesn't want to- Get her off- Get off- No, wait, he isn't allowed to refuse-

"What the fuck were you doing?" The person on top of him yells into his face and Vessel goes deathly still, squinting open stinging eyes hesitantly.

Oh.

It isn't her- His dream has not shifted from II's death to- To his girlfriend-

"Four. Four." Vessel whimpers, voice nothing more than a frail whisper, blinking dirt from his eyes as best as he can.

Four's presence further solidifies that this is all a dream. There is relief to be found in that, relief in not being alone in it.

The righteous anger in Four's eyes melts into confusion, and then slowly into realization.

"Vessel?"

Four seems to finally notice their positions, the fear still blatant within Vessel's wide, teary eyes. His hands raise, cradling them to his chest, scrambling off of Vessel but lingering close as he says, "Fuck, Vessel, I'm so sorry! I didn't remember you."

Vessel slowly sits up, wiping tears and dirt from his eyes and snot from his nose. He looks over, expecting to see II dead again, like so many times before, but there is nothing but a bed of spindly red flowers. No sign of concrete to be seen.

"Where did he go?" Four asks, looking around with concern.

"This is... It's a dream. It's just a dream. I'll wake up, and Two will be fine. Just like every night before." It's a clear attempt to reassure himself, Four frowning at the utter desperation in Vessel's voice.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, this is a nightmare. I've been having so many." Vessel replies, the forced calm in his voice blatant when paired with the tremble all throughout his body.

"You do not have to lie to me, Vessel. I know we don't really know each other well, but... If you're not actually feeling alright, then tell me." Four starts, trailing off when more tears gather in Vessel's eyes.

"You are too kind." Vessel murmurs, gaze continually wandering back to the spot where II laid.

"Thanks but uh, why don't we move away from here? You're not looking too good."

Vessel does not answer verbally but it is still clear as he moves to stand. Tentatively, giving Vessel ample time to pull away, Four reaches out and grabs his hand. Vessel has the strangest urge to lace their fingers together, as he would with II or III. Four begins leading them off. clearly having no idea where he's going, but Vessel doesn't mind. He is glad to be rid of the view of that crimson clearing. He avoids it as best as he can on his walks, the forest understanding it is a no-gone zone. The trees above their heads and the green moss below their feet begins transitioning quickly into red, a bloody scarlet, the further they walk. Vessel considers having them turn back, but as long as they don't venture too far in, it should be fine regardless of his trepidation. If Vessel pays enough attention, he swears he can spot the stag trailing along with them, mere glimpses caught between the trunks of tall, thick oaks. A white gazebo comes into view some time later, a dilapidated thing covered in thick, red clusters of silver lace vines. It is caving in on one side, lacking in railings, floorboards creaking underneath their feet and Vessel finds there is no bench. It is lovely though, a new landmark he has yet to discover. He wonders if it is apart of the dreamscape, or if it actually exists in the waking world. It is so hard to tell now that both the waking forest and the sleeping one are laced with spots of red. Four lets go of Vessel's hand as they enter under the canopy of flowers, and Vessel takes the chance to lay down, exhausted even in his own dream. Decorative flower motifs are etched into the boards above their heads, vermillion ivy vines offsetting the ruby of the the silver lace flowers. Even here, the vines reach out towards him, peeking up through the floorboards to say hello.

His antlers dig in to the wooden boards as he lays down, and it seems as though he is only now noticing them. A clawed hand reaches up to run fingers along the protrusions, a contemplative frown gracing his lips as the other hand wipes away the remnants of tears. Slowly, Four moves close enough to sit at his side before deciding to just lay next to him. 

"Who was that?" Four questions, quiet, tentative, as though Vessel will shatter if the words are said too loudly, with too much force.

He looks over at Vessel, his cloak stained with dirt, staring up into the ancient canopies visible through breaks in the gazebo ceiling and plants. This part of the forest looks to be in perpetual autumn, Four taking it all in with curious, awed eyes. A bit of that awe is directed at Vessel, too, Four sneaking glances at the other occasionally.

Every bit of this place is beautiful, him included. Despite being in a dream, Vessel feels better than he has in days. The tiredness of his waking mind is lesser here, his mind clearer now that he is away from the main scene of his nightmares. The magic that always seems to settle over him is long gone, and it's like he has full control again. 

"The man I was on top of?" Vessel responds, voice weaker than he intends it to be, hands coming to rest over each other on his stomach.

Four hums in lieu of a proper verbal answer, and Vessel sighs, a nearly imperceptible little thing, filled with bone deep sadness.

For the first time since Vessel had begun having these dreams, he actually wants to talk about II, about any of it. He couldn't, before, not when the dreams were so raw and terrifying and he had a difficult time differentiating them from reality. Not when fears he cannot tell II and III were a lot of the focus. 

"That was one of my partners, Two. It was... it was like the way he died, mixed with, well, he got... hurt, recently. Almost died to another God. If I had just stayed with him-" Vessel cuts himself off, finding his voice too emotional and unsure if he should be explaining this much.

Four doesn't need to hear him break down, even though the sight of him doing so would likely be familiar at this point. He already witnesses so much when he finds himself in Vessel's dreams, and now to be dragged into what could have been a waking nightmare, what could have been Vessel's reality, what was II's reality...

"Oh, you've mentioned a boyfriend before. Is he... alright now?" Four says, soft, kind, curious.

Always so kind, despite what he's witnessed within Vessel's dreams.

"Yes. He's healed, but scarred now. It's all my fault." Vessel laments, "He must hate me. He promises he doesn't, but how could he not? I failed him. I left them and he got hurt-"

"Why did you leave him?" Four asks, curious eyes filled with something like hesitation.

"It... wasn't willingly. I was dragged away."

Four cuts Vessel off before he can continue further, "Then, its settled. You didn't leave him willingly, so it is not your fault that he got hurt. You clearly are torn up about the whole thing. Vessel, Two's injury is not your fault."

"But-" Vessel starts, bewildered and almost desperate to deny Four's words.

"It wasn't your fault." Four reaffirms, the ocean of his eyes a deep abyss, "You tried to get back to him, didn't you?"

"Of course! I- I forced Sleep to let me go to them. Threatened Him... in a way I never have before."

"He's alive, isn't he? Isn't that what matters the most? That you both, er, all of you are alive and breathing? The circumstances were out of your control. From your reaction, you'd go back in time and stop him from ever being near the danger in the first place. It isn't your fault, Vessel. Two must know this, and he surely wants you to know this too. He loves you, doesn't he? He doesn't hit you like your previous partners? Doesn't force you to do anything you don't want to?"

"No... never. Two is... They're both so good to me when I don't- When I feel like I don't deserve their kindness, their gentle hands."

"He loves you, so you should let him show that affection. Don't deny yourself their love because you think you don't deserve it." Four is oddly wise for a man who does not know the full circumstances, so self assured. 

To have another near stranger, drawn to him as Vessel is, be so sure about all of this... Vessel is almost guilty that each of their words seem to be getting through to him better than II or III's. Perhaps its Vessel's fear of them leaving him. That feels like something II would say. 

"I hurt him... I thought he was in danger again, and I hurt him while trying to protect. I don't feel like I deserve his affections anymore." Vessel admits solemnly, a hand falling to rest in the moss by his side.

It tickles his skin in greeting, as though even here the forest knows him, now unconstrained by the dreams Vessel has been having.

"That is for Two to decide. It was an accident, you were trying to protect him, as you said." It is something Vessel has already heard from III, and some part of Vessel already knows the truth of it.

It is a hard pill to swallow. The thickness of it clogs his throat, but Vessel had made promises to try, so...

He is glad when Four speaks up, giving him something else to focus on instead of the swarm of emotions swirling around in his empty chest cavity.

"You know, of friend of mine hit me at a bar the other day. He said I was making eyes at his girlfriend. I wasn't, too lost in the drink I didn't even want but he was too drunk to listen to me, and probably wouldn't have listened even if he was sober. My boyfriend caught me after I got punched, but he was so angry he didn't really notice how tight he was holding my arm when he hit him back, so hard it sent that friend of mine to the ground. Knocked him out, even. Boyfriend sprained his thumb though, punched the friend wrong I guess. I felt terrible, because he only got that injury protecting me. It doesn't erase all of the times recently that my boyfriend has hit me, or said... such cruel things, but it felt like a start. Like I was finally getting my boyfriend back, the one I fell in love with. He's been nicer about my mistakes for a bit now. Apologizing a lot more, too, especially after he- After-" Four, who had been rambling on almost as if he was talking to himself, quiets.

A hand comes to rest over his throat, massaging the skin there searchingly, as if looking for the bruises that must have lasted a while. Vessel remembers them from the second dream they'd shared, knows how Four's throat must have ached, how his voice must have been hoarse and broken for a long time even as the bruises started to heal. "Once I got thinking about it after the adrenaline of the situation wore off, I realized it wasn't my fault my boyfriend sprained his thumb. It was his decision to protect me, I did not force him to, did not ask him to. He smiled real big at me afterwards, getting a splint for his finger at the hospital. Said it was to start making up for all he'd done to me. I guess, what I'm trying to say is, oh, I don't know. I was trying to give you an example but the situation isn't really the same, is it?"

Four blushes, and Vessel watches curiously as his cheeks turn redder and redder the longer silence lingers between them. He really is very pretty, even with just a mouth and eyes. Vessel wonders if he can give him the rest of his features. An endeavor for a different dream, should Four come back.

There is so much Vessel wants to say. So much that it tightens his throat enough that he isn't sure he can say anything at all.

Vessel's first boyfriend was like that, and so was his first and second girlfriend. They all said they loved him, initially. Though as he went from partner to partner, the grace period where they didn't hurt him got shorter and shorter. There was little remorse to be had, but Vessel didn't expect any. He deserved it, or rather, felt he deserved the pain, the hurt. Four doesn't. Vessel knows without even a bit of doubt, that Four doesn't deserve what is happening to him. He opens his mouth to tell him so, to- to tell Four that he should leave his boyfriend but the words catch in his suddenly tight throat.

"You are... very kind, Four." Vessel settles on, the words tasting like ash on his tongue.

Four has already seen bits of what was done to Vessel, why can he not bring himself to speak of it? To- to warn the other man? Vessel is a coward, that's why. Foolishly optimistic just this once, to boot. Vessel hopes beyond hope that Four's boyfriend really will change for the better. He is not rotten on the inside like Vessel. Four is kind, so kind, so underserving of a boyfriend who treats him as he does.

"So you've said, but thank you." Four grins, cheeks still faintly red.

He's... adorable too. A blush of his own rises to Vessel's cheeks, and he realizes his mask is not on.

"This place is very pretty." Four deflects, "Lots of different reds. It's kind of unusual, but I like it."

"It is the forest around my home. Sometimes when I dream, red bleeds out into the forest, changes it." Vessel says, reaching a hand out to his side and growing a white calla lily up through the cracks of the floorboards. 

When Vessel hands it over into Four's line of sight, he contemplates telling him it's meaning. Good wishes seemed a proper gift. Vessel decides not to say anything. Four takes it with a pretty smile, Vessel no longer staring above but instead at him, taking in what features are visible, drinking him in. Mildly embarrassed, Vessel straightens his head. There is silence for a few minutes, punctuated only by Four's soft breathing. Vessel is... oddly content considering how the dream started, as well as how the last couple weeks have gone. He has been terribly lonely, though it was his own fault. Always such a coward.

"Are you happy?" Four questions, holding the calla lily out above his head, watching how the sun shines through it.

"What?" Vessel responds, confused, pausing with his own hand above his face, watching a vermillion vine creep over his wrist towards his palm.

"Are you happy? Do your boyfriends make you happy? Does the life you live make you happy?" Four asks again, turning his head to get a proper look at Vessel.

Dirt slides off his forehead, specks of it making its way out of his pale blonde hair. A smile curls at his lips, ocean eyes wide and soft with curiosity, but also uncertainty. Vessel thinks back to the bruises he sees on the other man occasionally, and wonders for a moment before the sight of Four's smile falling brings him back to the question he was asked.

Is Vessel happy?

His first response is to say no. It is met with disagreement, an uncomfortable twist in his gut like a stone has plopped right down heavily.

He is happy with II and III. They do make him happy, he realizes with a start. He is overjoyed at every moment they spend together, whether they speak or not, whether they are touching or not. Vessel is content to simply be with them. Despite his anxieties and his fears, Vessel relishes in every moment they gift him.

"My boyfriends do make me happy. My life is only worth living because of them. They are trying to teach me that I am more than what other's have done to me, more than the mess of insecurities within my own mind." Vessel says, and since Four has seen some of what has been done to him, does not feel the need to explain himself any further.

"Then there is hope for me." Four mumbles, but before Vessel can even gather the words to respond to the admission, Four is barreling on into a different topic entirely.

"Are you a God, Vessel?" There's a light laugh in Four's voice, something light and airy and inquisitive.

It's cute, but then Vessel registers the question.

Vessel's mouth gapes open at the mere notion of-

Him, a God?

"No! Whyever would you think that?" Vessel blurts, incredulous.

"Your six eyes! The stag antlers! The way I keep appearing here and all this talk of Gods." 

Vessel finds himself not surprised, not by the cloak around his shoulders, the pelt cushioning his upper back nor the decorated antlers on his head. This is all... something he had been more or less expecting, something he caught a glimpse of in the ocean's reflection when Four had seen that dream of Vessel's offering. He had expected to be changed. It is not so bad. 

"I... I also saw you without your heart. How are you alive without your heart if you are not a God?"

Vessel pales, looking more terrified than Four has ever seen on his face, frozen like a corpse beside him. "You... you what? You... you remember?"

Four stills, an expression of deep confusion overcoming his blurry features. So little of him can be seen, and yet there is so much expressiveness in the tilt of his mouth, the downturn of his eyes. "Remember what?"

Vessel tilts his head to properly face him, voice breaking on a barely held back sob, chest heaving with a steadying breath, "Remember that I do not- Four?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm waking up." Four mutters, voice slurred as if he's in a daze, hands lifting above his face.

Flickering like a dying candle, the light shining through the canopies above begin to pass right through, and then he is gone. The calla lily goes with him. Vessel is left alone, laid out over floorboards that creak with every movement. Four remembers, he knows. Vessel had hoped that he wouldn't. Now, he is sure that two people know his secret.

It was different with Terzo, but the man who will become their Fourth is another matter entirely. Vessel is afraid, and yet, beyond that fear is the realization that Four had known Vessel was without his heart this entire dream, and yet there was no fear. There was no hesitancy in touching him, in speaking with him.

Someone else knows, and while that scares Vessel, it leaves him just a little bit lighter too. He wonders what it would be like to hug Four.

Vessel has no more nightmares, after that. When he dreams, he conjures flowerbeds to lay in, listening to artificial birdsong, content to pretend that he is awake and out in Sleep's forest. He would never dare tell anyone this, but he wishes that Four were with him. When he wakes not long after Four disappears, he seeks out II and III. Apologies for pulling away and an explanation are spilled through silent tears, accepted with loving hands and gentle kisses. Vessel does not tell them of Four, but he tells them most everything else. How Vessel's greatest fear (outside of the matter of his heart) is that they will leave him all alone, whether through death or deciding they won't want him anymore.  Like every time Vessel reveals fears of his, his words are met with understanding, with love and assurances that lean into logic where needed. It helps, it really helps and Vessel is so... so grateful for his lovers. 

Still, there is hesitance when Vessel leans down to press a kiss to II's temple that morning, hesitance when II reaches out to clasp their fingers together. II notices, and considers his options.

[vibratingskull]

What would you think of maybe Thrawn x Reader on a camping trip to somewhere scenic and isolated? Maybe on vacation, away from the stresses of work? I'm definitely imagining Thrawn shirtless and chopping firewood, for some eye candy. Maybe like, half fluff/half spicy?

🥺 pretty please?

(my love as a gift, regardless of if you write this!)

Of course, anything for you my sweet ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

ThrawnxF!reader

Tags: Winter vacation, fluff, fingering

“Ch’acah, we have arrived.” Thrawn pats your thigh to wake you up.

You rise up in a jolt, still half asleep. You were so comfortable pressed against Thrawn's back, holding him tight on the speeder, his body's higher warmth still spreading to you past the thick leather jacket he wears. 

You rub your eyes and wipe a bit of drool off your mouth and discover a wooden cabin under a thick layer of snow. Thrawn already jumped off the bike to get the luggages as you hug yourself to shield yourself from the biting cold. He was so warm…

“You are shivering, Vir. Let’s get inside.” He invites gallantly.

You jump on the ground, leafing through the bunch of keys you have. You haven't come here in decades, you almost forgot your grand aunt bought that cabin in the middle of nowhere.

You would have come in summer under a blazing sun but you saw how Thrawn's eyes were shining when you told him everything froze in winter in the region. You hoped for a resort near a beach for those vacation, but seeing him getting excited by the prospect of living through a cold climate for some weeks made you cave in, for your Chiss…

As much as Thrawn shows excitement of course, which is always in moderation. 

But enduring the cold and wind is worth it if Thrawn gets something reminding him of his homeworlds.

You enter the key in the door and push the heavy block of wood to enter the modest abode. It is completely dark and cold. You search for a lightswitch on the wall until you find it and flip it.

Nothing.

You flip it again.

Still dark.

“We may have an electricity problem.” You annonce.

Thrawn puts the luggages down in the largest room, consisting of a kitchenette, a sofa, a double bed and a fireplace.

Real small cabin, you see.

You mingle with a heater mounted on the wall, to no avail.

“Let’s start the chimney.” Thrawn says. “Let’s get some light and warmth.”

You go around the cabin in search of the wood reserve, finding the ax in the meantime. You find back Thrawn securing the bike in the nightfall against a tree. You don’t know who would come lost themself in this forest to steal a speeder bike, but security first you suppose.

“No cutted logs, but I found the ax.” 

He nods, standing up. He is only wearing his leather jacket while you're wrapped in the puffiest winter coat you ever saw, a heavy lana scarf and some gloves. 

“I will see the wood, go collect some ice.” He instructs

“Why?” you tilt your head, blowing hot air on your hands.

“For the bath.” He says with a thin smile.

You take a hammer from the top case and a very large bucket. You wave at Thrawn as you go, looking at him chopping wood with application and venture a little bit deeper in the forest. If your memory serves you right there must be a lake not too far away…

You break the ice with the hammer and collect enough to fill the bucket. It is a really, really large bucket and it gets really, really heavy. You have all the pain in the world carrying it back to the cabin, especially with this hindering coat. You take double the time it took you to reach the lake to come back.

But you’re not disappointed, far from it.

Because when you finally reach the cabin, you raise your eyes from the heavy bucket to discover Thrawn, still cutting logs, bare chested and muscles glistening with a thin layer of sweat shining under the rising stars. 

You are so surprised and enthralled you stop dead in your tracks, completely hypnotized by that scene. You cannot help but admire his form, his powerful muscles flexing so wonderfully under the new moonlight. 

You remained silent, eyes wide open, arms holding on desperately on the heavy bucket that started trembling in your hands. He catches a glimpse of you mid swift, sliding a log in too with such force and power the two parts fly on the side. He lays down the ax to turn to you, gasping for air, his breath forming steamy clouds at his mouth. You see his large chest rising up and down rapidly and you imagine his heart beat racing in his rib cage. 

You close your agape mouth with a gulp, shaking your head back to reality. 

“I found ice.” You inform gingerly, trying to keep your eyes to his ember eyes and not his mouth watering chest and abdominals.

Maker… He is such an athlete! He has been carved by the gods in pure marble!

“Good.” He nods, already getting back his breath under control, “Put it in the chimney, we are going to melt it for the bath.”

You greet your teeth as you carry the bucket inside. Right behind you Thrawn gathered the wood he cut and places them in the fireplace. He starts the fire as you get rid of your heavy coat. You take one of the furry plaid and lay it on his naked shoulders, he raises his head to meet your gaze, a silent ‘thank you’ in his eyes.

“You’re going to catch a cold in this outfit.” You smile gently.

You just see a drop of sweat rolling from his pac to roll on his muscular stomach, making you gulp again. He doesn’t close the plaid over him, only holding the sides with the tip of his fingers, letting you appreciate his whole carved bust as he rises back on his feet. The red and yellow flames bounce beautifully on his deep blue skin, creating delightful tones and shades dancing on his skin. You breathe deeply through your nose, trying your best not to drool at that sight.

He turns his head to you, completely lost in your admiration of his body, and smiles thinly before booping the tip of your nose with his knuckle. You wince and wrinkle your nose in reaction, almost sneezing.

“I think we still have some hot cocoa in the thermos. You are shivering, Ch’acah.”

He invites you to sit on the sofa in front of the burning fire and brings the two cups and the thermos bottle, pouring you a cup of the fuming drink. As you blow on the steaming cup in your hand he sits beside you, throwing the side of the plaid over your own shoulders. You smile and snuggle against his warmer body with a sigh of contentment.

“I know you wished to go to the beach for those vacations.” Thrawn says after a very long moment of comfortable silence, “I am sorry, Ch’acah.”

You kiss his shoulder before laying your head on it.

“No need Thrawn. I saw how happy and interested you were in this location.”

“And I am thankful to you for accepting.” He brushes his cheek against the top of your head.

“If you are happy, it is good enough for me.” You assure, sighing contented as you finally started to warm up.

“We will go to that resort you saw, cheo vir, I promise you.”

“And we could come back here each winter, if you wish!” You propose.

“Thank you, love.” He kisses your hair tenderly.

You press yourself against his warm body, feeling his arm circling your shoulders, pressing you tighter against himself. You deeply inhale the natural musk of your Chiss with glee, letting it invade your lungs with great pleasure.

He is so, so warm…

And smells so, so good.

His thumb comes caressing the plump of your cheek softly.

“I love you, Thrawn.” You let escape in the softness and intimacy of the moment.

“I love you too, Ch’acah.” He responds with a melodious tone.

You sip your cups, letting the heavy and thick chunks of ice slowly melt in the bucket over the fire. He keeps caressing your cheek with his thumb, softly, lightly, tenderly…

You hear him purring lowly, feeling the waves through the skin of your cheek. You close your eyes, comfortable and relaxed.

“Do you like it here?” You ask.

“It is quite rudimentary, but yes. It brings back some soft memories.” He admits.

“Good, that’s what I wanted for you.” you press your cheek on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Ch’acah. You take such good care of me.”

You raise your head to look him in the eyes. His so beautiful crimson eyes.

“Because you do it too…” You whisper.

His fingers travel from your cheek to your chin, tilting it to give him a better access to your lips. He leans forward and captures them delicately, pressing sweet kisses on your lips, purring deeply at the sensual contact. In place of purring you moan for his ears, mewling alluringly for his pleasure.

He parts from you with a satisfied sigh, looking into your eyes. His face is stern and unreadable but his eyes are spilling love and adoration. He gently puts a strand of your hair behind your ear before taking your cheek in his palm. You mewl and snuggle against his warm palm.

“I could drown in your eyes.” He murmurs with his deep baritone voice.

“Your eyes set fire to my soul.” You respond.

He kisses your forehead lovingly.

“We should take the water off the fire before it boils.” He simply says, leaving your embrace.

He lets the plaid fall off his large shoulders like a cap in a regal movement, letting you admire his magnificently sculpted back and well defined shoulder blades. You feel your throat drying at that simple sight.

“Will it be sufficient?” You ask tilting your head.

“It is plenty.”

You hardly see how it is enough to fill a bathtub…

He seizes the heavy bucket, flexing his powerful biceps just for you and easily carry it to the ridiculously small bathroom.

This room is hilariously small.

There is no bathtub, not even a shower. There is only a larger than usual metallic barrel next to a crude, but serviceable toilet. Thrawn easily lift the bucket and pour the fuming water in the barrel, filling it up.

“Oh this is really, really rudimentary.” You concede.

“We will be a bit squeezed in here, but it will be quite… pleasant.” He turns to you.

Your gaze travel between the barrel to Thrawn, eyes round.

“You want us to take our bath together, in… this?”

“Will it be a problem?” He asks, opening his pants.

You purse your lips.

You hardly see how Thrawn could squeeze his large and tall body in this barrel, so your two bodies at the same time…

“Hum…”

“I thought it would be agreeable to bathe together, in each other's arms.” He presents his argument.

“I mean…” You hesitate.

You turn back to him to see him naked in all his glory and immediately avert your eyes, suddenly shy.

Which is quite weird, you've been seen naked more than once. And you always loved it, a lot!

You feel him come to press his naked form against your body, gently opening the buttons of your thick lana cardigan.

“Come bath with me, Ch’acah.” He whispers in your ear, making you shudder instantly.

You gulp, feeling your body temperature skyrocketing by the second. He pulls the cardigan off your shoulders  gently, nibbling at your ear. You gasp at the touch of his breath on the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine and pussy. You bite your lips and take your shirt off while he unbutton your pants before pulling them down, letting you in your bra and tights. You fill his warm hands snaking their way back up your legs, caressing and squeezing the flesh as they rise. 

This is not an alluring stocking but lana tights with extravagant colors and patterns as they tend to be. You hear a low chuckle behind you.

“I am sorry, you may have hoped for a thin shaded stocking.” You mumble. “I am sorry.”

“Not at all, Ch’acah. I know you cannot endure cold climates as well as I. These eccentric patterns and colors are also pleasant to see.”

“I was so cold on the ship.” You admit. “I needed a new layer.”

“I will make sure you remain warm during our stay.” He says lowly, darkly, seductively…

You feel his lips on your lower back brushing the thin sensitive skin like a butterfly, making you shiver again. He stands back to his full height and opens your bra expertly, with a snap of the hooks and his warm hands come forth and grabs your tits delicately. You breathe through your nose, mouth agape as he gently kneads the round mounds of flesh, before making your nipples roll between his master fingers, tugging on them softly.

“I love unclothing you.” He whispers again, “I know really well what I will found, but it is like I am rediscovering our body each time, like a new first time.” and he bites down your ear.

You yelp, to his pleasure.

“Come in with me, sweet thing.” He kisses your shoulder and leave you to enter the barrel.

Somehow, someway he does enter the barrel entirely, sitting down in the warm water, his legs wide apart to leave you space. He extends his hand to you invitingly.

You get rid off your tights and panties quickly and enter the fuming, hot water. Miraculously you manage to both fit in the barrel, squeezed against the other, but surprisingly comfortable nonetheless. Your back is pressed against his chest as you sit between his legs. 

“How is it?” He asks.

“Hot.”

“Too hot?” He worries.

‘Against a body such as yours? It is scorching hot’ you think.

“It is agreeable.” You correct, getting comfortable against his chest.

You sigh of comfort, slowly relaxing in the fuming water.

“See? We could fit without any difficulties.”

“I wouldn’t have bet on it!” You retort.

He kisses the top of your head, pecking your hair, hugging your body tightly in his arms. He crosses his legs before yours, imprisoning you between his embrace completely.

“Lay on me, Ch’acah, I am warmer.” He invites.

You let your head fall back on his shoulder with a moan. One of his hands starts drawing circles on your arm while the other one sneakily traces its way on your stomach and goes south. He keep kissing your ear and temples as his hand keeps going until it scoops your sex in his palm. Air gets stuck in your throat as you feel him dressing down your cunt with his large hand. One single finger curls up, trailing your slit until it flicks your clit at the top. You immediately jolt back, and in doing so compress his cock between your two bodies. He hisses in return in pain and pleasure.

“I’m sorry!” You immediately present your excuses.

“Do.not.move.an.inch.” He orders. “Remain here.”

“O-Ok…”

He trails your slit once again, before going at it seriously, pushing past your folds and massaging your entrance with the pad of his finger.

“You are already gaping, I can feel you pulsing against my finger.” He notes satisfied.

“You are teasing me, of course I am going to react!” You defend yourself.

He adds a second finger at the circles he traces around your entrance, applying sweet pressures here and there, titillating your cunny from time to time. His fingers rise to your pearl and knead it thoroughly, adding pressure, making it roll, flicking it repeatedly. Your legs start trembling and you try to close them, but it only imprison his hand in place.

He licks your ear with his warm, wet tongue and a guttural growl. His second hand leaves  your arm to caress and grope your breast, kneading it lovingly, weighting them in his hand, appreciating their roundness and fullness with a hum of approval.

His fingers go back south and one enters you, gently, letting your entrance time to embrace the girth of his digit. He pushes it further, knuckles deep and immediately grazes at your gummy spot, caressing it and crossing it without missing a beat.

You can feel all your south muscles contracting at the shockwaves of pleasure currently spreading in your body, squeezing his finger inside.

“That is the kind of reaction I enjoy…” He says amused and pleased.

To prove his point a second finger enters you deeply, stretching you wide open. His fingers are like his hands: large and long, and a trial to take in, but they give you so much pleasure they are worth any struggle. He spreads his fingers wide to stretch you more and more until your cunny muscles are at their maximum. Shuddering terribly, you hold on his arms for support.

“Can you take a third one, Cheo vir? For me…” He purrs deeply, enjoying himself tremendously.

Mouth agape, gasping, only a strangled moan escape you as an answer. He kisses your cheek and decide for you.

“Yes you can, sweet thing.”

And he pushes the third in. This time you are at your maximum. You are fully stuffed and feel your pussy compressing his three fingers tight, threatening to cut the blood flow in them.

“I love how your tight pussy always struggles to take what I offer you. Even fingers are too much… Somedays I wonder how you can take my cock in your sweet little cunt. But you always do. To my utmost pleasure.” He praises, licking your neck all the way up. “You are so good for me, Ch’acah, always pushing your limits to please me.”

He thoroughly massages your pussy as he speaks, caressing and stroking any hidden spots inside your pussy, sending powerful waves of pleasure in your core.

“I am so stuffed!” You manage to let out in a gasp.

“Are you?” He muses, “Already?” And he pushes his finger deeper until their whole length is inside.

You pant terribly, digging your nails in his arms. You are so stretched! So full! So filled! You cannot take anything more, it is impossible, you would explode in a million pieces!

“You are strangling my fingers so much, sweet thing.” He breathes lowly, “This is so… delectable.” You feel his hips moving behind you, his big, lengthy cock brushing your lower back from side to side, getting as much friction as he can.

He circles your G spot, scratching the itch and resumes the flicking of your clit, he is not one to neglect such an important aspect of womanly pleasure, quite the contrary.

You moan and mewl uncontrollably under his caress as he deep massage your pussy while licking and kissing your neck and shoulder.

“Maker!” You cry out.

You feel your pussy clenching and convulsing furiously around his large fingers while your nervous clit pulsates powerfully.

“Come for me, Ch’acah. Come hard for me...” He whispers seductively in your ear.

You come in a jolt, the pleasure suddenly exploding in your sex like fireworks forcing you to curl over yourself, but Thrawn holds you down with his mighty arm. Your eyes roll inside your skull and your toes curl deliciously as the fire spreads in your veins slowly to your nerves ending.

You tremble, but not of cold, but of pure, raw shock. The aftermath of your climax slowly subsiding, you relax bit by bit, relaxing easily in his arms with a sigh, slouching in his embrace.

“Thank you, Cheo vir.” Thrawn praises you, “You came hard and good. Just as I wanted.” He kisses your cheek again, purring loudly, so much you feel vibrations in your back.

As much as a hard, long warm shaft in your back…

Oh.

Oh…

He rolls his hips again, brushing his erection against your back gently with a hum. You slide your hand between your two bodies to stroke and caress him but he stops you.

“No. Leave it.”

“Are you sure?” You ask nicely. “You made me cum, I should reciprocate.”

“Not now.” He decides, pressing you tighter against him, “It is so nervous and sensitive like that, it is really pleasant.” He moves his hips back and forth gently, “I quite like it. Let me appreciate it a bit longer…”

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay, @obbicrystaleo, @germie2037

[nadas-dirthalen]

love your posts!! what are your thoughts on the secret, post-credit scene we can unlock?

Hey friendo! Thank you! 💛 Lemme try to articulate my 2am thinking lmao.

My thoughts, right now, are a FUN tangle, hahaha. In my current (second) playthrough, I am making an effort to gather as many codices and mementos as I can, plus screencapping dialogue as I am able, because of that secret ending.

Something is happening with the Forgotten Ones/the Forbidden Ones — something that has me examining all mentions of both and evaluating the potential relationship between the two. That secret ending has Anaris and his ilk written all over it... somehow. I feel it in my bones, after doing Bellara's quest finale for the second time. The ADHD pattern recognition senses are tingling.

I'm thinking that BioWare are heading toward clarifying something I've guessed at: that the Fade is the sundered collective consciousness between all Titans. The Forgotten Ones and the Forbidden Ones would be similar, then: two sets of sundered (Titan?) spirits kept trapped. But trapped where, trapped how, and trapped by whom?

I keep coming back to this mural from Trespasser.

We can see a Titan having its spirit (middle) sundered (left and right). One half produces a golden orb, like we see Mythal and Elgar'nan using in the Veilguard murals. Those are the "vessels of dreams" that get referenced: the magical foci. That half (left) is also painted around emerald waters: that's Fade imagery. The other half (right) also creates an orb, this time surrounded by stone that signifies the Abyss. But that's odd, since that would imply that half of the Titans' spirits are still underground, in the Abyss.

Trespasser says the Forbidden Ones were forbidden from taking physical shape; the Forgotten Ones are trapped down in the Abyss and are (presumably) the piece of Titans responsible for the blight. Harding says in Veilguard (as well as Solas) that it was the Titans' twisted, maddened dreams that caused the blight. So I do think there is some weight to my interpretation of that mural, and it might not just be Titan hearts down below the Deep Roads, but pieces of their broken spirits, as well.

Maybe this (a haunting in Arlathan) is referring to that, subtly: that there are spirits in the Abyss that are missing their own dreams. It's hard for me to say for certain without devouring every memento to get more of a hold on what Veilguard is telling us about the Fade in relation to the Titans, and how exactly "having their dreams stolen" works with the existing magic system. (It does work, I just need to figure out the specifics!)

The only other thing I have to go on is the revenant "the Slaughtered Pillars" says "Light and song, stolen" as a piece of its combat dialogue. "Slaughtered Pillars" represents the slain pillars of the earth — the Titans. "Light" is used all across Dragon Age to refer to the Fade. Therefore, the Titans are lamenting the loss of the Fade, which suggests they were connected before the Veil.

See how I'm going around in circles? That's because I need more specifics! Right now, I'm just going off what caught my attention during my first ~100 hours in the game.

As one last piece: I swear I saw mention that it was Solas who banished the Forbidden Ones from having physical form, but I have to do a bunch of things like finding those notes and comparing them against previous mentions in Trespasser before I have a clear answer.

I need a lot of specifics, still, clearly!

It's one of the big topics I hope to cover in my "did I get it right" followup. Unfortunately, with the DA wiki not updating (or me being allowed to contribute/edit for some reason), it's going to take me longer to compile everything.

I hope this answer suffices for now!

[gomzdrawfr]

Dragon!Price x Corvid!Raven AU

This brainrot has tAKEN OVER MY HEAD I SWEAR

bonus + some story if you're interested

bonus

okay so, the idea is that Raven is...predominantly a Raven hybrid(LMAO) but I figured to incorporate some of the Crow and Magpie habits into her

Basically, Raven's been travelling around after she was nearly killed by her kind(hence the scar on her face and the single wing - also a tribute to her actual lore where her back was stabbed), barely able to survive until she stumbled upon Price's den, and WOAH THATS A LOTTA GOLD

so it started off small, where she steals some gold, just enough to survive the week, but then the curiosity grew and she finds herself back to the den, over and over again

I mean there's so much more than just gold coins, there was a bunch of other treasures alike and they're all. so. shiny.

How could she resist?

and so day by day, she explores the den, it's absolutely massive, sometimes she might even slide down those piles of coins for fun

one day a glint caught her attention, it looked like a porcelain pale owl mask, and when she tries it on it was a perfect fit, she kept it afterwards.

the owner of the den seemingly never once appeared no matter how long she waited, and so she assumes it was a long lost forgotten treasure someone had.

she didnt had the intention to steal everything no, in all honestly the den was located somewhere far and dark, and it was only accessible by a very small hole that she squeezed herself through in her full bird form.

it was a safe place to stay and so she did.

until one day when she on her usual walk and picking up a crown that the pile of gold coins shifted, and it reveals......

bright orange scales.

and an eye, which opened once the gold coins stopped.

little did she know, the owner of the den, Dragon!Price has been hibernating beneath the treasures, and now he was awaken by a pesky bird.

YES think about that one scene in Hobbit this was 100% inspired by it

some Dragon!Price hc in this au:

used to take part in battles and territorial fights, which results in many scars, especial the one in his left eyes, one of those fight eventually results him to lost a wing(yes, bluegiragi with their single wing Price for credit)

prefer to be in his hybrid form where his half human half dragon, because being a big lizard boy takes up hella space and hard to satiate his hunger

but he does hibernate as a dragon cuz well he's home, and it feels great to be weighted down by all his treasures

very greedy, if he wants something he'll get it, also dragon hoarding tendencies

havent thought about this but I reckon this so call "den" is just a big hole underneath a castle maybe - ah well just yoinking Hobbit's Lonely Mountain

also possessive :]

Raven herself has shiny fur...and he loves shiny too....so..... :p