#to be strong inhumane like a machine who never gets tired

[desertdragon]

Hi hi hello ok here’s the EW Healer RQ review

Shorthand: It was solid in concept, but its theme is lacking in weight due to the scarcity of Fordola herself; somewhat wasted but not without its merits

Now:

1. My first issue is how the game continues to treat its politics as lukewarm, centrist, integration focused garbage, while creating narratives where these politics aggressively show they have no place there because they are radical issues being spoken of through a moderate lens. See the screenshots above. It places victims at the same footing as their oppressors and asks the two sides to simply try talking and getting along- to do otherwise is ‘extreme’. This is a major problem seen in White liberalism as well. What it really says is ‘Don’t rock the status quo’ while co-opting terms that trick others into thinking they want change.

There is a point in making money where greed takes over which leads to abuse of one’s workforce; including actual slavery of a ‘beast race’ as seen in the Copperbell Mines. When you have a council of Jeff Bezos, sitting on more money than their grandchildren will ever need, strong arming their policies over your nation and making it so human value is directly equivalent to coin, you have passed the point of being able to reason. It is wrong, and anyone with a conscious should realize force of action is the final resort we’ve arrived at. Once people have died, struggle to eat, to live, do not feel hopeful about bringing up families, there is no more discussion. Much like the position we the general population of the world feel now under flavors of capitalism.

It also feels off to have this issue brought up as if its comparable to what Arenvald and other Ala Mhigans are suffering. They were oppressed by a fascist empire for 25 years- they were shattered and must pick up the pieces, their identity was ripped from them as much as their blood; Nanamo allows the continued oppression of her people through wishy washy policy and spinelessness.

The two are no where close to similar, especially given that one is privileged in ways the other never will be. In fact one is basically taking nothing measures because real action would likely strip her of that privilege in the resulting revolution. Giving Arenvald advice from a regressive and self congratulating stand point that pats itself on the back for platitudes while people die in the street is just...I feel like whoever wrote it has never been broke or oppressed. Equally as likely is that this is continuing how SE has become, a fully capitalist money hungry machine.

I’ll never get tired of the Ballot or the Bullet speech and as an anecdote I recommend a listen, even if you aren’t a Black person there is still wisdom to relate to on these sorts of issues. Also Malcolm X was a brilliant man. A relevant quote would be: “As long as you think in that sit-down thought, you’ll be in some sit-down action. They’ll have you sittin’ in everywhere.”

2. I enjoyed addressing the way people within an ethnic group will turn on one another when given a third party oppressor who denies their survival. This is an extremely real issue which any Person of Color will recognize after generations of it burned into you, especially the Black community. It is covered pretty basically but I expected that given that SE is a company interested in profits and appeasement. As time passes I imagine someone would get fired if they wrote with the full depth needed for some of these topics.

So the fact it was addressed with a level of dignity was a nice scrap. It makes sense that these people need to learn to heal by reuniting their shared trauma from their oppressor, it makes sense that we recognize the way desperation pushes people to go into fight or flight. These things hurt, they take generations to repair, and they represent when an outside force inflicts inhuman pain on people who are then left to ask ‘Why?’. I enjoyed everyone resolving to recognize and unite over their shared scars. This is something another group, abusers, put them through. The memorial was a good idea.

Now this is the thing, it made sense to do this for Ala Mhigans, because as I said they were conquered, oppressed, then divided under fascism. They were forced into extremes just to eat and keep their children alive- when their very worth as human beings was broken and beaten, their culture erased, whitewashed. It made no sense applying this to Garleans in the MSQ because they started the oppression they inflicted. You don't get to cry "What about us?" while you invade someone's home and kill them without even an apology.

They are instead forever responsible for their actions, their armies, their ideologies, their weapons, their propaganda filled view etc. They have the trauma of what they’ve done to their victims, and to conduct themselves in a way that evolves past that old barbarism. Much like Germany, or Whites. Nobody put it on them, they’ve entrenched it in themselves, and that requires nuanced understanding of the difference.

It was good seeing the Ala Mhigans start getting their due as an oppressed people, and this one thread gave them more importance than Stormblood did, however small.

3. Fordola.

Fordola.

For a narrative where her position is the entire pin of the theme, she’s only a player at the very beginning and end. The initial situation where for some reason Raubahn sent her to do aid, like her very presence wouldn’t be a psychological trigger for unstable victims and herself, was undeniably hamfisted as it was stupid. I’ve already said things in my initial reaction, but now that I’m here maybe they thought having her thrown into poorly set up exposure therapy was enough. Maybe it was just another way to bench a female character out of her narrative so men can do the heavy screen time work. Maybe its both, I don’t know.

Regardless she should have been pulled from the front, logically, then she should’ve been there with Arenvald on his diplomacy tour. She should’ve either helped in writing his letter for the memorial or just reacted to it. She should’ve at least heard and asked questions about what was discussed at the memorial since she didn’t feel worthy of attending it.

The whole story is for people like her, traitors of their home out of survival. Why isn’t her input on how her captives/countrymen/future leaders will treat her given center stage? You can’t say a narrative will be about healing the most hurt minority then not have a character from that minority be involved in the conversation about themselves.

Not only that but pulling her from fighting to engage in diplomacy puts both her and the people who'd suffer from her presence out of harms way; it would also show her a way of communicating that for once in her life doesn't involve degradation and physical risk.

If they still wanted to involve people fighting off screen which is what they relegated Fordola to instead, then that's the job of Ala Mhigan soldiers. That's what they're there for; if they wanted to include something for a Healer to do with them then have them get hurt or take casualties and have to be treated by the player beyond that initial quest.

And it sucks because she steals what scenes she is in. It's clear her past weighs on her to the point of nearly transforming and dying multiple times. She's been severely traumatized by both herself and the Empire, and still has the conscious to seek righting that wrong because of guilt. It's made her suicidal through and through, which is only righted when M'nnago tells her if she dies before making progress and doing the hard work of atoning the rest of her life, then she changes nothing and heals nothing. Death here is the coward's way out.

Seeing the selflessness Fordola hides too when her first instinct was to save a girl from being attacked, or take responsibility for putting down Charlet, or her ability to sympathize with people or degrade herself because under everything she wants love, makes me so mad we didn't get more. She would've been so perfect if she were involved in the story!

And had she been involved, M'nnago telling her the entire moral here would've landed and made more sense rather than come at the last minute when you never got to see Fordola take that journey to reach that conclusion. Instead it's just shouted at her and she's like Yeah You're Right. It feels like they dangled her in the promotional material just to bait people into playing it. You want to see Fordola and instead you get an hour of men talking. And then when you do see Fordola there's such a rich tragic but hopeful character waiting to be explored. But the same way people in her life threw her away, she's ignored by her own creators.

That ending quest where Fordola sees her friends ghosts only landed for me because I liked Fordola already. If I didn't or if I had no idea of the context of her, then it happening looks out of place. And even as a fan it would've hit harder if she made more appearances beforehand rather than making me go 'Damn.' then moving on. Her being friendly with the girl she saved and her mother would've had more impact.

Anything that involved breaking her shell and looking at her with a human eye rather than a trauma piece and letting her keep her defensive walls, would've been helpful. It's clear she has a heart. There's no reason to not let her embrace it, when her narrative is about getting better. Characters talk on how she should just be better because they have her under surveillance and a collar on her neck rather than...provide her the tools and human connection to be better.

I liked the 0.5 seconds she was on my screen so slay queen 💖

Anyway Uh, W o m e n

[yodawgiherd]

Interlude

>>>Read on AO3<<<

As promised, this is a rather spicy chapter (you asked for it) I was hammering out for a bit over two weeks - thus the length. I just kept adding more and more random thoughts and end up like this... oh well. Hope you'll like it :)

Worry, that was the foremost thing on Mikasa’s mind lately. Partly about the tournament, but mostly about Armin, who now knew all about Annie and that he will most likely be seeing her again shortly. She almost bit her bottom lip bloody from it, and Eren was no better. To keep tabs on their friend, they commissioned Jean to stay around Armin, and let them know if anything goes wrong. For once, Jean didn’t complain, as he also wanted to get to know Armin better - it was a win-win situation really. From his reports, the blond was taking the news quite well, and, in other news, was putting finishing touches on his book. But this didn’t stop the engaged couple from agonizing about it.

They both had their way of coping. Eren once again entered turbo mode at the hospital, burying himself in work, while Mikasa upped her training load to inhuman levels. At home, Eren spent an unholy amount of time in the kitchen, experimenting with pretty much everything, while Mikasa cleaned the whole house over and over, anything to keep busy. She wasn’t as much of a clean freak as her brother, but try growing up with Levi and not being affected. Try it.

At first, Levi approved of her newfound zeal in the gym, but when she kept ignoring her limits and pushing past what her body could handle, the tight smile he had turned into a frown. From his office, he could see Mikasa working out at the bench press, the barbell going up and down at an unsteady rate. Her arms were shaky, a sight incredibly rare as Mikasa’s gym knowledge ran deep and she never did anything risky. Unless she was tired to the bone and overworking herself. Levi had to do something, otherwise she would end up hurting. Yet a classic “Go Home” would probably not work on Mikasa, as she was exactly as stubborn as Levi was. Time for action then, he thought to himself, getting up from the office chair.

Mikasa didn’t even catch the gloves he threw at her, driving the point of her being tired home. With the reflexes she had, she could pretty much snatch flies out of the air, but now they were dulled beyond recognition. Picking up the gloves, she looked at Levi who jerked his head towards the ring in a clear challenge.

They spared, and Mikasa was her usual perfect self at first, too fast and too strong for normal mortals to handle. She backed Levi into a corner, not giving him time to breathe. But then, out of nowhere, she faltered, her body finally saying fuck it and taking a micro-break. He immediately took advantage, as any fighter would, should this happen in the tournament, and flipped her over, planting Mikasa on her back. She blinked up at him, confused.

“W-What happened?”, she stammered.

“You lost.”, he replied, voice cold, “Because you keep overworking yourself. Take a break.”

“But I…”

“No buts. I’m still your trainer, so listen to me for once.”

She sighed, getting up from the ground. Even that simple motion was exhausting, and now that Levi mentioned it, Mikasa could feel the burn in all her muscles. He was, as usual, exactly right.

Even getting home was a pain, her body protesting anytime she forced it to move, even when the motion was as small as revving her motorbike up. Grateful for the speed the machine could do, Mikasa got back to her and Eren’s house at a nigh record time. A shower later, she plopped herself on the sofa, staring mindlessly at the Tv, waiting for that certain someone to come home. When he did, she was already in that half-dreaming half-awake state, but when Eren sat down it roused her.

“Hard day?”, he asked, getting a groan as an answer.

“You wanna head to bed?”

Instead of answering, Mikasa pulled herself on top of that heater Eren called his body, yawning after.

“Nah, I’m good here.”, she murmured, face half-squished in his shirt.

He chuckled at that.

“Suit yourself. I have a free weekend ahead of me, so I’m ready to be your bodypillow.”

Eren had free time. She had free time, Levi would most likely bite her head off if she showed up at the gym tomorrow. Hmmm…… They could… They could…

The train of thought derailed when Mikasa fell asleep, a soft snore escaping her lips. She was deep under, not even stirring when Eren carried her up to the bedroom, sleeping soundly the whole night. Levi would be happy.

It was the morning sun that woke her, but when Mikasa rolled away from the heater she was spooning she realized that there wasn’t a single thing she wanted to do. For once, the tireless war machine that is her body was feeling lazy. Eren stirred next to her, most likely reacting to the loss of her touch. The way her breasts squished against his back always brought the sweetest dreams. Sitting up and turning to look at her, Eren let the absolute bliss of waking up next to an angel show on his face.

“Morning beautiful. Slept well?”

“I did, but I kind of… want to sleep more?”

“You want to laze around? Damn.”

“Yea, I do.”, a small devilish smile formed on her lips, “If I remember correctly I’m taking inspiration from the guy I dated in college. Remind me, what did he say he wanted to do on our second date? A nap?”

Eren groaned, hiding his face.

“Please don’t remind me, I was so cringe back then.”

“And you think I was better? The first thing that I said when u leaned on my legs was that I could choke you out, kill you.”

“That WAS weird. Tell me, do you have a voice in your head that goes like: “Mikasa, we have to kill Eren” ?”

She frowned at him, her raven eyebrows narrowing.

“Of course I do. It gets stronger every time you piss me off.”

“I better watch my behavior then.”, he chuckled, “Anyway, I admit that we had certain issues to work through, but I’m glad we managed.”

“We sure did. So…”, she tugged at his arm, getting Eren to lie back down, “Stay with me?”

His beloved was always like this, especially earlier in their relationship. During college, Mikasa was so touch starved that she would just cling to his arm anytime they were together, going completely against her usual ice queen facade. Keeping his cool around the campus was impossible, because even when he was staring at his phone Eren was hyperaware of her body very, very close to him. And how was he supposed to be “cool” when there was an incredibly beautiful goth girl, with her black clothes, piercings and all that, holding his arm, smiling like it was the best thing in the world. There was no way, so he just blushed and hoped that no one would see it. She would blush too when he looked at her, would angle her head lower, the inverted crosses in her ears swaying lightly, but she wouldn’t let go.  Mikasa just liked holding him that much. Reminded of these pretty memories, Eren’s chuckle evolved into a grin.

“Sure, I’ll stay with you. On one condition though, you have to promise that you won’t choke me out.”

“Asshat.”

When Mikasa woke up for the second time, Eren was already awake, watching her with that small smile that made her stomach flutter. She asked him once, why he does that, and he just shrugged and said that he sometimes still can’t believe how lucky he is that someone like her is in his life.

“Rested enough?”

“Mhmm… I think so.”

“That’s good because I ordered us some pizza. Wouldn’t want that to get cold.”

“Pizza for breakfast?” Mikasa faked an outraged expression, “What would Carla think?”

“She would probably ask for a slice.”, Eren shrugged, “Mom was always very practical.”

Mikasa smiled at that, fond memories of Eren’s mom filling her head.

“Anyway,”, Eren changed the topic, “How was training? I wanted to ask yesterday but I don’t think you wanted to hear one more word about the gym.”

“Fine, fine.”, she stretched, moaning a bit when her muscles protested, “But Levi cut me off, said that I needed a break.”

“Really? A damn shame that.”

“Why?”

“I like watching you train. Or even better, training with you.”, he gave her a nondescript look, “It’s hot.”

“You’re saying that you pop a boner while watching me?”

“I’m saying that watching you train, or fight, is fucking beautiful.”, Eren’s eyes roamed over her body, the wonder and appreciation in his gaze would make Mikasa blush if she wasn’t completely flush already, “The way you move, the way you dodge and attack, I never get enough of it.”

“The way I move huh?”, crawling over to his side of the bed, Mikasa walked her fingers down from his chest to Eren’s abs and continued, “How about I show you some other moves I can do?”

A small sexy twitch crossed his lips, but before he could reply to the generous offer, something shattered their little love scene. The doorbell rang. Eren huffed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’ll get it, it’s most likely the food.”

With that, Eren rolled from the bed and went out of the door, only pausing to throw his pants on. Mikasa was just about to follow him when her eyes slid over the dresser, a certain object catching her eye. It was the end of one of their play ropes, black with red stripes. Instead of walking out of the door, she moved towards it, grasping and pulling it into her hands. Running it between her fingers, the sensation was enough for her head to start filling with ideas. She wasn’t that hungry yet, or rather, there was something else she would like, not food. The last weeks were exhausting, filled with things to do that weren’t Eren, and Mikasa would very much like her fill. A plan forming in mind, she quickly stripped from her sleeping clothes. Bare, she took out her collar from its resting place, bucking it tight around her neck. Even the gentle hug of the soft leather made her relax that tiny bit, her body knowing what usually followed once she was collared. Finding a nice location in front of the bed and kneeling down, Mikasa had to bite her bottom lip to keep the excitement in. Naked, save for a thick strip of leather around her throat, holding the rope, she waited.

The door opened and Eren was back.

“Hey babe, the food is here, you want…”, but then his eyes found her and the sentence dissolved in his throat, “Oh, I ordered pizza but it looks like someone has a taste for a vegan steak.”

A small giggle left Mikasa’s lips understanding the reference to the dorky code word system they had.

“I would like one, yes.” mustering her courage, she held up the ropes in her straightened hands like an offering, “Would you tie me up please?”

Eren moved closer, the food completely forgotten, but didn’t take the rope yet. Instead, he ran his hands over it, gently touching the material.

“Why?”, he asked, voice low.

“It’s just…”, Mikasa stammered, looking for the right words.

She wanted this for a multitude of reasons. The past weeks had been hectic, with everything that was going on. She had to worry about her next matches, looking through the file Levi compiled for her. She had to keep her training up while also attending various photoshoots at Kiyomi’s agency. She had to sign various contracts that gave her the Hizuru ltd. as a sponsor. And most of all, she had to worry about Annie coming back and once again completely wrecking Armin’s life. Mikasa wanted to just turn her brain off for a moment. She wanted Eren to take control of her, to wrap those pretty ropes around her and make her forget. She wanted to have her mind blown by how skillful he was.

“I’m just stressed out, want to relax.”, she compressed her thoughts into a single sentence. Doing her best attempt at puppy eyes, she pleaded: “Please?”

Eren could never deny her when she was like this, and to be honest, it's not that he wanted to in the first place. He took the rope from her hands. Flexing it between his fingers, his mind already worked over all the different riggings he could put Mikasa into.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?”, he asked, putting one hand on her cheek, gently caressing her.

She nuzzled into the touch.

“The best.”

He smiled down at her, thumb tracing the scar on her cheek.

“Very well, but I do have one request.”, with that, he turned away from her and rummaged through her clothes, returning with something in his hand.

“Put these on.”, he half-requested, half-ordered her.

Mikasa took the item, looking it over.

“Thigh highs?”, she asked, eyeing the black material with a raised eyebrow, “Really?”

Eren just smirked at the absurdity of that statement, not judging it worthy of a reply. This was far from the weirdest thing Mikasa had put on for him, maybe even the bottom of that ladder. It doesn’t take a genius to compare a pair of thigh high socks and a skintight latex bodysuit. Eren saw these when he was doing laundry one day, and one discovery later he was hellbent in seeing his fiancé in these, knowing that she would look just amazing. And, judging now, as he was watching her put them on, he was very much correct. With her excited half-smile, Mikasa did just as he wanted, pulling the material over her long legs.

“Here.”, she said, flexing her covered toes at him, “Happy?”

“Immensely. Now…”, he approached her, a predatory grin sneaking onto his features, “Let’s get started.”

It still astonished her how good Eren got with this. Remembering their first time, how long it took him to wrap her up, how many times he had to consult the book, what was happening now was a quite different experience. Eren had determination, magical hands and a very willing model to work with, and he perfected his skills to the highest degree. The rope slid over her skin, tightening in just the right places as Eren was tying her with practiced motions. It was faster, but not too fast, the tempo just enough that Mikasa could close her eyes and feel every single touch, but not too slow so she wouldn’t get bored or restless.

Shibari was amazing especially because she could enjoy it like this. With handcuffs or other bondage gear they had, it took next to no time to lock the sub into it. Tighten a clamp, close a buckle and it was done. With ropes, it was way slower, especially thanks to the intricate design Eren was doing, but incredibly worth it. Eyes closed, she focused on her body, feeling each rub of the rope against her skin. Eren didn’t even touch her yet but Mikasa was already high on this feeling, breathing getting shaky.

With every knot, she could feel her worries melting away, retreating for now. They would be back, but for now the world narrowed to her body, the rope, and Eren’s presence all around her. The more the bondage tightened around her body the more relaxed Mikasa was, the less she could move the more she felt like she could fly. The ropes felt heavenly against the raven’s skin, their touch soft but firm. The rigging Eren put her into was beautiful, focused on her upper body. Her hands were bound behind her back and her breasts were tied, the lines created amazing patterns on her body, woven by Eren’s skilled hands. Basic yet effective, it got the job done and looked gorgeous too.

Fully tied and still on her knees, all she could do was watch as he loomed over her, a dark grin on his face, fully in his power. And as she watched, Eren took a step away from her, tugging his shirt over his head. With a few more moves, he was as naked as she, once again coming to stand right in front of Mikasa’s kneeling form. Gesturing her to stand, he watched as Mikasa scrambled up, the request made harder by her tied upper body. Face to face, Mikasa was forced to tilt her head up to look Eren in the eyes. Damn height difference. In a position like this, Mikasa expected a lot of things, or well, something at least, but when Eren did nothing but stared at her she frowned.

“What?”, she asked, unsure what was going on. Was something on her face?

“Nothing…”, reaching out, Eren gently cradled her cheek, as he definitely had a thing for touching that beautiful face, a warm smile on his lips, “You’re so incredibly pretty.”

It was crazy how strange he could be sometimes. Here she was, tied up, wearing nothing but those ropes, collar and black thigh highs and all he says is that she’s pretty. Yet it wasn’t stupid, because Eren’s words carried such deep love and appreciation in them that it made Mikasa blush. He meant every syllable. Embarrassed by how quickly he switched gears, from a bondage master to a loving boyfriend, Mikasa tried looking away, but Eren held her in place, forcing her eyes to stay at him.

“Stop that.”, she murmured, robbed of the possibility to avert her gaze.

He didn’t, smirking at the blush covering Mikasa’s cheeks.

“Cute. Miss Ackerman, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“Eren…”

“And anyone who doesn’t see that is not right in the head.”

“Stooooop.”

“Nope. Why do you think I tied you up in the first place? Now I can shower you in compliments and you can’t do anything about it.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Is that so…”

“Sure is. Worst you can do is spit on me.”

“You’d probably enjoy that perv.”

His smile was cocky.

“Maybe I would.”

Mikasa sought a way to get her balance back, and spitting wasn’t it. With most of her weapons taken from her, she decided to launch a sneak attack. Quick as an attacking snake, she lurched forward, standing up on her tippy toes to bridge the height gap between them and smacking her mouth right against his. Surprised by the kiss, Eren grabbed her by the shoulders to stabilize, very quickly realizing what’s happening and putting out his offensive.

Tongues sliding against one another, Mikasa gave up on trying to control the liplock and instead surrendered to how nicely it felt. In addition, she could feel something hard poking her abdomen, a promise of things to come if she kept this up. To her disappointment, the kiss didn’t last nearly long enough before Eren pulled back and shoved her forcefully. She fell, body hitting the soft mattress and slightly bouncing. Her tits surely bounced, much to his amusement.

“Hey!”, she protested, but Eren didn’t give her time to talk.

Crawling over her body, he kissed her with much more force, wrenching her mouth open for him. To weaken her defenses, fingers began advancing on a different battlefield, sliding over her sex with deadly intent. He spread her open, dragged a finger through and tapped her clit, knowing exactly what to do. Despite Mikasa angling her hips and everything, Eren didn’t push a finger inside though, leaving her extremely frustrated. The bastard knew it, using the distraction to completely dominate the kiss, invading her mouth, taking everything from her. She mewled underneath his weight, body jerking. Her hands, so used to tangling in Eren’s hair during kissing could only dig fingernails into her forearms. The ropes squeezed her from all sides, and Mikasa found herself growing more and more turned on by the second. Which of course played perfectly into Eren’s cards. The magical fingers danced over her body, featherlight touches that did nothing to satisfy the hunger in her. Getting tied up by her skillful lover always lit the fire in Mikasa’s belly, and this tongue action combined with the right caress stoked the flames higher and higher.

“Eren,”, she whimpered, “stop teasing.”

All he did was shake his head.

“No.”

Mikasa whined needily, using her legs and trying to push his body closer to her. Yet Eren didn’t budge, bracing himself against the admittedly very powerful force coming from Mikasa’s strong legs. The soft material of her thigh high socks slid against his skin, whispering.

“I’ll fuck you on my terms.”, he stated, resisting the tempting pull, “Or I won’t fuck you at all.”

He leaned even closer, the ends of his long hair brushing over Mikasa’s flushed face.

“You did say that you are gonna be a good girl for me, so which one will it be?”

As if he didn’t know the answer already. When Mikasa was like this, craving the dick and full of hormones, she could be very pliant.

“Please sir, do what you want with me.”, she whispered submissively.

Officially in charge, Eren took hold of one of her legs, pushing it high while keeping the other grounded. The forced angle between her lower limbs gave him a prime view of that place between her legs, so nicely pink and glistening, begging for his attention.  Still, he couldn’t help but tease her, it was way too much fun. Carefully, Eren pressed the tip of his cock ever so gently to her sopping wet entrance but no further.

Mikasa protested wordlessly, whined and whimpered and maneuvered her hips, trying to get him inside her. But Eren was experienced with teasing, so instead of giving her what she craved he continued toying with her, driving Mikasa’s already soaring arousal into a new level. It didn’t take much, a slide of his cock over her slit, letting it bump against her clit a few times and she was practically begging with her eyes. Neither of them said a word, it wasn’t needed at the moment, the symphony of their bodies was enough to communicate. That and the sounds Mikasa was making, almost like an animal in heat. It was testing for Eren too because having her like this was almost too much. She was so fucking hot, so desperate, so helplessly tied up. Her muscles moved beneath her skin, beneath his hands as she bucked and pulled, grinding herself against him. Just give it to me, her whole being said, please.

And that was about everything Eren was willing to take. With one hand on his member to steady it and the other on the girl beneath him, he guided himself into her, pressing his cock inside, pink lips parting to accept his offering. It was always pleasant like nothing else in the world, no matter how many times he experienced it. Eren gasped in pure bliss as the warmth enveloped him from all sides, making it hard to keep the slow tempo up. Still, he managed.

Eren kept both his hands occupied. One was holding Mikasa’s right leg up high, the other anchoring the left as he kept her spread and open for him. Slow but steady, he kept pushing until most of him was inside her, rubbing the inner walls as he went. Then after getting about three-quarters of his length in, he began withdrawing, once again unhurried. His length came out slick from her juices, appearing from between the parted outer lips of Mikasa’s cunt. She gasped when Eren pulled almost all the way out, only the head remaining sheathed, struggling for air, but then lost her breath again when he pushed back in. Body tensing, her legs shook where Eren held them, toes visibly curling.

Uncaring, he pushed forward, stuffing her and feeling as her walls gave way, body accommodating to the frequent visitor. Mikasa was feverish from this torture, the tempo Eren set was not enough to satisfy her flaming desire. Her head dropped onto the bed, mouth open in silent cries and moans, hands clenched into tight fists on the small of her back, bound together. The ropes kept digging into her skin when she flexed her muscles, they kept her grounded, unable to take control over the situation. She couldn’t flip Eren and take what she wanted. She could hold him down and ride him like there was no tomorrow. She couldn’t do anything, just take what he gave her.

Mikasa was incredibly tight, she always was, but Eren was relentless. The more he pushed the more her body opened for him until finally he touched the opening of her cervix. The rubbery feeling, familiar at this point, let him know that he had effectively hit rock bottom. Now he was completely inside her, bottoming out just when she couldn’t give him any more space. They really were made for one another.

Her cunt gripped him inside her hard, muscles sealing him in. Yet Eren didn’t wait. He pulled out again, almost entirely, and slid back in, only a fraction faster than before. The bump of her cervix was the signal, and he repeated the motion, and again, and again. Finally speeding up, finally picking up the tempo, Mikasa couldn’t keep the long pleasure moan inside her as it vibrated through her entire being. It was still too slow for her tastes, but it was far better than nothing. Her voice quivered, being forced to moan for him again, the fullness inside her demanding it. Mikasa arched from the bed, her body creating that perfect bridge and in response the ropes dug deeper into her skin, squeezing her breasts from all sides. He fucked her, still slow and languid, in movements that were not rushing anywhere. It was not enough, and if she was not tied up, Mikasa would have taken control of this long ago, she would….

Out of nowhere, the nice cock she was enjoying disappeared. It was gone from her heat and she was painfully empty, inner muscles clenching on nothing. Mikasa whined at the loss completely unsatisfied, loudly protesting. And again, Eren ignored her. His hand appeared, pulling hard at the ropes and she was, against her will, pulled into a kneeling position. Eren must have stood up, she realized, because facing her was not his head, but his fully erect length instead, glistening with both of their juices. The hand that pulled her body upright moved into Mikasa’s hair, taking a firm hold of the red and black strands.

“Suck me clean.”, he ordered her, exactly as demanding as Mikasa liked him to be.

With her hands tied and in a position like this, she didn’t have much choice in the matter to begin with. It was rather obvious - if she wanted to get it back inside her, she had to obey. So saying nothing, starved as she was, her cheeks red from the teasing half-fuck she got, Mikasa opened her mouth and took his throbbing cock head into her mouth. Her pink lips and warm mouth took more and more in, inch by inch she reached about halfway of Eren’s length before pulling back. The skin that was already wet from her cunt got even wetter by her mouth. Mikasa puckered her lips and spat on the cockhead where the clear droplets of pre-cum were oozing from the tip. And then she kept going.

Keeping her eyes open, she ran her tongue slowly along the underside, knowing it is a  very sensitive area. Mikasa licked him some more, like an eager cat, cleaning him exactly as she was ordered to. Then she wrapped those heavenly lips back on the swollen tip, and descended once again, mouth taking in his girth. She sucked on what was inside her, hard, making Eren groan above her, the fist in her hair tightening. He didn’t lead her, he didn’t have to, Mikasa was more than fulfilling any expectation he had.

With her mouth full of cock, Mikasa established eye contact, keeping it as she sunk lower and lower, taking more of Eren inside her mouth. Soon that was out of space, however, yet she kept going, the tip reaching the depths of her relaxed throat. Eren swore when he felt that, his eyes trained on her face, watching her pleasure him. If this was not erotic, then nothing else was.

Since her hands were tied, Mikasa couldn’t cup his balls as she usually did while giving a blowjob, couldn’t play with them, so she did her best to make up for it. The raven sucked harder and began bobbing her head, starting slowly but picking up speed. Before long the wet noise echoed in the room. From his vantage point above her, Eren had a prime view of her small, perky breasts, so nicely tied by the black and red rope, as they heaved with her efforts, nipples hard like small diamonds.

In short, Mikasa was pretty fucking good at cocksucking. She was, if anything, too good, and Eren was starting to lose himself to the feeling of her lips, her tongue adventurous as she explored all of his length. Even the light graze of teeth on the head had him gritting his own teeth. He could cum in her mouth, Eren knew that she would take it, but that wasn’t on the agenda. So, with great effort, Eren pulled at her hair, getting her greedy mouth away from his length which was now slick and completely covered in her spit.

Before she could question him, he flipped her over roughly with a strength that she wasn’t in a state to resist, Mikasa’s knees scrambling on the bedding. Eren kneeled behind her, guiding himself with one hand as he aimed for the dripping prize. The “What” died in favor of a long groan when he pushed right back inside her wet cunt, giving Mikasa no time to rest. With her hands tied behind her back, she couldn’t even brace herself against the punishing pace he set, fucking her with a clear purpose on mind. Her body shook, assaulted like this, face boiling red. As her muscles involuntarily clenched, Eren watched the tattooed wings on Mikasa’s back ripple, almost like flapping, trying to get away. But she was not going anywhere. Her hands clenched around nothing, black fingernails digging into her skin, and at the same time she tried biting into the covers to muffle herself. A motion that was not needed, as they were alone and Eren did not approve of unnecessary silence. One hand holding her waist, helping her trembling knees brace against the unrelenting assault, he reached out with the other, tangling it in her short midnight hair, now all shiny with sweat. With a yank, he brought her head up.

“Don’t.”, he growled, “Scream for me.”

And scream she did, when those deepest parts of her kept being rammed, over and over, her mind clouding over with pure and raw pleasure. Mikasa liked doggystyle, liked being taken from behind, liked the depth it allowed Eren to reach. It was even better now because Eren had that special angle figured out, that one she liked the most. He also knew that she liked being prepared first before the real rough pounding and did that too with the earlier teasing. All the checkmarks were there, all the optional objectives completed, and Mikasa was getting it exactly as she liked it. Her body was losing control, even her knees were faltering, and Eren was forced to let go of her hair to keep her ass up. Mikasa’s upper body, now with nothing anchoring it, flopped back on the bed, but she didn’t silence herself anymore. She moaned, groaned, and cried out loud, giving Eren exactly the satisfaction he wanted.

To reward her, he moved his fingers down, fingering her swollen clit. The touches were light, but in combination with the pounding she was getting from behind, it was more than enough. With each rub, with each time the head of his cock kissed that deep spot, Mikasa was getting tighter and tighter, her impressive musculature clenching hard around the invading length. The fire rising inside her, her eyes slid shut as she dragged her face over the bedding, the impeding orgasm closer and closer. It was wet, very wet, some of it leaking out as he hammered into her, dripping down over his balls. She was being stuffed like a freaking turkey, again and again, full and filled. This, this was what she craved. This was better than anything else, this was the best workout.

It felt like she was losing her mind from the incredibly intense pleasure. Eren kept going and going, so rough, throwing his gentleness in the wind. The caring boyfriend was gone, replaced by this sexual monster who was giving her the grade A dicking. There was no mental preparation she could do against the tidal wave. Her mind was shattered into thousand pieces, her body helpless, Mikasa was more or less just surviving the brutal assault on her body. She surrendered everything, burned it in the fire that was flaring through her whole body now. And with the last snap she was keeled over, inferno raging freely.

Mikasa came, and she came hard, her already loud moaning rising even higher as she didn’t muffle herself at all. She screamed out loud, body shaking, drool leaving her open lips and leaking onto the covers beneath her. Her eyes rolled back and she didn’t see anything, just white as Eren continued in his attack, not even slowing down. Her cunt was clenching hard around him, her feet, covered by the black socks, kicked the mattress repeatedly in her spasms, her fists tightened so much that the knuckles were bleeding white. She dug nails into her skin again, in a faint attempt to keep a grip on reality, but it did nothing apart from scratching herself bloody, a pain she did not even feel. Mikasa was completely lost in the stream of pleasure, defenseless. And Eren took full advantage, prolonging her orgasm as much as he could, touching and fucking her in a way that made the experience the best he could deliver.

But orgasming Mikasa was too much for any mortal man to handle, her body was a beautiful trap that was now fully triggered, the muscled passage massaging his whole length in a way nothing else in the world could imitate. He couldn’t stop himself, no matter how hard he clenched his teeth and how hard he squeezed her waist. Eren was too weak, so with a loud groan of his own, he came inside her, hips snapping until it was all over and they were both completely spent and done. It was a lot, way too much, dripping down on the covers underneath them, dirty and filthy and neither of them cared. There would be time to clean up later. Mikasa mewled in front of him, rubbing her face on the bedding, tired, happy and so thoroughly fucked that even her athletic body needed a break. Reaching over, Eren pushed the sweaty hair away from her face, smiling down at her afterwards.

“Hungry?”

They ate the cold pizza in comfortable silence, sprawled on the sofa. Mikasa, dressed only in a bathrobe after finally taking those damn thigh highs off and showering, had her legs in Eren’s lap giving her tired body the rest it deserved. The food might have been better when it arrived, but this was a trade she would take any day of the week. The pizza was good, and Mikasa was feeling sated on all fronts when they finished. Then a certain idea popped in her mind, something else that she hasn’t done in a while and would like, so turning to Eren she voiced her proposal.

“Hey babe, want to smoke some weed?”

“Weed?”

“Yeah, I got it from Sasha, long time ago actually. I’ve been keeping it for a special occasion I guess, so how about we do it now?”, seeing his puzzled expression, Mikasa’s brows rode up. “Wait, you’ve never done weed before?”

Eren shook his head.

“What about college? Everybody smoked there.”

“Not me though.”

Mikasa wasn’t a pothead, but living with Sasha, who was one, did make her try it a few times. It made her relax, and that was a valuable feeling in the otherwise stressful environment. The need increased even more when she started dating Eren and kept agonizing over fucking whatever they were having over. In time she grew out of it, and smoked only very occasionally nowadays, but if today was not the occasion then what was one.

“Wanna try it then? I still have my bong stashed.”

“Your bong? And I’ve never seen it?”, putting a hand on his heart, Eren continued, “What else are you hiding from me?”

She booped him on the nose.

“Many things, but I believe you’ll get to know them eventually. What about the smoke, you in?”

He was. After some basic tutorial, when Mikasa showed him how to use the thing, they managed to get a few good hits even with his coughing. Getting an idea, Mikasa inhaled some smoke again before leaning over and capturing Eren’s lips in a kiss. He was all for it until she breathed the smoke right into his mouth. Eren got a coughing fit, Mikasa got a laughing one, and it was mutually decided that it was enough drugs for one day.

With pizza and weed in her system, Mikasa was practically melting into the couch, so relaxed that being on cloud nine was probably the best definition of her mental state right now. Minutes passed without Mikasa doing anything, not even moving her body for once, letting her abused muscles rest. She probably fell asleep too, because now she was feeling rested and once again recharged. To see if Eren was also up in the chill heaven with her, Mikasa rolled over. He did look great, rested too, but his eyes were busy, studying the dance pole in the corner for some reason. Which, in turn, gave her yet another idea.

“Would you like a dance?”

He blinked at her, surprised.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Tsk, of course.”, she gave him a slow, sexy smile, “Go, sit down.”

Standing up, Mikasa shrugged off the bathrobe as that would only flap around. Walking over to the pole, she shot a look over her shoulder to see that Eren was watching her intently, green eyes following her every step. Knowing that she had his full attention, Mikasa began the show.

The raven didn’t do a pole dance naked before, but it wasn’t that different from the underwear she sometimes practiced in. Having the thing at home had certain advantages. The pole was still the same, solid metal beneath her hands. Mikasa didn’t do the hardest and most demanding forms, knowing that this was more for show than an actual workout. She focused on the sexy part, doing twirls and legwork, snaking herself around the pole with precision. While she was getting lost in the dance, Eren had a great time sitting back and watching. He did so often, but it never ceased to amaze him. Mikasa’s body was incredible, a well-oiled machine that moved exactly as its mistress wanted it to. Her every muscle worked exactly as she ordered, pushing the body as a whole beyond what normal humans could achieve. She could do that in the ring, often surprising her opponents just how strong and fast she was, and she could do that here too. Combine that with her gymnast-like flexibility, and this was by far the best pole dance Eren had ever seen in his life. If she was doing this professionally, Mikasa would, in his humble opinion, be world-class. Then again, this was his fiancé so he was most likely strongly biased.

She didn’t overwork herself, there was no need. This dance wasn’t to strengthen herself, it was to show off, and Mikasa did that flawlessly. By the time she was done, Eren was staring with mouth a bit open, completely bewitched by how she moved. Dark magic in high school might not be very effective, but this thing was certainly working. Putting both her feet back on the solid ground, Mikasa leaned on the pole, crooking her finger at her charmed victim.

He moved immediately, shuffling forward like a zombie, his eyes only for her. A good spell. Eren hands went for her immediately, as that dance was an incredibly foreplay and it got him fired up good and proper. The location was a bit unlucky, so Mikasa voiced her concern out loud, unsure how this would work.

“Here? You want to do it here?”

“Why not?

“I’m not opposed to it, I’m just wondering.”, she eyed the pole with a certain criticism in her gaze, “How?”

It wouldn’t be Eren if he let a simple logistic problem defeat him. Hoisting Mikasa up, he pressed her back against the metal, eyebrow raised.

“Like this?”

She shifted left and right, tried how it went but this wasn’t it. The metal was digging into her spine, making it uncomfortable.

“No, wait. Let me down.”

Eren did so immediately, taking a step back to let Mikasa come up with a better alternative. She turned around, holding the pole and bending over, presenting her butt as an offering. The arch of her back that she did, the perfect curve, it never failed to make Eren’s mouth water.

“How about like this?”, she suggested.

Yes, even her back was sexy as hell. The chiseled, firm shapes, the incredibly back muscles, the beautiful tattoo covering it, artistically interwoven into the porcelain skin. Coming close, Eren ran his hands over the two flawless globes that were Mikasa’s ass, silently admiring that unbelievably sexy shape.

“Yeah, this will do.”

It would be a damn shame to see such a meal in front of you and not having a taste. Seeing her pink outer lips, ready and waiting for him, Eren decided that it was time to once again bring out his oral skills. He knew for a fact that Mikasa adored them. Dropping down to his knees, Eren met her confused eyes with his own, giving her a wink.

“The position is perfect, but I think that I’ll go for a snack first.”

And he dived in, tongue first.

The pole was, in the end, a serviceable place to have sex at. After the deed was done, they just fell on the floor, laughing.

“You didn’t have to eat me out first, you know.”, she said, but Eren just raised an eyebrow, “We could have just fucked right away.”

“Why not? I know that you love it.”

“I do, but again?”, she trailed her hand over his lips, “You are so generous to me, it’s crazy.”

“Please, after that pole dance? I’d do anything for you, that thing was so fucking hot it was unreal. Plus, if you like something, ask for it, it’s good to be comfortable with what you enjoy.”

“That depends. I think I may be growing too comfortable with sex and such.”

“What do you mean?”

“You see, a week or something back I was checking if my catsuit, the black one, still fits me as it should, I wanted to use it that evening. You remember right?”

“Please, how could I forget?”

“Then you also remember that we had a delivery that day. And when the bell rang, guess who almost opened the door wearing a freaking latex bodysuit.”

“Aw, that wouldn’t be so bad though, you could always salvage that situation.”

“How exactly? How could I escape the thousand and one news articles saying: “the freaky sex life of the Azumabito’s cover girl exposed!“ Somehow I don’t think that Kiyomi would be all that happy with me.”

“You’d just have to spin the story. Make it look like you are training for a Catwoman cosplay.”

“Yeah, only if Halloween wasn’t a year away, right?”

“Maybe he would believe you, you never know. Anyway, why were you wearing it?”, he poked her in the stomach, feeling the abs shift beneath his touch, “I didn’t notice you gaining weight or anything.”

“I don’t know, I just..”, she was blushing now, looking away, “I like how it feels on my skin, even when the latex is a pain in the ass to get into. Once I finally put it on, I didn’t feel like taking it off.”

When he didn’t say anything to that confession, she looked back at his face.

“Not gonna tease me?”

“Why would I? I’m glad that you enjoy it because I surely do. You look like a goddess in it.”

“Goddes of BDSM? That’s what you called me right?”

“Sure did, and we both know that I'm just saying the truth.”

The mental picture in his head Eren another idea, so he continued.

“So how about….”

But Mikasa cut him off.

“No, I’m not putting it on now. Way too much work.”

“Oh well, can’t blame me for trying.”

“I’m not. But we can have fun even without the suit, can’t we?”

She leaned closer, almost kissing him but not really, her lips only millimeters away when she spoke.

“Any ideas?”

Eren closed the distance hungrily, capturing the elusive tease in a wild kiss before flipping them over and pushing her down, fully intent on showing her just how much fun they can indeed have.

She grumbled a bit in discomfort when Eren kept pushing until her legs were on her shoulders, completely doubling her over.

“Are we fucking or doing yoga?”, she asked.

“Can’t it be both?”

Mikasa rolled her eyes at him, and there was no way he was letting that go unanswered. Moving forward, he kept a firm hold on her ankles, forcing her body to bend even more for him, abusing the flexibility she had. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t protest again, letting Eren do as he pleased. Yet that stern expression fell completely apart when he pushed back into her, the position giving him premium access to her sex.

“Didn’t you learn anything in all these years of fighting?”, he whispered pulling back, but when Mikasa opened her mouth to answer he pushed back in, so all that came out of her was a moan. The bastard.

With a grin, he finished his thought.

“Never forget to stretch.”

He was taking it slow, languidly kissing every tattooed feather on her back. The action was very loving and unhurried, in stark contrast to the bruising lovemaking from before, but Mikasa welcomed it all the same.

“Your back is so sexy.”, he whispered in between the kisses. “It does things to me.”

“My back? Is there a part of me that is not sexy?”

“Nope. You are the perfect female specimen.”, the kisses trailed from one shoulder blade to the other, “So, are you ready for another round, princess?”

“Sure, but I’m not moving.”, she eyed him over her shoulder, a smug smirk on her face, “Do your best.”

She more felt than heard Eren’s low chuckle. It was his own damn fault, Mikasa was resting, lying on her side and staring into nothing in particular when he slithered over and started his slow worship of her tattooed skin. Not that Mikasa was opposed to it, but she wasn’t going to just get up because of him.

“I can work with that.”, he growled, his hand wrapping around her thigh.

And he did just that, parting her legs and slipping in from behind. Yet he didn’t push in, keeping his head just shy of penetration, just barely parting her outer lips. It was a technique he developed, the fastest way to get Mikasa to talk about something she would normally blush and hide her face for. Dangle the carrot in her reach but not give it to her, keep her on the edge. Mikasa’s reaction was fast. She whined, stirred her hips, tried to get Eren to slip into her. He held fast.

“Any reason for your sudden laziness?”

As expected, she answered immediately, wanting nothing more for than for Eren to just shut up and fuck. Literally.

“We haven’t done this position in a while, and I like it.”, she curled her body, sticking out her butt for easier access, “I can just lie here as the little spoon while you do all the work.”

“Miki, just say the word and I’ll do the whole Kamasutra with you.”

She giggled at that, delighted.

“You think that there is a lot we haven’t tried?”

It wasn’t the first time one of them was feeling adventurous, and that usually led to a tryout for a new position randomly found on the internet. Thanks to Mikasa’s body, work of art on its own, so far they have never been unable to do the thing. The results ranged from absolutely terrible and borderline painful that were immediately dropped to some that Mikasa loved. Eren wasn’t much of a connoisseur in this, if he had a preference it was being able to see Mikasa’s face, a cheesy line that never failed to make her blush.

“For sure. Don’t underestimate how creative some people are.”

“No rush, let’s take it one by one.”, rubbing herself on Eren’s length more, she once again voiced her need, “So quit stalling and put it in.”

Pressing forward, Eren filled her, the position and angle allowing his cock to reach a great depth within her. It also gave him prime access to both Mikasa’s neck and ears, places where she was highly sensitive. Taking full advantage he mouthed her ear, tonguing the piercings before whispering.

“Your wish is my command.”

Sometimes, even being the peak specimen, they needed a break. It was a haze, madness, and Mikasa doubted that it was the weed. They were drunk and high, but not on drugs, on each other. And now that she thought about it, she was ready for another dose. Looking over where Eren was, Mikasa decided that it was time to see if her supplier had something in stock for her. Also, she could ask what the status was on the little endurance contest they had going on. There was no way in hell that an Ackerman was losing – as long as she was breathing, Mikasa would never admit defeat. She rolled on top of Eren, seating herself on her fallen lover.

“How are you doing, loser?”

He scoffed up at her, hands taking hold of her hips.

“I didn’t give up yet.”

“Then what was that:”, Mikasa dropped her voice lower, doing her best to imitate Eren’s tone, “M-Miki please, I c-can’t…. Not again… Oh god…”

She interlaced her speech with a lot of groans and moaning to drive her point home. In turn, his hands on her waist tightened, halting the back-and-forth rocking Mikasa was doing to illustrate her point. Not only to stop her making fun of him, but also because it was doing things to him that he was not yet ready to follow through with.

“I feel like you’re mocking me.”, he growled.

She quirked an eyebrow.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“It’s not that I mind, but It is kind of hypocritical.”

“Why is that?”

“I do remember a foot on my head, pushing me away from someone’s pussy, because”, now it was Eren doing the imitating, pushing his voice higher to match Mikasa’s “Babe, I-I ne-need a minute, It’s to-too m-much…”

She frowned at him.

“Oral is cheating.”

That made him laugh, the sound shaking his body beneath her thighs. Seated as she was, it shook Mikasa too.

“So me eating you out is cheating, but you sucking my soul out is fine?”

“Well it’s fair, you get to use ropes so it’s balanced.”

“I don’t remember having the monopoly on that,”, Eren’s fingers started doing those small circles on Mikasa’s hipbones, a more or less unconscious reflex at this point, “You can tie me up too, if you want…”

“I need way more gear to do it right, you grab a rope and…”, she made a booming gesture, “Blow my mind.”

Not sure how to react to such a compliment, Eren just smiled. Because what is the right reaction when your girlfriend tells you that you are very good at rope bondage?

“Thanks. I love you too my rope bunny.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a term I found on the internet while doing some err.. research. Apparently it’s a person who enjoys being bound so.”, he tapped her on the thigh, “You.”

Mikasa considered it for a moment but then shook her head.

“Nope, I don’t like it. Drop it.”

“Really? It’s kinda cute…”

However, she was decided. Reaching over Eren’s chest, she tapped him, hard, right in the middle. At the same time, her voice got filled with that murderous low tone that always made Eren shiver, and not in a good way. Mikasa was terrifying when she wanted to be and it didn’t matter that she was naked and seated on top of him. It was like flipping a switch – at first, she was the sexiest thing alive and then switch she made Eren want to salute and straighten his back while also cowering in fear at the same time. One of a kind.

“Drop. It.”

Well, he tried.

“Yes my queen.”

She rewarded him with a smile.

“Now that’s more like it. Know your place, fuckboy.”

“Really?”

“You’re experimenting, I’m experimenting. But don’t worry, I don’t like that one either, I think that I’ll stick with Eren.”

He snorted beneath her.

“Thanks.”

Pleased by how quickly he obeyed, Mikasa ran her hands over his firm body, stopping the cup his once again hard member.

“Now look,”, she purred, “ Is this for me?”

She was so immersed in the kiss that she didn’t even realize where Eren was taking her. But when Mikasa’s naked skin slid along something slightly fuzzy and soft, she had to break away to see. Oh. A pool table. Her thoughts got jumbled right after, because after Eren so unceremoniously dumped her on the table, he parted her thighs and bowed his head, going to work. Eren was an artist with his mouth, so whatever Mikasa wanted to ask was promptly forgotten, and didn’t resurface until after she came, her body writhing on top of that strange new surface.

“Why do we even have a pool table?”, she panted the question out, “It’s not like we use it.”

Eren looked like he didn’t want to answer, too absorbed in lining himself up properly, not even bothering with wiping his face. But when Mikasa tugged on his hair, he did raise his eyes.

“We are using it right now.”, he said, making Mikasa giggle.

“I don’t think that the table was designed for fucking.”

“Doesn’t matter. WE bought it, we can use it for what we want to.”

He stopped all of a sudden, the tip of his member just touching Mikasa’s sex, only the slightest part inside her velvety heat.

“Should I get off of you and set the table?”, he even had the indecency to smirk down at her, “We can play pool if you want, sink some balls.”

Instead of answering, Mikasa wrapped her legs around him and pulled hard, basically forcing Eren to slide into her in one quick motion. As he didn’t expect it, Eren made the most embarrassing moan, eyes widening.

“Maybe later.”, she said, “For now, forget the balls and focus on sinking Into me.”

Eren didn’t need to be told twice, bracing himself on the pool table, he drove into her, once again taking control of the situation. That didn’t mean that Mikasa stopped moving, her hips were still rising to meet his, her legs kept pushing and pulling in sync with the movements, she was very much an active party. With that much friction given by the cloth on the pool table, her body wasn’t sliding that much, something Eren was grateful for. He could drive into her with more force, a notion Mikasa appreciated with a deep purr in her throat. And when she closed her eyes and craned her neck, getting closer and closer to the edge, a single thought flashed through her mind.

You know what, maybe the pool table wasn’t such a bad investment.

His fingers trailed her ass, passing her sex and moving until the tips pressed against the other hole.

“What about here?”, Eren asked, “Another thing we haven’t done in a while.”

True enough, and Mikasa nodded almost enthusiastically. She did remember that it could feel really good, with adequate preparation that is, and Eren was trained enough to know that.

“Get the lube.”

While Eren retrieved the item, Mikasa scrambled herself up to the hands and knees position, presenting her ass the best she could. Eren appreciated it with a hum and gentle caress of her butt. The fingers that probed into her Mikasa expected, relaxing her muscles and pushing back to help Eren slide in. At this point, they were rather experienced with this. After one finger came two, stretching her out in preparation for the sex. Or so she thought. Wrongly, because the next thing that came after Eren withdrew his hand wasn’t his cock, unless it froze when Mikasa wasn’t looking. The object was warmed a bit, by his mouth she guessed, but still colder than what she thought was going to slip inside her. It wasn’t that hard to guess that it was a plug.

“I th-thought we are going to f-fuck.”, she panted out, words hard to form while Eren worked the toy into her butt.

“You said it yourself, there is no rush.”, he pulled back a bit, once again stretching her with the widest part, “I want you to be prepared.”

Eren had a plan, and when he had a plan Mikasa didn’t argue. It was much more fun to simply play along. Once she was properly plugged, Eren smirked on the image in front of him. The toy had a heart-shaped decoration at the end, which was now settled between her cheeks, creating a rather pleasing view. This stage done, he stood up, meeting Mikasa’s unsteady gaze and red cheeks.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

The stare she gave him was hilarious, but Eren didn’t blame her. It was a strange thing to ask. In way of answering the unspoken “What the fuck?” question, he fished out the toy’s remote control from his pocket.

“I promise it’s gonna be fun.”

Seeing that he was completely serious, Mikasa let out a frustrated laugh, shaking her head. Eren was impossible sometimes. Getting up from her compromising position, she had to bite her bottom lip to keep the moan the toy’s shift inside her produced. And she played along.

“Okay, let me get dressed.”

Eren wasn’t lying, the movie was fun, made even better by the random vibration that certain someone kept sending through her body, building that mountain of frustration inside her. Yet she held, knowing that this was the game, a small friendly wager if she could hold herself back until it was over. In her stubbornness, she couldn’t let the smug devil that was her boyfriend have this one. Yet as soon as the movie was over, Mikasa was right on top of him, growling in the animalistic desire.

“Get your fucking dick out.”

And for the second time in a few hours, Eren had the feeling that disagreeing would cost him a few broken bones. Only a feeling, as Mikasa wouldn’t hurt him, but it was there and it made him shiver once again. Angry Mikasa was scary, and horny Mikasa wasn’t that far behind. Making peace with his fate, which was some incredible anal sex with Mikasa’s firm and shapely backside, Eren surrendered, saying the same phrase that he did not that long ago.

“Yes my queen.”

It was sunny outside, which meant that it was day, yet Mikasa could not care less. She didn’t know if Eren was passed out or not, lying next to her in their love nest, or if he was simply silently recharging for the next round. She was tired, beyond tired even, but in the best of ways, worn out by the most pleasant physical activity she knew besides fighting.  They’ve been at this for what, hours? Days? Mikasa lost count on how many times they finished each other off. If there ever was marathon sex than this was it. In accordance with her previous wish, Eren found an article online and they tried several new positions as well as dusted off some places they haven’t had sex on in a while. She was satisfied in every way, and it was only the stupid competition they had that made her reach out, poking Eren in the crotch. He groaned, eyes opening to look into hers. Grey meeting green, Mikasa smirked at him, pressing her palm against the soft member. She used him so much, the raven wasn’t sure if Eren even could get hard anymore.

“Seriously Miki?” he hissed, voice as tired as she felt, “What am I to you? A sexbot?”

With a giggle, Mikasa once again rolled on top of him, taking her favorite seat.

“Of course, why else would I spend all these years training you?”, her hand dragged down over his face, making a brief stop at his lips before descending to lay flat against Eren’s beating heart, “I’m just collecting on my time investment. With interest.”

“Large fucking interest, if I say so myself.”

“That’s how it works babe. And…”, she scooted closer, gracefully, whispering into his ear, “I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Kinda hard to..”

“Besides,”, she pulled back again, “Wasn’t it you who said, and I quote: “blowjob is an art”?”

“That was years ago!”, he whined, cursing Mikasa and her perfect memory, “I was eighteen and just got some action for the first time in my life! I was trying to motivate you since you didn’t seem that much into it at the beginning…”

“Geez, I wasn’t super stoked about having a dick down my throat. Who could have ever guessed that!”

“I mean…”

She waved his protest aside.

“Its fine, fine. I learned to like it anyway, with practice. My point is, you have all this big talk about that and you don’t think that eating pussy is not? You know how many times I had to guide you, step by step, to tell you exactly what to do and how I like it?”

“I remember Miki.”, he grinned up at her, “I was there.”

“Well then you know how many hardships I had to endure to get you to the point you are at now.”, she huffed in satisfaction, once again gently caressing Eren’s cheek, “Perfectly serviceable lover, finely tuned specifically for my pleasure. You know every position I like, every sensitive part of my body, everything.”

She tapped him on the nose.

“So why the hell wouldn’t I use you as much as I can?”, shifting her weight, so more of her naked ass was pressing right against Eren’s length, she smiled when feeling the familiar hardening, “Your body agrees with me.”

“You don’t play fair.”, he accused her.

“All is fair in love and war.”, she countered straight back.

Mikasa was obviously dead set on getting off again, but Eren still felt like his thing wasn’t ready, so he switched his voice into a pleading one.

“Mercy, please. I need to recharge, not everyone has a body like you do.”

A body that was an almost never tiring machine, capable of a wide variety of activities – everything from fighting to fucking and many more. Sex is a physical effort too, and unless Eren tied her up, Mikasa was very much active during it. The thing is, Eren could push Mikasa to her limits, exhaust her just as well as she did it to him, but he needed the assistance of his wide variety of sex toys. Here, skin to skin, with Mikasa unbound and only one butt plug to assist him, he was finding himself outmatched. Not by a large margin mind you, he more than held his own and Mikasa was perfectly satisfied with his performance, but it wouldn’t be her if she didn’t push for more. Overcome your limits, not only in the ring but in the bedroom too.

Yet it was very important to understand when your partner cannot perform anymore, and Mikasa was a generous goddess.

“Fine,”, she agreed, backing down, “ I don’t want to break you after all.”

“Why is that?”

A wink.

“You are my favorite toy.”

The line rang once, twice, thrice, fourth and then fifth time, making Levi frown. Mikasa was usually quite reliable when it came to answering his calls, she knew he didn’t do it unless there was something of importance to discuss. Just as he was about to end the call and try later, there was a crack and a familiar voice.

“Mikasa’s phone, Eren here.”

“Hey, can you give me the brat? I need to talk to her.”

“Sorry, but she’s at the shower right now. Should I give her a message?”

Levi sighed. Of course, she was busy when he needed her - that was just his luck.

“Fine, tell her to swing by tomorrow, we need to talk about the sponsorship shit from Hizuru.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“Good, good. You take care Eren.”

“You too Levi, see you.”

Putting the phone down, Eren ended the call. Carefully, he put it back on the dresser, turning around. What he told Levi wasn’t entirely accurate – Mikasa wasn’t in a shower, but she was very much unable to accept the call in her current situation. The smug smile spread over his face, Eren took a minute to admire her current situation, as it was his handiwork. If he wanted to be honest with Levi, he could have said that his fiancé is a bit tied up at the moment.

Mikasa was standing, or rather balancing herself, on just the toes of one of her legs. The other was pulled up and bent at the knee, secured in that position by ropes. Those sneaked all the way over her body, like a web, immobilizing her completely. Her torso and breasts were tied too, several crisscrossing lines that made a very nice pattern against her pale skin. Mikasa’s hands were tied behind her back, forearms pressed together. Two lines also ran down her abs, between the forcefully spread thighs and framed her sex, positioned so they would rub against her outer lips, teasing and not fulfilling. All these ropes connected at the top, leading up the ceiling where they were anchored, suspending her in the air. Eren calculated the height so the only part of her that could touch the ground here the tips of her left leg’s toes, her weight was held up by the ropework itself. And that was not all.

There were clamps on her nipples, small weight pulling them down. Her chest and abdomen were full of red wax stains, remnants from a little candle fun they had earlier. Even gagged, she made the cutest sounds when he dripped the hot substance on her nipples. Mikasa's eyes were hidden behind a thick blindfold and her mouth was held open by the aforementioned black ballgag, drool trickling down her chin. The silver letters on her collar glistened when she moved her head, moaning weakly into the rubber. Eren didn’t blame her. Pulling the remote control from his pocket, he increased the vibrations on the egg vibrator hidden deep inside her cunt. She reacted immediately, the moan changing into a long whine as Mikasa craned her neck, muscles tensing as she swayed in the rigging. He had been playing with her body for some time now, using several toys and instruments, making her extremely sensitive at this point.

Retrieving the flogger from where he dropped it once Mikasa’s phone started ringing, Eren walked over to where she was bound. Her head angled towards him once he drew near, searching, a non-descript sound coming from behind the gag. It was most likely her begging, Eren realized, circling her suspended body. He did a good job – the rope was as much of decoration, in the complicated shapes he created, as it was a restraint -the ropework was beautifully done, not leaving a single part of her body unbound. Even the tattooed wings on Mikasa’s back were crossed over by a rope, completing the illusion of a captured angel, fully at his mercy. And the devil was here to play.

Not hitting her yet, Eren dragged the flogger over her body, loving how she tensed against the soft touch. Her ass was nicely red, also his doing, whipped into that pretty color. It reminded him of the wax he dripped on her, stuck to Mikasa’s heated sweaty skin. There was also the end of the anal hook there, protruding from between her flawless buttcheeks, the clip smartly secured to the ropes around her body, pulled tightly. It was doubly as cruel now because hanging in the air like this, Mikasa had almost no control over it. Suspended, a part of Mikasa’s weight was carried by the hook itself, so the pressure was unrelenting. And when her body spasmed, either from pain or pleasure, it pulled at the hook and it shifted in her, merciless. It was truly a hellish contraption that he had bound his lover into. There was a lot he had done to her so far, and Eren could see the result of his efforts rather clearly. The proof of her arousal and enjoyment was running down Mikasa’s strong thighs, glistening and mixing with the sweat, soaking the ropes that tied her legs, held her helplessly open for him to have fun with.

Inspection done, Eren circled her completely, coming back to stand in front of her. Reaching down, he took hold of her face, turning her to him. Very carefully, he pushed the sweat matted short locks from her face, knowing how hyper-aware she is of his every touch. With your senses gone, the remaining ones tend to sharpen, Eren knew that for a fact as he was often put into a similarly vulnerable position on Mikasa’s dom days.

He was sure that Mikasa was looking at him, although he couldn’t see it through the blindfold, most likely begging with her eyes in addition to the muffled sounds leaking from behind the gag alongside the drool. He had the tied-up angel’s full attention.

“So…”, he drawled, thumbing her scar gently, knowing that there would be enough time to get rough in a moment. Eren was far from being done with her.

“Remind me kitten, where were we?”

[codylabs]

My Top 10 Ships

I’m not a very romantic sort of guy, I’m not real forgiving to departures from canon, I get easily annoyed at inconsistencies, and I don’t watch much television and movies, so in order for me to ship something, it has to be a GOOD ship. I default toward rejecting ships, so to impress ME, it must be built on logic, and evidence, it’s gotta be something I can suspend my disbelief far enough to accept. And it’s gotta have story behind it, something deep, some hefty emotional weight; if it doesn’t tickle this man’s cold reptilian heart with strong beats and excellent writing, it goes straight to the trash. I absoLUTELY will not stand for any of these weird little cute, pretty, pandering, trashy crack ships that everybody seems to be clumsily throwing characters into. Most ships are trash ships. They are not good ships.

You think your ship is good? You like your ship?

You ship it?

No you don’t.

Get out of here.

You will listen to me. I will tell you. Look at me. I’m the Captain now.

Here are the 10 good ships.

10. The Rocinante, The Expanse

A resoundingly excellent ship. Unlike most ships you see out there, this thing was actually designed with realistic space combat in mind. It’s got 6 computer-controlled gatling turrets covering every angle, it accelerates in whatever direction it’s pointing, its bridge is right in the center to put as much armor as possible between enemies and crew, overall a much better-designed vehicle than most everything you see about.

That being said, I didn’t have much connection to this ship. Its crew weren’t really interesting, the aesthetic was kinda bleak, and I basically stopped watching after the phazon showed up. And the Rocinante itself has pretty poor redundancy. Enemy bullets can literally just pass through it (as is realistic for a ship this size) so how about multiple main engines huh? Absolutely tragic oversight. And its interior looks too much like an Apple product. How are you supposed to work on it? Where are the wires and pipes??? The handholds?????

9. Ares IV M.A.V., The Martian

Almost more of a symbol than a ship. A symbol of freedom, of escape. A beautiful symbol. This is what Mark Watney spends the whole movie trying to reach, with an entire world backing him up, and an entire world trying to stop him. It’s the goal of the movie, and it just looks so beautiful when he finally reaches it and sees it sitting there in the middle of the desert, ass down, nose up; a tall, proud symbol. This ship has a special significance for me because the author of the original book really did his research on the scientific requirements and details of a Mars Ascent Vehicle, and it was actually inspired by the E.R.V. in another book, ‘A Case For Mars’, which I read when I was younger. “Makes its own methane-oxygen fuel on-site by using nuclear power to break down CO2 in the atmosphere and combining it with stored hydrogen, don’t you know.” I say as I adjust my spectacles and puff my pipe.

The M.A.V. in the movie does have a few issues, such as hallway and rooms running straight up through where the fuel tanks ought to be (instead of a lift/ladder on the exterior) and a rugged, industrial aesthetic that looks too heavy and cumbersome for a ship of its type. (And you’re seriously telling me he couldn’t have used the capsule’s RCS to literally bypass the movie’s entire climax? WHY NOT? The book never mentioned him having to drain the monopropellant!!!) But I’ll let that slide. Great movie.

8. Biggest Boy, The Greatship

(I don’t know the ship name so I had to make up a name. You know what, I think it’s actually just called the Greatship.)

So it’s a starship the size of Jupiter, empty, unmanned, perfectly mysterious, that comes gliding into the galaxy a couple million years into humanity’s future. Where did it come from? Who made it and how? Good questions. It’s powered by matter-antimatter annihilation reactions from within planet-sized internal tanks, and its engines use hydrogen and fusion exhaust as reaction mass, and its hull is made of hyperfiber, a super-strong fictional material with a 4-dimensional lattice structure, able to weather impacts by spreading them out over various dimensions where the impact occurred in a different place.

I hope that after the first few entries, you didn’t get the impression that I am somehow against futuristic, far-out, impossible technologies. Quite the opposite! I love me some hyperdrive and anti-gravity and A.I. and stuff. However! Ships must be well-designed for the technology available, and must take no creative liberties except those explicitly allowed by the difference in the setting. The laws of physics don’t disappear when the magic crystals come out, the magic crystals are merely a different tool to combat them. Engineering will always exist, should start with the tools and work outward, form follows function. Star Wars ships, for instance, are trash because they don’t mount their repulsorlift arrays consistently, they’re not aerodynamic, and their engines aren’t aligned around their center of masses.

So I like the Great Ship. Although the story is pretty far-fetched, and a lot of crazy, out-there scifi events transpire deep in the ship’s depths, the book always strictly kept its own rules in mind, and never broke those rules, no matter how outlandishly crazy things got. Thanks for comprehending something so incomprehensible, Robert Reed. You inspired me miles in my own work.

7. The Ghost, The Sea Wolf

The story may be fiction, but the Ghost was as real as ghosts can be.

Jack London did his research. No, not research, he LIVED this. The Ghost is a seal-hunting schooner much like one that he served aboard during his rollercoaster of a life, and he captured every detail of its operation, of its requirements, of its mechanics, and of the incredible toll it took on the people that lived such a life. The boat is made to feel as oppressive and claustrophobic as a prison, as if it were an extension of the monster that commanded it, directly in contrast to the expansive beauty of the sea around them. My goodness, what a beautiful book. What a moving, interesting, challenging book, with such a story! This book is one of the climaxes of fiction, and one of the inspirations for Shifting Sands, if I remember correctly. I would recommend this book to anybody. Beautiful.

6. Ferbnessa, Phineas and Ferb

Okay, so I hope we can all agree that Vanessa is nothing but bad news. But that being said, Ferb knows exactly the relationship he wants, and by golly, he goes for it. Most male characters would stutter or get nervous or lose confidence around their crush, especially if that crush is about a hundred miles out of their league or if they already had another boyfriend, but Ferb? No. Not my man Ferb. He’s slighly too much of a legend to fall for such childish pitfalls. He doesn’t posture, he doesn’t creep or flirt or try to sabotage the other men in her life, he doesn’t even speak a word, he just maintains his blank expression, cranks his own already-inhuman levels of confidence and competence up through the roof to borderline olympian levels, and continues being himself. These rare moments of Ferbly passion are some of the few open windows we get into the grandiose machinations of his mysterious mind, and he uses it to bring out the best in Vanessa as well. And in the future episode, set years down the line, wouldn’t you know it, they’re a pair.

All joking aside though, this whole ship is basically comedy. It’s a super small part of the show, it’s only in like 5 episodes, it’s a running gag, it’s hilarious. It’s great. And it fits right into the tone and the feel of the show, because P&F’s entire world really is a comedy about going for it and living your dreams. So this is just the best thing ever. It’s been about a decade since then, and I still burst out laughing at how much of a pristine picture of ideal masculinity Ferb is. Become like Ferb, boys, and you will become men.

Legendary.

Eat your heart out, Dipper.

3. Shunk, Voltron

(I don’t know the ship name so I had to make up a name)

Huge props to the voltron team for making a female alien character (even a romantic interest) with NO BOOBS. Do you have ANY idea how sick and tired I am of artists throwing a big ol’ pair of balonkadongs onto lobsters and snakes when almost everything in the real world besides folks and cows have either 0 or 8+ of them? Everything’s gotta be traditionally sexy and recognizably-feminine and GREAT now you just canonized all the porn! Disgusteg

but now look at Shay. She’s a rock person. She’s got silicon-based biology, she probably weighs 500 lbs and bleeds sand. She’s got enormous hands and weird knees and no nose and lumps everywhere, AND YET STILL the show plays all the tropes 100% straight with her being a fair young maiden and a sweet princess. And it works because Hunk is just this great guy who’s exactly as sweet and caring, and he’s not the most attractive of the Paladins either, so he probably lives his life looking past appearances. He doesn’t care that she’s an alien rock, he cares about her as a person, and she obviously worships him right back. Even though Shay is shown in season 1 and then never again until season 7, Hunk still avoids alternative romantic entanglements, citing ‘a rock I know’, and it just adds to his persona as this infinitely loyal teddy bear. I tip my hat to this, the single ship I know that’s 0% sexy and 100% wholesome.

And Hunk is the best Paladin. He’s just the greatest. I revere him. I salute him as he walks past. This man among men. Look at this guy. I don’t even care about any of the other ships in Voltron (I mean, the Castle of Lions is okay, but it’s outriggers are kinda spindly) but Hunk and Shay deserve each other.

4. Wendip, Gravity Falls

So Dipper’s 12/13, and Wendy’s 15. That’s a pretty giant age difference. Maybe you fans have fooled yourselves into thinking it’s not, but it is. She knows it. He knows it. His sister knows it. Your mom knows it. So halfway through the show, when he finally got around to confessing his feelings to her, she told him no. Sure they’re still friends, sure they like each other, and sure they have a lot of chemistry and they still have a movie night every Friday, but at the end of the day, he’s a smelly little midget who has to go back to California at the end of the Summer, and she’s a older girl with approximately zero romantic feelings for him. So the notion that it could work out is pretty obvious to everyone, and especially to him, pretty much hopeless. And he really did handle it all pretty poorly and immaturely too, he objectified her and stalked her and simped up a storm and sabotaged her boyfriend, so perhaps he deserved what he got. Perhaps it’s better this way.

And yet.

And yet Wendy never really got a happy ending in the show. And Dipper never got a conclusive romance either. So after everything, it’s easy to think about it how he thinks about it, by wondering how things could have been, if everything were just so slightly different, if she’d said yes or if they united again. She wishes she could be younger, he wishes he could be older. She’s more dominant, he’s more recessive. She has a lot of serious issues in her life, and could really seriously use a driven, heroic, intelligent friend to help her out, give her purpose, and steer her right. And Lord knows he could use somebody with street smarts and actual muscles to have his back now and again. They complement each other perfectly. They make up for each others’ weaknesses. They’re everything they ever wanted from another, and if you do the math, their children would be actual literal supersoldiers.

Or at least that’s the way a lot of people see it. There’s been immeasurable mountains of fanfiction and fanart from people who are just so sad that in a show full of happy endings and dreams coming true and old regrets being resolved and children growing up, that one ending would never be happy, one dream would never come to pass, one regret would stick with you forever, one child would never grow up. Maybe if you extrapolate out the story they’d end up together? Or maybe they’d find other, better partners? Maybe romance isn’t all that important in the grand scheme of things, and this is the best ending there could have been? Perhaps, perhaps not. But in any case, there’s a lot of very rich storytelling potential for the untold journey before them, and for the paths that could have been.

Stop drawing fetish art of Wendy, you insufferable heathen actual donkeys.

3. Kataang, Avatar: The Last Airbender

Now HERE’S a serious relationship. Not just a romantic ship, (though it is that,) not just some cutesy, funny thing or some ship-war fodder, (though it is cute and funny and did spawn a ship-war,) not just a matter of certainty and destiny, (though it is certain and was destined,) this is a real, TANGIBLE relationship, that these characters built together over a solid year of on-screen adventuring and fighting. They’ve helped each other through trauma, they’ve been there for each other in their darkest moments, they learned martial-arts together, they’ve fought back-to back against grown men, they’ve worked front-to-front sawing through steel girders, they’ve saved each other’s lives, he once ACTUALLY DIED and she brought him BACK. They end up respecting each other, and valuing each other in the intimate way that only true friends do.

And they’re shown working through all their imperfections and mistakes too. Aang sometimes oversteps boundaries and says stupid stuff because he’s a kid, and Katara sometimes scolds him and controls him because she’s motherly and orderly, they get jealous of each other, but none of those things drive them apart, and they deal with them, and they conquer them, and they keep a very legitimate and multi-faceted friendship going, and that’s the key to it all. The fact that this friendship becomes romance is just proof that it was a friendship of quality.

I think people tend to overlook or forget this ship because the last few episodes of the show found them in a pretty dark place, needing to deal with matters of life and death and justice in very different ways, and unlike all their other issues, we don’t really get to see them reconciling these differences before the story ends, which kind of leaves a sour taste between them. And Katara goes on a couple missions with Zuko around the same time, so now half of all people want Zutara, when in actuality, Zutara is a trash ship, which is a true science fact.

2. Serenity, Firefly

Only reason this ship isn’t #1 is because it isn’t constructed using a proper aerospace philosophy; it’s made of bulky machinery and steel beams and chunky plates, it looks more like an ocean vessel from the inside, and is WAY too big for its 6-12 person crew and light cargo capacity. Plus it doesn’t have any room for fuel and its got no wheels on its landing legs and no downward-facing windows and its reactor is just too dang SMOL and its engines are attached too flimsily. This all wouldn’t be too much of an issue if they were going for a far-future aesthetic, but if you’re trying to do something grounded and semi-contemporary, you need to lose some weight girl, I’m sorry.

But by gosh does it make up for it in heart. The entire inside of this ship was mapped out and made on set, with so many homely little decorations and touches to make every room feel like the person who inhabits it, sterile professional blue for the doc’s medbay, warm happy red for Kaylee’s engine room, all-serious-business-but-also-plastic-dinos for Wash’s cockpit... It hit me hard when this baby it crashed in the movie, and it felt almost real when River pretended to mind-meld with it. This ship has more soul in one buffer panel than most shows have in the entire cast, enough to make it seem like its own character, even in a show crowded with charming characters. I love this ship intimately, even if I would have built it differently.

1. Colonial Vessel 46.18′\, Gravity Falls

(I don’t know the ship name so I had to make up a name)

You didn’t think I’d leave out this one, did you? After all the fanfiction I’ve written? This is basically my ship at this point. Anyway, enough about me; the vessel beneath Crash Site Omega really is the quintessential alien ship; its perfectly cliche flying-saucer design taps into all the audience’s pre-existing fanciful notions and imaginings and disbelief-suspension, meanwhile its presentation isn’t cliche or fanciful in the slightest. 

There’s not much to say about it from a technical standpoint, besides personal musings: it would need anti-gravity to stay airborne without thrusters, it would need a FTL drive to cross the distances it did, its drones would need to be made of some kind of semi-liquid to move like they do... But these sort of out-of-the-box, never-before-seen, world-expanding brain-knocks are exactly what makes this ship special. It’s an alien ship, built with technology unknown to people, forged from materials that people don’t possess, and inhabited by beings we will never meet. For all we know, this ship could be perfectly sound from an engineering standpoint, and no engineer in the audience could claim to prove it otherwise, because unlike something like the T.A.R.D.I.S., they never try and fail to explain it away with science buzzwords or canonize its details or show off some fancy glowy reactor. This ancient husk is left as a yawning pit in reason, and that’s beautiful.

Moreover, this ship is an amazingly powerful narrative tool, and a mind-blowing surprise to drop in as a setpiece during the show’s final episodes. This ship embodies everything that made the show’s mysteries special: the evidence presented so early and so consistently, the creativity in creature design, action, and worldbuilding, the yawning depths of unknowable lore, and most of all the burning, unquenched desire to know more... The imprint this ship made in the cliffs over the town has been hanging over the characters’ heads the entire series, and its hull was below their feet from day one, so when they finally revealed it, and explored it, it felt invigorating. Rewarding. This ship, and the glorious feelings and thoughts it represents, have inspired to no end, and haven’t ended yet.

Honorable mentions:

Westley and Buttercup, The Princess Bride

Ooooh man I tell you what, it was really hard trimming this down to 10 for the list, and this one just barely didn’t make the cut, and that mainly because I have a sweet spot for animation and for warrior women, and this sweetness ain’t animated, and this damsel is as distressed as they get. And they don’t have a whole lot of chemistry? I don’t know how to measure that, but I feel like there was a lot of friendship stated that was never shown? Is it sacrilege to say that about True Love? I guess I’ve never exactly had True Love, so what do I know?

The entire plot centers around his devotion to her, and her love for him, and the lengths they go to for one another. He studies fencing and wrestling and wits and tactics for years on a pirate ship as he tried to return to her, and she refused the advances and the offers of an actual prince for as long as she could, even though she thought him dead, and was ready to kill herself when she knew him to be alive and not to be hers. And just such excellent action and characters and humor and story in the entire book surrounding it. Possibly an even better movie, somehow. Happy happy happy happy. They don’t make movies like this no more, why is that? Sad.

Endurance, Interstellar

Actually a pretty realistic design, all considering. They nailed the aesthetic, and the cinematography, and the feel.

It does lose points though, firstly because the shuttlecraft require a booster stage to make it into orbit when leaving Earth, but for the rest of the movie, whenever they’re landing on planets with similar gravity and atmosphere, they can just fly away like it’s no big deal, which is a big inconsistency, both with real life, and more importantly with itself. And how did an under-equipped and struggling space program put this thing in orbit in the first place, anyway? And why don’t their ships land on their asses like proper rockets? And why not tell the crew members the full plan before leaving? See, it’s little things like that, little inconsistencies made for the sake of fitting with story beats and simplifying it for the audience’s sake, that sours this ship for me. I don’t mind creative liberties, but actual plot holes? This thing has a few plot holes, and plot holes are absolutely yucky. So although most of this ship is very yummy, the yucky parts make it all yucky.

Yucky.

Plus its heavy cargo shuttles are about the least-aerodynamic things imaginable, and that’s also yucky, and there’s porcelain tiles in the stasis bay, like what?

Couldashouldawoulda been yummy.

The Hermes, The Martian

This ship. This friggin’ ship.

A beautiful ship. A well-conceived ship. A mathematically sound and engineered ship. It had so many many good ideas behind it. So much math went into calculating its thrust and orbital dynamics for this movie, so much work went into making it fit a contemporary space aesthetic, the panels, the heat sinks, the tanks, so much PRESENTATION I could KISS IT HMWA, but taken as a whole, engineering-wise, the whole ship falls flat on its face, because it just doesn’t fit together. It doesn’t make sense. Look at all those countless modules along its length. What do they do? They don’t do anything! It’s a quarter mile long, and it’s built for only 6 people? It’s meant to carry a lander? Where does the lander dock? Why are the useful airlocks so far off the center of gravity? Why does it have a cockpit? Why is the forward airlock so looooong? Why is the entire ship so loooooong? Why is the ring spinning so slowly? It’s not hard math to figure out how fast it needs to spin! You’re telling me you did ORBITAL DYNAMICS but not the SINGLE physics 101 equation needed to figure out how fast the ring needs to spin??

Btw, let’s talk about that rotating section in the middle! Think about the rotating section! That rotating section means that the front and the back of the ship aren’t actually connected! There’s just a pair of ring-shaped slip-slidey bearings bridging the ship’s middle, slip-slidey bearings that electricity, computer signals, and water and air pipes can’t cross. Why did they design it that way?? In the book the entire ship spun, which makes so much more sense! Why does it have solar panels when it has a reactor canonically capable of 40 times their output? Why are the fuel tanks so small? Why is it always facing prograde even when canonically burning retrograde? Why? WHY? BLRRRRGGGGGRGGGRGGG

In Conclusion, Ships Are Neat

[selfships-in-spanish]

For the vampire! AU, where the boys are the vampires, I can imagine Ona getting shot/injured while on a separate case, and the boys have to put aside their urges and bloodlust to get her to a doctor and tend to her. Which is EXTREMELY difficult because their senses are directly attuned to the presence of blood, hers specifically - Simon-Data Anon

Simon-Data anon, let me give you a box of chocolate boxes (if you dig that) as a thank you because my askbox has been BLESSED.

(I gotta reply you all but I’m trying! ;_; Lot’s of stuff and I wanna take my time to reply them well, you folks deserve it)

But please have this! :D I wrote it mostly half-asleep so there are probably mistakes and such. Sorry :_)

It was a stupidly simple case. Or at least, it should have been. 

Ona should have seen the clues, the signals; that is her goddamn job. But instead, she led herself into the wolve’s den without backup. 

The leads got her in a small and peaceful town, next to a deep forest that went on forever. There she searched for more clues, checked the ones she already had to make sure they were correct. She thought the trail went cold when suddenly one of the evidences they had lead her to the tiny house near the lake. Ona left a text message to Hank, telling him she found something and that she would discuss it with him in the morning over a nice and good cup of coffee from the cute café near the DPD.

But now she was bleeding on a dirty old wooden floor from a gunshot.

It turned out drug dealers were involved, and they did not want the police to snoop in. They made it clear when they just went for her head the moment she stepped into the seemingly empty and abandoned lake house, prompting a close combat fight with toppled furniture and smashed walls. She had the upper hand, but their fight ended with a second person appearing with a gun and directly shooting her.

Ona heard the one she was fighting against curse something, probably a “fucking stubborn bitch”, before they left her to bleed on the floor and taking her discarded gun with them. She saw him limping and for a moment she felt a surge of pride and satisfaction. But it wasn’t long lived.

The pain was unbearable. Her whole body hurt, the man went to hit her with all his strength and no matter how much training she did, it still hurt and bruised like hell. But the gunshot was as if molten iron was being poured into her like a never-ending stream of pain. Ona tried to crawl out of the house and to her car, to call for help, look for anything usable or her phone that went flying God knows where, but the truth was that she was going to die out of a bleeding gunshot because she was a fucking stupid, reckless idio–

A sob threatened to escape. She felt pathetic. 

The drowsiness from blood loss was racking through her whole body. Ona wanted to close her eyes, wishing to wake up from this nightmare. The adrenaline from before was almost gone, and she didn’t have enough strength to crawl over her phone; it got knocked out under a crate, getting stuck on its edge. She didn’t know if to feel relieved that her attackers didn’t see it, because she didn’t have enough strength left to get it. So close yet so far. 

Breathing was harder now, the pain not letting her gather her wits for a very tiny and fleeting moment. But Ona had to get to the phone, call for help, call for an ambulance, for Hank, for–

Her vision was getting blurry, and she didn’t know if it was because of the tears or because she was succumbing to unconsciousness before finally dying. Fuck.

When did she close her eyes? 

No no no, not now, she couldn’t close them. She couldn’t, not now, she had to get back. She…

Voices. There were voices. Did her murderers come back? Just to make sure and finish the job in case she did survive?

Cold and gentle hands turned her around, carefully holding her and peeling her clothes to reveal the gunshot wound. An inhuman growl tore out of the stranger’s throat, a faint glint to where the eyes were supposed to be, although the shadow was… familiar. Ona tried to say something, but her mouth barely moved when she called out for help. Her fingers twitched in an effort to lift her arm, but she was so, so tired. The arms that were holding her gently tightened their hold, pulling her body close to the stranger’s in a hug. Ona was confused by the weird show of affection from someone she didn’t know or recognise, but as she was held by the stranger, she could see perfectly combed hair and a few rebellious strands falling on their forehead. And also honey eyes that shouldn’t be shining bright as they were doing right now. Ona swore she saw that hair and alabaster skin before… maybe in a dream. It couldn’t be, could it? Blood loss was making her delirious?

The sweet scent of her pierced through the brother’s acute sense of smell. It was fresh, sweet and determined as the day they met her for the first time— a tiny cut making them want to go feral— but they also could smell fear and desperation. They did not like that smell on her. Unknown to their precious human detective, they kept tabs on her just to make sure no other vampire or creature decided to play a quite deadly game, but this time it were humans who decided to hurt her.

The brothers thought they could resist it, but her blood flowing steadily out of the wound was making Connor lose himself piece by piece. It was calling him. Only a taste, a brief kiss on her skin, his tongue lapping up the outside and careful to not touch the wound... But deep down if he had a taste, he knew what would follow. Her blood made them both him and Richard retreat to their baser instincts, to hunt down their prey and have themselves a feast. It smelt like nothing else before, so full of life, so rich...

Connor’s mouth started to water and he had to swallow the spit threatening to spill alongside the guilt of wanting to claim this human as his, when the human didn’t even know of their existence. Yet.

“What do you think you are doing, brother?”

Connor caught himself before he licked his finger clean of her blood. His fangs were bared, his breathing harsher, and he even was tempted to snarl at the intruder. He didn’t realise he was about to do so until Richard’s glint in his eyes defied him. One look at his brother and Connor knew he was barely restraining himself, but he was holding onto his precious will of iron better than Connor himself. Such was the power of their darling detective’s blood on them.

“She doesn’t have much time.” Connor willed himself to stop looking at her soaked shirt, and carefully laid her down again to take off his coat and put it on her. He picked her up again in his arms and stood up.

“I’ve located the ones who did this to her.” Richard took off one of his leather gloves as Connor approached him at the front door. He let his thumb brush against her unharmed cheek, carefully avoiding the blood. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m famished”.

“Good.”

Needless to say that they were faster than an average human, and probably a car, so it came in handy to run through the forest until they reached their own car. The nearest hospital was, thank God, close, and they made it in time to get her into the ER. They let the doctors and nurses do their job, watching her disappear further into the hospital. Connor clutched his blood-soaked coat, his hand squeezing the fabric harshly.

When the nurse turned around to ask them for details and where they could go clean themselves a bit, they were already gone. Connor and Richard hated the smell of hospitals anyways, the reek of death and disease was too much. But also the scent of her blood was too distracting. She was safe in their hands. Their detective was a strong-willed human, and she would survive.

But the fate of those who harmed was going to be quite different.

It was easy to locate their detective’s room after dealing with her attackers. They sated the bloodlust and hunger her blood made them feel, and let themselves be extra vicious for having attempted to end her life then and there. They left behind them a true carnage that looked like a wild animal had its fun. But now they were high on adrenaline themselves, sated and the rich flavour of life running through their veins. It was a pity they tasted horrible. 

Connor was wiping the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief Richard gave him as they were about to turn around the corner that lead them to her room’s corridor. The brothers saw police outside her door and they both grunted, displeased. The brothers would have to get inside in another way; Richard wasn’t feeling like manipulating that human’s mind. 

Thankfully the window opened easily enough. They stepped inside with all the grace one could do so (Richard was always better at sports), dusting off briefly their clothes. She was sleeping and the beeping machine at her side told them she was stable and alive. Connor smiled, pleased by her strength and will to live. She would do a perfect mate if she—

She let out a sigh, frowning slightly as Ona briefly moved her head to the other side, unconsciously baring her neck to the brothers. Twin sharp intakes of air could be heard, eyes zeroed on her pulse point. The brothers could still smell her blood, although not fresh like when they found her, and their ears caught the sound of her steady heart beat. The thrumming of her pulse was deafening, its call worse than a siren’s luring out an unfortunate sailor. They both knew they just fed themselves, copiously, but it was right there, pulsing inside her veins, begging to be tasted for the first time…

The scrunching of her eyes and twitching nose signaled that she was waking up. Connor and Richard unconsciously walked closer to her bed, their figures looming over her resting body, as they took in every tiny movement. Slowly, the human detective opened her eyes, the drugs pumped up into her body making it very difficult for her to focus, but she saw two familiar shadows over her. She sighed tiredly, and closed her eyes again.

“I’m dreaming again, aren’t I?” her voice was just shy of a barely audible whisper, even more difficult to understand by the way she was drawling every word. “Of handsome strangers.”

“You think of us handsome?” Connor was amused. This wasn’t the way he thought the first real conversation between them would start.

“I’m sure you are. You must be. You are in my dreams.�� Ona frowned. “This sounded like that Disney movie.”

Both brothers chuckled, leaning over her and resting their arms on her sides, mindful of not squashing any tubes or her bruised body.

“Then, are we your charming princes?” Richard caressed her cheek with his finger, softly.

“You haven’t even presented yourselves properly. Not very prince-ish of you.” Ona managed to open her eyes again, turning her head in the direction of the caresses. She was greeted with the clear sight of one of the strangers’ faces. Finally. “Oh fuck me, you are handsome.”

Connor took her hand, free of tubes and needles, as he openly laughed. He gently kissed her knuckles, letting the softness of her skin brush against his cold lips.

“If that is your wish…”

“I’m not in the perfect state for that, you rascal.” Ona managed a weak chuckle. “I just got shot and my ass kicked.” her gaze was met with smiling brown eyes.

She was used to the nights where the twin shadows would visit in her dreams. They were oddly comforting, if not weird at first, and always seemed to have her in the highest form of veneration. Ona would wake up feeling guilty of dreaming of such things, thinking of herself as an egocentric and needy individual. She didn’t know why she dreamed of handsome strangers, or why they did all kinds of things they promised in heated whispers against her skin. But right now? She welcomed all kind of comfort.

The finger on her cheek descended slowly, tracing her jaw first and then her neck, following her pulse.

“You should buy me a drink first.” The finger and the thumb brushing her knuckles stopped at the same time, twin eyebrows raising. “For. You know. If you wanna do that and…“ Ona took a deep breath, exhaustion clawing her to go back to sleep. “and all the things you promised me. Or just chat. I don’t know. But drink first.”

“You will have whatever you desire for, Starlight.” She felt those lips kiss her hand again, as cold fingers brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. “You only have to ask.”

“Tell me your names, then. So I can finally know the two imps haunting me in my sleep.”

“Imps? We have been that bad?” Connor’s teasing smirk made her snort.

“Handsome imps, but with no manners.”

The finger on her neck resumed its ministrations, going back to her jaw and then her chin to turn her to face its owner.

“I’m Richard.” Icy eyes pinner her on the spot, unable to look away from their sheer intensity.

“And I’m Connor.” As if Richard freed her from his spell, Ona turned her head the other way to gaze into deep pools of molten chocolate. She felt as if she would drown in them.

Connor went to open his mouth again to say something, but noises from outside the corridor made him stop. He clicked his tongue, displeased at being interrupted. Connor had the thought of sending the nurse away with a simple mind control trick, but he knew their darling had to rest and regain her strength.

“Sadly, our time is over for today.” Richard stood up, eyes glued to the door as if he wanted to destroy whoever dared to interrupt their time with their precious detective.

“It seems we have run out of time, yes.” Connor leaned further into her, letting go of her hands to cup her face, and his voice a soft and velvety purr. “We will see you soon, Moonbeam.”

His lips brushed softly the corner of her mouth. It was a chaste kiss, a gentle press of lips, but it felt as if her skin was on fire. Her heart beated faster as she took a sharp breath. Not wanting to feel left out, Richard bent over, mimicking Connor’s actions. Her mouth followed his as he retreated, unconsciously wanting more.

“Rest now and regain your strength, teacup. We will be watching over you.”

“Now you are guardian angels?” she had a tired smirk on her lips.

Richard chukled, but it didn’t hold the same mirth as before.

“I doubt there is a place in heaven for us.”

Confused, but completely fatigued from being awake, Ona didn’t comment on that. Maybe the next time they showed themselves on her dreams she would ask more about it. About them. Ona watched Connor and Richard open the window of her room, which confused her even more, and the next time she blinked they were gone with the curtain flowing on the chilly night breeze. Her eyes closed, not being able to be awake any longer.

The next time she woke up, rays of sunshine filtered through the drawn curtains and the sounds of people outside could be heard. Ona turned her head to see a vase full of beautiful and fresh flowers on her bedside table. The nurse told her later, when she was changing her bandages, two handsome men came to bring them to her, but following protocol, the hospital didn’t let visitors to come unless authorised to do so. The nurse handed Ona a handwritten note attached to it with a teasing smirk and wiggling eyebrows. Surely it was a nice and juicy gossip for the nurses on that wing of the hospital.

Ona read the note written in a beautiful penmanship when she was alone, feeling as this was something intimate and reserved for when she was on her own devices.

“Get well soon, Starlight. We owe you a drink indeed.

Yours truly,Connor & Richard.”

Ona took a sharp breath, regretting it later when the gunshot wound protested.

That… hadn’t been a dream? 

Ona noticed there were numbers at the very end of the note. It looked like a phone number. Ona got out of her thoughts at the sound of Hank barking at the officer on the door to move the fuck out and let him see his fucking reckless detective. Ona smiled at that, knowing Hank probably drove like his life depended on it the moment he got notified one of his detectives got shot.

All his temper and angry words disappeared the moment he stepped into the room. The officer outside was smart enough to let the Lieutenant pass. When he saw her tired smile, Hank let out a relieved exhale. She was okay, everything was okay. He took a chair and sat down next to Ona. He rubbed his hand across his face, letting out a tired sigh.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, understood?”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” at least she had the decency to look truly ashamed. She knew Hank’s baggage and she knew what a mess Hank must have been until he got here.

“It’s Hank to you, you cork.”

Ona laughed at Hank using one of her own curse words.

“Hank.” After a moment of silence, Ona turned her head to him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, kid. Get well soon because we all miss you and we can’t stand Reed being a snotty asshole anymore. Tina can only hold him in line for so long.”

“¡Ahá! So he does behave when I’m around!” Ona grinned.

“Only because you whooped his ass that time and put him in his place. He fears you.”

“Good. He should.” Ona’s grin turned to a satisfied smirk.

Hank chuckled. He patted his jacket until he found what he was looking for. He waved the object so Ona could see. A twix fun size bar. Ona’s stomach made its presence known.

“This is for you for when you are better AND a good girl who listens to her doctors. Don’t do like the last time you got injured.” Hank’s knowing ‘dad’ stare made her feel like a scolded child.

“I won’t, I promise.” she was not pouting. Nope.

“You better.” Hank knew Ona would probably launch for the chocolate candy bar the moment she was alone, but he let her have that tiny pleasure. Only when he wasn’t looking. 

But Hank had to get serious.

“Now, I know you are tired and need to lie down and heal, but I need you to tell me what happened and what did you see.”

“I know.” 

Ona took a deep breath and began explaining everything, what she saw, what she discovered, the leads and then the connection to drug dealers. Her attackers also got her gun, so maybe they could track it and lead to them. She even included the one or two random strangers that helped her out. Ona only had vague memories of that and couldn’t remember much, just that someone found her, but she omitted the late night visit. Ona needed to look for the truth about that first. Also Hank didn’t have to know about the massive amount of wet dreams she got at night. Nope. TMI!

After talking about more details and then changing the topic to random things, Hank parted with one last gift: her phone with a newly cracked phone screen. Just her luck. At least she didn’t lose all the info in there and the photos, of course. That counted as a win.

Once Ona was discharged from the hospital, with a few days off and a phone call from Fowler that she was on weeks of desk duty just in case (because they all knew she would lie about being okay and would end up opening her stitches again), and well, she wasn’t too happy about it, she dug her purse for the note that was delivered to her alongside with the flowers. Ona was chewing her lip, contemplating if to press the call button or chicken out and mull over it for the entire week. She decided to suck it up. 

She pressed the call button.

Anxiety was gnawing at her insides as the dial tone rang. Maybe she did dream it? Maybe it was a untasteful joke from one of the nurses that heard her talk in her sleep? Maybe it–

“I thought you would never call, Starlight.” Ona was greeted by the voice she heard all those nights, all those whispers and filthy promises– “So, how about that drink we promised you?”

“Yeah, hi! Uh… about that… how about, uh… uhm, tomorrow night?” Ona’s voice trembled.

“Tomorrow night, Green Bee at 8?” Ona could feel the purr in what she assumed was Connor’s voice.

“Tomorrow night. Okay. Perfect.” Ona closed her eyes. She was being an awkward mess but Connor didn’t seem to either notice it or mind it. She was absolute garbage at this. But her questions nagged at her to get to know the truth behind all this.

“See you soon, teacup.” That probably was Richard. It was quieter, deeper, but with a touch of fondness in it. “Enjoy your day and don’t overexert yourself.”

“A-ah, yeah! You too. You both. I won’t. Thank you, hahah...”

A sultry see you tomorrow reached her ears, making her embarrassingly squeak out a reply. She could do this. She was a goddamn detective, she got into worse situations and even more dangerous too.

No amount of training or experience got her ready to see them both waiting for her in front of the new and fancy restaurant, looking as if they stepped out of one her multiple dreams. Well dressed, hair perfectly styled with those rebellious strands falling on their foreheads as always, and twin smiles that greeted her when she approached them both.

They were very much here and very much real.

She had more questions than ever.

[mythicamagic]

Healing Technique: Sesskag oneshot

Kagome offers to give Sesshoumaru a massage. But she's not flirting, definitely not. Never.

Rated T

For Sesskag Week 2019 - Day 3: Flirt

Healing Technique~

Kagome noticed it without really understanding how or why. It had just caught her attention again and again.

Sesshoumaru had pulled a muscle.

Or at least, it seemed that way. Maybe the Daiyoukai's joints were stiff, or he'd recently gotten a crick in his neck, but whatever the case, it didn't change the fact that he was currently rubbing the back of his neck, again. He'd been doing so on and off for three days now. Naturally, he'd been subtle about it, not making a peep of discomfort. Deadly fingers would comb through his long hair, feigning disinterest in the group's chatter, before casually rubbing the flesh or rolling his shoulder. The briefest flash of relief warmed his eyes before they were hidden by lowered magenta lids. The sight of it always made her stomach flutter.

Rinse, lather and repeat. Kagome was sincerely tired of dog demons and their damned pride.

She stood, having had enough.

"Sesshoumaru."

Approaching his slightly reclined position against a tree outside the hut, she met his curious, steady gaze. "Um..."

This part proved tricky. Though she considered him a friend, the demon lord had given no indication he felt the same. He visited the village for the sake of Rin and tolerated the miko's chatter or her tea offerings, but that was all. "I have this... healing technique you might be interested in." Kagome winced. It wasn't a complete lie.

"This one is not injured." He arched a perfect silver brow.

She grit her teeth. Of course. "S-still. I could really use your help by having someone to practise on. Alone."

"Hn, would your friends not suffice?"

Kagome looked at him flatly. "No. It's just for Daiyoukais."

Assessing her with an unreadable expression, thin lips curved slightly. "How specific."

He stood without another word, gesturing with a graceful motion of his hand for her to lead on. Kagome's heart suddenly went into a fluttering panic. Ah, crap. I'm really going to try and massage a killing machine, aren't I?

Awkwardly padding away from the village huts, she caught Sango's eye, who smiled encouragingly while bouncing one of her twins on her knee. Blushing, Kagome hurried up a hill. Don't get the wrong idea, Sango.

This was Sesshoumaru. The cold-blooded ally who had aided them in the last battle against Naraku, who cared for Rin and occasionally saved them- but paramount in Kagome's mind was one thought; He disliked humans.

So he'd never look at her that way. They were in no danger of misunderstanding. It was fine, totally fine.

Kagome led the way through the trees to the opening of a small, quaint cave within Inuyasha's forest. It was spacious enough for their purposes, and private, not too far away from a babbling brook. A mat had already been laid out, along with some soft materials to make it more comfortable.

Sesshoumaru shot her a look. "This was premeditated."

She sweatdropped. "Yeah, a little. But you could have said no."

"Hn," fierce golden eyes swept down her miko attire.

"Now uh, I-I just need you to take off your armour and hanjuban."

Sesshoumaru complied, flicking open the secures of his battle attire and lifting off the chest plate, before disrobing, complying suspiciously easy. Kagome felt her damned cheeks heat again and quickly turned around. "You're going along with this a lot less stubbornly than I thought you would."

"Did you think me like the half breed? Kicking up a storm over every minor thing?"

Kagome laced her fingers, thoughts turning to Inuyasha and their break up a few months ago. "No, it's just that you're quite a private person."

"Hn," his breath fanned over the back of her neck and Kagome jumped, glancing over her shoulder.

Lean, strong muscle filled her gaze. His chest appeared as built as she'd figured it would be, but the bold magenta stripes dipping low on his hips caught her eye. They drew attention to his abdomen, disappearing under the material of his pants.

Kagome drew in a breath. Certainly, a half-naked Daiyoukai was something to behold. Catching his gold eyes, which seemed to smile even as his mouth remained still, she huffed. "A-anyway!" She took a shaky step back, trying and failing not to get flustered. "Please lie down on your stomach on the mat!"

Now he seemed to pause, assessing the mat. "...This one does not like such a vulnerable position."

"You can hold your sword if it makes you feel better." She teased as payback. When he bristled, she decided to relent. "Alright, sit down instead."

This he agreed to, settling down on the mat and looking at her expectantly, back straight and muscles tense. Kagome smiled encouragingly, before approaching. He seemed to grow more alert the closer she stepped, claws twitching on his folded knees. She wondered why he seemed so...keen?

Stepping around him, she leaned down to kneel at his back, settling behind him.

Sesshoumaru glanced over his shoulder, expression slightly guarded. "What are you doing, miko?"

"My healing technique. Try to relax, and... please don't kill me," she mumbled, pushing back her sleeves. Reaching out, it took all her willpower not to back down under the heavy, intense stare he fixed her with. Kagome quickly grasped the silky silver strands of his hair and pushed them over his shoulder. "Hold this!" She squeaked, hating that they felt exquisite.

Soft palms then settled on the nape of his neck. Using the pads of her thumbs, she massaged the warm, pale skin, blushing all the while. Sesshoumaru tensed, a low growl escaping him. Kagome quickly moved to a lower area, using her fingers and causing the growl to roll into a low, rumbling noise.

Her heart thundered in her chest. Red cheeks deepened into a lush crimson. A part of her realised her mistake. This felt far too intimate between them. True she'd been held by men before, pressed up close to kidnappers. She'd been kissed by Inuyasha. Yet this was different. It felt personal. She'd never touched a man in such a way before. Why had she thought she could do this, again?

But as she kept smoothing her hands over the muscle of his back, Kagome began to feel the tense areas. Embarrassment melted into concentration. It was clear he must have been in discomfort, judging by the amount of time she had to take unwinding a bundle of tense nerves at his lower back.

She blinked, noticing goosebumps whisper over his flesh. The demon shivered.

"Are you cold?"

He straightened. "Do not be foolish."

They were silent for a time, only broken by Sesshoumaru's soft exhales or quick hisses of air he quickly smothered. Kagome became almost used to touching him, feeling the youki simmering under the surface of his skin. He felt so warm and smooth in some areas, yet hard and strong in others. Kagome could almost maybe admit that she enjoyed this strange closeness.

"Do all humans engage in this behaviour before mating?" He uttered.

Kagome squeaked, hands pausing. "E-excuse me?!"

His striped cheek turned, and he glanced at her. "Was that not the reason for demanding my presence, alone? In a secluded area. Disrobed."

"No!" She wailed, humiliated. "This isn't a ploy to seduce you! I'm massaging you. H-haven't you ever had one before?"

She'd figured such a prestigious lord would have luxuries open to him. By the look the Daiyoukai was giving her however, apparently he didn't engage with such things. It also occurred to her that she had not, in fact, clarified what they'd be doing together.

Light fingertips strayed away from his skin, curling into her palm. Kagome looked at him uncertainly, caught between embarrassment and a strange flutter in her chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...give you the wrong idea that I was flirting or something. Should I stop?"

"Do as you please," he muttered, a wry smile touching his mouth that made him appear strangely discontent.

Heat curled in her stomach. Why did he seem disappointed? So unsurprised and jaded, like he'd known from the start there was no hope of her wanting to lie with him. Her mind reeled, hands remaining frozen. Outside, the chirping of birds nesting in the trees and the bubbling water in the brook sounded so much louder.

Seeming to sense her confusion, the demon quietly continued.

"No one is permitted to touch this Sesshoumaru in such a way. Not even lovers."

"Then why allow me to?"

Sesshoumaru turned to face forward, muscles locking. She could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

Slowly, haltingly, traitorous fingers reached out again. This time, the miko glided her hands over the hard plains of his body, careful and considerate. She took more notice of the battle scars littering his skin. She knew from experience with Inuyasha's wounds that only the most fatal and powerful blows left scars on demons bodies. The rest disappeared, mended perfectly on their skin.

And apparently, no one else had touched them. Just her. Kagome looked at the back of his head, emotion squeezing her chest.

Seeing one particularly harsh scar that curved under his shoulder blade, a mad impulse seized her. Brushing her palm over the spot, Kagome dipped down and pressed her lips gently to it.

Immediately realising what the hell she'd done- Kagome reeled back, only to have steel fingers grab her wrist.

Sesshoumaru had turned, long hair sliding forward over his shoulder to pool on the ground. The sunlight behind him caught the strands of silver and illuminated them with a soft radiant glow. Inhuman, molten eyes stared at her, gliding down to her mouth. She could practically feel the heat of his gaze slide down her skin, warming it until a fever spiked her heartbeat into overdrive. Long claws captured her chin and held it a willing hostage.

The silky baritone of his voice dipped low and pleasant. "Will you tease, and say that was a healing technique just now, cruel miko?"

Heart thundering, her throat became dry when a sharp claw smoothed over her bottom lip, thumb grazing.

"I-I just...wanted to..." she murmured, trailing off when hot breath fanned over her lashes.

A wet, lazy tongue slid over her cheek, causing the miko to jolt. "Mn...?"

"I just wanted-" shaky breath hitched, blue eyes hazing as her thighs pressed together. "To make you feel good-"

But it was a lie. Or at least partially so. Hadn't she been masquerading under a friendly face just to spend time with him because of his dry humour, sharp tongue and wonderful way of emboldening her? Hadn't she been pleased when he pulled a muscle, because it meant a reason- an excuse to be close to him. Feel that which was forbidden to touch. In reality, hadn't she been flirting? Dancing around the subject of wanting him. Her body hummed alive, wanting the thing she'd denied herself out of so many things; fear of inadequacy, rejection, and-

"Silence," he uttered, nipping her ear. "If you wish to please this one, follow through with your actions. I refuse to misunderstand you. Be clear, and bold, just as this one has seen you be before."

Kagome blushed and leaned back. She then exhaled and set her shoulders, summoning her courage. It was a small thing now, tamed by heartbreak, but she blew the dust off it and coaxed her bravery alight.

The barriers of hesitation inside her mind fell away, and leaning up, her left her in a dizzying rush as she pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat.

Strong arms caught her about the waist, and she squeaked, feeling herself be pulled flush against him.

Kagome scraped blunt nails over the very skin she'd massaged, willingly straddling the demon lord. The more they touched, the more a feeling grew to towering heights, until her body sighed with catharsis right along with his.

[ddaeng-181338]

The Seven Sins | 01

☾Seven Deadly Sins AU

☾ OT7 x Reader

☾ Smut , Fluff,  Angst

The daughter of Satan himself doesn’t even know how much power she holds...so much power that she has the seven deadly sins themselves wrapped around her finger.

You dropped your pen onto the table, eyes fluttering shut as you groaned softly. You had been working on this assignment for three hours now, your hands were sore and your head felt like it was going to fall off your shoulders if you didn’t get some coffee soon. Why is he so obsessed with this topic. The Seven Deadly Sins — the topic your professor was obsessed with this semester and wanted a full project done on them.

Your eyes opened slowly to take in the small cafe around you, it was getting colder by the day — meaning the sun would leave earlier and earlier. It was only 6pm and it was as dark as midnight out. Your tired eyes moved begrudgingly back to your paper — you had typed the whole thing out but your professor decided today would be the day he told you he wouldn’t take it unless it was written out on paper.Your eyes moved down to the many papers before you and you begun to re read what you wrote.

Pride — this sin is said to be the foremost sin out of the seven, he is said to be the gateway for all other sins to enter the human soul. Pride is something we were taught from birth, we are told we are the best, the prettiest, the cutest. It is something we grow up with and all still have. This is why Pride is the deadliest of all seven sins. He will never leave us. No matter what we do. It is said that if you enter the gates of Hell because of the Sin Pride — your punishment is to be broken on a wheel.

Pride is linked with the horse and the color violet.

You had referred to each sin as “he” it was easier than calling them “it” every time. Referring to them as people was more personal for you and easier to write. Your professor wanted an introduction paragraph for each sin. In your mind Pride was the leader so he came first.  The next sin you wrote about was Gluttony.

Gluttony- this sin contains a strong desire to consume more than what is needed. We were weaned improperly as infants, always expecting more than just the milk we were given. He is also a very prominent sin we all contain. It is said that if you go to Hell for the sin of gluttony your punishment is to be force fed rats, and toads.

Gluttony is linked with the pig and the color orange.

Gluttony had only short descriptions in every book and website you found. He was pretty self explanatory. You looked up again — if you looked at your own writing for more than a few minutes the lines would blur together and you'll get nowhere. “Maybe I need a Coffee.” You toyed with the idea of leaving your chair to order a drink but decided against it and moved onto your next Sin — Sloth

Sloth — this sin is the avoidance of physical or spiritual work. In a more understandable way — he is a very tired and lazy sin. He is something we all possess to an extent. It is said that if you go to Hell for the sin of Sloth your punishment is to be thrown in a pit full of snakes and to dance for eternity.

Sloth is linked with the goat and the color light blue.

Your eyes scanned lower — only four sins left for you to proofread.

Lust — this sin is the inordinate craving for the pleasures of the body. Why do we do it? I’m sure you know I shouldn’t have to explain that to you. It along with Pride just might be the sin we are all guilty of no matter what. It is said that the punishment for those who enter hell due to the sin of lust will be smothered in fire and brimstone — not hugs and kisses

Lust is linked with the cow and the color blue.

Wrath — this sin is rage, anger and violence. We are wired to feel the emotion of anger, but some of us feel it more often than others. It is said that if you enter hell because of the sin Wrath your punishment is to be dismembered alive, to be torment as it happens.

Wrath is linked with the bear and the color red.

Greed — this sin is the desire for material wealth and material possessions.This sin cares more for objects than it does for anything spiritual. We all possess this sin form time to time, letting our possessions get the better of us. It is said that if you enter hell for the sin of greed you will be boiled Alive in the richest oils there are — but you’re still boiling alive so really does it matter?

Greed is linked with the frog and the color yellow.

Your eyes looked up to take in your surroundings again. There was only one sin left on your report but your eyes were dropping and you’d just have to suck it up and go order a coffee. You slipped off your stool and headed for the counter. There wasn’t really anyone else in the cafe besides a boy sitting in the corner using the free WiFi and two girls holding hands and flirting — they were regulars at this point.

But what caught your attention on your way up to the counter was the chocolate Labrador dog sitting outside the cafe window, eyes trailing you as you moved. You hadn’t noticed him before and were tempted to walk outside and see if he had a collar. However something in you told you not to and you decided against it — eyes turning back to the counter in front of you.

“How can I help you miss?” The girl behind the counter had a shy smile on her cheeks — in all the times you’d come here you’d never seen her. She must be new. “Hi! Could I just get the strongest thing you got.” You didn’t care at this point what it tasted like — as long as it woke you up. “Sure, one of those days hmm?” She tapped your order onto the screen and your order number and amount due popped up on the little machine in front of you.

“It’s definitely one of those days.” She gave you a sympathetic nod before leaving the counter to go make your drink. Once again your eyes trailed over to the window, the same chocolate lab sitting at the shop window watching you. Why in the world is that dog so content out in the cold like that? And why the hell is he watching me so intently?

“Ma’am?” You shapes back to reality and turned to the shy girl at the counter once more. “Oh! Sorry…” you took the cup from her hands — it was a cold drink. “Thank you!” You walked away, keeping your eyes trained on the floor below you. That dog outside the window was giving you an uncomfortable feeling. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s a dog. That’s it. A dog.

You sat down at your table again, poking the straw into your cup and taking a few long sips. Damn this shit really is strong. You felt it kicking in already, the caffeine bringing you to life. You flipped to the last page of your paper — one sin left — Envy.

Envy— this sin is the desire for others belongings, traits, statuses and abilities. We possess this sin because of the world around us — there will always be people who we believe are prettier than us, have more money than us, are better at things than us. It is said that if you enter the gates of Hell due to the sin of Envy you will be put in freezing water for eternity.

Envy is linked with the dog and the color green

You read the last sentence and froze. Eyes scanning over your words one last time before your head shot up — turning towards the window where the brown dog was still sitting. The uneasy feeling in your stomach intensified when you looked at that dog. Stop y/n, you’re...you’re being paranoid. You put all your papers back into the folder you brought with you. Your hands felt clammy as you shoved it in your laptop bag and reached out to grab your laptop. You didn't know why you need to get out of the small cafe or why that damn dog was making you panic but you needed to leave.

You shoved your laptop into your bag and threw whatever was left on the small table in the bag as well. “Ma’am is everything okay?” The same shy girl from the counter was now standing in front of you. You froze, eyes wide as you realized how insane you must look. “I...I’m fine.” You watched her for a moment, the panicking feeling fading the longer you looked at her. What the fuck

“Ma’am are you sure…” her voice morphed into something deeper and you snapped out of your daze. Panic formed in you again — this time morphed into utter terror. “What the fuck are you?” You backed up a step, eyes roaming over the whole cafe only to realize it was now empty. “Your worst nightmare darling.” Her eyes shifted, her dark brown eyes turning pure black, enveloping the whites of her eyes as her skin grew paler.

You backed away from her...it slowly, your skin felt freezing and your hands shook. She wasn’t human, in no way was she human. But if she wasn’t human...what was she? Before you could really register it the cafe door opened and a man in a long dark brown leather coat walked in. There was a mask over his face and his dark hair was covering most of his eyes. The thing in front of whipped around to look at the man and an inhumane sound before speaking.

“Envy? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE.” Its voice ripped through the cafe and you jumped. “You knew from the beginning Lilith, i was sent to get her. Not you.” The creature — Lilith growled in response. “How am I supposed to trust the youngest of the Sins to come retrieve Satan’s daughter?” You froze… did she just call him...Envy? The Youngest Sin? I must be dreaming.

“You can trust the youngest sin because he has more power than you ever will Lilith. I can handle the girl just fine.” Lilith rolled her eyes and backed away from you, her demonic form shifting back into the shy barista girl you saw only moments before hand. “Sorry your highness, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Your highness? Daughter of Satan? What the hell… “don’t mind her y/n. We need to get going now. You see i was sent to retrieve you and bring you back to Hell with me. I can explain on the way, but were on a time crunch so you must come with me now.”

“What in the fuck are you talking about? You think I’m going to willingly  follow you two? What the hell are you…” the room around you begun to spun and you stumbled back a bit. “I’m sorry your highness, but this is for the best.” Envy moved towards you and you felt as if the air was being taken out of your lungs. “I...I don’t…” your voice was deep and slurred and your arms and legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Envy reached you and picked you up bridal style — you had no energy to fight back but being in his embrace you felt oddly safe.

“Just sleep y/n you’ll be safe with us okay? I promise.” You nodded sleepily, eyes shutting against your will as darkness greeted you like an old friend.

[rolanslide]

Never wanna lose you

(okay, I don’t write often anymore because I have -100 confidence in my writing skills but I decided to take a crack at writing a thing based off of this post because it physically hurt me. enjoy)

(also, thanks to my sister @vee-tdc​ for beta-ing this for me. Thank you, boo)

(edit: there’s a second part now)

Crowley, for the longest time, was never 100% sure about how he felt towards his angelic counterpart. It was never something really bothered thinking about too hard. Oh, he knew he cared for him deeply, that much he knew very well. Since they first met in Eden, Crowley had been utterly fascinated by the angel* and he knew that he enjoyed the angels presence. But beyond that, he was never quite sure. 

(*It wasn’t every day you met an angel that gave away his God-given sword and lied about it to her face, after all.)

If you were to ask Crowley to describe his overall feelings towards the angel in one word, say, 20 or so years ago, he would probably say fondness. He was fond of the angels kindness towards God's creatures, he was fond of his clothing that always seemed to be a century or two behind in style, he was fond of the angels imperfections*, he was… well he was fond of a lot of things about his friend. The angel drove him up the wall sometimes, but then again, Crowley was no better. It’s simply what happens when you know someone for that long*.

(*Crowley had spent a lot of time around the angels, when he still was one that is, so he knew how terribly self-righteous and ignorant most of them had a tendency to be. Aziraphale wasn’t like that though. He was quirky, somewhat selfish, and flawed, and he knew it and he acknowledged it. Unlike virtually every other angel Crowley had met, Aziraphale was self-aware.)

(*and also when you’re an angel and a demon, hereditary enemies and all.)

But yeah, Crowley never thought too hard about how exactly he saw Aziraphale. He was his friend. As far as Crowley was concerned, that was all he needed to know.

And then the day the world would end rolled around.

~~

Crowley had lost hope of the world being miraculously saved at the last minute. He knew that if the planet didn’t self-implode, taking himself and Aziraphale with it, either Heaven or Hell* would eventually come for their arses for fucking up so royally. Either way, he knew that if him and his angelic friend didn’t figure out something fast, the two needed to get out, and get out quick. 

(*Or both)

Then the angel turned him down.

Of course Crowley was hurt by this. He was just trying to save himself and his friend of 6000 years, and he was turned down and insulted. He knew Aziraphale didn’t mean half of what he said, it had happened time and time again. It happened 11 years ago when he handed over the antichrist, it happened in Saint. James Park in 1862*, and it was happening again now. That didn’t mean the words didn’t still hurt though. It was a natural reaction when your only real friend treated the past several thousand years together as if they were nothing, as if they didn’t mean anything. 

(*This time though, Crowley wouldn’t take a several decade long nap to cope. If he did, by the time he would wake, there would be no more Aziraphale to apologize to, or an earth to thrive on with him. So that was off the table.)

It was then that his fears seemed to come into fruition. Hell had found out about everything, and they were coming after him.

He had to get Aziraphale.

He knew as long as hell was coming after him, Aziraphale may be in danger too. He had to prevent that. So he tried asking again. 

And once again, he was turned down by the angel*.

(*Although he was much kinder about it this time. Perhaps just because he was tired. He looked really tired)

This time though, he didn’t give in so easily, no time for sulking or breaking down. Crowley was a man of action, after all. He knew that the angel wouldn’t want him to use the blessed holy water he had given him to kill a guy, but he was sure Aziraphale would understand*. 

(*If he were to find out, that is.)

The plan to stop Hell’s goonies from coming for the both of them went slightly better than expected. Ligur was a melted pile of rubbish, sure, but the means of trapping of the other half of the deadly pair was temporary at best. He was growing increasingly concerned about his and the angel’s safety; in the back of his mind fearing that hell had decided to send assassins for both him and the angel*. 

(*Hastur calling Aziraphale by name after he had gotten trapped in the answering machine didn’t help calm Crowley’s anxieties to say the least.)

No, Crowley thought, that isn’t an option. Aziraphale was fine. He was clever, he wouldn’t let himself be outsmarted by some pesky, unoriginal demons. There was no way-

The thick clouds of black smoke that filled the sky above him seemed to want to prove him wrong. Police sirens and blaring Fire Truck engines sounded off, far too close for Crowley’s liking. 

“No…”

Crowley was panicking as he sped down the London roads in his vintage car*. He had tried calling Aziraphale. No one picked up. The angel never kept him hanging like that. Ever. His heart rate, that he didn’t even really need, sped up at an inhuman rate as he drew closer to the flaming remnants of his the Angel’s bookshop.  

(*Probably a dangerous situation for any unfortunate pedestrian who just so happened to be nearby, but at this point the demon couldn’t care less about their safety)

Angels and demons alike had a sort of sixth sense- the ability to sense the presence of other supernatural entities from a mile away. The ability to sense their auras, if you will. And when you know someone for 6,000 years, you know exactly what their aura feels like.

Right now, standing in the blazing ruins of Aziraphales home, Crowley couldn’t feel anything.

“AZIRAPHALE!”

He could hardly hear himself over the roaring flames and sirens as he called out for his Angel.

“Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you, you idiot?! I can’t find you!”, Crowley’s voice shrieked as his vision began to blur.

He still searched, trying to find the presence of his the Angel, somewhere, anywhere-

The demon had the air knocked out of him as a particularly strong water hose was sprayed right at his corporeal body, knocking him off his feet.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The too hot- too familiar fire roared around the demon as he came to a horrific, crushing realization. 

Hellfire. The fire surrounding him was bloody fucking Hellfire. 

 A demon had been sent to Aziraphale and lit his home ablaze, leaving him there to burn. Alone.

“You’ve- you’ve gone…”

It was only then that everything hit him.

For the first time- Crowley had felt what it was like to be truly alone. As a Fallen, he was destined to be alone for the rest of eternity. When he had spoken to the Angel at the Eastern gate of Eden, he had never expected anything more than just a few bouts of banter, and nothing else. 

But that fateful day was one he would never regret for the rest of eternity. Crowley had never realized that, since the beginning, he had never been truly alone. Aziraphale was his light in the dark future he was destined to have. Life with a friend was never in his script for the rest of time, but he had gotten luckier than any other demon in Hell to have Aziraphale. 

“SOMEBODY KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!”

Now, he was alone. For the first time in a millennia. No one could replace Aziraphale, nothing could fill the hole in his heart only his Angel was able to. And it was more painful than anything he had ever felt since he fell. A devastating realization had come to Crowley in his moment of desolation. 

“BASTARDS!”, he hissed out in anger. “ALL OF YOU!”

Crowley had loved him. It was beyond just care, beyond just fondness.

He had loved him.

And now, he was gone.

Forever.

.

.

.

The demon seemed only vaguely aware of his actions. The sirens, that were not quite out of earshot, and the distant smell of smoke and ash engraved themselves into Crowley’s senses as he drove down the road. To where, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Somewhere along the way he had put on another pair of sunglasses- a feeble attempt at masking his pathetic vulnerability he felt he was drowning in.

He found himself stopping in front of a nearby pub. He remembered going to this specific pub before, alongside Azira-

He looked over to the passenger side seat, just hoping that his friend would be there. Complaining about the speed limit and telling him to “be careful” and “slow down”.

The seat remained empty.

Crowley’s train of thought was cut off as he was seemingly subconsciously reminded of his loss, and he doubled over, white-knuckling the steering wheel of his Bentley, as a new wave of grief washed over him, crushing him under its weight.  

It seemed that the feeling of being alone, really, truly alone, was kind of like being hit by a cannonball; sudden, unexpected, and bone-crushingly painful. 

It never really occurred to him how much he had gotten used to the feeling of having someone constantly by his side, someone who would always keep him company. Even when the two were apart physically, in the back of the demons mind Aziraphale’s presence was still there, golden and warm and kindly. Although he couldn’t be sure, he hoped the angel had always felt his presence too. It was… well, it was rather nice, being that close with someone. Rather comforting, really. 

In an instant, that warmth, companionship, and comfort was all just just simply... gone.

A dark pit had made its way into his stomach and ribs, swirling and brewing with an intensity that he had never felt before. Despite this, he knew what it was.

Grief.

He only became aware that he had started crying again when he felt hot tears soak his jacket and drip onto his violently trembling hands. Sobs shook his frame as the soot and ash on his face that he hadn’t bothered to miracle away turned to mud that stained his cheeks. 

“A-aziraph-a-ale…”

Demons weren’t supposed to cry. 

“A-z-ziraphal-e-e…”

With all of the shit Crowley’s seen in his long lifespan he shouldn’t be crying. 

“Please… d-don’t… d-on’t...”

But here he was, in his Bentley, sat in front of a pub, bawling uncontrollably, struggling for air because Aziraphale, his angel who he loved so much, who had been the only one to treat him with kindness, was gone.

 Gone, gone, gone, gone-

He doesn’t think he’s felt this much emotional distress since he fell.

Before, Crowley hadn’t even considered what it would’ve been like to have his constant counterpart suddenly snatched away from him. Aziraphale had been discorperated before- they both had- leaving the other alone for a few years while the paperwork for a new body was filled out and they were allowed to come back down to Earth. But that was different. Back then, there was the promise of return. It might take as long as a decade*, but they would inevitably see each other again. 

(*the amount of time before given a new body depended on the circumstances of death. For example, when Aziraphale was burned at the stake in the middle of the Edinburgh witch trials, it took about 8 years to get him a new body. Partially because of the large amount of souls arriving at heaven's doorstep due to the trials, partially because Gabriel decided the angel needed to learn a lesson about responsibility. Needless to say, Aziraphale came back from that whole debacle with a bad case of pyrophobia and even lower self esteem.)

This time, however, there was no promise of return. All Crowley had was a burning bookshop and a lost friend.

The demon sat up in his Bentley, taking a deep, shaky breath in a feeble attempt to steady himself, not bothering to try and wipe away the streams of tears and soot on his face.

Maybe drinking until he passed out would dull the edges of the sword of grief that cut through his very being. Yeah, yeah, he would do that.

The world wasn’t worth saving at this point if he didn’t have Aziraphale to share it’s wonders with.

~~

Well, as it turns out, Crowley was wrong.

Aziraphale wasn’t dead, gone forever as Crowley had feared. He had simply lost his body in an altercation that ended with a particularly inconvenient candle being knocked over by the force of a slamming door*.

(*and this, as Crowley had told Aziraphale later on, is why you don’t leave lit candles on the floor in a bookshop full of very flammable books)

But just because the angel wasn’t actually gone, that didn’t mean Crowley wouldn’t have to deal with the emotional fallout of thinking that he was for a few hours. Now that they were sure the world wouldn’t spontaneously combust anytime soon and that their superiors would give them some air, they, for the first time in what felt like centuries, had time to relax. Time to think.

And think they did. Or, at least Crowley did.

He thought about every stolen glance, every spoken word, every kind hearted gesture, every accidental hand touch-

Oh. Fuck. He’s fallen hard, hasn’t he?

Turns out the human term ‘you never know how much you love something until you lose it’ has more weight to it then Crowley had previously thought.

After everything, the bookshop being burned down, the A-not-calypse, his and Aziraphales trials*, etc. etc., Crowley spent a lot of time re-evaluating his emotions towards the angel over the past several thousand years he’s known him. It was kind of like sifting through old computer files you haven’t touched or thought about in years.*

(*Well, Crowley's trial and Aziraphale’s failed execution, considering the fact that the angels, Aziraphales family, didn’t even bother to give him a proper trial.)

(*not that either Aziraphale or Crowley would know what that felt like.)

It was surreal, almost, to look at all of those shared moments from a slightly different perspective. They all felt so different, but at the same time, felt the exact same. Loving the angel just felt… natural*. 

(*despite the fact that a demon loving an angel was anything but natural.)

Well, all things considered, Crowley had loved Aziraphale for awhile now. Keeping him from having his head lopped off during the French Revolution, keeping his books from being blown to pieces, trying to convince him to run away with him… they were all acts of love on Crowley's part.

...It just took nearly losing the bastard for him to actually realize this.

Crowley wasn’t quite sure what to do with this information. Should he say something to the angel? Would doing so even change anything? Would it just get them in even deeper trouble with their higher-ups? Was it even possible to get in further trouble?

The whole situation gave Crowley a migraine.

He tried to not think about it too hard, like he used to do.  

Although, when his heart suddenly fluttered and climbed up his throat whenever the angel so much as smiled at him…

It made not thinking about it a lot harder.

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

Junkie

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warning: Demon blood addiction, angst, fluffy end, first fic ever written for on Tumblr,

Summary: Dean’s a demon, and the reader just wants to be the best hunter there is. Demon Dean knows the fix for that.

Word Count: 2,018

a/n: Told entirely in the first person. Edited it a bit, added some more content.

Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

~

Time was getting tough between me and the Winchester’s. Feels were raging, or was it hormones. I couldn’t take Dean’s asshole attitude, being a dick ninety percent of the time. When they slept I left a note for each of them explaining myself. Didn’t hear from them, I took it that they really didn’t want me, confirming not only Dean’s attitude, but Sam’s. That was months ago.

My phone vibrated and vibrated, indicating to me either my alarm was going off or I was getting a call. Sam was calling me. A pit in my gut says something’s wrong. He never calls me. Even when we were hunting together, when Sam called, something happened to Dean.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?” Sam sounded lost, broken on the other end.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? How’s Dean?” I asked rapid fire.

“I’m fine, Dean died a few days ago and now…” he paused. What? Dean died?

“He,” I began. My eyes stung, tears surfacing.

“He’s alive, don’t know why but he’s a demon.” He stated.

“A demon but, the tattoo you guys have.” I said, almost asking a question in that.

“I know, not sure if it’s intact. It could be the mark.” He said. The mark?

“You might have to get me up to speed on what you guys have been doing, what mark?” I asked.

“The Mark of Cain.” He said.

The next half hour was him saying he got the mark from Cain himself, on a mission to kill Abaddon. Now they were on a mission to kill Metatron, but Metatron killed Dean in the process. Now he’s a demon, doing god knows what.

“I’ll be on the lookout Sam.” I said.

“So, you’re not coming back, I know he can be a dick but, it’s Dean. It just takes him a while to warm up.” he tried to beg me back. It might have worked.

“I’ll have to think about it Sam,” I told him. Hesitant maybe at the thought of getting back with them. “I might, this hunting solo thing, it’s tough.” I said.

“I know, Dean did it for a while before he found me. Not sure how he got by, but I know we can save him. It was something I learned from the trials.” He said.

“The demon cure? Sam, what are the chances it would work and it not working?” I asked. There was that chance it could work.

“Never know until we try, we have to find him first.” He said.

“Like I said, I’ll keep an eye out.” I said.

After assuring him I’m fine right now, and I’d call him if I found him. Knowing Dean, not only making the search for him my top priority, I searched every bar with in a 50 mile radius.

I came across one, just by accident. I was done for the day, got a room down the road just needed a drink to unwind and relax.

“Hello Ferret.” A familiar brit or scot whatever.

“Crowley,” I say, meeting his gaze.

“And why do you give me that nickname, I’m not a ferret.” I whine.

“Would you rather I call you a rabbit?” he asked.

“Yes, rabbits are cuter, and they’re not mean.” I said.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

“Finishing up a long hunt, needed a drink. Now leave.” I asked, as the bartender brought me my drink, whisky on rocks.

And then I sensed someone sitting next to me, a little too close.

“Not interested.” I said coldly.

“Not even for an old friend.” It was Dean.

“An old dick ass of a friend.” I said harshly.

“I deserved that.” He said, stating the obvious.

Taking a sip of my drink. “What do you want Dean?” I asked coldly.

“Did Sam send you?” he asked.

“No, I was working a salt and burn nearby. Happened upon some witches at the same time, putting an undead asshole to rest, I’m exhausted. And I just want to unwind, and be left alone.” I said, lying at the same time. There was no witch.

“Tired of feeling exhausted all the time?” he asked. “Feel like you’ve lost that drive.” He adds.

“Doesn’t everyone?” I asked. “And you’re sounding like a, Viagra commercial or something.” I added.

He just smiles, clearly up to something. And gets up to leave. But I follow behind, leaving my payment for my drink on the table. In an alleyway, Crowley was there and did some spell that forced my feet to remain glued. I couldn’t move. Dean turns around, holding a small vial. It had dark liquid. I could only assume it’s his blood, his demon blood.

He starts walking up to me. “You’ll be a hunting machine; you’ll never be tired again. kill all the bad and not need a break.” He pitched.

“Sounds tempting, but pass. Sam nearly died when we tried to detox him off of demon blood. I’m not going down that stupid path.” I said.

“Oh, but my blood’s different than Ruby’s sweetheart.” He says. And he is close, he pulls the lid off.

“And you’re going to try it, one way or another.” He says.

Closing the distance, grabs my hair jerking my head back. The sudden sting of pain I gasped; he forced the red metallic tasting liquid through my lips. Once the vial was empty, he forced my jaw shut, forcing me to swallow. But I hold the liquid. I heard him groan in frustration, firm fingers stroking almost harshly on neck, forcing the muscles to relax and swallow.

The taste, was awful but the effects. Hearing became so keen. All the senses became keen. I smelled EVERYTHING. Heard everything to the fine pitter patter of his heartbeat. My head began to spin at the new senses.

“The high will last a bit, keep you busy for a while.” He said.

My gaze zeroed in on an individual. I saw fangs drawn; it was an alleyway across the main road from me. A vampire drinking from his next victim.

I sprint, faster than how I normally would run. Almost inhuman. And I grab him by the throat, throwing him away from the girl who dropped nearly lifeless, her heartbeat beating faintly. I took out my machete I keep on me, under my shirt on my back. And I behead him right then and there. Burning his body in an empty dumpster, I take the girl to the ER. And I call Sam, telling him I found Dean only for the phone to answer to some dude named Cole. He’s looking for Dean, for revenge.

“You don’t wanna do that, he’s not exactly,” I began only for him to cut me off.

“I don’t care, he killed my father, I vowed revenge.” He yelled.

“Fine, but it’s your funeral.” I said, hanging up. Now I have to warn Dean.

I think I’m still on my high, because I can smell him. I remember his smell, his scent. But he knew right away I was there at the bar.

“Can’t get enough sweetheart.” He says coyly. A smirk followed.

“Someone is after you, not Sam, a dude named Cole.” I said.

“Let him come, it’ll be his funeral.” He says.

“Already did, just don’t kill him.” I say.

“He your boyfriend or something.” He says.

“No, humility, I have a heart and soul. He’s just a hurting human, out for revenge for his father.” I explained bluntly.

He takes a drink from his beer. “You want more?” he asked.

“My head is starting to split in two, I feel sick. If this is the withdraw, yes. I want more.” I said.

He chuckles. “You give in too easily, meet me at your motel room.” He said.

 He was true to his motive. I had gotten out of the shower, and tried to sleep but the pain, vertigo and the sick feeling would not subside. I sat on the edge of the bed, massaging my temples.

I felt the bed dip beside me.

“Ready for another hit sweetheart?” he asked, holding up his wrist, and in his hand a regular pocketknife. “Gotta be quick before I heal.” He says, bringing the blade across his flesh. And I see the blood ooze freely from the cut.

I tried to resist it. Turning my head away, but he just eggs it on. Holding his wrist closer to my lips. I felt the warm liquid touch my lips. Tasting the metallic flavor on my tongue. I was hooked.

My lips latched on; I began to suck on his wound. Feeling the liquid pouring into my mouth. I held his wrist close. At the same moment, tears began to sneak through my closed eyes.

I could feel him petting my hair, soothing me.

“That’s it my little junkie. Drink up.” he says.

What turned into two, turned into four, six then too many to keep track of. But once Sam found Dean, cured him I still tried to hide the fact that I’m going through withdraw.

It was the same night he was cured; I hadn’t had a hit of demon blood since Dean was cured, even days before then. I wanted to get off of it before I was in too deep. I tried to convince myself I could do this on my own. I didn’t need help. I even tried hiding it from the guys.

I think the dead giveaway was I was sweating, shaky, irritable.

I sat in my room on my bed, dead center of it with my knees hugged at my chest. My door opens with a loud thud. Sam walks in, angry yet concerned Dean right behind.

“You drank demon blood!” he shouted.

“I was going to tell you; thought I could do this myself.” I said. Bringing my head to my knees.

“We could have helped you.” Sam continued to shout. Dean placed a hand on his shoulder, calming him or attempting to.

“We’ve been through this before. We can help.” Dean says.

“It’s so bad, my ears are ringing, it’s so bad I can barely hear you. My head wants to split in two, the smells burn my nose and the light hurts my eyes. I can’t take it anymore.” I cried, placing hands on my ears, cradling my head.

“Y/N,” Sam says softly. “It’s withdraw, it’s going to be bad for a few days, maybe a week, depending on how much Dean gave you.” Sam explains, kneeling next to the bed.

“In the meantime, we’re going to have you in the dungeon while you go through the worst of it.” Sam adds.

“Am I dangerous?” I asked looking up at Sam, tears in my eyes at the fear of what is happening to me.

“No, well maybe. We don’t know how you’ll be during this. I know when I was going through it I had to be strapped to the bed.” Sam says.

“I just want to get better.” I cried. Bringing my head back down to my knees. I felt the bed dip. A familiar smell. Dean.

“You will, with our help you’ll get better.” Dean says, placing a strong arm around me hugging me from the side. I hug back, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“This is going to be a hard road, it’ll seem long, but we’ll be there for you to lean on. Give you a little push, but you will get better. Just got to keep on fighting sweetheart.” Dean says. I nod in his chest.

“I just wanted to be a better hunter. I wanted to find you all the same. I was tired of how weak I was, how easily tired I got, how easy it was to catch me, to hurt me.” I continued.

“Sweetheart, you’re better than any of us. And you’re going to get through this, because you’re a badass. You’re strong. But once you come out of the other side of this, you’ll be even stronger. Trust me.” Dean continues, rubbing my arm and shoulder in the hug.

“Come on, let’s do this.” Dean says, getting up. Leading me to the dungeon where I was going to fight for a better me.

Let me know what you think reblog/ask, feedback is fuel for success and better fics for all creators. ps, sorry for the long delay. had a rough week. :)

~

Dean tags:

@pandazombie69, @luci-in-trenchcoats​, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @mlovesstories, @winchesters-favorite-girl

~

[A/N: Any fic made by me is mine, please do not copy and paste my stories. All characters belong to Supernatural and that belongs to CW and creator Eric Krepke, this is purely fiction. Don’t steal/copy and paste. Plus Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 10/3/2020]

[a-crack-in-the-universe]

Time is Everything

She stays by his bedside and watches him sleep, holding his hand as if it’s precious. His face is smoothed over, as if he’s shed years’ worth of hardship, though she can still see some lines between his brows and shadows beneath his eyes.

If he looks like that, god knows what state she’s in. She really doesn’t want to look into a mirror to find out. (She’s had quite enough of mirrors after her time in the Realm of Darkness.)

The battle to subdue Terra had been quick, but difficult. As she’d expected, Terra (or rather, Xehanort) had resisted her attempts to convince Terra to come with her peacefully, and had drawn his keyblade. She’d drawn hers in response, and the fight had begun. By the end of it, neither of them had been in good shape. Terra had been all but unconscious, with dark bruises and cuts littering his body. She herself can barely stand, let alone sit, her bruises hurt so much from when she’d been thrown hard to the ground by aeroga spells. Aerith wants her to rest and recover in bed, but she can’t make herself leave until she knows that Terra will be okay.

They’d told her, when she first brought him in, that there isn’t much they can do to help purify his heart of Xehanort’s darkness. He must win the battle himself—they can only restrain him, to stop the old corrupted master from escaping. So they placed him in one of the cells in the dungeons of the castle (Aqua made sure that they at least gave him a cot to sleep on), where the apprentices had imprisoned and tortured innocent people in the name of experimentation.      

She won’t let him endure this fight alone, Keyblade Master duties be damned. She’s tired of being dutiful. It’s what she done for most of her life, up until her fall into the Realm of Darkness, and she’s sick of it. For the first time, she chooses to focus on what she cares about most, and not push it aside for the sake of duty. What she wants right now is to be there for Terra, no matter if he can’t actually see or hear her.

And so she waits with him, her mind whirling with fear and hope. Soon, she thinks, it will all be over, and they can go return Ven’s heart to his body in Castle Oblivion together. Then the three of them will be a family again.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she finds herself being shaken awake by Even. Without a word (and indeed, she’s too tired to say anything) she lifts her head from where it somehow found itself on the bit of pillow beside Terra’s head, and hauls herself to her feet, swaying. Even moves to steady her, but is stopped by the determined look on her face. He instead moves to open the door and lead her toward the laboratory, where Ansem and his apprentices wait.

Ienzo and Ansem are seated at the machines, typing and peering intently at a computer screen. They look up as she comes toward them.

‘Do you think this will work?’

Ienzo and Ansem look at each other, as if they’re debating what to tell her. Annoyance surges in her. She’s not a dainty flower—she can handle the truth, no matter how brutal it is. She is Master Aqua.

‘Please,’ she says quickly, before they can reply. ‘The full truth.’

‘We are hopeful,’ Ienzo tells her gravely. ‘But we can’t say what will happen.’

‘It will be painful,’ Ansem warns. ‘It may not be successful.’

‘But we have to try,’ Aqua says, shivering slightly. ‘I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything I could to save Terra.’

Ven, too.

Ansem nods. To her surprise, she thinks she sees a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. ‘We will, you may count on it.’

She remembers that Xehanort, still in Terra’s body, had become Ansem’s apprentice after their battle in Radiant Garden. And had later brutally betrayed him and everything he stood for.

She squeezes his hand in gratitude. ‘Thank you.’

It takes five days to purify Terra. Five agonizing days, for both of them.

She stays by his side through all of it, watching as he shudders and writhes. Sometimes he wakes up and his eyes are a flickering blue. He calls her name, and Ven’s, and her heart squeezes at the pain and longing in his voice.

At other times his eyes are a cruel, terrifying gold. He snarls at her in an inhuman voice, saying terrible things that she knows Terra would never say to her if he were in his right mind. This Terra would attack her if he could. She casts a reflega spell just in case and waits until he stops.

Mercifully, he never manages to injure her. She knows that he would never forgive himself if he harmed her, unknowingly or not.

Once, he appears lucid. His hand reaches for her, and she can feel the desperation in his fingers as they grasp at her wrist.

She looks into his eyes and hopes. ‘Terra. Are you okay now?’  

‘N-no...’ He buries his head in her lap. ‘I’m scared. It... hurts…’

Her heart aches to see him like this, in this much pain. She has to do something for him, so she takes out her wayfinder—the one thing that had bolstered her courage while she was still trapped in the Realm of Darkness. Hopefully it will help Terra in his hour of need.  

‘Here,’ she says to him. ‘Remember this? It will lead you back to the light.’ She wraps his fingers around it and brings it to his chest. It glows faintly, pulsative to the rhythm of his heart.

He sighs; she can feel him relax underneath her fingertips. Good. Stay strong for me, Terra. For us. You have to win this, so the three of us can be together again. Please, Terra.  

She can’t tell if he can hear her, but she knows she sees his fingers move to grasp the wayfinder more tightly to his chest.    

On the fifth day, Aqua is woken up by the feel of a hand grasping at her shoulder. She immediately sits up, all remnants of sleep gone, ready to face the assailant. Then she remembers where she is and looks to one side. Sure enough, Terra is there, not just physically but mentally and spiritually.  

She looks deeply into his eyes. They don’t flicker anymore; there are no traces of gold left in them. Relief swells in her. The plan worked; Master Xehanort no longer holds any sway over Terra. She is so overjoyed that she could leap and dance, but instead she settles for gripping his hand and grinning wildly.

‘A…qua?’

She squeezes his hand in answer to his unspoken question. He relaxes imperceptibly, but there is still worry in his eyes.

‘Ven?’

‘He’s safe,’ she assures him. ‘We can go wake him up together as soon as you’re strong enough.’

He lets out a breath. ‘…good…’ His eyes flutter closed again. ‘You could’ve… woke him up… without me…’

She smiles and shakes her head. ‘I told Ven we’d both be there to wake him up. I couldn’t let him down.’    

His chest shakes with laughter. ‘Yeah. You’re right. We can’t do that to Ven.’    

He reaches out to her; without thinking she grabs his hand and guides it to her cheek, revelling in the feeling of his calloused palm against her skin.  

‘…love you,’ he murmurs. ‘Should’ve said it before… too scared.’

She swallows hard. ‘Of what?’

‘Hurting you.’

The idea that he would hurt her would’ve been laughable, once. But that was before his hands had choked her neck. She doesn’t mention that, of course.  

‘Why now?’

She knows, though. They’re going into battle in a little over a month. Who knows who will survive?

Terra gives a hoarse laugh that ends in a grimace. ‘Wasn’t sure I’d get another chance.’

She doesn’t know what to say. So she stays silent, long after he slips back into a fitful sleep, his hand held tightly in her own. Truthfully, she doesn’t yet know what she wants. Is she truly ready to enter into a relationship with Terra? Is it something she truly wants? She can’t say right now, but maybe, after all this is over, she’ll have an answer for him.

She only hopes that they’ll both be alive to hear it.  

[baelllamyblake]

You’re My Everything. ( Bellamy Blake x Reader )

Request : Heyy! If you're still doing requests can you do a Bellamy x reader where they get into a fight and it kind of follows the quote "Since I'm not your everything, how about I'll be nothing at all to you?" And it ends in fluff? Sorry if that didn't make sense!! - ANON

Pairing : Bellamy Blake x Reader

Warnings : Angst, hinted smut, fluff,  like 4 curse words

Word Count : 2,452

A/N : woo second request ever & sorry if it doesn't really follow the quote my baaaad also a lot of sentences are random, imagine those as your thoughts? idk Keep requesting me though !! This is really fun !! love you !!

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED SO PLEASE FCK ME UP WID IT <3

“ How’s the princess doing? “ Bellamy peeped in from the entrance of your room with a sweet tone and a happy. You shifted your glance from your leg brace to Bellamy, returning his grin with a smile of your own.

“ Just fine, king. Knee aches a little. “ You replied shortly after heaving your tired body off of your bed. Your balance faltered slightly under your bum knee. Bellamy’s hand instinctively shot out for you to grasp on. You regained your balance quickly and intertwined your hand in Bellamy’s, taking him by surprise.

“ Why, I’d love to hold hands with you, Bell. Thanks for asking. “ You playfully teased your freckle-face best friend with a tight grip on his hand and a self-satisfied smirk on your face.

“ You’re not funny. “ Bellamy groaned out, an adorable eye roll to go with his grumbling. This boy is too perfect; this has to be a dream.

“ Hey, I don’t see you letting go, handsome. “ You mentioned flirtily, your gaze flitting from your hands to Bellamy’s eyes. He breathed out a low chuckle before dragging you of your room into the Ark’s metal halls, fingers still connected.

“ You done, Y/N? I have something to show you. “ Bellamy abruptly halted your frisky advances, avoiding your sight so you wouldn’t see the growing blush on his cheeks. You laughed bubbly at how boyish Bellamy was acting; the polar opposite of his somewhat guarded personality. It was different, refreshing even. He maneuvered between the crowds and through the halls with ease, suddenly screeching to a standstill at a left turn.

“ Okay, I know for a fact that you don’t get see these often since you’re always working so close your eyes. “ Bellamy elaborated the reason why he lugged you across the Ark, his eyes twinkling happily. You furrowed your eyebrows in suspicion and hesitantly complied with his instruction, blanketing your eyes with your hands. Bellamy steadily guided you around the corner and slowed to a complete stop.

“ You can look now. “ You could hear the giddy smile Bellamy had on his face in his words. You lifted your hands and revealed a sight that took your breath away. The view of the moonrise left you speechless in awe. Bellamy contently watched you admired the marvelous spectacle of space.

“ This is fucking amazing, Bellamy! I’ve been dying to see one of these! “ You exclaimed joyfully, rapidly whipping around to tackle Bellamy in a bear hug. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist and twirled you around as you giggled radiantly. This was another of those countless moments that you wished would never end. However, all good things must come to an end.

“ Y/N Y/L/N? May we have a word with you? “ The guard politely interjected between you and the words on your clipboard. Your head shot up, eyebrows furrowed instantly. A whole team of guards with guns in hand loomed over you.

“ That’s me. What do you need? “ You replied, briefly scanning the faces of the guards with a perplexed expression.

“ Do you know the whereabouts of Bellamy Blake? Have you seen him at all recently? “ The guard queried sternly, maintaining a ardent yet monotone voice. He jutted out a digital pad with a picture of Bellamy to refresh your memory. Honestly, how could you forget a face like that?

“ No, I haven’t seen him all week, sir. What’s going on? “ You answered the guard truthfully, ripping your gaze from Bellamy’s picture to the stony-faced man. An anxious feeling grew exponentially in your chest, what happened to your best friend?

“ We’re suspecting that Bellamy may have shot the chancellor. Anyway, thank you for your time, Y/N. Let’s move out. “ The man respectfully dismissed himself and his team with a gesture of the hand. You were at a loss for words as you watched the retreating figures of security briskly jog out of the medical ward and around the corner. Why would Bellamy shoot the chancellor?

It took a few weeks but Camp Jaha was up and running like a fine-tuned machine. You operated along side Doctor Abby in the makeshift medical ward, treating limitless, superficial wounds of the Ark citizens. You sighed out exhaustedly, plopping onto one of the gurneys after clearing an Ark citizen to return to their normal duties after suffering a sprained wrist. Who knew that Earth would be such hard work?

Your mind wandered off to the well being of Bellamy. You haven’t seen him since the shooting incident and it was literal agony. You couldn’t recall how many days you spent cooped up in your room pouring your thoughts over Bellamy. You were shattered to pieces the second you found out he wasn’t on the Ark anymore but rather on a trip to the ground. You still haven’t figured out why Bellamy vanished into thin air. He avoided you completely the week before and left without a single goodbye. Bellamy left you stranded in space while he did only God knows what on the ground.

“ Y/N! Prepare for emergency surgery! “ Abby rushed in yelling, breaking you of your deep thought. A delinquent followed suit after the doctor, she was carried in on a stretcher while her lower back was a painting of dark purple with mixes of yellow and dark blue. You scrambled quickly for scalpels, bandages, and other resources; unable to get a look at who you were going to cut open.

You planted the materials in Abby’s hand as you dawdled to the other side of the gurney. You were in complete shock as the person you were operating on was none other than Raven herself. She became a good friend of yours after insisting she get another physical, even thought it was her fifth one. You envied Raven about how headstrong she was on becoming a Zero-G mechanic.

“ Raven? “ You questioned incredulously, she made it down here too? How? Why are you so out of the loop?

“ Y/N? “ Raven reflected the surprised look on your face before it twisted in what you assumed to be painful anguish. You couldn’t believe that Raven was risking her life to walk again by going through with this surgery. The guttural shrieks Raven emitted as she was sliced into was inhuman, something you thought was impossible. They echoed in every direction of the camp, even Bellamy heard them.

It was a bloody mess and it felt like eternity before the bullet was extracted from Raven’s spine. You were flabbergasted at how Raven miraculously didn’t die during the surgery. You spoke to Finn about the delinquent’s time on the ground as Raven snoozed peacefully facedown on the gurney.

Bellamy slept around with almost every girl in their camp. He never mentioned a word about you to anyone. Apparently, Bellamy has a secret sister named Octavia. You didn’t even know who he was at this point. It was absolute torture to listen to Finn about Bellamy but you maintained a cool exterior, playing it off as well as you could. You two weren’t as inseparable as you thought you were.

You thanked the security guard for allowing you passage into the improvised jail in the Ark. Abby had sent you on an assignment to bandage up the two prisoners before their questioning. It would be easy peasy, you thought nothing of it as you would be happy to do any for Abby. Little did you know that Bellamy would be one of the detainees.

Bellamy’s heart stopped altogether, he could recognize your voice anywhere. The thought of him abandoning you haunted Bellamy ever since he pulled the lever in the drop ship. He could barely sleep a wink without you showing up in his nightmares. The weight of your friendship came crashing down on him as Bellamy would fuck the heartache away and end up feeling emptier than ever before. He knew that you were going to despise him but you don’t know how much Bellamy would give up to hold hands with you one more time.

You crouched in front of Murphy and began tending to his scrapes, bruises and cuts. It’s amazing how much the human body can withstand and how it could repair itself on its own. Bellamy’s eyes tunneled holes into the back of your head before Murphy took notice of his dark and worried countenance.

“ Do you know her? “ Murphy quizzed Bellamy, a conceited smirk on his blood-splattered face. You peered up to Murphy looking over your shoulder with that odd smile. Naturally, you glanced over your shoulder and your heart instantly sank to your stomach like a heavy weight. Bellamy shamefully hung his head down low, averting his gaze from yours.

“ Bellamy? “ You managed to choke through the tears welling up on your waterline. The miserable image of your broken character would be forever burned into the back of Bellamy’s retinas.

“ Y/N, I-I can explain- “ Bellamy stuttered nervously, forcing himself to look into your intense gaze.

“ You just fucking left! You left me all alone in fucking space, Bellamy! You were everything to me and you just left! “ You interjected rapidly, shutting Bellamy down in the middle of his sentence. You raged on like a burning forest fire.

“ God, I was so in love with you, Bellamy. It was obvious that I was head over heels for you. I thought you felt the same way until I found out you slept around as soon as you landed and you didn’t even tell anyone about me. It’s like you wanted to forget all about what we had. “ You dejectedly spilled your guts out to Bellamy, painstakingly reminding him of his mistakes. The tears were refusing to stop falling and you felt defeated. It hurt to kick Bellamy while he was down but you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. You were sick of crying yourself to sleep and repeating it over and over again.

Bellamy was at a loss for words, he couldn’t believe he caused that much suffering to you. Bellamy couldn’t face the facts that he was falling in love with you as well. He tried his best to suppress the relentless emotions through other girls yet it never worked. He was deathly afraid, emotions were distractions and distractions got you killed on Earth.

You were sick of waiting for an answer from Bellamy so you left, leaving him in the dust. He called out to you but to no avail, you simply ignored it and kept walking without even looking back.

“ Okay Y/N, that is enough for you. It’s time to go to bed, honey. “ Raven shut down your drinking spree by snatching the tin cup out of your hands. She couldn’t help but laugh at how childish you were acting. Raven couldn’t believe how drunk you got trying to forget about Bellamy. You were practically falling out of your seat and rambling on about nonsensical topics to her.

“ No, stop! You’re not my mom! I can do what I want! “ You slurred drunkenly yet you didn’t attempt to resist against Raven throwing your arm around your neck. You stumbled on your feet like a dead weight and Raven’s leg wasn’t helping her in any way to support you.

“ Do you need some help? I can take it from here, Raven. “ Bellamy piped up from behind her, offering her a helping hand. Bellamy was truly a blessing from heaven.

“ Thank God, yes, please. Y/N’s quite the handful. “ Raven groaned in relief, briskly handing you off to Bellamy He swept you of your feet bridal style and carried you back to your room. You leaned your head on Bellamy’s shoulder and studied his strong features through hooded lids.

“ You’re the best and I don’t actually hate you. I love you so much, king. “ You unknowingly admitted your true feelings to the man you’re supposed to hate. Bellamy scoffed a chuckle, unsure if you actually meant it. After all, you couldn’t even walk since you were so shitfaced.

“ Alright, princess, time for bed. “ Bellamy pushed the door open with his boot and gently laid you down on your comfy bed. He tucked you neatly in bed, bringing the blanket up to your shoulders. Wait a minute, how’d you get here? Where are you? You silently thought to yourself before you saw Bellamy making a quick beeline for the door.

“ If you leave, I’ll start crying, king. “ You threatened in an unforgiving tone, forcing Bellamy to stay the night. You felt the bed dip and warmth radiating off of Bellamy. Something you haven’t felt in a long time. You snuggled right into his arms, further confusing him with your sudden affection. Just day before, you were working hard to avoid Bellamy and now you’re drunk, cuddling up to him. Oh, you’re out cold.

“ Y/N, I’ve loved you ever since I met you on the Ark and I never meant to ditch you out of the blue like that. I had to come down here to protect Octavia. I couldn’t bare to leave her alone. I never forgot you. I couldn’t, it was impossible no matter how hard I tried. I could never forget you, princess. I love you too much. I’m so sorry that I caused you so much pain and suffering but I promise that if you let me, I will fix everything even if it takes all of eternity. I love you, please, I can’t lose you. Not again. “ Bellamy was putting everything on the line by pouring his heart out to you. You were completely blindsided by his moving confession, tears dripped down your cheeks one by one.

Not knowing what to do or say, you just shot out of bed and crashed your lips onto Bellamy’s. He stumbled from the sudden momentum but was quick to welcome you in his loving embrace. The kiss was desperately needed and passion-filled. It left you both breathless and starving for more.

“ Did you know that you’re an huge asshole, king? “ You teased playfully as you drew shapes in Bellamy’s broad chest with your fingernails. The last hour consisted of possessive grabbing, sex growls, and muffled moans. Man, was it awesome though. 

“ Yeah, I know but you know you love me. Don’t lie, Y/N. “ Bellamy poked fun before rolling over you and peppering your face with quick pecks. “ You’re my everything, princess. Don’t ever forget it. “

Bellamy truly loved you with all his heart and soul.

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Human

I’M ON A ROLL @splendiferousblog asked for “ CT discovering/telling Tex she's an ai fragment (bonus points if they're a couple)” And, you know me, I’m a SUCKER for TexCT, so let’s get this show on the road!

WARNINGS FOR: Discussions of the Director’s creepy-ass relationship with Tex. Mildly NSFW but nothing really serious. 

Also on Ao3

Connie’s girlfriend isn’t human.

She’s joked about that before, when Tex comes out of a fight, still full of energy, never seeming to tire or falter. She’ll kiss Connie and the world will shift, and Connie will laugh. “You’re not human,” she’ll say, before following Tex’s lead, which inevitably ends in one of their rooms, tangled beneath the sheets, limbs overlapping and smiling goofily at each other, like that’s the only thing in the world that matters.

Tex doesn’t know that Connie’s a traitor.

Tex also doesn’t know that she’s not human.

Connie goes through her newly obtained files quietly, tucked away as she is in one of the rare corners of the base where FILSS can’t see her.

There’s something quiet and forbidding, about the way that the text looks on the page. There are photographs, of a woman named Allison, of a robot body, slowly becoming more and more human as the photos move closer to the present, until it’s Tex, who looks just like this Allison, only somehow… more. More defined, more beautiful, more real, somehow.

She’s seen Alpha’s files before. She goes through them again anyways, and now, that she knows, she can find the gaps, the parts of the story where Tex should be, where she’s being talked around.

She’ll need to find the uncensored version of that report, the analytical part of her, the spy, knows.

There are interviews and evaluations of Tex, and she skips them. The thought of reading through them sits sour in her stomach, even though she knows she should. She’s supposed to be ripping apart Freelancer from the inside out in the name of the law and righteousness, not respecting her girlfriend’s privacy. Her handler would be furious with her, if he knew.

She’ll go back to them later, she promises him mentally, even though she’s not sure if she’s telling the truth.

Tex and Connie’s first kiss had been in the showers. Connie had followed her in, giddy with sparring and curious to see what Tex would do, how she would respond to the proposition.

The response had been a bruising kiss, pinned against the slick walls of the shower, the spray of the shower soaking through their clothes, drowning them until they were forced apart. Clothes had fallen to the floor and then Tex had pounced on her again.

“You’re a mystery,” Connie had told her.

“That’s you,” had been Tex’s response.

Connie hadn’t meant to get attached, she thinks now, staring down at the neat, clinical language that describes a Shadow AI. She had just been looking for a little fun, a little relief, a little… release. Texas had been a mystery, but everyone was a mystery when they joined Freelancer. Most of them made a point of it. They were all running from something, and Connie had ferreted it out for all of them.

All of them except Texas.

Until now.

Texas isn’t human.

She wonders if she should have seen this coming; Tex has always been too strong, too heavy, too perfect. Connie’s worried, before, about how much the Director fusses over her. She’s wondered, possibly, about something weird and insidious going on—Connie’s no fool, she knows that Freelancer experiments on them, not just the AI. She knows that South and North are being pulled apart, knows that the Leaderboard is driving wedges between all of them, and she thought that the interest in Tex was just a part of that. Creating an air of favoritism, driving Carolina to new heights.

But it’s worse than that.

Because she’s found the name of this Allison.

Allison Church.

No wonder Carolina has never seen Tex’s face—pretty much none of them have except Connie, she’s pretty sure about that.

Tex is a mystery that’s not of her own design. She’s steel and fiberglass and copper wire, ceramics and plastics and machine oil. Her hair is some sort of high tech polymer that would make wig makers weep. The budget for that body could probably fund Connie’s college tuition twelve times over.

Connie has to tell her, she realizes, staring down at all of this.

This isn’t breaking the military law, or psych experiments laid out in the open that no one else wants to see. This is who Tex is, being lied to, being played with, as part of some sick man’s twisted form of grief.

Connie should have stayed away after that first night. Tex had swept her up in her tide, and a kiss had turned into one thing which had turned to another, which had lead to Connie finding bruises all over her body and having to pretend she was screwing a sanitation worker to get South off her back. It should have been a one-off thing.

But she was intrigued, and maybe addicted, and after the third, fourth, fifth time of them breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, still kissing each other with a desperation even though the act itself was done, chests aching with laughter, maybe she was just a little bit in love.

Oh God, she’s in love with a woman who isn’t human.

Connie had noted Tex’s lack of scars, but Tex had made a few off handed comments about a bad bombing incident which had lead to reconstructive surgery. She can find a faked report of that incident in this file, made up to sound real, placing Tex in the midst of a real squad, all of whom had died, making Tex a sole survivor of a group, with her own name now classified so that no one can tell that there’s a hole.

Explanations and excuses, and it’s all so transparent now that Connie knows where to look.

She’d let reconstructive surgery explain the almost inhuman beauty. She’d let armor mods and stims explain the ridiculous strength, and Tex’s jibes push aside the questions about her past, a past that, Connie knows now, Tex doesn’t remember.

Because it doesn’t exist.

Connie feels like she’s in a stupor, like she’s drowning.

She goes to Tex’s room, where Tex is working out, lifting weights that don’t do anything for her, because there’s no muscle to build, just steel.

“Did you seriously just come here like that? What if someone saw you?” Tex stops when she sees her face. “What’s wrong?”

They hide what they have; they have to. It’s against all protocols, threaten their standings, get them thrown out of the project. God knows what Connie’s handler would do to her if he knew she was sleeping with the enemy, and even worse would be what the Director would do to both of them if he knew what they got up to.

“Tex,” she whispers. Dread has blossomed in her stomach like weeds, and she feels choked by it. “I’ve done something horrible.”

“What?” Tex asks, looking bewildered. “Okay, come lie down, seriously, you look sick or something—”

“You’re not human,” Connie says.

Something changes in Tex’s face, and the entire world shifts.

“What?” Tex says, her voice soft and dangerous. The calm before a storm.

Texas is fiercely loyal to Project Freelancer. She is programmed to obey the Director, to defend him and the Alpha. Connie had seen the code herself, the objectives, has seen failsafes upon failsafes built into Tex’s very being.

Connie wonders if she’s made a terrible mistake.

[lupienne]

Don’t Look Back

An angsty Lucille/Negan fic I wrote back in November. 4,064 words. Song-inspired/’Here’s Negan’ based. Most of Negan’s dialogue is direct from ‘Here’s Negan’. Warnings: death, terminal illness/cancer, depressing…etc. XD) Story under the read-more.

Everything is so dark And I know there’s something wrong but I can’t turn the light on In that split second change when you knew we couldn’t hold on I realized I lived to love you

 Save yourself, don’t look back.

‘Never Go Back’ (Synthesis) - Evanescence

You never know where you’re going to end up… when your end is up. I used to have this fantasy when I was a kid, that I would live forever like the vampires in my favorite teen novels. As I got older, I figured it would be some random shit out of nowhere – a car crash, maybe a heart attack like the one that had taken my grandmother.

Dying of cancer in the hospital was low on my list of ideal ways to go. But it was the way I got and I guess I was doing a splendid job of it.

I’d said that to Negan once. 'At least I’m doing a great job at something.’

He’d started to cry. And he was usually the one cracking the inappropriate jokes.

Sometimes, in the early days of my sickness, I savored his suffering. He could have all the women who would say yes to him, but not me, not any longer. I was drifting to a place where his apologies could no longer reach.

As I grew weaker over the months, and he was there - through whatever…chemo, cleaning my vomit, carrying me to bed against his strong chest, bathing me when I didn’t have the energy…

I forgave him. Or maybe I simply could no longer muster that kind of anger anymore. My well was depleted and his sorrow hastened the drought. Maybe I didn’t want to feel ire in the shortened days of my life – I just wanted to love him.

I wanted his pain to stop.

Deep down, I knew my death wouldn’t be the cessation of his agony… But I hoped it would be a start. He was adaptable and so full of life. He would endure, and I wanted that with all the meager strength left in my soul.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. On my deathbed, I suppose you call it. At some point, my care was too much for Negan to handle solo, and doctor’s orders: he’d brought me here. Sometimes, I thought it’d be preferable if he’d carried me up to the mountain we’d hiked up once. Cradled me under the stars and let me die in his arms. I’d even take our local park, staring up through the rustling leaves. Someplace with open breeze and the sounds of life.

Not this stifled air, these blaring white walls and pea-colored privacy curtains. The sound of machines. The creak of the tiny chair Negan has turned into his guard post. He isn’t eating much and I think more coffee flows through his veins than blood.

There’s a clock on the wall, the kind with an audible tick-tock. What purpose does it serve? To assure the recuperating patients they can keep holding on? For people like me… to let us know we’re a few more clicks away from the pain ending? Hickory dickory dock, do you hear the clock? Hickory dickory dock, your lifespan it does mock. Maybe I’ll tell Negan that one later. He likes rhymes.

Sometimes I can’t hear it, when they pump enough drugs in to put me into a kind of loopy limbo. But no matter how far out I am, I always remain aware of Negan’s presence. His large frame slumped into that small uncomfortable chair. Sometimes he flips on the tv, but never for long. He’s always been restless, but he refrains from pacing when I’m awake. His big hands will take mine, his lips will brush them, and he’ll talk softly to me. Anything and everything tumbling from his lips… vulgar jokes, our days together, stories about his students, apologies. I would cry or laugh if I could break out of this brain freeze.

Other times, when he thinks I’m unaware, that I’m too drugged up to notice – he bends double and sobs into his hands. Those are the times I pray the minute hand’s next revolution will be my last.

It might be an hour later, a day, a year. I doubt it’s been a year. My body has distinctly told me: nobody ain’t got time for that. It tells me other things too, as my vision grows foggy and my hearing grows sharper. I hear the seconds ticking between the minutes. I hear the blood rushing in and out of Negan’s heart.

Your time is almost up, baby.  

Am I sad about that? I don’t know.

Trapped in limbo, you can’t go back. You’re over the edge and hanging and there’s only one direction left. Forward.

But still… I hear the occasional shriek deep inside me, coming from that part that’s still on fire and doesn’t want to be snuffed out.

     This isn’t fair!  

     I’m too young!  

     I’m only 40. He’s only 37. There’s so much more life ahead of us!  

     Why?  

     I don’t want to die.  

     I’m scared.  

     I’m sad.  

     How can I leave Negan alone? He’s going to be lost without me.  

I hear these shrieks, now and then. They’ve faded to a dull mummer. Like me…they’ve lost their ferocity.

Regret lingers like a bruise. We never took that trip to Ireland. We never went skiing. We never tried that crazy sex position. We never started a family. I denied him of the children he desired, seething in pain over his infidelity. And his eternal childish nature! It both maddened me and kept me mad with love, but didn’t inspire my confidence that he could be a responsible father.

Now…I know he could have been, and he would have had a piece of me to hold onto. Now, the regret devours me as viciously as my rouge cells.

I’m not over it. Won’t be until the day I die, I suppose. Or the hour. I think I can only expect hours now. But… I’ve slipped into some cliché phase of acceptance. What else can I do? I don’t even have strength left to squeeze his fingers.

I’m so fucking tired. Sleep sounds so good. The deep sleep of no dreaming.

I think I do sleep a little. I nod off, then come back. Negan is hunched over in his chair, his big hand clasping mine. It feels so warm. My hearing comes in ocean waves, carrying his words on the tide. His voice is raw over the whoosh-whoosh of the oxygen machine. I don’t think I can breathe without it anymore.

Time to put baby to bed. “…need you to know… You are everything to me.”

My eyes aren’t open, but I can see him clearly. His handsome face thrown onto somber lines that do not suit him. The warm cocoa eyes of the cuddliest puppy…wet and red. His dark hair tousled over his forehead, slightly greasy from his inattentiveness to himself, his jaw cloaked in stubble.

He’s so beautiful even when he’s a fucking mess. I try to open my eyes…but my eyelids feel weighted with stones.

“… I’m a fucking piece of dog shit. You deserve so much better.”

Oh, Negan... His voice cracks. “Did I do this to you? Did I fucking cause this?”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. I damn this stupor I’m in. I want to frown, to lay a punch on his arm and tell him to stop being silly, that he couldn’t cause an illness - he’s hardly the Rider of Plague and Pestilence.

He continues on. If only I could kiss him! I’d sternly grip his jaw, lock my eyes to his and tell him to get a grip. Get control of that voice that’s cracking and quivering like a child’s.

I don’t. Can’t. I can really feel it now, the way this machine is forcing my lungs to expand with air. There’s a dull, burning pain all through my body - made vague by the drugs. I don’t know if it’s from my sickness…or the sickness of tears I cannot shed.

For a while, there’s only the sound of my machines and Negan sniffling up his nose. I’m tired again. I know this machine might keep me breathing, but it’s no match for my suicidal heart. That thing is on its last legs now. Like the uproar of an audience turning to a few half-hearted claps.

You and me had a good run, baby. We even found a man to beat for. Just for a while. Some people can’t say that. That they had what I had. As flawed as it was. Things are getting muffled now. Like cotton is stuffed in my ears. I’ve entered into a cliche. I feel detached from my frail, physical form. Like I jumped up lightly to levitate above my bed. Maybe I’m a ghost now, but I don’t think so. The bonds tying meto the body have merely slackened their grip.

That’s funny. I’m thinking of myself and my body as two separate things.

Red and blue lights flash outside. Another sound becomes apparent over the beeps and whooshes. Even through the cotton I hear sirens, crashes, screams.

It is strange. Negan doesn’t seem to notice it. Maybe it’s just me…because my hearing has become so odd. Muted, yet sharper than ever. On the streets below, I hear inhuman moans and growls – but they are coming from human lips. This I know. If I could cry out – I would – as it feels like a hand suddenly grips the back of my bald head, digging claws into my brain. Something inside me… is responding to… them?

     You’re drugged.  

Footsteps rush down the hall. People run by the open door of my death room. Nurses in their bright scrubs. Doctors with their white coats trailing. A patient pushing another in a wheelchair like they are running a race.

     You’re delirious.  

Negan doesn’t seem to hear any of it. His head is bowed, his finger lightly trailing up and down my wrist.

     You’re delusional. You’re probably seeing things that aren’t even happening.  

But I know it’s bad.

     You’re dying.  

Yes. But that’s not it.

There’s something wrong, and Negan is in danger.

     Your synapses are firing their last rounds. You should be rifling through your memories one more time and not be thinking such nonsense.  

More people rush by the door, and this time, Negan looks up. A nurse dashes in, his eyes panicked.

I did not imagine it. They are evacuating the hospital! Negan snarls as the man grips his arm, urging him to leave me.

“I’m not fucking leaving my wife!”

“She’s too sick to move…there’s nothing we can do!”

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Negan wrenches his arm free.

The scrawny male nurse wisely backs off. I find myself whisked away by a memory. Some guy putting his hands on me in a bar, and Negan turning his nose into busted fragments of bone and oozing blood. Always my protector. I wish you could have been that devoted to me… all the time.

He’d made it up, I guess. By being here. By staying here, as the nurse flees, and outside the chaos escalates. There’s more crashing, like cars impacting. Screams. The flicker of fire added to the police lights. And more of those animal growls coming from the mouths of people.

     This is real. There is something really wrong.  

That strange pain strikes my brain again. Like claws dug in. Maybe this is what happens when you die. You feel your mind slipping away, gripped in the hands of death.

Negan paces to the window. Whatever he sees transfixes him there for several minutes. He presses his nose to the glass, mumbling profanity.

“Those people. There’s something… wrong with them.”

     Something wrong.  

If I could move, I’d be paralyzed with fear. It isn’t the dread of my existential ending. I’ve come to grips with that, even if I’m not happy about it. The fear burns me cold as my husband watches through the window. To see him standing there, confused but unaware, doing such a normal Negan-thing as scratching absently at his butt through his sweatpants.

I know what he doesn’t. Something is wrong. Negan isn’t safe!

I can’t live knowing he isn’t safe.

And that is exactly it.

     You have to go now, Lucille. You have to say goodbye.  

There are often stories of people holding on just long enough to say it. Just long enough to reach some milestone. And maybe I’ve been doing that too…ready to go, but afraid to let go… afraid…

A boy runs by the room, looking back with his dreads strewn across his face. He sees Negan and shouts a warning. “Run, man! Run!”

Negan huffs a breath in through his nose, his eyes wide. My terrified heart doesn’t have the energy to beat faster. My brave man. He hates to show fear in front of others. Except for me, of course. Just a look from me could make him grovel. But now, I don’t want to see weakness in his face. He needs to be strong.

     I’m so sorry, baby. I have to leave you alone.  

I’m afraid for him without me.

But more afraid for him to stay. I let myself sink down into my body. Pain grips my head. I feel the machine expand my lungs.

Negan moves the tv stand in front of the door, then slumps against it. He’s breathing hard even as the infernal machine forces me to draw air.

This machine will not hold me back. Nothing will stop me.

     I have to go, darling.  

Cells die all across my body. Imploding like miniature stars. I feel flushed and glowing, but left ice cold as the warmth fades away. Smoky shadows move in my vision, like I am hurtling through banks of storm clouds. This is so easy once I let go. My body has already forsaken me – now I am forsaking it.

Part of me wishes for Negan to take my hand. But I’m mostly content – glad he’s not feeling the life slip from me.

I’ve heard it said after you die, you can still process information. I’m not exactly…seeing or hearing…or feeling anything physical. But I am aware somehow. I haven’t quite left my body, but I’ve flown to the edge. I’m the shape you see at the edge of your peripheral vision. A flash that is seen but does not exist.

Negan realizes that I’ve gone. My beatless heart can’t ache. Instead, I feel the ache shrouded over me like a veil.

“No,” he whimpers. “Lucille. No. Please, baby.” His voice dissolves into whimpers and he lays his head across the dead shell, clutching the shell’s limp hand. He cries and sobs, his tears turning the body’s white polka-dotted gown translucent under his cheek.

Aren’t I supposed to be at peace now? Gone?

I feel like I partially am. I do not see the body as mine. It is just an empty husk. So…

     Why am I still here?  

Negan slumps back against the wall, his bangs falling onto his forehead, cradling my hand in his. His eyes are blankly staring and empty, his sounds of grief ceased, though the tears still slowly ooze down his reddened cheeks.

     Why are you still here, baby? Leave and don’t look back!  

He sits for ages. Light shifts outside the window, and he still sits. My former hand becomes ice cold and stiff in his grip.

Then -

Something wrenches hard at my vessel. I fall further towards the edge, my soul on the precipice. This shit is more jarring than I thought it would be. I had left my body so smoothly before. I realize, suddenly, that I’m not the only thing dwelling in this vessel. There is another unwelcome visitor that has taken up residence. It’s not the cancer. This thing is more insidious, and it has lain in wait for me to vacate this shell.

So it can take over. So it can use what it is left of me.

And I cannot go back.

The insidious thing creeps. It takes the helm of my abandoned ship. This dead sailor is along for whatever ride the afterlife brings…and I have to say… I never imagined it like this.

Maybe I’m in hell.

Negan is pulled from his stupor by the world ending outside. Car crashes. Gun shots! Screams of panic, terror, agony. He drops the shell’s hand and approaches the window.

His breathing becomes ragged, his fingers pressed to the cold glass. “Fucking hell,�� he whispers. “What the fucking shit- What is this…?”

Is he real or a fragment of thought… how do I know if this is happening or just the last of my memories bursting across my fading retinas?

It doesn’t matter. Reality or dream…I’m stuck here all the same. Some force is holding me in, blocking all my ports of exit. Keeping me in my dead body and weaving itself through me.

“Guhhhh…” A long groan comes from my shell’s lips. And up lifts my former hand. No longer mine. Lucille’s hand. I don’t have enough substance to hold a name anymore.

Lucille’s hand is pale and hangs limply at the end of her uplifted arm. Like every cell as been shocked back to life, she jolts upwards in the bed. The motions are so strange. The insidious force may hijack a body but it hardly knows what to do with them – it only knows one thing. I feel it all through the shadow of my being.

 Hunger.

A deep, depraved hunger. An addict ingesting the most vile of toxins just for the hint of a fix. My taken body does not breath, but it can smell.

It smells Negan.

 His blood calls like ambrosia.

 His flesh fills the air with the most succulent aroma.

 All I want to do – all IT wants to do…

 I want to rip him apart. Consume.

Lucille flails her hand, ripping the tubes and mask free from her nose and mouth.

 The better to smell you with, my dear.

Blood flows from the accosted nostrils.

Negan turns – his eyes wide in horror. “Lucille?”

She lurches forward like an electric wire has been shoved in that dead heart.

 Heart. I can smell his heart. I can hear it!

ThudTHUDthud A siren song calling.

She lunges, but falls clumsily from the bed. Tubes and wires trail like the tentacles of a sea creature, wrapping around her atrophied limbs. Her face hits the floor with bone-breaking force. Teeth break, and the nose too.

It might not be my body anymore and I might not be capable of it – but I think I would wince. Blood covers her face as Negan panics, hovering around the fallen body.

“Lucille?! Are you ok!?” His voice cracks. “I thought you’d…I thought you were-”

     I am! You know I am…you know this isn’t right!  

ThudTHUDthud. That juicy muscle is getting all worked up. Cycling the blood through his veins and the scent of it oozes out through his pores…she smells all the fluids in him. Lymph and blood and mucus and semen and her mouth burns with thirst.

 The aroma of his bone marrow makes my saliva run. I want to eat all of him. Start with his toes and work my way up. Rip off his cock, bury my gnashing teeth into his belly while he screams and screams -

     Stop it!  

 -Oh liver and kidney and spleen, tastes sweeter than a dream-

She lifts her head as Negan draws close. He reaches out.

 Yes. Reach out to me.

     NO! Don’t hurt him!  

The horror of her face propels him away. He throws himself backwards, his side colliding with his guard-post chair, his legs drawn up. He cowers from Lucille as she claws for him with her pale, wasted arm. Each nail wants to open his veins.

 Give me your fucking heart, baby. The way you NEVER did in life.

     NO!  

This is hell. I am in hell. I don’t know what sin landed me here, but surely I must have been wicked. My screams don’t reach him!

     Leave, Negan! GO!  

He kneels, tentatively reaching forward. Her cold fingertips brush his. His flesh so warm it feels like a kiss of fire.

     Please. Leave me. You’ve done your part. You’ve stayed with me unto death.  

His only saving grace is my shell’s limbs are tangled in the wires that formerly kept it alive. She can’t lunge forward and sink her teeth into that -

 -beautiful jugular vein. I can hear it pulse. The sound of blood is like the whisper of ocean tide.

She wants so badly for him to put that sweet face closer. She will dig her teeth in deep, rip flesh from bone. His eyeballs will explode like grapes on the tongue! The most exquisite meat lies all curled and gray inside that hard nut of a skull. It will take a few cracks on the floor to get to it.

     You fucking bitch! You… monster. Get out of my body!  

“It’s me…” He whispers. “Your husband.” His hand waves back and forth before her mouth. Blood and spit drool from it and she snaps her teeth like a rabid dog.

He leans back on his haunches, and if I could still feel my heart – oh I know the pain of it would kill me all over again. His face is utterly defeated, and so sad. Tears streak his cheeks.

     Please, baby…go.  

He leans in close.

 Yes. Come closer!

I reach out as hard as I can, wrapping every fiber of my shadow-self around the dark force.

     You will not have him!  

The vibrancy of his life utterly blinds. The organic machinery churning inside him is deafening, the scent of his flesh and blood is a draught of madness.

     You will not hurt him.  

His tears fall onto cold, dead skin. Her eyes flit but her mouth is momentarily still as I clutch onto her hungry jaws with my fading strength. Negan kisses her – Lucille – me. His lips to her forehead.

And then mercifully, he draws away. I cannot hold on any longer.

Water drips from his nose and chin, his eyes swimming in an ocean of grief. He wipes his eyes like a child does, with his hands made into big, clumsy fists. “I’m…sorry.”

He stands and turns toward the door.

     Save yourself.  

He moves the tv stand away, whimpering breaths rattling his throat.

     Don’t look back.  

He walks out the door.

I know I will never see him again.

I never thought I’d be so relieved to be dead.

Some minutes later, the boy with the dreadlocks comes into my room. He is a young one, perhaps around the age Negan used to teach. There is a weariness around his eyes no child should bear.

The shell claws and reaches for him. This is my existence now, then? To ride in the withering depths of my former body…going mad with a parasite’s hunger?

“I’m sorry, ma'am. I hope you’ll be at peace now.”

Maybe not. He raises a fire extinguisher and brings it down towards her head -

A burst of light.

The cage shatters and I fly free.

Light and dark collide, and sleep closes in fast.

I let go. I am unraveled and unbound, turning to particles – everywhere and yet-

Gone forever.

I come back like a black-out drunk. I remember the hospital…but now I’m elsewhere and the time is indeterminate, the space between a mystery.

I’ve heard it said that energy can never be destroyed. Merely transmuted. I’ve heard the oceans will exist long after the planet dies…until the sun finally destroys it all. Stars exploding and turning dead…

Stardust glitter that travels the eons.

I’m a part of it all. I know this.

I don’t know… how long I will stay… awake.

All I know is…

I feel him.

His presence. He is holding me near.

He loves me.

He is safe.

Time and again, I wake… and he has always kept me close. Perhaps in that hospital room, a fragment of me traveled into him.

“I’ll always miss you, Lucille,” he whispers.

Perhaps in that hospital room, he left a fragment of himself behind, and he can’t help but keep looking back for it.

I can do nothing but reply.

     You don’t need to look back, love.  

     I’m right here.  

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ this one’s for myself, but also for @jadehendrixmusic who asked on a convo between me and @marvelthismarvelthat that this be written. Enjoy the PAIN but srsly have I told you how much I love Daisy mcfreaking Johnson. This also fills @aosadvent2017 prompt “hope”

“We can’t change the future,” he reminded her. “We couldn’t then and we can’t now. But they did get one thing wrong.”

The real story of how and why Daisy Johnson broke apart the Earth.

Read on AO3 (~2300wd). Rated T. Rshps: Daisy-centric, Daisy & the Team, Daisy & Fitz. Angst with a Happy(ish?) Ending. MCD and I’m not f*ckin around w that

Destroyer of Worlds

In the end, Daisy thought, she should have seen it coming.

She’d felt it for a while, somewhere deep inside herself.

The knowledge that she would bury her friends.

-

For a while they managed to stick together as the world collapsed into chaos around them. They clung to each other, looked after each other so well it almost felt like they were the last real people left on Earth. But of course, there was only so much that seven people could do against an alien dictatorship and soon enough, things started to spiral beyond their control.

Coulson was the first to go, in a fiery, guns-blazing, one-against-the-world sacrifice to buy time while Daisy and Elena escaped, and rescued a mob of Inhumans from the Kree cells.

A little while after that, Jemma’s mysterious immunity to one of the Kree’s favourite pathogens attracted the wrong sort of attention from their leaders. She was captured and – after flatly refusing to cooperate, whether willingly or under duress - experimented on, before finally being released. Delirious with her newly regained freedom, she had sprinted full-tilt for that shadowy corner of the world that the team now called home, until she’d realised - and stumbled and fallen and ploughed into the dirt with the shock of it – that the only reason they would have let her go was because they’d won. She’d contracted something. Something dangerous. Something that could wipe out the resistance.

So she’d run the opposite direction instead, and died alone.

May lasted a little longer than that. She was getting old by the time she went. Her eyes clouded with cataracts and she walked with a permanent limp, her legs and knees having been destroyed and re-knitted so many times. She remained a key strategist in their little band of resistance until the end, and died in as much peace as anyone could afford these days, surrounded by most of the remaining people that loved her.

It was funny, Daisy mused, the way that people used ‘funny’ for things that were not funny at all – like how she was sure that May would have preferred Coulson’s end, and he hers.

Still, the rest of them soldiered on.

-

And then there was Fitz.

His was a slow death, and one of the hardest as the dwindling resistance lost perhaps its truest believer. It started with a painful arthritis - in his hands at first, which was cruel enough, and then it spread to his shoulders, his back, his knees. Still, he refused to stop working; building panel after panel, machine after machine, engines and life support systems and generators and UV light-towers for growing food, and all manner of things that Daisy and even Mack did not fully recognise or understand. As per the policy they’d developed in case of capture, nobody had a clear idea of what all this was supposed to mean, not even the people working on it, until the day Fitz died.

That day, Daisy was curled up in a chair by his bedside as he slept, trying to resist the urge to chew on the sleeve of her jacket. She had asked not to be disturbed, feeling much less the hardy resistance leader their followers knew, and much more the lost girl about to watch one of her best friends disappear before her very eyes.

Fitz mumbled something, incoherent, and Daisy threw herself forward, falling to her knees at his bedside. He smiled – amused, apparently, by her dramatics, as if he wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “’s just what happens when you breathe in metal dust all day, ‘n don’t eat anything, and-“

He cut himself off, his words lost in a barrage of coughing, and Daisy poured him a glass of water. She couldn’t tell if her hands were shaking or if it was the water in the glass itself, but she got it to him eventually and the coughing calmed. She helped rearrange his pillow so that he could sit up, but Fitz batted her away, too tired for the effort. Almost too tired to keep his eyes open. His whole body ached, even as he smiled ruefully over at Daisy.

“Not long now,” he said, his voice croaking with an age he hadn’t lived yet.

She clutched his hand fiercely. “Mack – just wait for Mack. He’s coming in from scouting. He’ll be here soon.”

“That’ll be nice.”

His body shook – once, violently - as if it was about to launch into another coughing fit, but was too tired to manage it. The end was coming faster than he thought it would, and though it hurt to push her away, he had to claw past Daisy to pull open a nearby drawer. He pushed a notebook into her hands. Frowning in confusion, she pulled out more papers from the drawer. On one of them was an illustration of a massive space station. Daisy’s jaw slackened.

“This is what you’ve been building?”

“The Lighthouse,” Fitz confirmed. “That’s what it was called, right?”

“Yeah. The one in – the one in space, after I…” Daisy frowned, piecing things together slowly. “Wait. You don’t think –“

“It’s big enough for several thousand people. Mack’s been helping me make shuttles, too. We’ve been sending bits and pieces into space. It’s nearly ready.”

“Ready? For what? I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do,” Fitz pointed out. He reached out again and Daisy gave him her hand. His squeeze was not as strong as it once had been, and his skin felt papery and odd, but it was still his hand. It still felt warm. With horror, she thought about how this might be the last time she’d ever feel that warmth. But Fitz needed to tell her something, so Daisy looked into his eyes, and saw in them why he had been such a believer. The wonder and the inevitability of the universe.

“We can’t change the future,” he reminded her, his voice soft but steady, and full of conviction. “We couldn’t then and we can’t now. We bought ourselves a little time, with a lot of lives, and here we are. But they did get one thing wrong.”

He smiled.

“You’re Daisy Johnson, and you’re going to save us all.”

-

Those words echoed in Daisy’s mind for hours. Days. They were a lot to live up to – as were the eyes of the gathering crowd, who had fled here from, as far as Daisy could tell, all over the world. Some of them still managed to have such hope that it almost broke her heart at the same time as filling it. Most of them, though, looked to her: the last hope, for humanity and Inhumanity alike.

“Don’t let me fail them,” she whispered. She was not sure to whom. Mack, standing a few feet away, directing refugees about their final missions on Earth? The ghost of Fitz or Jemma or Coulson or May, who she longed to guide her through this? Maybe herself. That’s all she had left, really.

Not long now.

The ground seemed to beat beneath her, as if it could feel the anticipation thrumming through her veins. The crowd buzzed, scared and hopeful, curious and heartbroken. The prospect of spending the next few days in tiny shuttles in the unknown vacuum of space was not an inviting one, but it was better than the alternative: the Kree were turning more and more Inhumans – there were even rumours of mind and blood control – and those pockets of resistance that had made it this far were being snuffed out one by one. As far as Daisy had managed to discover – and as Fitz had probably already known – this was the last one.

Before her sat the last shuttle of the 10-stage interstellar evacuation mission to save humanity.

The SS Hope, Fitz had called it.

That’s why they’d decided to launch it last: in case it pulled a Challenger and blasted itself out of the sky. Nothing killed a revolution like Hope literally going down in flames.

Fortunately - as could always be expected of Fitz and Mack’s work – the other shuttles had all taken off harmlessly and were well on their way up to the Lighthouse. The last of the remaining civilians were walking up the gangplank of the Hope when Elena appeared at Daisy’s side.

Daisy clenched her fist.

“They’re here,” Elena reported.

She’d seen this coming too. Felt it, in the vibrations on the ground: armies, marching. This being their last chance – life or death - they’d be coming after the dregs of the resistance with everything they had.

“We’re ready,” Mack announced, marching down from the gangplank with a determined expression. “Everyone’s strapped in, ready to go.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got company,” Daisy informed him grimly. He frowned, at her, then at Elena, who he knew had been out scouting before. The shotgun axe came down from his back, and he cocked it.

“Where?”

Elena nodded her head in the direction they would have to go, and Mack nodded with determination. To Daisy, he said –

“Get that bird off the ground,”

- and with that he was gone, following Elena to face the firing lines. Two of them against an army would never last long, but for them this had always been where it was going to end. Humanity’s last line of defence. Death so that others may live. Not the worst way to go, all things considered.

Which brings us back to Daisy.

It was with a heaviness in her heart that she signalled for the last pilot to take off. She received his solemn final salute with a stiff upper lip and turned her attention to the task ahead. It was all up to her now and these precious, last few seconds were where she would make her final stand. They were oh-so-close now, and she knew what she had to do.

Daisy lifted her head, proud, feeling the heat on her face and the rush of the air from the engines of the last shuttle lifting off. She reached out after it, feeling its vibrations in the air; feeling her blood sing with the frequency that would get humanity to freedom. A smile touched her lips as she farewelled the ship – after all, maybe she couldn’t literally change the future, but who would have thought that one day she, a scrappy orphan raised in a van, would become this?

Kneeling slowly, Daisy put her outstretched hand on the precious earth. She dug her fingers into its surface and reached down into it with her mind, feeling the frequencies of rock and magma and shifting plates. She reached further than she ever had before, pushing through the nosebleed and the headache, downward and outward until she could hear the running river; the grass crushed underfoot; the kickback of pistols and the falling of bodies in battle not far away. She felt – with a violence she had not expected; so powerful it was as if she could see it – Mack’s body crash to the ground as the immense odds finally overwhelmed him. She was hardly aware of her own self, her own heart breaking, the tears on her own face, with her consciousness spread so wide across the world, but she knew it hurt. And when she felt the hummingbird heartbeat that was Elena die it was if strings were being cut inside her.

Maybe they were.

The last strings holding Daisy to this world were gone. Overwhelmed with the pain and Elena’s scream when Mack was cut down and the dissonant screaming of the earth she screamed too and the world shifted. Rocks cracked and split, magma trembled and fissures broke open – not just at her feet but all across the country. Kree ships were blasted out of the sky. Cracks opened in the earth that swallowed trees and buildings. Her body hummed with all the frequencies of a dying world and Daisy watched herself be lifted into the air, pulling all the threads together into a reluctant, tumultuous harmony. She hit a note, somewhere in there, and all of a sudden it didn’t hurt. It felt like diving into a pool of water; slow and smooth, and she could watch the world collapse around her in slow motion, untouched.

Drifting above the apocalypse, Daisy remembered that once the Asgardian, Sif, had claimed she would be transformed into a Kree weapon; a drone, marching at their beck and call – or worse, a believer in their empire. The Kree themselves had been pretty excited about that too. And Deke, and the others on the Lighthouse fifty-odd years from now, had believed it too, or some version of it anyway. That she’d destroyed their world. Only she knew… she, and the ones who had come before her… that it was not so simple.

She was Quake. Destroyer of Worlds.

Yet, even as the tectonic plates of the Earth cracked and burst by her will, like a glass still in the motion of breaking, she had crushed that name into the dust. There was hardly anything left to destroy. Only enough for one hell of a scorched-earth campaign as the Hope escaped the atmosphere, sailing humanity onto their next sanctuary – and their next challenge.

Those few Kree who had somehow managed to cross the burning, exploding Earth approached Daisy. They looked small, and greedy, and far too confident for the likes of her. Could they not see what she had become?

She was Daisy Johnson. Saviour of Humanity.

And like an opera singer breaking a glass, she waited until the perfect moment to let go the note she’d been holding onto. The harmony shattered, and all the discord of this dying world unleashed at once. It ripped through her fragile human-esque body, and through the Kree, and through the Earth, and the whole planet finally splintered around them.

Daisy died with a bloody, victorious smile upon her face.

[azkaabanter]

We are Animals

5k of SMUT AND ACTUAL PLOT… but mostly smut. I upload from my phone so I can’t italicize anything. If you want to see the version with italics, I’ll send you a link to where I posted the story. ANYWAAAAAYYYYY … I also apologize, but I don't know how to enable the 'read more' feature on my phone. I know it's annoying but unfortunately I can't do anything about it.

AU STORY!!

-

This is a Drarry fic based on a video on YouTube of the same title. Kind of post apocolyose/ homophobe universe. Hardcore smut so… yeah

-

“Men. The only animals in the world to fear” - D.H. Lawrence

-

“Findings from the National Center of Disease control released the results of a study which shows that the lifestyle of some homosexuals has triggered an epidemic…” The garbled voice of a newscaster comes out of the radio, along with small blasts of static. I walk down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, my shoes covered in red dust and the sun beating down on my shoulders, heating my brown leather jacket. I keep my hands in the pockets to keep them from shaking as the small radio I keep in the lining spits out more information.

“The ‘Gay Plague’ is the center of a political storm- the Moral Majority claiming that AIDS is God’s punishment for the gay lifestyle.” I close my eyes hard and use my shoulder to wipe the sweat out of them, and my messy black hair sticks to my forehead. In a hidden part of the thick jacket I can just hear the minute clinking of small pink pills that I live on in a small prescription jar. The pills in that jar, though, are anything but legal. The announcer continues.

“This isn’t just a disease we’re talking about here! These people are capable of murdering other humans when they-” The voice becomes inaudible from all of the static emitting from the cheap radio, so I take it out and hit it against my jean-clad leg until the voice is understandable again.

“C'mon…” I huff to myself, hitting the small box once again when it continues to cut out, until it finally continues.

“-and 50% of U.K citizens are favoring quarantine. We’re putting them in a nice, comfortable place-” The voice of the announcer is cut off suddenly by another person shouting into the microphone.

“Just isolate them!” The newcomer says, and I continue to listen, though it hurts. Looking up, I see the outline of a tall brick enclosure in the distance as my radio spouts more slurs. I would switch to another station, but these news reports are all that are broadcasted anymore. The second voice continues, though in a calmer tone than the one previously used. “We have received proof that the free world is, once again, in danger.

The radical group of homosexuals, known otherwise as the Death Eaters, have rallied together, more determined than ever to destroy the means put in place by our scientific and medical communities that keep us all safe, and healthy. Although we have created a protective quarantine, no one is truly safe.” I turn off the radio, no longer able to listen.

I can hear my mother’s voice in my head, pressing the bottle of pink pills into my hand. ‘Hide, Harry. Hide in plain sight, be a nurse, do whatever you can. Just don’t let anyone know who you really are.’ So here I am, in the middle of a field on a dirt road in August.

Eventually reaching the gate of an eight foot tall barbed wire fence, I look up and sigh, pushing it open and walking inside the quarantine zone.

The road is deserted, with various posters blowing about in the street, and the rusted shells of forgotten cars lining the outsides of empty buildings. My green eyes scan the chain link, looking at the various posters tacked up.

Seeing some of them closer, they look to all have some extent of coverage from green or black paint. I can even see a poster of the Queen with a large green skull with a serpent tongue covering her face. I reach out to touch the poster, but in pulling my hand back, the tips of my fingers come away glistening with green liquid. I then take a step back, look around, and continue on my way, eyes trained on the ground in front of me, and hands stuffed in my pockets, with the muffled sound of men’s screams permeating my ears.

I continue walking through the desolate streets until I reach a heavy metal door with the words “Caution: Quarantine inside. Enter at your own risk.” I don’t think twice before pressing my shoulder against the door to open it.

Inside, the sounds of suffering are clearer, but I continue on my way. Close by, I can hear someone with a hacking cough, a side effect of the numbing agent.

“Hey-” A hoarse voice calls out, and I look up in surprise. “you’ll help me…” An unkempt man sitting in a pile of trash lunges at me, trying to grab my ankle, though I manage to jump out of the way. “Help me!” He screams at my back as I walk away. “You selfish pig! You’re just like the rest of us!”

“L-leave me alone.” I say quietly, continuing, albeit at a quicker pace, towards my destination while the man screams behind me.

“You’ll get yours one day kid! You just… you fucking wait…” Is what I hear before he breaks down crying, and I keep going out of fear.

I turn a corner a small ways from the man to the front of an unassuming building, manned by two armed guards wearing respirators over their mouths and noses. The man on the left looks me up and down, before stiffly asking- “Identification?” I take out my security pass and he runs it under a machine, which beeps to signal my clearance. “Put out your arms.” He says, taking out a metal detector and waving it over my whole body.

As it runs over my side, I pray with every ounce of my sinning soul that the pills won’t be detected, even though they never have been before.

“He’s clean.” The guard says once the detector has run over me multiple times. He gives me a look of sadness, and motions to his partner to open the door. “Good luck in there, Potter.” I nod in response and walk through the door into the cool, dark building.

My whole body shakes as I walk to the bathroom, the intercom of the building playing more messages like the one I heard on my way to work. “Several members of the Death Eaters have been arrested for vandalizing property, writing messages that spread their hate and lies…” I listen intently at the door to the restroom to make sure that it’s deserted, before entering and locking the door behind me. “The authorities have transferred the detainees to a nearby clinic for immediate neutralization.”

I walk to the sink, not bothering to look in the mirror because I know what I would see; the tired eyes of a liar, and the messy hair and smile-less lips of a sinner. I take the plastic container out of my pocket and crack it open, depositing the pills into my hands, looking at them with distain and distaste, before I hear a creak behind me. I look up and turn to the side, the sudden appearance of a heavily freckled red-haired man taking me by surprise, causing me to drop the container of pills and drop to my knees, scrambling to pick them all up.

“I-it’s not what it looks like-” I stutter, fear taking over my whole being, because if he knows what these pills do-

I look back at him after all the pills are put away, and I see a sad smile on his face.

“I should have known you were on Celibron-” he says, his accent thick. I narrow my eyes at him before looking away, my heart beating a million miles and hour. “I know exactly what you’re going through. You’re doing a really good thing-” I look back up at the man, who looks hardly older than I. How could he possibly know what I'n going through?

I narrow my eyes again, and stand up straight, slipping the bottle into my pocket. “I can’t eat… I can’t sleep… these- these things are fucking poisoning me-”

“These things saved my life.” The other man says calmly, resting his hand on my arm, which I immediately pull away. I turn my back, and put my hand on the doorknob, figuring I can just take the pills somewhere else. “Do you want to get better?” He asks, and my grip falters, before steadying again.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” I say. “It’s just a precaution.” And I walk out of the room, leaving the red haired man alone, once again.

About an hour later, I’ve nearly forgotten the experience. My mind is numbed by the Celibron coursing through my system, and my shoes loudly hit the ground in the quiet hallway leading up to my patient’s room.

I’ve traded my leather jacket and jeans for dark red scrubs, and my hands are unable to stop fidgeting as I walk up to the one-way glass that shows me my patient.

I look in and see him sitting on a table, wearing nothing but white shorts, and I swallow thickly, before mentally berating myself for it. He has neat bleach blonde hair and wears a look that would seem horrible on anyone except for him. His lean arms are pale and his stomach is toned and blemishless. When he looks up I can see stormy grey eyes and a strong chin. I open the door and walk into the room, trying to avoid eye contact with the beautiful man.

I go to the cart positioned directly next to the man, whose feet are bound to his padded medical chair. I pick up his file and graze my eyes over it, before having them rest on his name. 'Draco Malfoy’ I glance at him and look back at the chart blankly when I find that he’s looking back at me.

I walk around the back of him, glancing at his forearm and seeing a tattoo of a green skull and serpent right beneath the hinge of his elbow. His voice takes me out of my stupor.

“So… what’s it like?” I return to his side and look him in the eyes, before glancing away again. “When they cut it off?” Draco asks me morbidly.

“You’ll be anesthetized-” I reply quickly.

“Mm-mm. No, I want to feel everything-” my neck heats as I feel him look me up and down. “even pain.” He says everything with a confidence that I don’t understand. I don’t understand how he could be confident and level headed in the situation that he is in.

“We can’t do that. That’s… inhumane.” I tell him, still keeping my eyes on the tools that I’m fiddling with for no reason other than to distract myself from the strength of his gaze. He thinks for a moment before replying.

“Since when did that stop anyone?” I pause for a moment before continuing my distraction.

“I-I’m sorry. The government requires that every patient be numb from the waist down for this procedure…” His eyes burn into the back of my neck and I can feel the pills working against the feelings rising up inside of me. He smirks.

“What do you feel down there, nurse boy? I could smell you a mile away. Your body’s strong… it’s resisting those pills-” I turn to face him, an easygoing smile decorating his features, and anger boils up inside of me.

“How did you know that?” I ask with a mixture of anger, fear, and curiosity. His blonde hair flops into his eyes and he brushes the strands away with gentle fingers.

“Did you ever break sodomy law?” I stop again, the heat from my neck spreading to my cheeks.

“T-the what?” I stutter, trying to play innocent as I lean back against the wall. He just smiles and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe my ineducation on the subject.

“Sodomy, sweetie. Mmm, sodomy.” The blonde nearly hums the words, before turning back to me with an amused expression. “C'mon, everyone knows that the clinic staff are all a bunch of gays…” He looks me up and down hungrily, and says more quietly, “my nose never fails.” And my anger boils over. I slam the supplies on the cart, push off the wall, and walk right up to Malfoy. “Look, I don’t know what shit you heard, but it’s wrong. I’m straight.” I tell him matter-of-factly, walking to the other side of the room to pick up the sphygmomanometer. He clicks his tongue.

“Yeah, so is spaghetti 'till you get it wet…” He pauses before continuing at a whisper. “and hot…” His eyes are filled with lust, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep my composure under his grey gaze.

“I-I need to t-take your blood pressure-” I keep my eyes trained on the ground as I walk the few steps over to him, my fingers brushing his warm skin while I strap the contraption to his right bicep. He breathes in deeply,the muscles in his chest rising and falling as he chuckles and softly says

“You’re strapping it to the wrong limb-” I cut him off.

“You’re about to be castrated. Doesn’t that bother you?” I ask him irritably, giving in to my want for just a moment to rake my eyes up his body. He still acts indifferent, and I can’t tell if he’s really courageous or really stupid.

“Hell no.” He says, and I begin pumping up the pressure in the arm band of the sphygmomanometer. He throws his head back and then looks at me with a grin. “Turns me on, what can I say?” I rip the Velcro and take the band off of him, throwing it to the side in anger.

“This isn’t a game! People are dying because of this!” I exclaim, running my hand through my already disastrous black locks, and he suddenly turns serious.

“I live out there…” He looks down at his bound feet for a moment, before bringing his eyes up to mine once again. “I know what it’s like.”

“You’re a freak.” I say, going around to the other side of the chair back to the cart, my anger boiling over. I look at him again and his sarcastic smile is back.

“Might be hard- er, difficult- to do the procedure, if I’m… y'know.” He says, and I look up. He flicks his eyes downward, and I notice the bulge in the thin cotton pants.

“Oh… yeah…” I say.

Suddenly, Draco’s lunged out and grabbed my hand, pulling me to the side of his chair on my knees, putting my hand over his growing hard on, pressing it down, and moving it so that I’m cupping him. He’s strong; even as I’m struggling against him, I can’t get my hand away from it’s place against his cock.

“How does that feel?” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Yeah, just squeeze right there-” he exclaims to me when I inadvertently clench my fist around him. I can’t say that I’m not enjoying feeling what must be a rather large cock through those thin pants, though I know it’s so fucking wrong.

I stop struggling, and look away guiltily as I squeeze down his cock, though not bare I can feel its’ heat, and I have Draco writhing in his chair. I can tell that his moans are hardly contained and I have to thank god for these scrubs hiding the bit of hardness that I’ve acquired despite the pills.

“Fuck-” he moans quietly, more like a gasp when I flick my wrist hard. His hand is gripping my wrist as I go faster and faster; my panting becoming audible. It’s so…

wrong.

But…

It’s also… so

right.

“Fuckfuckfuck…” Curses spill from his lips as I take my hand off of him just to put it down the waistband of his pants and actually touch him. He’s heavy and throbbing and I have the sudden urge to put my mouth on him, but banish it from my head immediately.

'This is plenty wrong enough…’ The thought crosses my brain when I swipe my thumb over the head of his dripping cock, lubricating my hand in his precum as I continue to jack him off.

His other hand is pulling on my hair as moans continue to fall from his mouth.

“Tell me your name. Tell me your name so I can shout it when I come.” He gasps to words, and his cock twitches in my hand.

“Potter.” I say, and he’s already started his orgasm.

His hand grips my hair roughly and he arches his back. I bring my eyes to his face; grey eyes closed, and biting his lip in ecstasy.

“Fuck Potter!” He gasps and I can feel his come on my hand as he pants and moans and curses, finally collapsing in the chair, his chest rising and falling quickly. “You… you’re good at that-” he says as I stand up not a moment before the door opens behind me, causing me to run into the cart in surprise.

The surgeon walks in, completely indifferent to my reaction, and walks over to the cart, turning to me. My white covered hand is hidden behind my back.

“Where’s the scalpel?” He asks me, and I look over at Draco with wide eyes, who smirks, winks, and lunges at the surgeon, putting the blade in his neck and pulling it back out when the man has fallen to the floor.

He then takes my wrist in an iron grip and pulls me out the door and through several hallways.

“C'mon c'mon!” He says back at me, before throwing me against the wall near a guarded door. He attacks the guard, taking him down by brute force, punching him several times, then coming over to me, hauling me up, and dragging me over to the door.

“Open the door.” He says into my ear, raising hairs over my entire body, but I still struggle against him, until I feel cool metal against my throat. “Open. the door.” He repeats, pressing the scalpel in more, until I relent and put the code into the door.

Once unlocked, people come rushing out of the armored room in hysterics. All homosexuals. All people like Harry. I turn to run, but he’s come up behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks me, picking me up.

A sudden hit on the the back of the head has me out cold, and I can vaguely feel myself being thrown over a shoulder and carried…

-t.s-

“Ow…” I say when I awaken with a pounding headache, rubbing my forehead. I look around, and my heart rate rises when I see that I am no longer in the clinic.

I’m in a cloth tent, alone.

I scramble to the door, ignoring my headache and climb out into the light of a setting sun. Music, laughter and yelling reach my ears from somewhere nearby, and I decide to investigate. I know that I’m getting close, as I can hear Draco’s voice:

“Yes! My fellow Death Eaters! I promise you that we will stab at the opposition! We will be treated as people in this cruel world! We. Will. Be. Victorious!” He screams, the voice of the man permeating my ears. An excited scream rises from the other people in the group. “Stripped of our dignity, under the guise of a disease, an epidemic, that has nearly wiped us out. And now we appear! Without out meds! Because we won’t hide anymore. This is OUR freedom!” His speech hits a crescendo when I round the corner of the rocky path, and crouch behind some bushes.

In the clearing I can see Draco, standing on a rock next to a blazing fire, and a rather large group of cheering followers who are dancing and talking. Among them I swear I can see the red haired man from the bathroom.

I crouch lower behind the bush when I see Draco looking around the edges of the clearing, praying that he won’t see me. But he does. His eyes lock onto mine and I swear I see him lick his lips, before I back up, trip a bit, and then run as fast as I can in the other direction, thoughts racing through my mind.

'I’m not one of them. I’m straight, I’m normal. I won’t be killed and there’s nothing wrong with me.’ Desperate thoughts fill my head as I run, and I can hear him perusing me.

“You can’t go back! You have nowhere to go-” he yells after me, but I just keep going, my chest heaving and my legs burning, yet I still run with tears in my eyes.

I run until I trip, falling to the ground on my back, and within thirty seconds Draco’s reached me.

He kneels behind me and pulls me up onto my knees, one hand on my throat and holding my ear to his mouth, and his other arm around my stomach holding me in place as I struggle against him.

“You can’t go back. The government’s declared you a renegade-” He says into my ear, his fingers and thumb digging into my cheeks and squishing my mouth.

“I-I can’t be a part of this-” I say, and he stretches my head back so that my neck is completely exposed, and puts his lips next to my ear.

“You’re here, just do it.” He says, and pushes me down so that I’m flat on my back, his knees on either side of my hips and his hands on either side of my head. I stare into his eyes, which have a softness that I didn’t see in the clinic.

“You felt something didn’t you?” He asks with a smile, stony eyes gleaming. I swallow thickly and try to ignore the pangs of want throbbing in my chest. “That’s the pills wearing off.”

Our breathing heavy and deep, it’s my turn to talk. “Was that your plan? To hold me hostage until the pills wore off?” I challenge him, and he smirks at me, his lips now mere inches above mine.

“A man’s not a man until his pills wear off…” He looks at me thoughtfully. “I’m doing you a favor.” He licks his lips, and takes the hem of my shirt in his fist, ripping it over my head, leaving my tanned chest gleaming in the darkening sky. His eyes look at me hungrily.

“What are you doing?” I ask, though all logical thought is being clouded with lust.

“Freeing the dragon.” He smirks, and all thought goes out the window. With a surge of strength, I push Draco off of me onto his back, and reassume his old position on top. The man beneath me looks vaguely surprised, but he doesn’t have long to retain the face because I’ve started attacking his lips.

I kiss him with a passion I’ve never felt before. His lips are soft and supple, and when his tongue snakes into my mouth it feels like it was made to be there. I bite his bottom lip hard in ecstasy, and when I grind my hips down into his for a split second, he groans into my mouth.

I rip his shirt off of him, running my hands over ever inch of uncovered pale skin all the way up his arms to his wrists, which I pin over his head while I start attacking his neck with hard bites and kisses, all the way to his collar bone. We’re both panting like animals at this point, but I couldn’t possibly care less.

“Shit-” he gasps, pressing his hips into mine, presenting me his already throbbing cock through yet another pair of thin pants. I take my hands off his wrists and he immediately puts one in my hair, and the other is running down my back, pushing me onto him.

He grabs me by the sides, hauling me into a sitting position without ever taking his lips off of mine.

Draco licks all the way down my neck and onto my collar bone, his cock pressing into me and mine prodding him in the stomach. I grind into him and he throws his head back in a loud moan, thrusting his hips up against me.

“Fuck…” I sigh, because it seems to be the only word in my vocabulary right now.

Within seconds of my moan he has his fingers in the waistband of my pants and is almost ripping them off, leaving me bare in his lap. I immediately climb off of him and pull his pants off of him, but the second they’re off he’s got me back on top of him, assaulting my lips and squeezing my ass.

My thighs are wrapped around his waist and every time I move my cock rubs against his stomach until I can’t take it anymore.

“I-I need you-” I gasp in his ear, and his mouth is immediately off of mine.

“If you want me, you’re going to need some preparation.” He whispers in my ear, not taking any more time and putting me down on my stomach, spreading me, and putting his tongue in my hole.

“Goddamn, Draco!” I gasp as he puts it as deep as it can go, working me loose. My hands pull at his once neat blonde hair, and he works his tongue in me until he has me writhing. But he doesn’t stop there. He puts two fingers in his mouth, covering them with saliva, and puts them in in place of his tongue. I moan, and he starts to talk.

“You’re going to look so fucking gorgeous with my cock inside you.” He pumps his fingers faster, earning himself a strangled gasp. He takes my head and turns it so that my eyes are on him while he finger fucks me. “You’ll be taking all eight inches whether you like it or not, baby.” I throw my head back in reply because he’s started curling his fingers and I can’t comprehend anything but the feeling. He smirks, grey eyes crinkling. “Good.” He says, taking his fingers out and leaving me with an empty feeling. “I need you to lube me.” I quirk an eyebrow, and he chuckles. “Suck me a bit. Just a little. I don’t know how long I would last in that mouth.” I blush but bring my mouth down to meet his glistening head all the same.

His cock is warm and full in my mouth and I try to take it as deep as it can go, getting it as wet as possible. All too soon he’s pulling it out.

“I-I can’t…” He pulls me on top of him again, but doesn’t have me sit. He looks me dead in the eye. “After I’m done with you, you’re not going to be able to sit comfortably for a week.” He growls the words into my ear and I moan. He takes that as the signal to start lowering me onto him.

Inch by inch he fills me, and it burns and hurts but it hurts so good that I don’t know whether to scream or moan. His girth is stretching me and I wrap my legs around his waist. After a bit of adjusting, Draco is in me all the way to the hilt, his tip brushing lightly against my prostate every time he moves. He puts his forehead against mine and kisses me when he starts thrusting; slowly at first. In the beginning it hurts, and he swallows my cries. But then it starts feeling good… suddenly, he isn’t going fast enough.

“Faster.” I gasp into his ear, and he has no problem fulfilling my request. My cock rubs against Draco’s stomach with every thrust, giving me more pleasure than I know what to do with. My nails scratch at his back roughy, surely leaving dozens of marks.

“Faster.” I say again, because I want more. So much more. “Harder.” And he goes harder, but still not hard enough. I pull his face down to meet mine, and look into his darkened stormy eyes. “Fuck me ask hard and fast as you can.” I say to him, and he grins.

“As you wish, Mr. Potter.” He says, before pulling out, putting me on my hands and knees, going back in, and fucking me so hard that he hits my prostate with every thrust.

“Draco!” I scream, his hips slapping my ass where they meet, and his hands pulling me by the hips to meet his frantic thrusts. I take myself in hand and jack myself off harder and faster than ever before because I’m so painfully hard that I don’t know what to do with myself. Soon, I can feel the coil tightening inside of me. “I-I’m going to-” is all I get out before I come the hardest I ever have, and he’s still fucking me as hard as ever.

Draco pulls me up so my back is against his chest and he takes my now soft cock in hand, moving his hand in time with his thrusts until I’m amazingly hard again, and he himself is grunting. But his orgasm comes with dirty talk.

“I’m so glad I got to fuck you open. I want to split you down the middle with my cock, and never stop fucking you. I got you hard again so I could suck you, feel all 7 inches of you, Harry. Fuck… Fuck!” He screams, riding out his orgasm inside me. The second he stops coming, he pulls out, moves down and gives me the most aggressive blowjob ever, which ends with my come all over his face.

“Scared, Potter?” He asks me, panting.

I give him a wry grin.

“You wish.”

-

“And so, in response to this new aggression, we are launching a new effort…”

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Deadman Reaper

Arc of the Deadman Reaper

War was a tedious thing of waiting Seth came to realize; occasionally there were moments of combat. Seth could see the effect it had on ordinary men; the stress of waiting for death was tearing men apart inside. Seth however felt nothing not even the mind-numbing boredom.

The Orcs however took pleasure in the death they dealt. The boredom didn’t seem to bother them either, when idle they just switched to torturing prisoners. When those ran out, they feasted, and there was always more to come.

They had left Kon Fort long behind having gained land all the way back to the border where the Regarians dug in like a tick. The lords of the reclaimed forts fell with their keeps and new men were left to garrison them. The orcs marched on leaving blood in their wake. Seth left the strategy and leadership to Raigo, who was outsmarting the Regarians at every turn. Seth paid little attention to the battles; his duty was to get the king.

Seth had spent weeks among the Orcs in battles in hopes of catching the king when he came to battle. Of course, Arian never ventured into the small skirmishes that took up most battling. Large scale clashes hardly happened in war only if it was over a certain strategical point. Since they had gained most of the roads and forts of western Lir there had been less of those large-scale battles.

Now four months after the war had started, they were at the border between Lir and Regis. Arian was holding the line at a great strategic vantage point, Heartfell. The three hills stood where Lir now met Regis, though these lands used to belong to the Aldan before the Kings Wars. Seth had already heard Raigo growl at their strategic position. Seth had paid little attention other than the fact that no one just went around a fort or outpost and leave it at your back. You had to take it first.

Regis though wasn’t going to give way, and neither was Drasir. The battling through the winter had been bitter and hard, but the Orcs didn’t seem to mind the cold and had plenty of food from their kills. But the Regarians were feeling the strain of low rations and bitterly cold nights. Seth sat in the Orc camp looking across the no man’s land at the camp of the Regarian knights.

He could see Arian’s tent cresting the hill, his banner of a dragon rampart flying over the whole camp. Seth’s eyesight was now nearly inhuman, he had caught a glimpse of the king a few times coming and going from his tent. This close, but Seth could not get to him. The camp was iron tight, getting in was nearly impossible without the right papers. Seth could cross the no man’s land at night if he wanted to; even if he was shot with an arrow it wouldn’t kill him. But without the right paperwork or disguise he wasn’t going to get into that camp.

Even camp whores and followers had a separate camp in the lee of the hills on the other side of the road. Unless Seth was a knight he wasn’t getting into that camp. Then an idea struck him and he grinned, not out of humor but out of habit. He stood to go seek Raigo. It was the middle of the night and the Orc camp was lively with the screams and cries of women or captured knights. Often the Orcs went after the camp followers when they could, mainly to get the women that were there.

He found the Orc general in his tent with his favorite toy. The woman was Regarian, taken in a raid of one of the camps. She had been a Sect of Lun telling by her once beautiful robes, probably a healer brought for the war. Now she was on all fours as Raigo rode her. Seth stood and waited for the Orc general to finish. Though he was the ugliest creature Seth had ever seen Raigo had a build that rivaled the gods. Under the blotted blue and black skin his muscles rippled like a race horse’s, the body of a machine of war.  

Raigo finished and pushed the woman down onto the furs, standing to face Seth. His black and yellow eyes looked at him almost bored as he went to the basin to wash.

“You’re almost acting like a human,” Seth said as Raigo finished and pulled on a horsehair tunic. Raigo laughed a bit at that, his fangs flashing in the dim lamp light.

“You are what you eat, and I have eaten only men,” Raigo answered.

“Is she to be a meal or a mother?” Seth asked indicating the woman. If she was listening, she didn’t show it, she lay on the furs like a broken doll. Raigo looked back at her and shrugged.

“I’ve never sired a litter,” Raigo answered. “Children grow strong to eat their fathers. I would only kill those to come after me. If she bears some so be it.”

“You’ve kept her though,” Seth said.

“I like her hair,” Raigo answered. Seth wondered at that, if he had been human Seth would have guessed that the woman reminded Raigo of his mother. Monsters, even human ones, had that flaw of hating their mothers. But Raigo had no mother by his admission, he had come into this world through a gate, and before that was nothing more than a mindless spirit of darkness.

“Anyways, I have a plan of getting into the Regarian camp,” Seth said as Raigo dressed into his armor. The Orcs liked wearing rough clothes like burlap, horsehair, or leather. Seth learned it was because their skin was thick and they didn’t mind the texture, as long as it was sturdy.

“Go on,” Raigo said interested.

“I need some of the armor from one of the captured knights, preferably one captured recently,” Seth said.

“They will not fall for that,” Raigo said. “The knights have said the king keeps count of those we take so they know who is gone. You will not sneak in with armor.”

“I wasn’t planning on going in alive,” Seth said and grinned. Raigo answered with a grin and nod before leaving the tent to seek what Seth had asked for.

“The gods weep at your atrocities.”

Seth turned to see the woman was sitting up now, her knees tucked in at her chin. She was young, maybe a few years younger than Seth, and shapely if a little on the plump side. She had the Regarian beauty, one that never really lasted through to old age. Seth noted a few bite marks where Raigo had been overzealous or just a bit hungry.

“The gods if there are any are probably fornicating all over the sky,” Seth said. “What do you think clouds are?”

He made a motion with his fist near his cock and actually got the woman to scowl at him in disgust. He’d thought she be far past disgust at this point.

“Who are you?” she asked. “You are not some demon like these creatures.”

“I am though,” Seth said. “I just happen to look like a man. And who are you? Other than some misfortunate Sect and now Raigo’s chew toy.”

Her eyes were filled with fury now and fists clenched in rage. She sat a little higher and raised her head in pride.

“I am Sect Melina Roux,” she said with acid and Seth froze.

“Roux?” Seth said. “You wouldn’t be related to the Earl Roux, would you?”

“My brother has the title,” Melina answered.

“Your father was killed by an assassin, one of his own men,” Seth said, and she looked at him with wide eyes. Seth removed his mask and looked at her, recognizing her even though she didn’t recognize him. He remembered the Earl’s arrogant daughter though he had only met her once when she had returned home from the Sect for Cael’s Day. Had he been the man he was then he would have killed her just out of spite, now he felt nothing as he looked down at the daughter of a man that had once commanded him to kill innocents.

“Who are you?” Melina said her voice shaking, maybe from rage or maybe from fear.

“I am an assassin, I was that assassin that took your father,” Seth said to see what she would do. Melina growled in her throat and lunged for a dagger on the floor. She leapt up and aimed for Seth’s chest, and he didn’t stop her. She stabbed him through the ribs and into the heart, Seth feeling nothing of the blade passing through his chest.

When he didn’t fall Melina looked up at him with terror in her eyes now.

“Oh, and I can’t die,” Seth added. Raigo returned just then with two Orcs lugging a set of Regarian armor. “Ah good you found some,” Seth said as he reached up and casually withdrew the dagger. “Your whore was kind enough to provide the injury I needed to pass this off.”

“You hardly bleed though,” Raigo said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Seth said. “There is plenty of blood on that and it is fresh which is what I wanted. Help me into it.”

Melina slunk away forgotten now as Seth stripped of his black clothes and armor. The two Orcs helped him into the armor, closing the helm over his face.

“Your face won’t pass when they inspect it,” Raigo said. “Want me to fix that?”

“I’m quite fond of my face thanks,” Seth answered. “They won’t inspect a dead man too much.”

“What about when they check for a pulse?” Raigo asked.

“I don’t have one,” Seth answered. “I’ll bring back the king’s head in a nice pretty box for you Raigo, a special treat just for you.”

Raigo growled at him as he left, and Seth just made a rude gesture back at him to let him know he cared. He walked out back through the camp, nearly stopped by a few Orcs, but he simply killed one and they let him pass. He then walked out into the no man’s land keeping low. The trees and bushes had been cleared away and it was now nothing but an open plain. Seth kept low until he knew he was in visible range of the sentries.

Then he lay on his belly and began to crawl. He stopped occasionally as if he were tired or wounded. He kept crawling until he was in the torch light and heard men shouting. He let out a weak cry and then shuddered and fell limp. He played possum as the guards shouted and one came running. He felt the man reach under the armor to try and find a pulse but felt nothing as Seth knew he would.

“Send for a Sect of Isra,” the guard shouted. “He’s already gone.”

Shouts followed and Seth had to lay perfectly still as orders were shouted. The guard rolled him onto his back and Seth looked up into the night sky, putting all his will into not moving even his eyes to blink.

“May the gods guard you well brother,” the guard said as he raised the visor of his helm and closed Seth’s eyes. Thankfully it was dark, and the man didn’t notice that Seth had Elmerian features rather than Regarian features. Had he dressed as a foot soldier the knights wouldn’t have bothered to come and get him even if he was alive. As a knight however they would move mountains to retrieve a fallen brother even a dead one.

He could only perceive the frenzy of activity from closed eyes, so he only felt men lift him onto a stretcher and carry him away. He hoped towards the camp and beyond the guards there. It was only a short time until he was set down on a table and the stretcher pulled away. He heard men leaving to return to their posts but sensed there was another living person in the tent.

Seth risked opening one eye and turning his head slightly to look around. He was laying on a table in a long open ceiling tent, other men lying on tables nearby. He didn’t need the gore and wounds to tell him that the men were dead; he could see it in the still lines of their bodies. A Sect stood with her back to Seth, working at another table full of tools and bandages. He couldn’t see her face, but her hands were wrinkled and old, the veins standing out against her thin bones. She wore the robes of the Sect, lined in black silk; a Sister of Sorrow of the Stone Order.

The morticians of the Sect had their own order, those that tended to the dead to get them ready for Empyria. They were usually only women, dedicates to the Goddess of Night and the Dead, Isra. The Stone Order was the other side of the Steel Order, the order of the knights that was solely male. The Holy Knights dispatched death and the Sisters of Sorrow cleaned up after them.

Seth closed his eyes and turned his head back as the old woman began to turn towards him. He let his heart lie still as the old woman leaned over him and began taking his helmet off. Seth waited for her to inhale sharply in surprise, but she didn’t.

“Well, an Elmerian Knight,” she muttered. “You must have been someone’s bastard. Well you won’t be the first Elmerian I’ve tended to today.”

Seth didn’t answer, realizing the old bat probably liked to talk to her patients though they were dead. The Sisters of Sorrow tended to be strange women, those that were mad or ugly tended to be placed in the order by their families. Seth lay still as the old woman took off his armor, surprisingly strong for someone so frail. Seth felt her wrinkled hands thin and dry pull off the clothes he wore under the armor until he was naked on the table.

He wanted to run, but part of his plan required no one know that he had been the corpse if he was to move freely around the camp. So, he let the old woman tend to him, washing him clean with water of asphodel and cypress. She was following a ritual Seth had never seen before despite his dealing with death. The Sects rituals for burial were a private affair so usually only the Sisters knew them. Frankincense was burning filling the air with a heavy smoke.

“Thanks a lot for crawling all the way back,” the old woman said as she washed him. “Kept me up out of my bed. Though I suppose I can’t complain, with those black bruits eating half the men they take my workload has been a lot lighter.”

She finished washing him, and then began drying his skin with a clean cotton cloth. When she finished drying him, she anointed his forehead, breastbone, and navel with holy oil of myrrh and tansy. She opened his mouth sprinkled something onto his tongue, salt telling by the texture though Seth could not taste it. He couldn’t sense any of the smells of the place, yet he somehow knew what they all were. Maybe he was close to death after all.

She then began to wrap him in a yellow shroud, yellow was the color for a warrior who died in battle for Sol. Seth guessed at this, he had seen other bodies wrapped in other colors depending on how they had died. He knew that if the person died in disgrace they were buried without a shroud. Seth then saw her crown him with a wreath of olive leaves.

Then the old woman began to pray. Like all Sect she made hand signs to the sky; that was why the tent was open to the sky so the souls of the dead men could ascend to Empyria to join the gods. Seth could just see the old woman making the hand signs out of a gap in the shroud. She paced about as she did them, steps seeming key in the ritual as well. It took her a long time to finish but at last she lowered her hands.

“All done young man,” she said patting his shoulder. “You have a good rest in Empyria, be sure to save me a seat in Sol’s light.”

She gave him one last pat before walking off. Seth waited longer to be sure she was gone before he sat up and pulled the shroud off. He looked around and sure enough he was alone, but for the dead. He tore off the shroud and got to his feet, wiping the oil off his skin and spitting out the salt crystals still on his tongue.

He looked around for something to change into, finding a basket full of the armor he had worn. There was more from the other men dead in the tent, but Seth hunted around for just the clothes. Finding some that would suit a servant he dressed and left the tent by one of the walls rather than an entrance for fear of being seen. He then went around the camp which was mostly quiet in the middle of the night. The guard’s attention was on the outside not inside, so Seth had a good deal of room to move about.

First, he went to the cook tent where he found an apron and put it on, completing his look of a servant. He inspected the knives, but all were kitchen knives unsuited for his purpose. He hadn’t brought anything since he had been in disguise, but he knew he could find something around camp.

The problem he was going to have is getting close enough to the king to do the deed. Even in camp there would be a bodyguard standing nearby ready to protect the king. That was the problem with assassinating a high standing target; they tended to have the best security. In the history of the Nine Kingdoms since they had been untied only twenty odd kings had been killed during their reign. Only half had died outside of battle, and most had been killed by someone close to them like a brother or lover. A few had been killed by their own men, a bodyguard bribed into turning against their lord like Seth had once done.

Of all those kings only one had been High Kings. Ioram I Alvar, the bloody king. Many said he had been mad since birth, but had never shown any signs until he took the throne. He had declared the Elmerians rats and ordered every one of them executed, trying to start one of the first genocides since the Cursed Age. Many had opposed this ruling but Ioram spent then entire treasury of the throne to buy Hyrian and Xinian mercenaries, it had been the only time the Pridesmen had left the desert into northern lands. The civil strife had lasted four years until at last Ioram’s brother Terrian I Alvar, who had been challenging his rule since it began, killed him in a peace meeting under a flag of truce.

Terrian became known as Terrian the Restful King, and brought peace back to the kingdoms for a time. Seth knew however the only reason Terrian had been able to kill Ioram was because he had been his brother, able to get close to him to do the deed. Even though the two brothers had been at war with each other, Ioram had still felt safe enough to hold a peace meeting when Terrian had called for it. No one had expected Terrian to kill his brother, though none of history knows what happened in that meeting as it had been private.

So, as the camp slept Seth sat on his heels and mused about how to kill Arian. Poison was out; the king’s food would be prepared and delivered by only the most loyal servants. He was a new face and he risked capture if he tried to pose as a servant to get close. As he was he had some leeway in camp as long as he kept his head down, but the moment he made a move towards the king Seth knew the jackals would be on him.

Battle was out as well though Seth had already known this. Arian had not engaged in any skirmishes, sitting on his high horse watching the battles go on surrounded by a wall of knights. If a party tried attacking the knights would form up long enough for Arian to escape back to the fortified camp.

So now even though Seth was in the camp he still had the difficulty of getting close to the king. The longer he stayed in camp the more likely he would be discovered. The old Sister of Sorrow had seen his face; if she saw him walking about, she would say something.

There was one bonus Seth didn’t have to worry about and that was death. A mission like this was usually a suicide mission, in all likelihood he would be caught even after he succeeded in the deed. Most assassins never survived being caught, though he had as well so Seth’s luck always seemed to be on his side.

He supposed the major problem he had was tools, his whole method and approach were going to depend on what weapons he could employ. If he got his hands on a crossbow his chances of being caught went down, but so did his chances of success. A long-distance weapon had the problem of interference by bodyguards or bad aim. A knife had a better chance, but only if he could get close without anyone noticing. A sword had more reach but wasn’t subtitle enough even in a place where almost every man was armed. Poison wouldn’t work even if Seth could get his hands on some.

Seth also had the twisted need to make the death interesting; it made the deed easier to do if he could find some irony or unique twist in the execution. Even though he could no longer feel anything the compulsion was still there. He fantasized about using the iron gibbet on the king, seeing it as an appropriate end to the man that had invented the damn thing. Although he couldn’t use the iron gibbet Seth realized he could use decapitation as the method of death.

He began moving about camp again searching for a suitable weapon. It was the dog hours of morning before the sun even set the sky aglow with the blush of sunrise. At first, he looked for a sword or ax before he realized he would never be able to get close enough to do the deed with a heavy or bulky weapon. So he turned instead to wire.

There was a blacksmith in the camp with many thousands of tools and instruments. Seth found a long wire with two wooden pegs for handles. The wire was used to cut clay and other materials with ease. Seth examined the wire, pulling it to test its strength. The smith had made it of steel apparently, and probably used it to cut more sturdy things other than clay. The wire however was too thick for Seth’s purposes.

The smith however had a wet wheel, a devise used for sharpening swords. Seth took the wire to the stone, spinning it with the foot crank. The wire made little noise against the stone and Seth finished before the smith woke. Pocketing the wire he walked away towards the King’s tent. Even with the wire Seth was going to need a significate amount of force to separate a head from a body in one go, but he was willing to accept the challenge.

As he walked the camp woke at last and servants began preparing for the day. Seth unfortunately was dressed as a servant, so he didn’t get far before a task was pushed on him. He had no choice but to comply since if he refused it would draw attention. Carrying water from the well to the cook tent was a simple task. As he worked, he overheard two knights talking.

“…Orders to gather for the king’s speech,” one was saying to the other. “Make sure every man of arms in your command is there to hear.”

“Will we be rallying for a charge?” the other asked excited.

“I don’t know but I doubt it,” the other knight answered. “I’ve heard rumors though that the king has at last heard from Hyria about a force being sent for support.”

“About time,” the other man muttered. Seth walked past the men, one hand slipping into a coin purse to take what he needed.

Seth hurried away and kept his ears open to soon learn where the gathering would be held. It would be on the western side of the hill out of sight of the enemy. Seth left for the field as soon as he could to see many had already gathered. He could tell immediately where the king would stand; at a little natural hillock that overlooked the field. It was an open area, no good for sneaking. But there was a stand of trees by the path the king would walk from his tent to the hill. Seth moved casually his every sense trained for anyone taking notice of him.

No one did as he made it to the trees and began to climb. The spring foliage was young and new, the green leaves not fully open yet. There was just enough cover in the branches around the trunk Seth knew no one would notice him, hardly anyone ever looked up. He examined the position and determined it would be hard to catch the king as he walked down from his tent. Seth would have to walk out onto a branch and swing down to perform the task, he would be visible then. It would be best to wait to strike.

He sat in the tree until the sun was high and at last the king came walking down from his tent surrounded by guards. Seth watched Arian carefully as he walked below the tree. His guards surrounded him loosely; there was a lot of space between them and the king. They walked on and the guards peeled off so Arian could stand up on the hill to overlook his men. Cheers roared from the crowd and Arian waited until they died to speak.

He looked a fine figure up there on the hill, his armor polished and crown gleaming in the sun. He wore a red cape emblazoned with the dragon rampart and held a large claymore before him resting his hands on the cross guard. He regarded the army before him with cool anger.

“We have been at this too long,” Arian said darkly. “Loe has proven to be in league not only with the Legion who worships a false god, but now monsters of demi human stock. They are a bastard race that should be wiped off the face of Miread like the rats they are. We are supported by the gods, the holy Order of Steel meant to vanquish the enemies of the gods.”

The men roared thumping their fists against armor.

“But we had been at this too long!” Arian roared. “The gods weep that we had taken so long to vanquish their enemies. I tell you all now when we have vanquished these demons into the dust, I will turn to those who failed to raise the sword as they should have rightly done when I hailed them.”

The outcry of rage was deafening.

“Hyria has at last sent an army from the river lands,” Arian said at last. “They march as we speak for the east. A purchase of the mercenaries of Xin has also come through, the Horse Lords ride through the Spine Mountains as we speak.”

Cheers of relief and victory rose up.

“We will see the spring harvest of heads come rolling in, let the reaper take his toll on those that stand against the Gods and their children.”

Arian raised his sword high and the men roared in glee. The men kept cheering as Arian lowered his sword and turned to leave, his guards following him. Seth watched him like a cat watched a mouse, reaching into his pocket for his trump card. As the guards passed under the tree Seth carefully tossed a silver coin down to fall neatly at the king’s feet.

Arian despite being the richest man in the whole kingdoms, the Regarian King stopped and bent to pick up the coin. Seth leapt, using his knees to wrap around the tree branch and swing down the wire strung between his hands. He caught Arian in the throat just as he rose up, Seth’s momentum and inhuman strength pulling the wire across his throat. Seth heard the King’s blood gurgle out and felt a slight tug at the wire, but he pulled hard.

He landed behind Arian and turned to see the King’s headless corpse standing with blood pumping from its neck. It toppled and Seth saw Arian’s head sitting on the ground looking astonished, his crown sitting next to him. The guards stood stunned, but Seth moved like lightning. He scooped up the head and crown and ran, slipping between two knights like a thief in a market street.

In two heartbeats he was yards away before men began shouting to follow him. Horns blared and shouts rang through the camp, but Seth ran faster than any man. He ran between tents and stunned servants the King’s bloody head and crown in his hands. He cleared the camp, men still chasing him, but unable to catch him. He heard more than felt arrows thump into his back, but he didn’t even lose his stride.

He ran across the no man’s land, the sound of pounding hooves following him as knights chased him. War drums suddenly pounded to life and Seth saw the Orcs rise up from their camp. They charged to meet him out on the field and the angered knights meant to chase him down tried to stop and retreat, but it was too late. The Orcs had no cavalry, horses were too afraid of them to be ridden, but they ran faster and harder than any man.

The Orc line hit the stunned and startled knights like the tide hit a sandcastle. Men shouted, horses screamed, and horns blared for a retreat. Seth slowed and stood in the middle of a tide of blood enraged Orcs as they charged for their enemies and next meal.

“Good job,” Raigo said stepping up next to him. Seth turned to see the Orc leader standing by with a long pole.

“You knew to attack when I was successful,” Seth said and Raigo gave a blood chilling smile. “Here’s the trophy.”

“More than that,” Raigo said as Seth tossed the King’s head over. Seth felt nothing to see a familiar face in the monster’s hands as Raigo raised Arian’s head to his mouth. His great tusks cracked Arian’s head open like an egg, and he slurped up the gray brains as they gushed out. When he finished, he lowered the pole and mounted the head on the spike. Seth put the crown back on the head; it sat askew because half of Arian’s head was now caved in. But the face was still distinguishable, the eyes bulging and tongue hanging out.

Raigo raised the grizzly head up and howled. The Orcs turned to look and roared with glee, thumping their fists against their armor much like the men of Regis had just done. Seth turned to look to see what this did to the men. Most were fleeing still; tents being torn down and the camp in chaos. But Seth could just see some men raise their heads and look up to see their King’s head. Seth couldn’t see their faces, but he imagined they were white with terror.

He turned away to leave the Orcs to their gory orgy and walked back to the camp. He walked by Raigo’s tent and saw Melina standing in the entrance of the tent. She wasn’t looking at him, but at the sight of the King’s head being waved over the Orcs. She looked like the world had ended.

Seth walked on back to his tent to change and wash. Once into the black silks and leather armor he now wore he put the death mask back on. He preferred wearing it, simply because it threw people off. Walking out his walked to a silent grove of trees to sit on a tree stump and stare at the white feather again. He felt nothing.

“Lord Hollow.”

Seth turned at the title he had become known by to see the Duke Han standing behind him. The Duke looked haggard, his face drawn and new gray in his hair. His eyes were haunted and dead, the eyes of a man who had seen so much he had long since given up. Seth stood and pocketed his feather turning to the Lord Han with a nod and slight bow.

“Lord Han, I’m surprised to see you,” he said. “I’d think you would have committed suicide a long time ago.”

“I linger on,” Han answered dully. “The Emperor has sent me here with a duty to perform. I was to wait until you took the High King’s head, but it seems my timing is impeccable.”

“So it is,” Seth said. “How do you feel about that?”

“I have lost the ability to feel much anymore,” Han said, his tone hopeless.

“You have no idea how it feels to be empty Lord Han, nor do you know anything of pain,” Seth said in his usual dead pan voice and he saw Han’s face drain of blood. “So who am I to kill now? Women with babes still in the womb? Children who can barely walk? Because I have killed all those now and seen it done. I’ve seen this army joyfully slaughter those in villages we come across, eat them, and tear them apart. I’ve fought in those raids, killed in those raids, because I feel nothing.

“None of this compares however to seeing an Orc litter born, none of it. I’ve lived with demons Lord Han; I’ve seen the worst of war. And yet I still feel nothing.”

He let his words sink in, feeling nothing to see Han struggling with his gore. The Lord lost that battle; he turned to vomit into the bushes. If he had not heard the stories as he traveled here, he would have seen what was left of those places the Orc army had passed through. Seth now knew the meaning of pain and fear, though he could not feel any himself.

“It is the end of days we have seen, and all hope is gone from this world,” Han said. “We can only struggle to make our way in what we face.”

“What is the fucking mission?” Seth said, gaining nothing from Han’s words.

“We are to ride to Cair Leone under a flag of truce,” Han answered. “You are to pose as my servant to gain access to the palace so that you might kill Elrik Drasir the pretender of the High Throne. The Emperor has decided to take the seat and will claim a Regarian noble as his wife for Regis.”

“Princess Pricilla is too old for his taste,” Seth said, a mere observation but Han made a wounded cry in the back of his throat, leaning over the bushes to gag up what was left of his stomach. Han recovered and turned to him again, shaking.

“She is too old for his taste, but he is willing to claim her none the less,” Han answered. “He told me to seek out another younger girl should I find her, but I fail to think of any the right age and standing.”

“We will see then,” Seth said interested. “But killing Elrik will not gain him the seat he wants. There are too many heads to this serpent; there is more than just one man or woman controlling the Court of Miracles.”

“The Emperor informed me that you once were an assassin of the court,” Han said. “He said you would know the best way to wrest control of the court and who would need killing.”

“He wants me to plan this coup?” Seth said and Han nodded. He thought that over, examining possibilities. He was more worried about what Loe was planning with this move. It implied Loe had a lot of trust in Seth, but he knew that wasn’t true. “Was this Loe’s idea?”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Han said.

“He’s introduced you to Kal Ba’el hasn’t he?” Seth said, sure that Loe had shown the reliquary to the high standing lords and ladies of the Court of Whispers. Han shivered and nodded.

“I have seen the dark god yes,” Han said dully. “He deserves to be feared. I do not pretend to know his whims or his plans, I only serve.”

If Seth could feel fear, he would be quivering in his boots to hear the Lord Han speak like that. The Legion sounded like fanatics, like they truly believed raping and eating people was glorious and their dark god would lead them to victory. Han sounded like a broken slave, one that believed what had been told to him because all hope and life had been raped out of him. He had no spirit left to fight.

“Fine,” Seth said moving on. “Feng Loe serves Kal Ba’el so much it doesn’t make much of a difference anyways. So you are to help me in this endeavor?”

“Yes, I am to ride under the flag of truce,” Han said. “I am to be a lord that has fled the Emperor’s tyranny and I am seeking shelter in the Court of Miracles.”

“Sherah will buy that but only if you had brought your entire family with you,” Seth said. “If even one member is not with you she will know they are being used as hostages for your good behavior and that you are a spy.”

“That is why I have brought them all with me,” Han said.

“All of them?” Seth asked. “Even Noa?”

“Even Noa,” Han said dully, and Seth eyed him now.

“If you have your daughter back then what is keeping you in line Han?” Seth asked. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“No trick,” Han said as he turned. “Come I’ll show you.”

Warily Seth followed him. Though he couldn’t feel pain and couldn’t be killed it didn’t mean Seth couldn’t be trapped. He had no idea what would happen if he were cut up into pieces and buried. So he followed Han back to camp where a tent had been set up away from the Orcs’ tents. It flew Han’s standard, a crane with reeds framing it. Inside the tent sat Moa and an older woman who must have been Han’s wife. She said nothing as they walked in, her face might as well been made of porcelain. Han went to another room of the tent and stepped back so Seth could enter. Inside it was lit by several lamps, the smell of sandalwood incense filling the room.

Noa Han lay in a drugged stupor in sleeping robes. A burner sat in the corner of the room with opium smoke drifting about in lazy spirals. She was tied up with padded leather restraints, both hand and foot.

“So you drugged her to deal with her pain,” Seth said. “This proves nothing Han.”

“We’ve drugged her for her own good yes,” Han said. “Go and pull back her robes.”

Glaring Seth went into the room and knelt next to the girl. When he pulled back the robes he saw something he had not expected. Black tattoos covered the girl’s body in writhing lines like snakes. Tiny lines of writing followed the lines, a script Seth had never seen before but somehow he could read the meaning of. Arousal and pain, the marks made the girl a slave to these things constantly feeling them together.

“When we first got her back, I feared for her health,” Han said. “She threw herself at me, trying to… The opium is the only way to keep her calm. Even though I have her back, Loe owns her forever now. She only ever acts human in his presence, outside of his presence she does everything to try to get back to him. She acts like an animal and cries out for him saying she loves him.”

Seth closed the girl’s robes and walked out looking Han in the eye. The man was broken now, his daughter lost to him. Seth drew a dagger and put it to his throat, looking in his eyes for fear but only seeing acceptance.

“Why do you do this?” Han asked. “Why do you work for that monster?”

Seth sheathed his dagger, and shrugging.

“He made me into a monster like him, but he made me into something that doesn’t care about that. All that is left is the knowledge that he has to die, and yet the inability to know how to make that happen. So I’ll continue to do his dirty work because it keeps me close enough to one day learn how to kill him.”

“Are you not impatient?” Han asked. “You are not close to him right now; you are not learning anything on how to kill him like this.”

If Seth could laugh, he would have, but the ability to make the sound was gone from him.

“He made me immortal; time is meaningless to me now. And I don’t care about the thousands that will die by my hands because of this. I don’t care about anything and there is nothing you can do or say to make me care. I am dead already.”

Han stared at him as if looking at a monster, a monster he feared.

“Very well Lord Hollow,” Han said bowing to him. “What then is your plan in taking the Court of Miracles?”

Seth mulled that over, finding it strange that a lord was bowing to him asking for orders. Since Seth had killed Roux he had been his own master, but no one else’s. Having another man turn to him for orders was strange and he had to think a while to figure out how to approach this.

“Allies,” Seth said at last. “This cannot be done alone from the outside; there will have to be royals currently in the court there to take control. Like Loe did with the Court of Whispers, he hadn’t been in any power but when I killed the king and the Orcs stormed the palace Loe had been there to take over. He hadn’t needed to kill the lords, they bowed out of fear. We need to do that again, but to do that we need a lord from within the Court already there with some power to rally those we do not kill and take control.”

“Who?” Han asked. Seth thought of Lucia but felt nothing other than a mild memory of soft lips against his own. She would still protect Jeanne, and if Seth had to kill Jeanne Lucia would stand in his way.

“I don’t know the current state of the court and this event will only cause powers to shift greatly in the Court of Miracles,” Seth answered. “We will have to face that decision when we get to court. This will be a long game, Raigo with his war and us with infiltration.”

“Might I make a suggestion,” Han’s wife said and both men turned to her. “My name is Sein Lord Hollow, I am not of the Lord class but was once the daughter of a wealthy silk merchant. If you were to gain the loyalty of the merchants you would gain much control of the Court and trade. If they were told they would make great profit hearts could be swayed to our side.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Seth said interested. “Has the Legion gained control of the merchants’ guilds?”

“They have not last I heard,” Han answered. “They target rural areas of Elmerian population, controlling by fear or promise of power. Some think they will be granted greater standing and get to pull down the lords and take their place. Those that do not agree or do not believe are afraid to speak out against the rest.”

Seth knew how rural Elmerians thought; they had lived lives of oppression and poverty. Any man that came along and promised them food, equality, and wealth would be welcomed even if that man raped and murdered people. It was something many of the elites never understood, why the poor chose one oppressor over another. It was because the new oppressor didn’t act like one and made promises that they could relate to.

The merchants were those between the elite and poor. They dealt with both day to day, the poor the suppliers of the goods and the wealthy the consumers. He knew some about the merchant class, but what he knew was that most of the nobles looked down on them at least in Regis. To the nobles there was little difference from the poor and the merchants other than the merchants at least knew how to act properly. He imagined this could cause a bit of resentment for some merchants.

“Can I trust you to set about with this idea Lady Han?” Seth asked.

“I am honored to serve my Emperor,” she murmured and bowed. It was almost obscene how complacent she had become. All the fire and pride was gone from these people, Seth wondered what Loe was doing in the Court of Whispers to break the tall back of the nobility to such an extent.

“Good, then Lord Han you shall work on some of the nobility to find those willing to switch sides,” Seth said. “Tap into any latent discontent in the older lords, those who lived through the King’s wars. Even some of the Regarians were bitter over the win, simply because they didn’t gain as much as they had hoped. I’ve heard that the Drakon house never really let go of the fact they had been usurped from the Regarian throne by the Drasirs.”

“Yes Lord Hollow,” Lord Han said. “And what will you do?”

“Servants and the Elmerians are my stock,” Seth answered. “The hunt for the Legion has had to have made many bitter over the persecution our race has had to endure. Many have been accepting of this fate since it has been our lot since the beginning of our existence. But some are not so tame.”

Lord and Lady Han bowed to him and Seth let them, unable to feel any pride or disgust at the broken lords that had come to serve him.

[lurkerviolin]

Ok so this is weird buuuut I saw @comtessedebussy and Code16 had a verse were mage!John was enslaved to mage!Harold and it sort of inspired this incomplete mess comment fic. Concept: John is captured by a foreign magical organization and – as the CIA viewed him as expendable anyway – is left to be punished for his crimes with a life sentence of servitude. He doesn't care. The worst they could do to him has already been done. They mistake his spiteful silence for loyalty, he can smell their frustration. He smiles with blood in his teeth and lets them think what they want.

Another concept: Harold Finch never meant to hurt anyone, but this… project he was working on – the Magic Machine – was... immature, a child made of the strongest natural magic around. It broke things without meaning to. The Organization punishes him for this by making him continue his work. They want a weapon and he wants protection. He doesn't know how long he can keep those two things separate. (And it was stupid; Harold was fit – but not very – and powerful – very, very – but his body was not strong enough to hold all that the Machine could offer. It broke him without meaning to. It retreated into itself and Harold… laying on the ground, losing consciousness and feeling, abruptly thought it was cruel to call it a machine. It… She felt guilt. She recoiled from him in shame.)

When they bring John to Harold’s workshop, – a kind word for a penthouse prison – Harold is not interested in the slightest. However, he still cannot stand – though with the aid of his of his own magic, he imagines this will not last long – and John is wearing a voodoo protection piece around his throat. If he hurts Harold, he cripples himself. John does not want to hurt Harold or anyone else. He’s tired. He kneels because that’s what he’s supposed to do. What else would he do at this point?

Imagine: Harold has him stand.

It takes a long time, but eventually, John can sneak up on Harold. His presence has become so familiar and nonthreatening, so readily accepted into the background that it doesn’t always register. John likes this – that Harold who could probably flick his wrist and have him drooling on the carpet, always just jumps and looks at him disapprovingly – really, Mr. Reese? – even though he smells of queasy amusement.

Reese is not inclined to active magic, but with all Harold has him doing he learns a few things. Most of the spells Harold uses are strung together too quickly for John to understand, but he learns to recognize a few words and knows which potions are used for what. He learns to make some himself, quietly. Harold must know, though, because when the Organizers come and go – thankfully with no violence this time – John finds his vials hidden under the floorboards. One of his failed attempts makes fragrant pink smoke – he manages to make it explode into a heart shape before it dissipates. Harold’s face turns a similar shade of pink before admonishing him for wasting time. The smell of his happiness almost overshadows the smell of his fear. John does not understand the mix, no matter how many times he smells it. It is loudest when John – instinctively, completely reflexively startling the both of them – goes to his knees to listen to Harold read. He hardly recognizes the smell of his own peace.

John has not given gifts in a long time, with very good reason. Gifts implied favor and favor implied points of exploit, a trail to follow to your own demise. The last person John had given a gift had died in her own living room at the hands of someone he should’ve protected her from. John did not give gifts. But. He was at the bottom of where he could be; a life sentence of servitude in a place where he barely spoke the language and only one other person spoke his. Of course he was fond of Harold. When he walked in to find Harold on the floor, his cane feet away and his pain medication on a table he couldn’t reach, he made him another one. One that was twisted with verses from his favorite books to hide the one verse of spell he’d carved in. If it hit the floor and was not immediately picked up, the words john had carved into his own thigh would start to burn. The first time he follows it, Harold’s eyes jerk to the scars – even under layers of clothing and a haze of pain – immediately, something like horror and awe curling in the air. He’s careful with it then. He only drops the cane once more and it is because he has been slapped. The Organizers have John prostrate on the floor before he can even breath on them. Harold tells him to be still and John does, instantly with no question. He feels all of their eyes on him but doesn’t understand what that means. When they leave and Harold sits down and puts his hands in John’s hair, he allows himself not to think about it, high on the smell of his affection.

After even longer, Harold sits him down. John is bleeding, from several places, none lethal he assures Harold. Harold does not care, John can smell his misery and thinks – briefly – this is why he never made a good agent. (Kara has his pills, without his pills, he can smell too much. He wonders why he’s never tried to remake them. No, actually, he doesn’t he knows exactly why he hasn’t. Harold smells like the closet John will ever get to a home.) Harold is wasting his magic to heal him, but it makes his misery less sharp; John’s stomach stops churning. He mentions this… thing he built. Mentions that the Organizers want to use it for harm, but Harold refused. They hurt John because he refused and Harold… reacted to it. He saw John being hurt and just—he couldn’t help it, he begged. John knows what this is, shuts his eyes against the apology, wishes he could hold his breath against Harold’s dread, because he gets it. He’s been made into a bargaining chip.

We have to be quick, Harold tells him and John kisses him. Harold looks stunned, but the brief flash of pleasure in the air is too potent to pretend it didn’t happen. John kisses him once more before Harold’s determination seeps into him. The Organizers are smart and will catch on if they don’t make this work the first time around and the horror Harold feels at that confession makes John’s hair stand on end. He cannot watch John be tortured again, but John will risk it, if it’s a chance they can go free. One more kiss for luck, before Harold stands. I’ll ask Her, but we have to be quick.

John is not afraid when he stands in the middle of the sigil, but he can smell fear – more than just Finch’s. It’s an odd, inhuman smell, but not a – though the jars around him and the markings on his arms are still and dull and cold – a dead one. She’s alive and She’s terrified. She doesn’t want to hurt people. John tilts his head with a smile. Better to learn how not to on me, then. He holds his arm out, though the motion causes his fresh tattoos to sting. I’m not scared. He says which is the truth as much as it is a lie; he’s clamped down on his fear, but it’s not Her he’s afraid of. She moves around him and he watches it happen, flashes of light across the bottles, across the floor. He stills when he feels a tickle in his palm, watches the runes in his skin flash timidly up to his wrist and stop. In the pause, he glances to Harold before he closes his hand around the feeling. His arms flash bright and suddenly he can smell the whole building.

Every person (their cologne and their hormones and the body fluids they shared), every creature (and the dirt and wind of its homeland, its misery), every potion being stirred (and what it was meant to do), every item of food (the ink of its expiration date or the poison mixed in). He can smell his own blood where it is pouring out of his nose, but he doesn’t let her go. She’s trying to take him somewhere. Cells and cells and cells blur by and he knows everything about the people in them, can smell it on their skin. There are two cells, though, far away, almost outside and they smell… blank. Not empty, but blank. The women inside them smell of few emotions – most of which are directly shared between each other. He feels the one that smells of faint rage go still when he sniffs the air, the one that smells of faint hope breathe out in bland confusion. Then he smells Her urgency, her fear and need, before She drags him back to his own body.

John is on the floor and bleeding, but it’s ok this time. His head is on Harold’s good leg and Harold himself is dabbing his nose, fretting. John smiles, partly at Harold, partly at the sensation in his right hand. He looks down to where She’s still touching him, just a faint light on his fingers, and as the blood in his nostrils clears he can make out her worry under Harold’s. He’s smart enough not to close his hand around Her again, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, even as he reaches up to touch Harold’s face. The sensation brings relief to Harold, the scent of which brings relief to John. I’m ok, he says, which is good.

I think She has a plan, which is better.