#touching is only permited to some sadly

[vizual-static]

DBDPromptober Day 2: Death

She’s been watching those boys for a while now. 

Well

Not a while, really. There are spirits that have been around for centuries longer than those two. Some that have persisted for thousands of years. And for a being like her, a handful of decades is hardly a grain of sand in the face of the eternity that stretches out around her, time pulled thin like taffy as the cycles of humanity loop back on themselves like candy on a sugar hook over and over again. But by mortal standards, she knows thirty five years could be considered a while. 

She was there when each of them died, of course. 

Her heart ached for him when the first one was dragged down to hell with his gaggle of cruel classmates. He looked so frightened there on the table, the callous laughter of the other boys the last thing he would hear before the demon arrived and the basement erupted into shrieking chaos. She wished she could have offered him a kind word or some small reassurance that everything would be alright in the lands beyond.

But Lucifer’s legalease bound her not to interfere as the summoned demon obliterated the schoolboys and wrenched the sweet soul from the sacrificial lamb on the make-shift alter. The schoolboys didn’t know what they were doing, and sadly, for most of them, their stories ended in their ugliest moments, souls forever calcified with adolescent hatred and small mindedness instead of meeting the growth or rot of the average human’s lifespan. And the innocent boy on the table, well that poor thing was ended with all his worst fears realized– with his alienness having done him in. An unfair moral for his life, and an even more unjust punishment for his afterlife. But her hands were tied, so she bore witness to his end, alongside the others, and mourned for this moment and all the suffering that awaited him after. 

She sighed for the second one seventy three years later, as his muscles spasmed in shivers and the blood pooled in all the wrong places in his guts. She was waiting for him as he waited for sunrise. Only she knew he would be meeting her before the dawn.  

What she didn’t know was that another soul would arrive to take her place in ferrying the bruised boy into the afterlife with a far more tender touch than she was permitted to extend in the moment, offering him a warm lantern and a bedtime story to soothe him off into eternal rest. It surprised her too when she realized she recognized the soul as the sacrificial lamb, and she wondered unworriedly how he had made it back to Earth from his terrible afterlife. Regardless, it made her smile to think that his next few decades might be more comfortable, and this cold boy before her would go out with a bit more comfort. 

She didn’t expect the next bit either. Plenty of souls have unfinished business and choose not to move on with her, but as she had prepared to reveal herself, she was surprised that the battered boy decided, almost impulsively, to remain with the spirit who had just played guardian to his death. She wondered what his reason was, but it was not her job to push him either way, merely to offer the choice and provide some company on the journey to the Sunless Lands. 

The pair argued about her imminent arrival, and as the cold boy made his decision to stay, she decided to play into their little game, unmasking her power bit by bit as the room began to glow blue with her presence. The boys ran. She laughed at their youth, and wished them both the peace of finding whatever they were looking for as they roamed the Earth a while longer. A moment longer in the grand scheme of things. 

In the decades since, she’s seen them a dozen times, always ducking around corners and hiding outside windows after they both help some lost soul find the peace they deny themselves. She smiles to herself every time. It’s so sweet. They’re so good. So human in the flaws they work to mend, even after death. It’s such a joy to know souls like them are choosing to do good in the world even as they search for resolution. 

She’ll be waiting for them all the same. Each in their own time. She will continue her theatrics for their benefit, with beautiful wings and grotesque tendrils and colorful warning flares to announce herself to them, if they feel they need the “chase” to keep them going. But, for now, it seems the pair are content with this life after death that they’ve built for themselves. So she’ll wait a while longer. 

(@dbdpromptober)

[skyward-floored]

Malon and the glasses

A little addition to the Incredibles au glasses fic (found here!) I posted the other day, it takes place during that one, so I suggest reading that first (though you don’t have to to understand this).

This is also in honor of Mother’s Day, cause Malon is the best :)

...

Nobody saw much of Twilight the day he got his glasses, the teenager keeping pointedly to himself.

He barely ate any dinner that night, and quickly asked to be excused, shutting himself up in his room without waiting for dessert. His brothers watched him go, but soon went back to eating, the fight over who got the last slice of bread much more exciting than Twilight’s mood.

Malon exchanged looks with Time after Twilight left though, and once dinner was over and done with, she headed up to the room Twilight and Wild shared, joined by a slice of the cake Wild had made.

Here goes, she thought, bracing herself as she walked down the hallway. Twilight didn’t often get moody, but when he did, he really did.

“Hey honey, can I come in?” Malon asked, knocking softly on Twilight’s door.

A noise of confirmation came from inside, and Malon pushed the door open, greeted by the sight of Twilight sitting grumpily on his bed as a wolf. She set the slice of cake on his bedside table, then sat on the bed beside him, his ears twitching softly at her arrival.

“All right, come here,” she said gently, and Twilight scooted himself over, sadly flopping his head in Malon’s lap. Malon adjusted herself so they’d both be more comfortable, and Twilight let out a breathy sigh, not looking at her.

Malon looked at him a moment, then let out a sigh of her own.

“Oh hon, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want glasses,” she said gently, and Twilight let out a morose sound.

“Does anyone ever want glasses?” he woofed grumpily, and Malon hummed.

“Well... at least you just need them for long distances, you’ll pretty much only have to wear them while you’re driving,” Malon said encouragingly, but Twilight didn’t look cheered up.

“Yeah. I can pull up to school and have everyone see how dorky I look.”

“Hey, I’m sure you don’t look dorky,” Malon said, and scratched a soft hand over his fur. Twilight leaned into the touch. “I’d bet they make you look nice. Sophisticated.”

“Silly,” Twilight added glumly, leaning against her arm. “Like some kind of smart alec. Glasses are just asking for trouble.”

“Now why do you say that?” she asked, and Twilight gave a small shrug.

Malon waited for him to speak further, switching from scratching behind his ears to running her hand along his head, more like how she used to do when he was smaller. Twilight relaxed, and a moment or two went by before he spoke again.

“...I’m already weird,” he mumbled finally. “Glasses are just going to add to that.”

“Twilight, you’re not weird,” Malon said firmly. “Unusual maybe, but that’s just how things are with superpowers. We’re all a bit unusual.”

Twilight gave her a flat look. “Mom, I have five brothers with the same name as me. Not to mention Dad. And Warriors. And Sky. Powers aside, that’s not normal.”

“Okay, okay, you got me there. You know half of the names were accidents though,” she said with a pointed scratch, and Twilight softly huffed.

“I know. I just... don’t want glasses.”

Malon sighed, patting him by the thick fur at his neck. “At least give them a bit of a try, hon. It’s this or no learner’s permit, so you’re gonna have to decide which you dislike more; not being able to drive, or wearing some frames while you do.”

Twilight sighed, and his mother scratched him behind the ears in silence.

“Can I see them?” she asked after a minute.

Twilight hesitated, then slipped back into his hylian form, leaning over and grabbing the glasses case she’d seen Time bring in earlier. He handed it to her and Malon opened it, picking up the glasses and inspecting them.

“Well they don’t seem so bad to me,” she said kindly, peering through them. “The frames you chose are nice.”

“It was those or the ones with these giant rims,” Twilight said with a small smile, and Malon chuckled. “...I guess they could be worse.”

“Can you model them for me?” Malon asked, and Twilight hesitated, looking at them. Then he slowly took the frames from her, and put them on.

Malon studied the way they sat on her son’s nose, how they made his eyes look, and how they looked with the shape of his face. Twilight’s ears flattened in embarrassment the longer Malon silently studied him, and he looked at the floor again, until she gently cupped his cheek and tilted his head back up.

“Look at that. I was right. They do make you look nice,” she said with a smile.

“...You sure?” he asked quietly, and she nodded.

“I’m sure. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your mother,” she said as she gave him a squeeze. “You look fine, hon. I promise. And if I’m being completely honest... they make you look more grown-up. Mature.”

A hesitant smile formed on Twilight’s face, and Malon reached over and grabbed the plate she’d brought up.

“Wild mixed up another cake, I brought you a slice,” she offered, and Twilight’s ears pricked. He took the plate from her, and leaned on her shoulder as he began to poke at it, his smile growing just a little as he ate.

“Thanks Mom,” he said quietly as he nibbled at it, and Malon nodded, rubbing his shoulder.

“Sure thing, honey,”

Twilight set his head on her shoulder, and they sat there together as he quietly ate the cake, Malon smiling at the sight of the glasses still on his nose.

[iniziare]

"I made a deal that allowed me to retain what life I had left in me. I may be sane, but one thing is certain — my mind is already at its limit…" (source: Clouds Leave no Trace)

Jingliu's deal. This entire post that I will attempt to keep shorter (as I inevitably want to set this more into stone, since I'm fairly certain on this little personal theory) will be rather incoherent, so please forgive me. I simply insist on putting these thoughts out into the great beyond. But first, let me state some things that we know to be facts (or close to it) about the condition of mara, as (sadly) these two topics go hand in hand, and it's needed for me to touch on the topic of what I believe her deal to be rooted in.

Mara-struck. Based on information I can find in the wiki and the game records thus far tells me that the condition of mara can be equated to a slow descent into madness that is characterized by an inevitable craving for bloodshed and violence. This is something unavoidable, all long-lived species will fall victim to it, unless they die before they reach the age where it will set it (for instance, though Foxians live a long time, they seem to rarely live long enough for it to touch them). It seems to be tied to negative emotions which include hatred, depression, and trauma, which also means that people who are exposed to these emotions will fall victim to it faster (ie.: soldiers). Now since emotions are tied to lived experience, this means that they are inherently tied to memories. This is really further confirmed by Blade's unique situation. We are aware that he falls into the madness of mara repeatedly, and he only 'comes back from it' because Kafka actively erases his memories (as we learned in her SQ), which permits him to regain a semblance of lucidity; take her away, and he will be on an eternal rampage. Now, I've been scouring things for hours, but from what I can tell, once you fall to mara, or 'succumb' to its madness, there is no return to lucidity anymore. It's not a temporary state, but a permanent one. As for what it is like to be 'struck with mara' during its madness, we have a specific record of this from a heliobus by the name of Dawnyng (x):

"While inside the mara-struck body, I felt a vitality that is close to madness. How can I explain it to you - just like beasts are to humans, the mara-struck acts according to intuition and prioritizes their own survival over morals and ethics. But the difference between a mara-struck body's madness and that of a beast is even greater than the difference between a beast and a human… It's a more primitive form of life, a vitality that discards even the concept of corporeal existence."

It is a madness that starts in equivalence to a bull seeing red, and yet there is an extra detail to it that makes it infinitely worse, and that is the lack of recognition. And we know this through Jingliu herself. I direct you to the timestamp of 1:35 in the short called 'A Flash'. You see a flashback of Jing Yuan witnessing a mara-struck soldier, and his reaction of shock to a specific realization that overwhelms him:

Jing Yuan: Master... He doesn't recognize us. Jingliu: So it is with the mara-struck.

And when the scene resumes after an absolutely heart-breaking scene of Jingliu (I'm fine), you see Jingliu attacking Jing Yuan as if she has not a single concept of who she is fighting, even if he was one of the people she was most familiar with. The memory and the recognition of him is entirely gone, and not just that, she attacks him with the utmost intensity and brutality, she's akin to a rabid animal. That's what this short is supposed to tell us, it shows us just how how agonizing and utterly serious the condition of mara actually is. Any way, all of this to once more iterate (and to lead into my next and main point) what those who have fallen to mara once are like, and cannot come back from. Now, if anyone knows of any information that counters my presumption (based on too many hours of research, so I don't 'assume' this lightly) of it being permanent, please don't hesitate, but otherwise, I will stick to what the game seems to so far pretty much (to me) confirm at this point. Now, this leads into my next point for Jingliu.

We know that Jingliu had succumbed/fallen to the mara by the time Jing Yuan was sent to defeat her. The flashback where she's seen to have lost her mind seems to even indicate that it may have been prior to that. But by the time of their fight, it could be said it's irrefutable that she seems to no longer be herself, she appears to be fully stricken by the madness of the illness. Now if we can make the rational assumption that one cannot come back from this madness and that once it claims you, there is no more true moment of lucidity to follow, then the deal of which Jingliu speaks could not have been something that she sought out. Moreover in present-day, she notes that the only reason that she has any semblance of lucidity is because of her deal. Now, this would tell me that something or someone sought her out with an offer of one, rather than the other way around. Not just that, but I have a bit of a wonder when I watch the ending of 'A Flash', when the Lightning Lord's strike is about to hit her, and I see Jingliu's eyes that seem to, for a moment, possibly regain a sense of normalcy (but this is difficult to tell, as I find the 'red eyes' of madness to appear as a glow, rather than an actual coloring of the eyes; and the bright light of the Lightning Lord would render it invisible in the frame in question). What also colors me a little curious, is the fact that she doesn't move, and to me, that is because what she's witnessing is an extension of the power of Lan, an Aeon whose power rivals that of the Abundance (which is likely tied to the origins of the mara, as it first surfaced during the arrival of immortality and the illness strikes when one reaches an age that the mind can no longer keep up with). The reason I bring this up, and this is where I'm really getting rather incoherent, is that Jing Yuan was sent to defeat her, and even used the power given to him by Lan to do so, and yet she lived. Could he have spared her? Possibly, but why? You see how resigned he appears to be at the realization that she no longer is who he knew her to be— no, what I think is that she didn't indirectly die by Lan's hand, because Lan is the one who spared her, and who then offered her the deal that she ultimately took. Let me make an incoherent little list as to reasons why I think this to be the case:

We know that in the game thus far, that there is no cure for mara or the mara-struck. Blade retains his lucidity through Kafka (and what 'spirit whisper' is, is another topic entirely, I can only do one muse at a time), but there is no other case of lucidity in the mara-struck once they falter. And since mara seems tied to the Abundance, it is easy to note for me to assume that only one who could undo it to be Yaoshi themselves, which means that other Aeons should logically be able influence it in one way or another (though never in equal measure). Not directly so, but offer something of light measure to counter its effects Nothing will ever control a creation such as its creator after all, but one of equal status could do something of lesser influence (such as succeed in rendering the mara unable to fully grasp you, but leave you to deal with all of the illness' other effects as no one but Yaoshi can fully stop it).

To follow up on the previous point, Lan is actively noted in the loading screen tip as: They roam endlessly between worlds to eradicate the abominations created by the Aeon of Abundance. So... would they not benefit most from attempting to counter the effects within an individual?

"But Sae, why Jingliu?" To which I ask, why not Jingliu? Not only is she responsible for having killed and/or jailed enemies that no one else seemed to be able to counter (source: Jingliu's 4th character story), but there is none who seems to hold a stronger hatred towards the Abundance . If there is to be a war between Aeons, do you not assemble and call your most formidable soldiers to your side to fight for you? The Sword Champion who is said to be a once in a millennia phenomenon, why let her perish?

... Right, so this ended up being ridiculously long, nor do I have a proper conclusion as like I said, these are thoughts, incoherent as they are. But I do not see any other option as to what this deal could be— there is nothing else in existence that can counter the mara, there is no cure, everyone from Bailu to researchers say this same thing. And yet Jingliu's case is also vastly different from Blade's, who relies exclusively on Kafka's ability. Not only that, but we also need to keep in mind how old Jingliu has got to be. We know the sedition of Imbititor Lunae was roughly seven-hundred years ago, which means that Jing Yuan, Jingliu and Blade are all at least that, now beyond that, we're aware that Jing Yuan is older than Blade (as Blade was mortal before the events following Baiheng's death), and Jingliu has some years on Jing Yuan as long-lived species. On top of that, she has a voiceline that speaks of the age that the long-lived species can reach, which goes as follows:

"…When the people of the Xianzhou live to be more than a thousand years old, each day is like carrying the weight of a mountain through an interminable maze." (source: Clouds Leave No Trace)

The mention of 'more than a thousand years old' would correlate with assumptions of her age when we keep in mind that Jing Yuan would likely have to be around 800-900 if we keep in mind that one doesn't reach adulthood in a meager 50 years of those. But any way, that could indicate Jingliu to sit potentially well over a thousand, the mara has got to be excruciating. At that point, I don't see how the deal would be with anything less than an Aeon, and who would show any interest, unless one who would benefit from growing an army that is as impeccable as you can make it? And after all, she was, and I would not for a single second doubt that she would have remained so outside of her madness (based on her strict code of honor in terms of her oath), loyal to Lan and their Hunt, just as the rest of the Cloud Knights of the Xianzhou Luofu are. I just don't see another option.

[not-poignant]

Hello! I’m in the middle of the UtB chapter you posted today (jhdkvksosbbsjdlfivudbsgary) and I was wondering about the stretch lube, does it have any effect also on the penis during sex? If applied to other parts of the body what would happen? Thanks!

Oh I can definitely share more about that! I wrote like a whole wall-of-text about it in the Discord but basically:

Stretch lubricant is extremely expensive, and only can be legally prescribed to peak alphas (and will not be permitted for peak alphas who have sex with omegas - so Augus doesn't use it as an example). Alphas have to do the stretching etc. with regular lube. It costs about $70 for a small tube. Despite being called lubricant, it's only intended to be used for the anus and the surrounds (exterior sphincter / interior sphincter), and any other lubricant (which should be used generously) should be the main lubricant once Stretch has been applied and is effective.

Stretch is only active as an elasticating agent when it's refrigerated. Sadly this means for any partners of peak alphas who aren't omegas, it must be applied cold. And it must also be applied with gloves, to stop it from affecting the user's hands etc. It comes with a black box warning to only apply it to a particular area of the body (anus).

As soon as Stretch begins warming up, it can no longer penetrate other people's skin or be active, so it will remain active where it has been absorbed, but be neutralised if anyone else touches it. Warm = no longer going to elasticate anything else except what it touched when cold.

Stretch lubricant comes with applicator gloves.

A single tube of Stretch lubricant is designed to only last for a single session (sometimes a couple). If Gary wanted to fuck someone like normal, he'd have to buy about three tubes (and other lubricant).

A tube of Stretch costs around $70 USD and needs a prescription or alternatively peak alpha ID presentation. So if he wanted to actually have sex with Efnisien 'properly' that would cost him at least $210 in Stretch alone.

Stretch can affect all areas of the body and be extremely dangerous as an elasticating agent. It can affect smooth muscle badly, and enhance gastrointestinal and motility issues.

Its effects are temporary, and muscle tone returns to the anus after about 30 minutes. By then - sex is not usually over, but there's been enough sexual activity / penetration to keep someone stretched relatively safely.

Some peak alphas can get away with not using Stretch if a) their partner is used to opening up for a penis their size in the first place and b) they've used it once already in a marathon and are confident their partner can take them without it and c) are very thorough with pre-preparation (like sizing up plugs etc.) But given how many peak alphas are known for one night stands etc. and quick sex, Stretch solves a problem for them. It basically takes a partner from zero to 'can handle fisting' in about five minutes.

Some of this gets talked about later in the story (when Efnisien and Gary watch porn for the first time, lol). But not all of it, because, well...pacing! :D

But basically it's a synthetic elasticating agent that can be fatal if misused, or do permanent harm to the body, and has to be applied in a very non-sexy way, but it's also just about the only way for peak alphas to have sex and not need like hours to open someone up for them.

If applied correctly it can keep an alpha out of the emergency room!

[daybreakrising]

HEADCANONS - M.ENOGIAS & MOUNTAIN SHAPER

okay i said it was coming, and here it is. get ready to dive into the chaos that is my meno brain- also, for reference, i have a deep hatred for the npc treatment both mountain shaper & moon carver received in game, so my visual for a humanoid mountain shaper is more along the lines of this artwork. (source - includes moon carver!)

i've already touched on this a little in this hc post, but i believe m.enogias & mountain shaper are connected, beyond that of allies and friends. we know from this year's lantern rite that he and moon carver knew m.enogias well, with hints that they were close as old friends, both of them reminiscing about his craftsmanship skills. (i also have some theories about the unknown third adeptus who helped to seal a.zhdaha alongside mountain shaper and moon carver, which i may touch on in another post one day-)

but then why specifically mountain shaper, lauri? well, as briefly touched upon in that other hc post, there are elements of mountain shaper that lean more towards an affinity with geo - his colour scheme is common amongst other geo characters (also pyro, i recognise, but let me cook), and his use of amber rock, which is considered a geo construct.

of course, my brain has taken these things and run with them - thus it is my opinion that m.enogias & mountain shaper had a closer bond through their affinity with geo. it's already a hc of mine that m.enogias felt drawn to z.hongli for the same reason (which is partly why he was the recipient of a lot of m.enogias' designs - the man has bias, what can i say?), so why not be drawn to other geo-aligned adepti, too?

MT. HULAO

m.enogias chose mountain shaper's domain to act as his "home" because of this close bond. he could often be found within the vicinity of the mountain when not with his yaksha siblings and his favoured spot for meditation was at the mountain's peak, above the entrance to mountain shaper's abode (he had a secondary meditation spot, too, overlooking the water outside the entrance - pictures of exact locations found at the end of this meta, under a cut bc Big).

due to their bond, mountain shaper even permitted m.enogias to live within his abode whenever he wished, and accommodated him well - there was even a chamber dedicated to his craft where m.enogias was free to work in his preferred solitude, as few were (and are) permitted within the adeptus' abode.

despite this internal space, m.enogias also had an outdoor workspace that he would use frequently - though he claimed it was entirely because of the natural light it offered, this was in fact only part of the reasoning for his use of an outdoor space: another was simply that he wished to allow mountain shaper his own privacy given that it is his home. it was out of respect for his fellow adeptus that he did not 'overstay his welcome' inside the abode.

this outdoor workspace was situated atop an elevated area at the peak of the mountain, overlooking qingyun peak and beyond (where the teleport waypoint is now located) - this was a favoured view of m.enogias'. he constructed a vast stone table upon which to work, carved with geometric shapes and lines, amongst which could be found symbols that represented his siblings, r.ex l.apis, g.uizhong, and the three adepti of the peaks: mountain shaper, moon carver, and cloud retainer. the table was a work of art in itself - and sadly is no longer there, as when m.enogias fell, the great table cracked into pieces.

it is rumoured amongst the adepti, however, that mountain shaper kept the pieces - they sit on display within the chamber he gave to m.enogias, surrounded by sketched designs and half-finished garments, it is said.

because this was m.enogias' favourite place in l.iyue, and because of mountain shaper's importance to him, m.orax buried the crystal heart left behind after his death deep beneath mt. hulao, to act as his final resting place (in his resurrected au verse, this is also where m.enogias reawakens).

A DEEP CONNECTION

listen... if you didn't expect this, you clearly don't know me well enough yet-

though it was never named or really addressed formally, there was a romantic element to the bond shared between m.enogias & mountain shaper - at least, from m.enogias' side. whether it was reciprocated or not i am deliberately leaving vague (on the rare chance a ms muse will pop up, please i am begging you-), likewise whether or not it was acted upon is... also vague.

i will say, however, that m.enogias' views on romance and relationships are... fairly open. he is content both with fleeting and committed bonds, and he is happy to be involved in poly relationships as well as monogamous ones. the connection he had with mountain shaper was enough for him, regardless of what form it took.

VISUAL REFERENCES

i just wanted to include some images to show the exact locations mentioned to add some context - these will all be under a cut bc i don't want people to have to scroll past a series of huge screenshots adfkjgnlfkh

first, his favourite spot for meditation, atop the peak above mountain shaper's abode:

second, his other preferred spot to meditate, overlooking the water at the entrance to the abode:

third, the spot where his stone table used to sit - the view it overlooked (left) & its location in relation to mountain shaper's abode (right):

and fourth, the spot at the base of mt. hulao where he reawakens in his resurrected verse:

behind this waterfall is a concealed entrance that m.orax used when he first buried m.enogias' crystal heart beneath the mountain - use of the geo element is required to open it.

[autolovecraft]

I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live.

Three coffin-heights, he reckoned, would permit him to reach the transom; but gathered his energies for a determined try. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he planned to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. After a full two hours Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. The hungry horse was neighing repeatedly and almost uncannily, and he vaguely wished it would stop. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside.

His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. As he planned, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks. This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height.

Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar.

Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the rejected specimen, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever.

The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he vaguely wished it would stop. I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been just fear, and it may have been mocking. Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before.

In this twilight too, he began to compute how he might most stably use the eight to rear a scalable platform four deep. As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside.

The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. Birch decided that he would begin the next day with little old Matthew Fenner, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th.

Why did you do it, Birch? Armington helped Birch to the outside of a spare bed and sent his little son Edwin for Dr. Davis. The hungry horse was neighing repeatedly and almost uncannily, and he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar.

To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket. Davis died. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch.

God, what a rage! Birch, being by temperament phlegmatic and practical, did not shout long; but proceeded to grope about for some tools which he recalled seeing in a corner of the tomb.

Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily? His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. Birch decided that he would begin the next day with little old Matthew Fenner, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside.

Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. The boxes were fairly even, and could be piled up like blocks; so he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar.

Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. Finally he decided to lay a base of three parallel with the wall, to place upon this two layers of two each, and upon these a single box to serve as the platform.

The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood.

You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that.

I'd hate to have it aimed at me! The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul.

When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare.

[saltysirensongss]

Meaningful Childhood Media: a Reflection

The ocean and I have always had a love-hate relationship. From a young age I was obsessed with the water, from swimming classes to lakeside day trips, I simply couldn’t get enough, my fingers in a permanently wrinkled state. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where things went wrong but if I had to guess I would blame the Persian New Year. Every spring I was allowed to choose out a half a dozen live goldfish from the store to bring home and display on our Haft-Sin. As per tradition (which no family member could explain) the goldfish is meant to do a little roll at the beginning of the new year. And roll they did… I witnessed an insurmountable number of goldfish pass in varying degrees of horrific ways from slow fades to suicidal leaps onto the living room floor. Before I knew it I had developed a fear of goldfish which slowly but surely evolved into an irrational fear of all fish. I stopped eating fish, I stopped walking by the fish sections of pet stores and I forced our family to switch to plastic fish for our traditions. What I couldn’t shake however, was my fascination. 

A traditional haft-sin table setup

I remember the day we downloaded netflix. It had become available to stream on the Wii in late 2010 (Nintendo) and I, aged 8, convinced my mom that it was absolutely necessary. I was told we would only have it for a month, meaning as long as it was free to us. I don't remember what options were available to me at this time but being a little water obsessed kid I was drawn to two particular shows which some could argue represent the two ends of the media spectrum: H2O: Just Add Water, and River Monsters, both of which as their names imply were ocean related. 

I consider H2O: Just Add Water one of the most influential shows of my childhood. H2O tells the tale of three Australian teens who unknowingly find themselves cursed with the ability to turn into mermaids. Cleo, Rikki and Emma were forced to navigate their highschool years without ever touching a drop of water which as you can imagine put them in plenty of high stake situations. Situations that I would recreate both alone and with friends. This show provided us with endless hours of imagination fodder both in and out of the pool. This was a show that all my female friends and I watched avidly, but my friends didn’t all have netflix so it became a show that they would come over to watch. My permitted screen time was restricted to two episodes a day so the selection of which episodes we would watch would become colourful debates in themselves where we would discuss the show in depth and advocate for our preferred storylines. 

Just three mermaids hanging out

My minute amount of screen time paired with the fact that we were one of the few families I knew to be subscribed to an SVOD makes me believe my parents were better off than they let on as both are common traits of higher income families (Rideout et al.)  which is probably why they let us keep Netflix after that first month.

On the other hand, my parents have a small friend group of three couples that they’ve had long before me that all together managed to produce a sum total of six children, all roughly the same ages. Within this group I sadly found myself to be the only girl. Growing up with a group of boys at arm's length played a heavy influence on the type of media I was exposed to. While my school friends would come over to watch fairy cartoons and mermaid shows the first thing the boys convinced me to watch on netflix was River Monsters. River Monsters hosted by Jeremy Wade was not nearly as terrifying as the name suggests but still a complete 180 from the content I would have chosen for myself. River Monsters was a docuseries which followed host Jeremy Wade as he travelled around the world to remote locations where legends of river monsters prevailed. He would then interview locals about recent incidents and anecdotal experiences with the supposed monsters and would explain the potential species who could be responsible. As scary as this sounds Jeremy Wade is a lovely man who treated every case gently and worked hard to demystify these “monsters” with a sense of positivity I could only hope to one day achieve. Watching this show on an SVOD again played a huge role in how we consumed the material. The eldest of the boys would get to pick which episode he found most intriguing and we were all made to watch it. 

Jeremy taking a dip in a piranha infested tub to prove their innocence

While this show may have had less impact on me socially, as my school friends were far from interested, it did start me on a path of being very interested in biology. When I tell people that I like this show they often feel the need to blame it for my Ichthyophobia, however I would argue that it serves more as a form of exposure therapy. My mother in particular was adamantly against me watching the show as she considered it “not for kids”. This always confused me because my parents would allow me to consume a great deal of heavier topics so long as it was served in cartoon form, like the movie, Grave of the Fireflies which my mom brought home from the library one day having not checked the rating or synopsis, or Coraline which I was dragged to see against my will. I soon learned that what my parents perceived to be appropriate was based on “their view of childhood, rather than what children would choose themselves" (Steemers) which to them meant I was to be watching animated features. While these shows are clearly marketed to vastly different audiences I enjoyed them equally and consider both to have had great impacts on my life. I do believe that they’re not as opposite as some might believe, afterall, being a teen mermaid is pretty much as scary as swimming with piranhas. I think another interesting thing the two shows have in common is their accents. River Monsters was filmed largely in South America and H2O was filmed in Australia so I got to hear the classic Australian as well as British (Jeremy’s accent) accents on a day to day basis. Both shows gave me a glimpse of what life was like in other parts of the world which in river monsters often looked very different from my own. Television is a great resource for children such as myself to be exposed to other cultures, giving me a chance to reside in what Marshall McLuhan would call a global village (Lemish).

[beesandwasps]

The comic kind of sucked, honestly. If the play was similar it wasn’t very good.

Comic plot synopsis, as best I can remember:

Regular Earth guy with a standard 70s superhero body and a history of psychiatric problems (“David Carson”) discovers that his hallucinations of various weird things were all either real or memories, and he is actually the incarnation of a hero (“Lord Cumulus”) from a civilization in another dimension with both magic and sci-fi (“Fen-ra”). Sadly, his memories are only partial and his special hero powers don’t work very reliably so after being brought “home” he’s still a clueless, useless idiot who constantly needs to be rescued from peril by his sometimes-lover, strict-and-emotionless-but-secretly-vulnerable-soldier-woman (“Sargon, Mistress of War”). The villain (“Prince Chaos”), who is supposed to be utterly and completely evil but also charming and charismatic, is scheming to overthrow/take over everything, with the assistance of his faintly insectile sorceress/seductress girlfriend (“Valaria”) and her enormous brood of flat-out-insect children.

The MC is urgently needed because apparently the universe is falling apart and only he can find the god who created it (“He Who Dreams”), who is the only one who can save it. After lots of wasted time, it turns out that god lost a lot of his power when one of his three children — his daughter (“Ego”) — rebelled against him eons ago and is gradually aging and in danger of dying. As punishment for her rebellion, the daughter would have been killed, but instead only has a physical existence when her two brothers are touching each other, and when she exists they do not. In addition to never being able to see their sister again, the brothers also basically ceased to be gods and merely became reincarnating epic figures with no memory of their true identity, and are of course the MC and the villain. They find the rapidly-dying god, who yells at them for taking so long and makes them summon the sister, who kisses god on the lips, which rejuvenates and re-empowers him, and incidentally frees his children. The now-restored gods go off into seclusion, leaving the supporting characters at a loose end.

After some side stories, it is revealed that the ancient friendly wizard (“Lugulbanda”), who was the MC’s advisor/servant and stand-in while he was away being reincarnated without memories, had become corrupt and had been misdirecting the MC all through the first part on purpose (which is why god was angry that they were late), and was hoping to kill god and steal his powers. He attacks the secluded gods; the daughter is harmed but the others counterattack and wipe away the corruption from the wizard but spare him. In order to save the daughter, the three children have to go back into the former condition of no longer being gods and not existing all the time, so the hero-MC and the villain are returned to existence and the creator god goes off on his own.

After some more adventures, the MC gets tired of being screwed over by destiny and being a doormat for any- and everyone, and deliberately finds the villain and summons the daughter again, but then immediately pulls away to split back up, which permits him to exchange with the villain the parts of his personality which he perceives as being the cause of his being screwed over again and again, which makes MC into an imperious callous egomaniac, while the villain becomes more cautious and just a generally nicer person. MC causes all kinds of trouble, including eventually killing his sometimes-lover for not liking him any more because he’s such a jerk now, and eventually screws up so badly that god shows back up and yells at the pseudo-MC for throwing everything out of balance and nearly killing his sister by forcing her to split back up prematurely rather than voluntarily. As punishment, MC is sent back to Earth without his hero powers, comatose in a hospital. In the last panel, it is revealed that the nurse who intends to take care of him for the rest of his life is his revived sometimes-lover.

There were crossovers with some other First Comics titles, including Grimjack, which has the interesting consequence that the serial comic Girl Genius may technically take place in the same narrative universe as Warp!.

WARP was a play with playbill artwork designed by Neal Adams before it was turned into a comic in the 80′s

[star-lemonade]

Lockdown

Pairing: Astro Moon Bin x Reader

Rating: R

Word count: 6 k

Genre: romance, smut, college au

Warnings: smut, muscle kink??, mentions of being in a strict lockdown

Synopsis: When a strict lockdown is implemented, you can’t leave for home, so you and your two dormmates, Bin and Minhyuk, have to stay at the dorm together until the lockdown is over. You are very touch starved and ask Bin to hug you. Things escalate from there.

A/N: I updated some things on my blog and in the process I decided to officially close some of my wips. However, there was one wip I really feel sorry for bc it was 4.7k words long. It was a request but the story didn’t want to go in that direction and I kinda wore myself out writing it so I never finished it. Here is what I decided to do with it, I only did some minimal editing and the result is this story. (This will probably be my last story for Astro for some time ^^;;;)

On that morning the apartment was busier than you had ever seen it. People were running from the bathrooms to their tiny private rooms, cleaning out their racks in the kitchen, and dragging suitcases down the hallway. Not even the end of the semester had so many people getting ready to leave at once. You tried to stay out of the way so holed up in your room and read a manga, while the storm was going in front of your door.

Just a few days ago you had been at a cafe with a friend and you two had still joked about this "pandemic" but now the situation had turned for the worst. A lot of people flooded the hospitals and the government had acted strict safety measurements.

A knock on the door let you jerk on the bed and the manga fell to the ground. After a calming breath, you said: “It’s open.”

You sat up and your friend Sooyeon’s masked face popped in through the door. She looked rushed, a strand of her long hair stuck to her face at an odd angle and your eyes were not a bright and excited as usual.

“Hey, I just wanna say bye.”

Sooyeon had started packing the previous evening right after the announcement, that the whole county would go into lockdown where people could not have as freely.

“I’m sorry that you have to stay here. Will you really be okay?”

You wanted to wipe away the worry on her face, but inside you were not sure yourself what would happen. This situation was completely new and you were scared, but still, you reassured her.

“Yes, I will be okay. Just call me from time to time.”

Her eyes smiled sadly and she left without even hugging you.

The stomping and running continued until the sunset around 6 pm, about two hours before the curfew. The last people left with their noisy suitcases clanking down the stairs before the apartment descended into a ghostly silence. Your stomach grumbled and you decided that it was safe to go to the kitchen for some dinner. The room you inhabited in the dorm was across from one of the bathrooms, four other rooms lay between yours and the kitchen.

You turned on the light in the common room adjacent to the kitchen that housed three fridges and two freezers. The hum of them was the only sound in this usually loud place and it was almost spooky. The official announcement was still pinned on the bulletin board:

“…Due to the current situation we ask all inhabitants who can leave are advised to go home. Everyone who cannot leave please contact the building management. No more than four people per housing unit will be permitted. …”

You were one of the people who could not go because your parents lived too far away and with traveling restrictions in place you could not leave the greater Seoul area. The building management had put down your name as one of the people who would stay for the time being. For the time this was only until the end of the semester but who knew what would happen afterward.

Your stomach reminded you that why you had come to the kitchen in the first place. Maybe I still have some ramen in my cupboard. The kitchen was a narrow but long room with multiple stoves that could use some cleaning. This housing unit was not the cleanest but also far from the worst and in the upcoming months, it would be easier to hold people accountable if the kitchen was dirty again. You opened the cupboard and inspected your inventory.

“Yes!”

A familiar yellow package was waiting in the back behind the flour for you to eat. With a spring onion and some mushrooms from the fridge, the ramen would be better. You chopped everything and fried the vegetables in a pot. I have to stock up on food. I want to leave the house as little as possible. Unfortunately, everyone else thought so too and the shortages in toilette paper had even made the news.

You took the finished soup to the common room and sat down at the empty table. The large bench felt so empty as you sat on the long side of the table, facing the hallway. The silence in the dorm was uncomfortable and you thought about getting your laptop to watch some video, any video to fill the void when a door opened in the hallway. The light was turned on and someone knocked on a door.

“Hyung, let’s eat something!”

You slid to the side so you could see into the hallway. There, at the end of the hall, stood a guy in front of a door. He knocked again and the sound echoed in the quiet of the apartment.

“Hyung!”

He banged on the door and when nothing happened a staccato of knocks followed until finally, the handle moved. Someone came out and you slid to the side so they would not see you looking.

Moments later the two guys entered the common room. The first one you knew immediately. His sharp cheekbones, full lips, and intimidating eyes made him stand out from most people on campus. Minhyuk was training to be a dancer but because his parents were not very happy with that he also took business classes. You did not know the other man who entered behind him. He was a bit taller and built like a swimmer, with broad shoulders and a thin waist. His face was less angular than Minhyuk’s and his eyes made him look cuter.

“Oh, you are here too?” Minhyuk said.

“Yeah, I guess you guys can’t go home either,” you said.

"No, my parents live in the south and Bin’s parents also don’t live in the city."

Bin stood awkwardly behind Minhyuk, his broad shoulders slumped a bit as if he wanted to seem smaller. You introduced yourself and your hunch about Bin being shy solidified as he talked softly to the point where you had a hard time understanding what he said.

Minhyuk eyed your ramen and asked: “Can we join you for dinner?”

“Sure.”

They improvised dinner with leftover rice from the rice cooker and whatever they found in the fridge.

The silence that followed the moving out of most of the students was both a welcome change to the bustle that always filled the apartment and deeply unsettling. The common room that was usually filled with people at every hour of the day was now always empty and you could not spend time there. The only interactions with other people you had were when you called your parents at home or talked to Sooyeon but it was not the same.

One evening, about two weeks after the lockdown had been implemented, you found yourself standing in front of Minhyuk’s door. Even though you were not very close with him the thought of eating alone in your room again for the who knows how many times drove you there. Would it be too weird if I asked him to join me for dinner? You had not seen him since that first night. Minhyuk always paid attention to what he ate because he should not gain too much weight and you suspected that he ate at odd hours. His compartment in the fridge seemed to get emptier sometime between 10 pm and 6 am.

While you were still battling your doubts, a creaking almost made you jump.

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

The door behind you had opened and Bin had come out of the room. His voice was more a whisper.

“It’s okay.”

“You wanted to talk to Minhyuk.”

“Yes. I wanted to ask if you and he wanted to eat dinner with me tonight. It’s getting lonely.”

More like I’m lonely. Bin smiled nervously and you wondered if you were being too obvious, but he nodded and said

“Sure. I will ask him.”

Your room was the closest to the intercom so whenever the doorbell rang, it was usually you who answered. These days more deliveries were arriving because you and the other two barely left the house for anything else than getting food. So when the doorbell rang a few days after your first dinner with Minhyuk and Bin, you got up from your bed and picked up the speaker from the wall next to the apartment door.

“Hello?”

“Delivery for Moon Bin.”

“Okay, thanks, leave it at the door.”

You pressed the button on the intercom and heard the downstairs door open. A rush of air came in through the gap in the apartment door. You walked down the hall to Bin’s door and knocked.

“There is a package for you.”

"Thanks. I will get it."

'A package' was not correct, there were several small boxes, and judging from the sweat on Bin’s forehead they were pretty heavy. Minhyuk joined you in the kitchen to see what Bin had bought.

“What is all this, Hyung?”

“Dumbbells, a barbell, and additional weights.”

Bin started to unpack the boxes. Indeed, the long box was a barbell that could be adjusted with weights. The thick metal disks that acted as the weight had been packaged in boxes of maximal 30 kg. You feared the floor in the kitchen would not be able to hold the weight of all of them.

“Can I store them here? My room is too small.”

“I have no objections but why do you need all this?”

“Hyung usually goes to the gym every day but since … well, you know, he can’t go, at the moment,” Minhyuk answered instead of Bin.

“Every day?”

The pout on Bin’s face was almost cute when he looked at his arms that were hidden under his dark hoodie.

“I got so much smaller in these three weeks.”

You were not sure if that was true because you did not remember seeing him that much before.

As you obviously could not cram ten people into a room anymore, classes were held online. Unfortunately, a lot of the professors had no idea how to operate the software. There were delays, terrible audio, and not even talk about video. It was frustrating. After a day of half-baked digital lectures, you needed some fresh air and made your way to the rooftop. The stairwell was empty and silent when you opened the apartment door. Every step echoed from the bare walls as you climbed up. The roof terrace was a big open space that was a semblance of actually leavening the house. You pushed the heavy door open with your shoulder.

The cool air ruffled your hair and the evening sun almost blinded you. You were not alone on the roof. At the railing stood, wrapped in his puffy jacket, Minhyuk.

“Hey.”

He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “You wanted to go out too?”

“Yes, today’s lectures sucked.”

“Same.”

You stood next to him at the metal railing and looked at the city. From up here, the change was not visible except when you looked closely. Fewer cars clogged the streets as most shops were closed and everyone could work from home instead of going to their offices. The haze of smog that belonged to the skyline like flowers to spring had vanished.

“I miss dancing.”

Minhyuk rested his chin on his hand that lay on the metal. It had been weeks since they had started the lockdown so the last he had danced must have been quite a long time ago.

You nodded as you did not know what to say.

“I hope this is over soon.”

"Me too."

Having dinner together became a ritual. Earlier on you had decided it would be better if only one of you went out to buy groceries each week. If possible you would buy everything you needed for the week in one go. This also meant that you had to plan the meals of the week ahead of time so you had everything you needed at the dorm. At first, this was a big change from the way you had done it before - buying whatever tickled you fancy at that moment -but you all got used to it. Bin was not a good cook, so he just helped you or Minhyuk out with chopping vegetables when you cooked.

Weeks had passed and you started to notice something. You missed touching people. Before you had often hugged your friends, especially Sooyeon, now, however, there was no one to hug. Bin and Minhyuk had grown on you, but still not to the level where you could just randomly hug them.

One day you sat in the common room working on your homework when Bin came in. It was not unusual. He loved to eat and sometimes got a snack from the kitchen between meals.

He opened the fridge and helped himself to banana milk.

“Bin? Can you get me a glass of water?”

“Sure.”

He went to the kitchen to get you a glass. The hoodie he wore was a bit too big and looked very soft. It made Bin look so huggable. You wanted to wrap your arms around his middle and bury your face in the soft material.

“what?”

“hmm?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Oh no. Your cheeks felt warm.

“It’s just… your sweater looks really warm.”

“Are you cold?”

He sat down next to you and put an arm around your shoulder, rubbing your arms. Bin had pretty eyes you noted. The closeness made you feel shy and you looked away. Bin pulled back as if he had touched something hot and awkwardly stood up.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to”

“Can I hug you?”

The words had just burst out of you. Bin did not move. It had been weeks since you had last touched someone and now that you had gotten even the smallest taste of it, the urge was overwhelming. Slowly, Bin lifted his arms and you threw your arms around him. The sweater was indeed as soft as it looked and Bin was warming it from the inside. You let all concerns go and hugged him tightly. Never had you been so glad to touch anyone ever. Your head rested on his shoulder and you could hear his heart beating.

“I miss my parents,” Bin whispered.

“I talk to them on the phone but I want to hug them.”

You nodded into his shoulder. It was a hard and extraordinary time for everyone. No one knew what would happen in the next few weeks and months, and even though this was scary to think about, at that moment the only thing that mattered was hugging Bin. You did not want to let go of his solid body but social conventions started to tell you that you had been embracing him for longer than appropriate for almost strangers. You ran your hands up and down his back one last time before pulling back. It was hard to detach yourself from him but you did and looked into his eyes.

“Thank you.”

He nodded. Apparently, he did not know what to say either so Bin simply got up and mumbled something about his room before leaving.

Online classes sucked. It was hard to pay attention to the small people on the screen talking. Sometimes they forgot to show their screen and no one cared enough to say anything for five minutes until the lecturer figured it out themselves.

Doing homework was not much better. Some of it was hard and you could not do it by yourself, which meant you had to ask people for help aka their solutions. It was a lot easier to get them if people could not simply ignore your text. In stressful cycles of procrastination and last-minute sessions of frantic scouring of the web for answers weeks passed. Every day was basically the same - get up, breakfast, class, lunch with the guys, homework, dinner, rinse and repeat - and you could only tell which day it was by the days when you had to go shopping.

One evening after dinner, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in! It’s open!”

Bin opened the door.

“Hi, what is it?”

“Uhm, I just wanted to say hi.”

You narrowed your eyes. Just wanted to say hi? He shifted from side to side and avoided looking at you directly.

“What is it?”

You sat up in bed and tried to make him talk by staring. Bin looked at you. He wore his glasses and a dark blue hoodie that made you want to grab a handful of it. You had to get one of those sweaters too. He swallowed hard and gathered the strength to say: “Can you hug me?”

The floor was suddenly very interesting and he looked at his feet. Maybe it was just the bad light in your room but it looked like he was blushing.

“Maybe you could watch something with me?”

His brows furrowed.

“You know, ehm cuddling… while watching a movie” - but not Netflix and chill - "I mean just …"

“Yes, I would like that.”

He closed the door and you felt your heart hammer in your chest as he walk over. This time you were sure that he was blushing. Calm down nothing is going to happen. Your parents had gotten you a tv that was too big for a room but they had known that you would not be happy with watching movies on your small laptop. It stood at the foot of your bed so when you could watch while lying down. Bin sat down on your bed, you moved into position next to the wall and Bin laid down next to you. The bed was not made for two people but you did not intend to leave much space between you. Bin wrapped an arm around you and you rested your head on his chest.

You did not know what to do with your hand. Should you just lay them on his stomach? Would that be too intimate? You decided to risk it and rested your hand on his stomach. When he did not react in any way you took that as a sign that it was okay and relaxed. Bin was radiating heat as if he wanted to compete with central heating and you felt a bit cold, so you let your worries fly out of the window and really snuggled up against him, pressing your body against his side. When his hand drew patterns on your shoulder and back, you lost track of what was happening on screen and just focused on the feeling of his fingers on you. It felt so good to just be touched in this innocent way.

The series episodes were only 30 mins long and when the first one ended it felt like you woke up from a dream. You were suddenly very aware of Bin lying in your bed.

When he shifted and sat up, you pulled back, watching as he grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head. The gray t-shirt underneath rode up and you could see a sliver of skin for a moment but averted your eyes as it seemed inappropriate to look.

“Sorry, I’m just warm. I didn’t want to… err … start anything.”

Panic swung in Bin’s voice.

“Oh no. That’s not what I thought..”

You waved it off. It was you who had felt inappropriate.

“Good…”

In absence of a place where he could store it, Bin put his sweater on the ground and laid back down. He extended his arm so you could go back into position. You rested your head on his chest again but now it felt different as there was only one thin layer of fabric between your skin and his. How could he be this warm when you felt so cold in your sweater? He smelled good, not of anything you could recognize but good. You wanted to bury your nose in his shirt.

The series when on in the background, but it was more ambient sounds to you and your eyelids were heavy. Bin’s steady heartbeat and the exhaustion of the past weeks knocked you out in what felt like minutes. When you woke up, your room was dark and quiet, and you were covered in your blanket while still wearing your clothes. Bin had gone back to his room.

After the first time you and Bin had cuddled in your room, it was hard to not hug him every time you saw him and Bin seemed to feel the same. He casually touched you when you ate together, something he had not done before, and two days after the first session he was back at your door.

Your evenings together all played out much the same way as the first. You continued watching the series and lay on your bed in each other’s arms. During these days you spend most of your evenings with him, not just watching things but also talking and laughing. There was still a hope that no matter how bad things seemed it would be over soon. As the deadline for the lockdown came closer though and the infection numbers climbed steadily that hope dwindled. About two weeks before these extreme measurements were supposed to end it was announced that the current state had been extended by the university at least until the end of the semester.

That evening you knocked on Bin’s door.

"Hey, have you seen the news?"

"Yes."

"You wanna come to my room later? I have drinks."

When if not now was a time to drink your sorrows away? Bin considered it for a moment then he said:

"Yeah, sure."

You were not much of a drinker and during the time since the confinement started, you had steady away because you feared it may become a habit. Drinking alone was dangerous, that was why you dragged Bin into it.

"I forgot how good this tastes," you said between sips of your drink. When Bin grimaced after drinking from the cheap beer he had found in his fridge compartment, you laughed.

"I don’t like the taste that much."

"But the buzz is okay?"

"But the buzz is good."

Drinking is a double-edged sword. It could make you forget your sorrows for a moment but it could also do the opposite; making the things you did not think about bubble up to the surface. Ever since you had started hanging out with Bin your loneliness had become a bit better but you still felt trapped in this building. When you talked to your friends and family on the phone it just was not the same as seeing them in person.

"Before all this" - you waved at the room - "getting a boyfriend was my biggest problem. It seemed like an impossible thing but now it seems so dumb. I feel lucky that I’m alive and healthy."

The drinks had loosened your mouth and it got a bit too real for a moment. Before you could say anything Bin asked:

"Why would it be impossible for you to get a boyfriend?"

"I don’t know. Guys don’t like me."

You shrugged.

"I guess I’m not good-looking enough."

Bin pouted and gave you a once over as if he saw you for the first time.

“I don’t think that’s true. You’re really smart and beautiful. I don’t get any of the stuff you do. ”

His eyes sparkled behind his glasses but he looked away when you giggled. In a more sincere tone he added:

“I love spending time with you.”

Your heart hammered in your chest and warmth rose from your neck up to your face.

“You’re very cute.”

It came out a bit clumsy but Bin looked at you again. Yes, he was cute and something was pulling on you when you saw his flushed cheeks. You leaned closer. He leaned closer. Your faces were so close you felt his breath brushing over your skin. As if magnetic your lips snapped together in a sweet kiss.

The next morning it felt like a dream. You were not sure it had not been a dream. You did not say anything and neither did Bin. Had you just dreamed about kissing Bin? Two days passed without you two talking. You were stressing over the deadline for your homework. On Monday morning you sat in the common room and frantically finished your homework before the noon deadline. You hit send with an hour to spare. When you leaned back you saw that Bin was there too. You had not noticed him coming in or starting to work out.

“How long have you been here?”

His head snapped in your direction. Hair stuck to his sweating forehead. He had obviously not started training just now, you must have been very concentrated not to notice him. Bin was wearing a t-shirt that clung to his body and it was making your head spin. It was a slap in the face. Though you had been aware that Bin was big, your brain had not translated this into “Bin is really built”. It was shocking to see his big arms and thighs. Oh god, his, thighs. He was wearing shorts. How had you never noticed his thighs?

“About 30 minutes ago?”

You felt your soul vacate your body when he picked up the dumbbells again. His arms were huge but when he flexed, it was a very different story. He reminded you of those male models you had seen on your friend’s phone. She liked those huge guys wearing barely anything. The photos did look good, but this was happening in front of your eyes. Bin’s waist was maybe the most spectacular thing. It was not super thin but contrasted his chest and a well-formed behind, so very nice.

Sweet, gentle Bin had that kind of body? You did not know how to function anymore. Unable to move from your spot on the bench you watched as he did his repetitions. His breathing became louder and he scrunched up his face. The layer of sweat highlighted every curve and plane of his skin. You wanted to touch him so bad. It was dumb really. You had touched him a lot. Now that you were aware of him, it felt different.

Two days later came a knock on your door. You opened to find Bin in his usual combination of sweater and wide pants. Today he wore the round glasses that made him look like a cute nerd.

“Hi-”

“You’re avoiding me.”

Bin’s jaw was clenched and his brows furrowed. Yes you had been avoiding him and for good reason. After you had see him work out in the common room the other day you found yourself thinking about him more and it was not as innocent as before.You wanted him badly but you were sure that he was not interested in you and you did not think it was a good idea to be friends with benifits while having no way to avoid the other if it did not work out. Who knew if you could even be FWB? You were pretty sure you already had some feelings for him. His statement still hung in the air between you but as you did not say anything to it he asked:

“Why?”

There was barely concealed hurt in his voice.

“Look, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the kiss. It was just-”

“Bin.”

He closed his mouth.

“I wasn’t avoiding you because of that.”

“So you were avoiding me.”

“I-”

… just get so turned on that ever I see you now, I can barely handle being in the same room as you. Was what you thought but did not say out loud.

“Have I hurt you somehow?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

Being tapped in this apartment with no other people was hard; it was hard on all of you. You realized that you had become important to Bin and leaving him without a proper answer would negatively impact the relationship between you. At this point no one knew when this situation would be over so you had to maintain what where bond you had with him. You looked to the ground and sighed. If you said the words you could not take them back but unfortunately, you saw no other way. You had to tell the truth. At this point lying would only make the everything more complicated.

“I avoided you because I find you very hot and didn’t want to bother you.”

“You what?”

You hoped for the ground to open up and swallow you. Sadly, it did not. Fleeing would be great, but the only way out was blocked by your way too attractive flatmate.

“I’m not bothered. You can look.”

He grabbed the hem of his sweater and took it off, revealing a sleeveless shirt. Not the arms. Please, I’m so weak for that.

You hoped that looking at his face would be better than looking at his arms. Bin was a good looking guy so it did not really help. He was close, so close it would be easy to lean forward and kiss.

“Ride me.”

If you had not seen him move his lips, you would not have believed your ears. His arms wrapped around you and your hands landed on his bare skin as if magnetic.

“I'll do what you want if you ride me first.”

A blush had flushed Bin’s face but his voice did not shake. Ride me. Your face burned. You had thought about Bin so much in the past days and his was a dream come true. You did not trust your voice so you just nodded.

A sigh left his lips as he leaned forward and you met him halfway. It was a very different kiss than the first one you had shared. You were both sober for one thing, but it was really like someone had flip a switch. All hesitation had been thrown out of the window the moment your lips had met. Bin’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer. The way his lips moved against your lips was intoxicating. Last time you had been quite drunk so you did not remember how good of a kisser he was. Eventually you pulled back and said:

“Put the sweater back on.”

You closed the door and he looked confused at you.

“You look so cute and comfy in it. Can you lie on the bed?”

Also, I don't know what to do about the feeling your arms give me. He did as you asked and got on the bed. Yes, it looked like cuddle time now. You fell into his arms and you kissed.

You lay on his chest with your legs on either side of his hips. When you shifted it was very evident how affected he was.

“Why did you want me to put the sweater back on?”

“I dreamed about cuddling with you and it turns into sex. I want to ride you while you still have your clothes on.”

You could not look at him while you confessed your fantasy. He swallowed audibly.

“Is that okay with you?”

“Yes”

It was a drawn-out yes as if that was exactly what he wanted. You kissed.

“Bin, I did not expect any … action to happen here.”

He had not caught on.

“Okay…”

“I mean I don’t have condoms.”

“Oh!! I do. In my room. I will get them.”

His walk was a bit odd. Probably because of that huge boner.

He returned with an almost full package and set it on your nightstand.

Lying on top of him and kissing him was exactly what you had dreamed of. Bin felt solid under you and your bed groaned under your combined weight. His hands rubbed your back just like the times when you had cuddled but this time it turned you on how gentle the movement was. You broke the kiss and sat upon his lap. He was still wearing his glasses and looked up at you with wide eyes. So cute.

You ground into his lap and made him gasp. His hands landed on your thighs.

You pulled down his sweatpants. It will feel good to have that in me. Bin rolled on a condom as you got rid of your pants. You straddled him again.

You sank down on him, savoring the feeling of slowly being filled. It could not get any better than this. Bin’s head sank into your pillow. His breathing had quickened.

“Are you okay?”

You pushed a strand of hair out of his face.

“It feels so good.”

He looked so cute laying in your bed wearing his sweater. You ground your hips into his. Bin gasped and his hands came to rest on your thighs. His fingers pressed into your skin and loosed again almost in time with you moving your hips. You changed the angle by leaning forward a bit more so your clit got some action too. Bin's face was red and his forehead sweaty. It must have been very hot in the thick sweater. His hands moved up your body to your breast, gently kneading them. A quiet moan bubbled from your throat. You grabbed Bin by his shirt and made him sit up. The kiss was sloppy but exactly what you needed. Your hips halted and you pulled back from Bin’s lips.

“It’s time you put that nice ass of yours to good use.”

You whispered in his ear.

“Make me come.”

He groaned and before you knew it you were on your back. Bin kneeled between your legs and took his sweater off.

After a few thrusts, you stopped Bin.

“I don’t think the bed will survive this.”

He nodded. The floor was not as comfortable, but with a pillow, under your hips, the position was even better.

Bin set a hard pace and it was perfect. The way his hips snapped against yours made it impossible to think. Your world narrowed until it was only you and him. You held your breath and let the wave of pleasure wash you away.

The next few weeks passed in no time. You and Bin spend a lot of time together now. Some of it was like before, watching movies and cuddling but there were also new activities. It felt good to have your partner so close by and you made much use of it.

One evening Bin was quieter than usual. He sat on your bed when you came into your room with dinner. He scratched his neck, a nervous gesture that you had seen before.

“What do you think about Minhyuk?,” Bin asked carefully as you sat down on the floor where you intended to eat.

“Minhyuk?”

If you were honest you had not talked to him much since you and Bin had started spending more time together. He did not leave his room when you were in the kitchen. Bin sat up and leaned closer.

“I think he feels left out.”

“He seemed fine to me.”

Bin’s lips were pressed into a thin line and he looked at his hands.

“He is the type to bottle his feelings up.”

Bin and Minhyuk had known each other for a long time, so you believed him.

“So what do you suggest?”

Bin licked his lips and sat down on the floor next to you. He sighed.

“I shouldn’t tell you this.”

You furrowed your brow.

“Minhyuk likes you.”

“So?”

“No, I mean he has.. had? has. a crush on you.”

“Oh.”

You had no idea that Minhyuk had liked you.

“I know it’s a bit…”

Bin stopped himself. He looked at the floor.

“Do you want to have a threesome with him?”

This was not going where you thought it was going.

“How would that help?”

Your tone was a bit panicked. You had not seen this coming and Bin’s suggestion had caught you on the wrong foot.

"I mean he knows we … spent time together."

"But if we did wouldn’t that make it worst for him? I mean if he likes me and I’m with you?"

"I don’t know what he would prefer but i didn’t want to ask him before talking to you."

"I will think about it, okay?"

A/N: That's it! Thanks for reading and a happy New Year!

[yoificfinder]

Idk if you noticed but I started creating character-centric fic recs for their respective birthdays. Time-permitting, I hope to do this for everyone. It might not be as so expansive since I only include what I, myself, have read and remembered but you are welcome to add your own recs!

Having said that, here are some Yuri-centric fics I rec. Happy birthday to the Ice Tiger of Russia/Russian Fairy!

by any other name by iguanasteven [T, 2K]

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

Yuri's life as told by the names he's given; or, how Yuri's names direct his life.

I am Yuri Plisetsky by rinsled05 / @dreaming-fireflies [M, 2K]

Who is Yuri Plisetsky?

He's not Agape.

Not a “prima donna” ballerina.

And definitely no Russian fairy.

No, Yuri Plisetsky is an angry, loud, in-your-face, Russian tiger who will take to the ice and give you a brilliant gold-worthy performance you will never forget.

... a piece on Yuri's rationale for skating to "Welcome to the Madness". Rated for the actual foul-mouthed language in the story itself, courtesy of one Yuri Plisetsky.

it doesn't take a scientist by @alykapediaaa [T, 2K]

On Wednesday, Yuri skates right in between Viktor and Mila and says, nonchalant. "When I grow up, I'm going to be Yuuri Katsuki's second husband."

Viktor chokes on his own spit.

"What happened to the first one?" Mila asks, amused.

"Nothing you can prove," Yuri says, glancing meaningfully at a wide-eyed Viktor before skating away to the sound Mila's laughter.

(Or: In which Yuri Plisetsky has a crush, Mila Babicheva is a terrible listener, Otabek Altin is an equally terrible advice-giver, and the only possible solution to his predicament is to kill Viktor Nikiforov and marry Yuuri Katsuki himself.)

Pride by @kakikaeru [T, 3K]

"This was a terrible idea," Yuri hisses, and Yuuri reaches over and touches his wrist. Yuuri is not a tactile person and Yuri will maul anyone who tries to touch him, but a month ago Yuuri found him sobbing in the space between the vending machines at the rink, and it was hard to go back once someone had held you through the brink of your despair.

Yuri deals with the mortifying ordeal of being known.

Songs About Your Boyfriend by cryingoverspilledvodka / @victorsporosya [T, 18K]

Victor didn't understand Katsuki like Yuri did. It was impossible for him to do so. Victor had never had an idol, never had someone to look up to. He had set all the records himself. Katsuki and Yuri had Victor, and thus they had each other. That was something just between them, something that Victor couldn't be a part of. It may not be marriage, but it was a commitment in itself. Or it was to Yuri. And anyway, Katsuki wasn't married yet.

---

Yuri is in love with Victor's ambition, deeply in love with Victor's skating- and stupidly in love with Victor's fiancé

the top of the world by @stammiviktor [T, 5K]

It’s nearing ten p.m. on the third day of the off season when Yuri Plisetsky bursts through the front door and announces, "I'm staying here."

With his body changing and the Olympic season approaching, Yuri decides he’s had enough.

to the bottom of the river by @savrenim [T, 66K] *WIP

"If selling my soul is what it takes to win, I'll give you this body, no holds barred.”

Because after all, Yuri had no soul left to sell.

Yuri Plisetsky Grows Up (Or: Five Times People Give Yuri the Talk, and One Time He Gives It) by @voidflower [T, 8K]

"You will always keep your head on your shoulders. You will not hook up during competitions. You will not get involved in skater drama, because you’re better than that. And you will not let your hormones interfere with your skating. Understood?”

“Of course,” says Yuri smoothly, embarrassment giving way to indignation. “Like I would ever put anything before skating.” Yakov looks at him a little sadly, and nods.

“I know, Yura. I know.”

[obeymeoasis]

Demon Bros React: MC Is Insecure

Warnings: mentions of insecurity surrounding body image, physical appearance, self-worth.

Lucifer

It was the day after a party Diavolo had thrown at his castle. You had had fun for the most part, dancing with the brothers and eating delicious foods prepared by Barbatos. 

But you also remembered how it had felt to look around the room and realize you were surrounded by gorgeous demons, not a single flaw on anyone’s face. Doubt and insecurity had begun to creep into your mind, and that feeling had carried over into the next day.

You had only talked briefly with Lucifer at the party because he was too busy interacting with Diavolo’s guests. Every time you tried to catch his eye, you noticed how beautiful whoever he was talking to was and found yourself swallowing down your greeting.

Currently Lucifer was at his desk like always, scribbling down notes and shuffling through papers. You brought him afternoon tea and sat reading in one of his armchairs to keep him company.

You had been telling yourself that you were going to ask him the question that was burning in your mind, but an hour had already passed since you first came in. You tried to distract yourself with your book but the words were fuzzy on the page. Finally, you spoke. “Luci?”

He didn’t look up from his desk when he answered, “Yes, love?”

“Do you... do you ever wish I was more beautiful?”

The scratching of his pen stopped immediately and Lucifer lowered the papers he was holding to show his face, a carefully blank expression revealing nothing. “What exactly do you mean by that question?”

“I mean exactly what I asked. Do you ever wish I was more beautiful? More attractive? As the Avatar of Pride have you ever been... embarrassed to be seen with me?”

At this Lucifer’s expression grew cold and furious. “Has someone... made you feel this way? Has someone made you feel as if you are inadequate?” You shook your head sadly and whispered, “No, just my own brain.”

“Ah, I see. Well pet, I don’t ever wish you were more beautiful because you are the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen. So it would be physically impossible for you to be more beautiful than you are now.”

You snorted. “Luci, that was so cheesy. Your brothers would throw up if they heard what you just said.” Lucifer’s lips quirked up in amusement. “Well, I’m glad I was able to make you laugh. And I do mean what I said. I’ve never once felt embarrassed to be with you; you are my pride, the source of my happiness. If anyone were to suggest otherwise, I would gladly kill them.”

“Luci, we’ve been over this. You can’t just kill everyone who is mildly rude to me.”

Lucifer went back to working on his papers but there was a gentle smile on his face. “Darling, you’ll find that I definitely can. I have a permit.”

Mammon

You were regretting tagging along to one of Mammon’s photo shoots. At first, it seemed like a fun idea getting to look at all the clothes, makeup, and jewelry. Plus, you really wanted to see what Mammon was like when he was working professionally. 

It was fun at first, you cooing over how handsome Mammon looked in his outfit and watching him get all flustered and blushy. But then the actual photoshoot started and you watched as Mammon posed with a stunning model.

You tried to not let your insecurities get the best of you. You were here to support Mammon! But as the shoot progressed you couldn’t help but start to compare yourself, keeping track of how they were more beautiful and you more flawed. 

The photographer stopped to take a break and Mammon immediately bounced over to you. “MC, did you see me? How does it feel to watch the Great Mammon in his natural element? I look good, don’t I?”

You caressed Mammon’s cheek and feigned a bright smile. “You were amazing Mammon! You look so handsome. And this is such a cool outfit!” But Mammon was somehow always able to tell when you were faking a good mood and he frowned. “MC, is something wrong? You look sad. Did something happen?”

You opened your mouth, an excuse ready on your lips, but found you couldn’t lie right to Mammon’s face. You gestured toward the model who was talking to their manager in the corner. “Do you ever wish I looked like that?”

Mammon cocked his head, confused. “Do I ever wish you had blue hair? Not particularly? Although now that I think about it, blue hair would look cool on you too.”

You sighed. “No, I mean do you ever wish I looked like a model? Sexier? Or prettier?” Mammon thought for a moment, processing your question, and then frowned. “Oh no no no. Treasure, what’s this all about? What happened?”

“Sorry Mams, I didn’t want to distract you while you’re working. I just got really low and insecure all of a sudden. Started thinking about how you should be with someone really beautiful, you know? And sometimes I feel like that’s not me.”

Clearly upset, Mammon rushed to give you a crushing hug, tucking your head underneath his chin. “MC I- I wish I could beam my thoughts into your head. That way you’d really believe me when I say that you’re so precious to me. Every day I wake up and think about how lucky I am to be with you.”

You chuckled a little. “I do put up a lot with you, don’t I.” Mammon gently smacked you on your back. “Hey! I’ve been good lately! But seriously MC, you are stunning. You are gorgeous. And it’s okay if you don’t believe me right now because- because I’ll tell you as many times as you need me to! I’ll tell you a thousand times a day! A million times!”

You tried to blink away the tears in your eyes and held onto Mammon even tighter. “Thanks Mams, I love you so much.”

“Love you too treasure. Your first man’s gonna take care of you, don’t you worry about a thing.”

Leviathan

Usually you liked watching anime with Levi; it was one of your favorite things to do together. Levi was always more happy and lively when watching with you because he was able to express his opinions freely without judgment. And you thought it was adorable how excited Levi got over his favorite characters and storylines.

Today, you were snuggled together on some cushions re-watching an episode of “The Magical Ruri Hanai: Demon Girl”. At first you were enjoying the episode, laughing as Ruri got used to the oddities of the human world. But Levi’s repeated comments about how cute Ruri-chan was, which you usually never minded, started to bother you a bit.

You took a quick glance around the room, noting Levi’s enormous collection of Ruri-chan posters, figurines, and other merch. Levi tapped you on the knee, interrupting your thoughts. “MC, you’re missing the best part! What are you looking at?”

You sighed a little, struggling to act nonchalant. “Sorry Levi, it’s nothing. I’m still watching.” Frowning, Levi paused the episode and turned to look at you. “Hey, what’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you said “Levi, I’m not Ruri-chan.” He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Yes... I know?”

You continued, “I don’t look like Ruri-chan. Does that bother you?”

“Does it bother me... that you don’t look like an anime character?” He repeated the question slowly, as if you had asked him the strangest question in the world.

Frustrated, you blurted out “I don’t look like Ruri-chan! I’m never going to be as cute as her!”

Levi looked completely bewildered, his eyes wide and staring at you in confusion. “B-But you are cute! MC, w-what are you even talking about?” 

Embarrassed at your outburst you looked down at the floor silently. Levi scooted over toward you so that your knees were touching and he waited until you broke the silence. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough. I think maybe you’d like it if I looked cuter or acted cuter, like the characters in anime.”

Levi hesitated for a moment before quickly grabbing onto your hand, blushing furiously as he did so. "MC, I-I already think you're c-cute. Really really cute. So don't say things like that. And also, I like you because you're you! Not because you're like someone else."

"And you make me really happy. I'm just a gross otaku. I never thought I'd be able to... to find someone like you. Someone who accepts me."

He tried to lock eyes with you but blushed even harder and stared at your joined hands. "Plus, I couldn't to-touch an anime character. But I can touch you. I can hold your hand or give you hugs whenever you need it, o-okay?"

You leaned your head onto Levi's shoulder and closed your eyes, letting the peaceful silence wash over you.

Satan

You were accompanying Satan on a trip to one of his favorite stores: an antique shop that sold all manner of rare books and artifacts. The owner, Ms. Sparrow, was a friend of Satan’s and she welcomed the two of you wholeheartedly.

Today, she looked as gorgeous as she always did. Her chic pearl dress and matching silk gloves shone against her dark skin. Not a curl in her hair was out of place and even the click-clack of her heels on the floor seemed melodious somehow.

You left Satan to look at the books and went wandering off into the various aisles of the store, marveling at all the bits and bobs. In one of the over-stuffed corners you happened to find a glittering silver key on a red velvet ribbon. Taking it in your hand, you went back through to show it off to Satan, wanting to ask him what he thought it opened.

But Satan was busy chatting and laughing with Ms. Sparrow. You watched the two of them for a moment and noticed how well they complimented each other. Both had a certain poise, a kind of confidence and certainty in their movements.

On your walk back to the dorms, you were unusually quiet and Satan noticed. “Pet, is something the matter?”

You hesitated, wondering if Satan was going to find your insecurity childish. “Satan, I’m not very....elegant.”

“Yes, I know. You choked on a piece of bread yesterday. The day before that you tripped over absolutely nothing and fell down.” He smiled, expecting for you to get riled up, but it fell when he saw that you looked dejected. “Love, what is the matter? Have I upset you?”

You avoided his gaze. “Sometimes... sometimes I wonder if I bring you down by being with you. I feel like you deserve someone elegant and sophisticated. Someone who matches you. But I’m not. I’m clumsy and messy and not perfect, like Ms. Sparrow.”

Satan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Ms. Sparrow? What does she have anything to with this?” He turned you around so that you were facing him. “Pet, please look at me. I love you. And I’m not with you in spite of you being clumsy or messy. I love you because you’re clumsy and messy, because those are parts of you and I love all of you.”

He leaned down to press his forehead against yours. “And why would I need someone perfect? Am I perfect? Yesterday you saw me screaming at my cup because I accidentally spilled some tea and burned my finger.”

You shrugged while giggling, “I thought it was a perfectly reasonable response.” You wrapped your arms around his and buried your face into his shoulder. “Thanks, Satan. You always know how to make me feel better.”

He reached down to give you a gentle kiss. “Anytime, love. I’m always here for you.”

Asmodeus

Asmo has a lot of fans across all his social media accounts. That was made perfectly clear the first time you went on a date with him outside. Sitting in the trendy coffeeshop, several people had come up to ask him for a picture or an autograph. He was never shy about you and always introduced you as his sweetheart, cooing about how beautiful you were. 

Some days it was okay. You loved seeing the bubbly social-butterfly side of Asmo. He was always so sweet to everyone who came up to him and genuinely enjoyed meeting new people. But other days, your insecurity rose up like a huge wave and dampened everything.

This particular day you were shopping with Asmo in a new boutique that had opened up. You were aimlessly flicking through the racks of clothes when you heard a large squealing.

Two demons ran up to Asmo, talking and gesturing excitedly. You could make out that they followed him on Devilgram and were asking if he was willing to take a picture with them. These demons were some of the most attractive beings you had ever seen. Their clothes were incredibly stylish and their hair and makeup were done flawlessly.

Looking around the shop, in all of the full length mirrors you could see the reflection of Asmo and his beautiful fans. And you looked out of place, like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit in at all. 

Tearing up, you grabbed a random pair of jeans off the rack and ran into a changing room. You turned away from the mirror, not wanting to look at yourself, and took deep breaths to try and keep from bursting into sobs. After a few moments Asmo began looking for you, having finished taking pictures. “Sweetheart, are you changing? Let me see what you’re wearing when you’re done!”

At the sound of his voice you burst into tears and your attempts to muffle the noise were futile. Outside the door, Asmo’s voice sounded panicked. “Darling, are you okay? What’s the matter? Please come outside, whatever it is please let me help you!” You hesitated, not wanting to face him, but this made him even more frantic. He started jiggling the doorknob and knocking on the door.

You opened it, afraid that he would accidentally break the doorknob leaving you trapped inside. As soon as he saw you he gathered you in his arms and began making shushing noises while smoothing your hair. “Sweetheart, why are you crying? Please talk to me, please tell me what’s wrong.”

You tried to get the words out in between sobs and hiccups. “A-Asmo, don’t you want someone m-more beautiful? Someone who-who looks g-good with you?” Asmo paused for a moment, processing your words, and then his eyes burned with anger. “Sweetheart, did one of my fans say something mean to you? Did someone make you feel like this?”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, just me.” Asmo breathed a sigh of relief at hearing no one had harrassed you and resumed smoothing your hair. “Oh, darling. You ARE beautiful. You’re stunning, sweetheart. I wish you could see the way I saw you, how adorable and gorgeous you are. And I understand that there are going to be days when you don’t believe me, when you feel like you’re not. But at least don’t go through those days alone, okay?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without tearing up again.

"Now, let's go get some ice cream. We can eat it while taking a bubble bath."

Beelzebub

You weren’t really sure why Beel liked you coming with him to the gym all the time, even if you didn’t exercise. He said your presence was calming and that it made him focus better, which was odd because a lot of the time you just sat on an unoccupied machine and scrolled through your D.D.D.

Today was much the same, with Beel running on the treadmill and you watching some videos. The gym was pretty empty, just a few students exercising here and there.

Your eyes drifted to Beel who was running without even breaking a sweat. His body was all solid muscle: his arms, legs, and abs looked perfectly chiseled and toned. Last week you accidentally ran into Beel in the hallway and it felt like you had smashed into a brick wall. Beel, on the other hand, was completely fine.

You began to wonder what Beel thought about your body. He could be pretty handsy at times and he wasn’t shy in his affections. But what if there was something he didn’t like? Something that he thought needed changing?

He’s never mentioned anything about exercising to you before. But you thought back to the students you had seen in this gym: all of them were extremely fit with incredible bodies. You couldn’t help but start to compare yourself to them and think that maybe you were lacking.

Just then, Beel finished his run and walked over to you. You weren’t sure what kind of facial expression you were making but it seemed enough to concern him because he asked, “MC, is everything okay?”

“Hey Beel... do you ever wish I had a nicer body?”

He squinted in confusion. “What do you mean by ‘a nicer body’?”

“I don’t know... just better. Whatever nicer looks like for you.”

Beel was quiet for a moment, thinking. “No, I've never wished for that before. I still don't know what you mean by 'nicer'. I love you. And I love your body because its yours. The only thing that matters to me is whether you’re happy. And as long as I'm still allowed to touch you, then I'm happy.”

He looked at you nervously then, biting his lip. "Am I... still allowed to touch you?"

You laughed and reached to give him a hug, loving how safe it felt in his arms. "Of course, big guy. Thanks for making me feel better. You always know what to say."

Beel flushed with pride and closed his eyes in happiness, leaning into your hand as you patted him on the head.

Belphegor

You knew you were dreaming because you were sitting in a R.A.D classroom surrounded by fellow students, but you couldn’t focus on any of their faces. They were blurry, as if someone had smudged them like an artist had smudged some charcoal.

You were at your desk, looking around the classroom, when as if on cue all of the students began to slowly gather around you. They stood there silently for a moment, unmoving, and you felt a shiver go up your spine. 

And then one by one the students began to hurl insults at you.

“You’re not good enough. Not good enough for Belphegor.” “You’re ugly, you’re hideous. “You’re unwanted, go back to where you came from.” “You don’t deserve what you have, don’t deserve good.” “You’re weak.” “You ruin others, you ruin everything.”

As they insulted you the students began to draw themselves closer, pushing and shoving to reach you. They almost made a cover over your desk as if to block out all the light. You hunched over your desk, shaking and panicking, trying to curl up to protect yourself.

One of the demons began shaking your shoulder roughly, you yelping in pain. He began yelling in your ear, “Wake up! Wake up!”

“MC! Wake up!”

You startled awake and looked around the room in fear. You were in Belphie’s bed, your pajamas sticking to you with sweat. Belphie was looking at you with concern, one hand still on your shoulder.

“MC, you’re okay. It’s just me. It was just a nightmare.” You let out a sob and buried yourself in his arms while he patted you on the back until your breaths evened out.

“D-Did you see my dream?” you asked. You were nervous about showing Belphie that weak side of you, the insecurities that had been brewing since the two of you had begun a relationship. He looked apologetic. “I did. You were whimpering and shaking in your sleep. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He reached over, one hand smoothing your hair, the fingers of his other hand interlaced with yours. “None of what they said was true, you know.” You looked down, embarrassed. “I mean it, MC. You are good enough. You’re beautiful, you’re wanted, you deserve all the nice and beautiful things in the world, you’re strong. And most importantly, you lift others up. You lift me up everyday.”

He lifted up your hand and pressed a kiss against it. “You lifted me out of darkness. I love you so much. And I’ll gladly stay by your side, for as long as you’ll have me.”

You grabbed the front of his sweater to draw him into a rough kiss, lips bruising. “Forever, Belphie. Forever.” 

[anneimaginesundertale]

[ SUPPORT ] : following a massive emotional blow, sender takes receiver's hand and holds it in an effort to provide emotional support. How about with Grillby? Maybe Reader's business suffered a big loss and is distraught?

You’d walked into Grillby’s that afternoon wanting to forget everything. When you’d sat down onto a bar stool only to hear a pbbbttttt, you groaned instead of laughing like you normally would. You didn’t even get up to get rid of the deflated whoopee cushion. You just slumped on the bar top and buried your face in your arms.

You could tell Grillby was right by you by the warmth and the soft crackling of his flames. A gentle hand touched yours. “Y/N?” he asked softly.

You looked up at him sadly. “I got the news today,” you said. “We didn’t get the permits. We’re not going to be allowed to open.” You had to fight back tears at the thought. “I worked so hard, Grillby! I really wanted this….” Your voice broke.

Grillby ran his thumb over the back of your hand. “I know you did,” he said. He remembered how often you’d come in here talking about your business. You had so many ideas, ideas you were sure would make life better for humans and monsters alike. He smiled softly as something occurred to him. “You know,” he said, “I have some business contacts, and some legal ones. If you like, I could help you find someone to help you.”

You looked up at him, a spark of hope flickering in your eyes. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. You are my friend, and this means a lot to you.”

You surged across the bar and hugged him. “You’re the best, Grillby!”

[levixreader]

Levi x Reader - Perhaps

Request by @the-only-ace: (Thank you for also the beta too)

hello, i so soooo love your work especially "it's now what it looks like" it's a dream come true for a kpop fan like me who is obsessed with levi. can i a request a scenario wherein levi and reader are enjoying a warm bath the night before they attack marley. they talk about the future ahead them, thinking whether it will come true or not (since they might ya know... die). levi, wanting to live his life with no regrets, suddenly proposed to reader. p.s. you may add smut or not, whatever you think

Warning: Some nudity but no smut :)), proposal

Master List | Requests | Home

Perhaps

You could feel the fear still coursing through your tiered body. Your bones felt old, exhausted and mistreated. It was late, the dark blue sky turning even darker. You sighed, your naked body sinking into the warmth of the bath. Your skin screamed as the heat penetrated you reaching your aching muscles. There were no stars tonight. You adjusted yourself, careful not to sit on him. Strong, firm arms enveloped you, pulling towards his tone safe chest. He was your safe haven. You sighed, leaning into his touch, the back of your head on his shoulder. “Mmmm”, you moaned, closing your eyes allowing your feet to stretch towards the end of the tub.

Nights like this, you wish you could disappear.

Simply melt into him, into his warmth, into his safety.

He kissed the top of your head, making you sigh deeply. The tension in your muscles releasing into his fingers as they rubbed incoherent shapes into the dip of your hips. “What are you thinking about?”, his low husky voice questioned as he placed his chin on top of your head. You sighed, not in relief but in exasperation. “I might die”, you answered flatly. His fingers stopped moving, opting to grip your sides in disapproval. You couldn’t see him but you knew he was scowling. “You won’t”, he responded curtly, his tone more severe. You sighed again, your eyebrows softening, “My shoulder hasn’t fully recovered”, you admitted. His grip tightened, “Then you’re not going”, he declared. “Wouldn’t that be nice”, you countered shifting your head lightly on his shoulder letting the water cover your neck completely.

Perhaps drowning would be less painful.

“You’re not going to die”, he insisted, resuming his incomprehensible shape drawing, this time on the sides of your thighs. You smiled sadly. “Ok, let’s say I survive?”, you mused looking up to the ceiling. It looked old, wared out. He grunted, not sure if entertaining your train of thought was the smartest thing at the moment. “What will I do?”, you asked not really paying attention. You felt his chest expand against your back; he was inhaling. You placed your hands over his, your fingers separating his. “What will we do?”, he echoed, releasing the air from his lungs. You closed your fingers into his palm. “Do you think we’ll stay together?”, you asked, your eyes drifting underneath the water, observing how small your legs looked compared to his. Even his calves were toned and firmly defined. He tensed up. “Do you not want to?”, he asked a bit panicked. You chuckled, “Levi”, you called out softly permitting your back to push against his abs, “I will follow you until the ends of this world”, you assured squeezing both his hands. You felt him relax, “You won’t die”, he repeated. He took your left intertwined hands and pulled them out of the water. “Yeah?”, you pondered, watching the water drip from your palms. “Yeah”, he guaranteed, “I won’t let you”, he added his voice an octave lower. You turned your face to the side, forcing your eyes to look up to his silver ones. His eyebrows were knitted together, a small dent rising from the furrowed skin between his eyebrows.

“Marry me”, he whispered with the same low tone he used before. Your eyes widened; your mouth slightly agape. Marry me. His eyes looked serious, the silver changing to a dark grey. The amber light from the lamp washing him in a beautiful orange tint. His mouth was pressed into a thin line; he was waiting.

You swallowed; your throat completely dry.

“Yes”, you breathed out.

He leaned in catching your still parted lips.

It was a soft kiss, his lips carefully moving against yours as if scared to spook you.

Slowly, he pulled in your interwind hands into your chest gripping them harder.

You were going to survive and he would marry you.

Even if it was the last thing he did.

[autolovecraft]

Sawyer in their last illnesses.

It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation.

The skull turned my stomach, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the daily paths of men was enough to exasperate him thoroughly. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb.

The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault.

His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago.

An eye for an eye!

You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer.

Birch, before 1881, had been the village undertaker of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. I thought! I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault.

The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. Perhaps he screamed. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications.

His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. He was a scoundrel, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you always did go too damned far!

God, what a rage! Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked.

The moon was shining on the scattered brick fragments and marred facade, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, but you always did go too damned far! It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, just as I thought!

He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible.

It may have been mocking. The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the source of a task whose performance deserved every possible stimulus.

He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. Davis.

When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them.

[wzrd-wheezes]

Love Language - Fred Weasley x Reader

A/N - Hey! Sorry I’ve been inactive for a little while, I’ve been super busy with work and stuff, but here’s a fluffy Freddie fic.

Request:  Hi! Can I have a Fred Weasley x reader where they’ve been dating for a while and they have a love touch relationship where they always have to be touching in some way. Then umbridge comes in and makes the boys and girls can’t be within 8inches rule

1.3k words

masterlist here

Hogwarts was unbearable for Y/N at the minute. Professor Umbridge had begun to take over the entire school. Every class that she sat in was tense, some of her teachers had lost their jobs, all of the clubs had been banned. But everything seemed okay when Y/N was with Fred. They had been dating for a while now and barely spent a second apart from each other. George used to often make jokes about Fred getting aggravated if he and Y/N weren’t constantly touching. They were basically joined at the hip.

All of that ended one day when a particularly loud noise rang through the halls of Hogwarts. Y/N and Fred were on their way to their Transfiguration class when they heard it.

             “Boys and girls are not permitted to be within eight inches of each other.” Umbridge’s voice echoed through the corridor. Y/N’s heart sank immediately, and she looked down at her and Fred’s entangled fingers.

             “Don’t worry, love, what’s she going to do? Chop our fingers off?” Fred laughed, shaking his head, “she’s a right hag, isn’t she? Old Umbridge.” Y/N tried to laugh but there was a dull ache in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t think of anything worse than her and Fred getting into trouble just for holding hands.

             “Yeah, I suppose,” she smiled, “We’ll just have to try and be careful, Freddie.”

 “Being careful” to Fred meant stolen kisses in the corridors when he thought that no one was looking. He would often grab Y/N’s hand and pull her into a deserted corridor and give her a quick peck on the lips before dashing off as soon as he caught a glimpse of either Filch or Umbridge. They were walking back from Quidditch practice one evening when Fred quickly yanked Y/N’s arm.

             “What was that for?”

             “That bloody cat,” he yanked his head in the direction of Mrs. Norris who was fast approaching them.

             “Shit.”

Without a second thought, Fred grabbed her hand and pulled her into the broom closet down the next corridor.

             “Fred! What the hell were you thinking?” she hissed, “if we get caught in here we’ll be in twice as much trouble,”

             “I’m sorry,” he said, “I panicked. I barely get to be with you anymore now,”

             “We’re together all the time, Freddie,”

             “Yeah, but not like together, Merlin, I can’t remember the last time I properly hugged you or held your hand. I hate all of this sneaking around,”

             “I know, I hate it too,” Y/N frowned.

             “I mean, if it was just me that was going to get into trouble then I’d parade around the corridors holding your hand and kissing you every five minutes,” he smiled, “I’d just hate for you to get into trouble for it.”

Fred gazed into her eyes for a moment, taking in all the features of his girlfriend’s face. He placed one of his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to him. She looked up at him and smiled. God, he would take a hundred detentions with Umbridge just to see her smiling at him. There was a loud creak as the closet door opened abruptly.

             “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Filch drawled.

Y/N and Fred were frogmarched to Umbridge’s office, where she sat at her desk smiling sweetly at them.

             “Care to tell me why you and Miss Y/L/N were in the broom closet together, Mr Weasley?” She smiled grimly. Y/N shifted on her feet, glancing at Fred out of the corner of her eye.

             “Well, you see,” Fred began, “Y/N here is my girlfriend and you know, this ‘eight inches’ rule isn’t really working out for us,” he glared at her. Umbridge giggled.

             “I’m sure you know, Mr Weasley, that this is an educational environment and those kind of relationships aren’t exactly appropriate,” she was still grinning, “a week’s worth of detentions for the both of you should be sufficient then?”

             “But-” Fred interrupted.

             “No buts. You can start tonight. Take a seat.” She gestured to the chairs in front of her desk where two black quills lay menacingly. Y/N didn’t have the strength to protest, she felt defeated. She felt guilty about feeling a bit angry at Fred for getting them into this mess. However, she sat down and proceeded writing the lines that had been set for them. It wasn’t her first detention with Umbridge and after she had written a few lines, she felt the familiar stinging, burning sensation on the back of her hand.

 It was late when her and Fred arrived back to the Common Room. Neither of them spoke a word to each other on the way back. They didn’t speak to each other the next morning either. It wasn’t until they were having dinner that the silence was finally broken.

             “Is it a bit frosty at the dining table this evening, or is it just me?” George joked, looking at the pair.

             “Just you I reckon, Georgie,” Fred replied snarkily.

             “Stop being rude,” Y/N nudged him under the table.

             “I think you two need to go talk about whatever is going on,” George said, “Fred’s angst is getting all over my apple pie and custard and I can’t take it any longer,”

             “You want to go for a walk?” Y/N stood up, going to reach her hand out for Fred before smiling sadly and tucking it into one of the pockets of her robe instead.

They walked out of the Great Hall and started wandering down the corridors.

             “I’m sorry if I’ve been being grumpy, Y/N,” Fred said, glancing at her, “I’m just finding it really difficult not being able to be with you properly,”

             “I know,” she smiled at him, pushing her hair out of her face, “George said that you’d been being a bit tetchy, I thought you were just mad at me or something.”

             “What?” he stopped in his tracks, “I could never be mad at you, sweetheart,”

Tears started welling up in her eyes, she fiddled with the sleeves of her jumper as she looked at Fred. She could really do with a hug off of him right now, but she didn’t want to risk another detention.

             “Erm, Y/N, turn around…”

She was half expecting to see Umbridge pacing towards them and was bracing herself for another argument. Instead, she turned around to face a large, ornate wooden door.

             “That wasn’t there before… was it?” she asked, walking towards it cautiously.

             “It’s the Room of Requirement, I reckon,” Fred said, placing his hand of the handle, “It only appears to people who really need it.”

 Y/N and Fred entered the room. It was decorated plainly, a large plush sofa sat in the middle of the room in front of a roaring fire. Fred threw himself down and pulled Y/N onto his lap. Fred’s touch seemed to linger on her skin, his fingers felt warm as he stroked them up and down her arm comfortingly.

             “This is better, isn’t it love?” he smiled, cupping her cheek in his hand and pulling her in for a kiss. Fred’s lips were warm and soft, he kissed her tenderly, playing with a strand of her hair. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, trying to get as close to him as possible. Y/N buried her face in his hair, breathing in the fresh, clean smell that she had missed so much. It felt good to be close to Fred again. She had missed lazily playing with his hair as he napped in the common room, how his fingers were constantly intertwined with hers.

             “I never, ever want to leave here, Freddie,” she whispered.

             “Me either.” He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, and she could feel him smiling against her skin. In that moment, everything seemed okay. As long as she was with Fred, everything always would be.

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 4 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: Ransom shows you a softer side, but when the table flips he leaves you with no doubt that he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is Part 4 to our submission for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s Haunted House 2020  Challenge. My writing partner @southerngracela​ is currently on an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr, and I’ve sadly no idea when she will be back. However, this chapter was pretty much finished before she took her break and the rest of the series is also planned out to finish, so as per her blessing before she took time out, I’m intending on finishing what we started.

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 3

True to his word, Ransom had let you spend the day with him after Blanc's visit. It was a day interestingly enough your mind wandered back to, if not for the change in scenery, but for the change in his demeanour. A couple of weeks had since passed from then, but the memory was burned in your brain. And since, you'd spent far more than just a day above the confines of your room. Almost every morning since he’d ‘allowed’ you to make breakfast and most mornings, unless he was heading out to wherever he went, he then let you stay upstairs with him whilst he plugged away at the book he was writing. That in and of itself had come as a shock to you, to learn he was an aspiring author for sure, but you had simply nodded and encouraged him when he had told you. And you had quickly realised that when he was busy writing, you could get busy reading one of the many books or writing in your journal while sat in the large study and he left you pretty much alone.

Which is where you were currently sat now, curled up on the leather sofa as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, your journal open in your lap and a leather bound copy of ‘Great Expectations’ lay next to you, the page marked waiting for you to pick up from where you had left off the previous evening. As you thumbed the pages of your journal to find the next blank page, you had to smile at the little doodle of a Christmas tree that caught your eye in the top right hand corner of a page you’d written a few days back, the day you’d convinced Ransom that he should at least get one Christmas Tree. He’d obliged, had one; only the one, delivered and permitted you to decorate it how you’d wanted to and even managed a little smile when you stepped back and proudly showed the finished product to him. Then, of course, quid-pro-quo, he had had expected something in return which you’d given, because let’s face it, he’d have taken it anyway.

You’d seen a softer side to him that day, and not for the first time either. Granted, non-asshole Ransom wasn’t an everyday feature by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d seen it twice now. You paused, and then thumbed back a few pages to the day you were now remembering, the day you’d first been confronted with a very different Ransom to the one you were used to dealing with. One that came out of nowhere.

It was a wet day, an early winter storm passing through New England. You were sure it could have snowed but instead, it was just wet and cold. He'd come down with breakfast, instead of inviting you up. He'd brought you warm oatmeal with cream and cinnamon, a small bowl of blueberries on the side and a pinch dish of raisins, having forgotten how you took your oatmeal. A cup of coffee, steaming on the tray. He'd set up your breakfast on the table and sat across from you, not eating. He hadn't even brought coffee for himself. 

You'd assessed his mood as morose, distant even. You didn't press, but rather waited for him to out himself and his particular mood. You'd come to recognize when he was thinking and this morning, he was all thought and no presence. 

"I'll be gone most of the day," he finally came clean, just as you'd finished your oatmeal. 

"Okay," you replied. He hadn't ever really announced his plans to you before. He'd just come and go at all times as he'd liked, never leaving you home alone without the doors locked. This willingness to let you in on his plans for the day fielded a small red flag in your mind and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like this was a test. He said nothing else, just picked up your breakfast dishes and left. 

In the time he was gone, you'd managed to shower, nap, write and read. You were growing hungry for dinner, having had to skip lunch in his absence. Then you heard it, the tell-tale signs of his return. The clicks of doors and sounds of boots on the floor above you. The jingle of keys, and a few failed attempts at unlocking your door. A 'fuck' and a 'God damn it' before the door opened and there he stood. Soaked to the bone, dressed in all black from his coat to his toes. Was that ice on the tips of his hair? Was he drunk or just having a moment? Fingers frozen from the cold. 

'Jesus Christ, you're soaked.'  You said as you took him in. His lips looked a little discolored, his skin more alabaster than ivory. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed your throw from the chair as you passed it by. 'Get that coat off,' you pulled at its thick woolen collar. The heavy fabric peeled away from his broad shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. You heaved the throw over him and pulled it closed around his thick chest. 'You're not getting sick and leaving me here to rot.'

You moved to give him some space and guide himself further into the room, but ice cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes moved upwards from where his hand swallowed you're wrist, along the wet fabric of his black sweater, water droplet covered neck, to eyes that were lost and distant, just as they were that morning, but much worse. 

You were nearly as frozen as his fingers were, not sure what to say or do. Worried about consequence. So you just stared back. 

'Thank you', it was barely audible as the words poured from his lips. 

'Of course.' You weren't sure what he was thankful for but you replied anyway. Cautiously, you continued, 'Will you come sit down? Do you want something warm to drink?' You wanted to ask where he'd been but that was a slippery slope. 

'Not here,' he replied. 

'Upstairs then, in the lounge,' you suggested. He nodded and turned on his heel, a glance over his shoulder to see if you were coming. You followed, pulling your cardigan around you tightly as the chill from the basement filtered through you, or was it coming away from him, you weren't sure. 

You'd thought the lounge was where you were headed but instead, he'd headed for the kitchen, taking a seat at the table there. When he didn't provide instruction or conversation, you inhaled deeply and thought of something to warm you both from the inside-out. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered the ingredients you needed, cocoa, chocolate chips, milk. The cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. You were careful not to make too much of a clatter as you pulled the sauce pan from under the counter. 

In minutes, fresh hot chocolate was in two steaming mugs with whipped cream and freshly grated cinnamon. You handed him a mug and then sat across from him, your mug between your fingers. You watched as he sipped from his mug, blowing a little on the liquid before his lips touched it. His eyes closed as if he was stuck in a memory, his expression softening. 

His eyes opened and he sighed, 'I can't remember the last time I had something like this. I was just a kid, my nana was still alive. It amazes me how they turned out from the two of them.'

'Money changes people,' you commented. You assumed 'they' meant his family, or at least more specifically, his mother and her two brothers, one of which had been gone for years. 

He scoffed, 'fuck my family.'

Throwing caution to the wind, you asked, 'is that where you were?' You couldn't have guessed, given he was usually extremely angry and frustrated when he'd spent time with anyone in the Thrombey-Drysdale family tree. 

He frowned and nodded. 

'What happened?' You couldn't resist.

'Harlan's memorial.'

'Oh' . You said unable to think of anything else to respond with, because really what else could you say. He’d attended a memorial for the grandfather that would still be alive had it not been for him. 

'Oh, indeed,' he mused, long fingers flexing around the mug. 'Surely, you’ve figured out I wasn’t particularly welcome.' 

You couldn't say more, he wasn't wrong. You bit the inside of your lip and swallowed hard. He needed comfort. But would you give it to him? Was he deserving of that? Hell no, but your heart ached for him a little. It couldn't have been easy. But maybe this was his punishment for avoiding the ultimate consequence.

'Go on, say it.'

'Say what?' 

'That I deserve it.' He looked at you, 'I know that’s what you’re thinking.' He leaned back, 'maybe you’re right.' 

Well, that threw you. 'I don't know what I'm thinking, to be honest.' You leaned forward, intending to slip the mug from his hands and take them in yours, but you caught yourself and stopped. That was a step that you weren’t quite ready for, or willing as might be more accurate, to take. 'But, I can tell you're hurting and despite what happened, how it happened, you deserve to say goodbye without the rage and selfishness that got you here.'

'Well,' he leaned back and took another sip from his mug, 'that’s certainly not what they thought. Meg assured me I'm still the stuck up prick without my trust fund.'

A small smirk played over your lips, barely noticeable, 'fuck your family.' 

'Careful, Sweetheart,' he smirked, but there was no threat in his words, not this time. He was genuinely amused.

You managed a slight shrug, 'If there’s one thing I learned from writing about you and your ridiculously entitled family tree, it's that each and every one of you is all about everyone for themselves.' You took a deep breath, waiting for the repercussions to fall. 'What happened, happened. Now, this is what you have, so own it.' 

You flinched a little as his hand reached to scrub at his clean shaven chin, finger tracing his bottom lip as he studied you for a second before he took a deep breath and reached back for his mug. 'I think you need to make this for me more often.' He stated simply, and just like that, the deep foray into his emotions and psyche was over, and the barriers were closed once more.  

'Sure.' You nodded. 'Whatever you want.' 

At that he gave a little scoff. 'Sure, whatever I want.' 

Silence filled the room again, your mind not sure what to make of that last comment, and his was clearly working overtime, you could tell by the way his eyes were still glazed as he simply stared down at the mug in his hand. The rest of the time you sat by the table was quiet, and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. This was the first real meaningful conversation you’d had with him since arriving here. Sure you’d talked, but never once had you got any insight into what exactly made him tick. You’d learned more in the last ten minutes or so than you had in the entire six weeks you’d been his captive.

His captive. 

The words echoed in your mind and you swallowed as you remembered exactly what it was you were doing here. This wasn’t by choice, this man wasn’t your friend or your lover, he was your captor, keeping you for his own entertainment, which he was no doubt going to be seeking from you again tonight.

'I think I need a shower,' he leaned forward, disturbing your thoughts.

'Okay,' You replied. 'I'll, uh, well you know where to find me when you're ready for me. Anything in particular you'd like me to wear tonight?' 

'No, not tonight,' he answered with assurance, his voice carrying a low yet soft tone. 'You can go read or whatever it is you do when I'm gone.' You blinked, temporarily dumfounded and he looked at you, snorting a little. 'What? You want me to come and have my way with you?' 

'Is that a trick question?' You blurted out before you could stop yourself, before you swallowed and waited for the admonishing, but it never came. Instead he chuckled and shook his head.  

'Didn’t think so.' With that he rose from his chair, reaching for your empty mug as he passed. His fingers lightly brushed yours and you were jolted by the sudden sparks that flew up your arm and you took a little breath as he passed, depositing your mugs in the sink. Without another word he breezed from the kitchen for the first time, leaving you alone in the room.

It left you perplexed. Completely and utterly perplexed. He never left you alone, even the weeks on your cycle he’d found other ways for you to satisfy him, with your mouth or your hand for instance, but tonight…

Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your room. You didn’t even look at the main door to the house, there was no point. It was always locked and you knew what the consequences would be if you left. Besides, you wouldn’t get far. Not to mention you had no idea where you actually where and the thought of being outside alone in the dark, frankly scared you to death. No, you were better here. At least you knew it was warm, and familiar.

You headed down the stairs and got ready for bed. You settled in with your book, and after a while your ears pricked up as you heard footsteps outside your room. You swallowed, clearly he had changed his mind. But, as you set your book aside, it wasn’t the sound of the door opening followed by his feet padding down the stairs that you heard, it was the lock clicking as he shut you in for the night.

The sound of the doorbell jerked you away from your memory. Ransom frowned and looked up from the screen of his laptop before his eyes caught yours and he gave a little smirk.

“Expecting someone?”

You rolled your eyes at his asshole joke and he chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone. As he saw who it was at the door his good humour slipped from his face and without another word he rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway and turned to you. “No funny business, remember…” 

 “Yes, I know.” You replied quietly. “You know where my family are.”

He hesitated, almost as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and left the room to answer the door. 

The study wasn't far from the lounge merely the next room down, and the lounge was closest to the door so you tuned your focus to the voice speaking with Ransom. You recognized it and suddenly found yourself adjusting your tee and duster, making sure the cuffs on your jeans were even. You could hear the distress in his tone, the guest was unwanted and you hadn't realized you were now in the hall beside him. You noticed he took a step back towards you, as if he knew you were there. 

Linda Thrombey's eyes raked over you, in shock and disbelief. “What the hell is she doing here?” 

As she glared, you shifted uncomfortably, your hands pulling on the sleeves of the duster sweater you wore as you swallowed.

“She’s with me.” Ransom replied, his tone even.

“With you as in 'with you'?” Linda turned her eyes back to him, distaste evident on her face.

“Is that a problem, Mother, because you know where the door is.”

It was a problem, you could see it in her face as she once more looked at you, but instead of sniping back she simply took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"No, I just wasn't aware you'd have company." Her eyes flicked back to Ransom who simply shrugged.

"Since when did you know anything about what I do on a daily basis, Mother?"

"Don't start, Ransom. I'm not in the mood and I didn't come here for a fight."

 "Then pray do tell, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can you stop being such a sarcastic little shit for once in your life?" she snapped.

You stilled a little, your eyes flicking to Ransom and you were surprised to find that instead of the usual anger you expected, his face remained passive on the whole, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that, well had it been anyone else you'd have sworn was concern. But Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn't concerned about anyone but himself...

“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice still gruff but there was a softer note to his voice. Linda took a deep breath and she shook her head.

"I felt a call to tell you wasn't appropriate and this needed to be handled in person." She fixed him with a look. “It’s your Greatnanna Wanetta. She died last night, Ransom.”

You froze, hearing the news leave his mother's mouth and you suddenly felt sorry for him. Ransom, stood there stoic, his eyes fixated on his mother.

“Was it peaceful?” he eventually asked, his voice measured.

“In her sleep.” Linda replied, her tone soft.

Ransom stayed silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took deep breaths. His expression was unreadable as he simply looked at his Mother, before he raised his eyebrows inhaling slowly.

“Was there anything else?” He exhaled, and Linda simply shook her head at him, a huff of annoyed laughter escaping her.

“That’s all you have to say?” She asked, incredulously, as Ransom shrugged with a petulantly nonchalant air, and you saw Linda’s face redden as she exploded "Oh for God's sakes, Ransom, you really are such a selfish little bastard, aren't you?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his tone measured. “You said it was peaceful and she didn’t suffer.”

“No, I said she went in her sleep.” Linda corrected him. “I imagine she did suffer, how could she not after everything that happened, huh? Hell, she probably died of a broken heart”.

At that you saw Ransom’ nostril’s flare as his eyes burned into Linda’s face, a flush of red rising up his neck.

"Get out," he deadpanned. When Linda made no attempt to move, Ransom stepped forward yanked open the front door of the house, gesturing with his arm. “I’m not gonna ask again. Go.”

"Ransom..." Linda tried to strong arm her way to stay.

"Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" Ransom replied, his voice didn't even raise in volume but something about it made you shiver. He was positively frightening when he was in this frame of mind.

You watched as Linda gave him a final glare and stepped outside without so much as a glance back, the slam of the door behind her making you jump.

Ransom saw his mother out but didn't return to the study, in fact he ignored Y/N's presence in the hall entirely. Instead, he sulkingly moved towards the wet bar in the lounge. He didn't even bother with the glass, he picked up the first bottle he could wrap his fingers around and white knuckled the neck, spinning the cap off, it clinking to the floor. He downed a long pull, the amber liquid burning sinfully as it coated his throat, his eyes stinging but not from the booze. 

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s soft voice startled him as he hadn’t heard her enter the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, and turned to look at her, his jaw clenching.

“Did I say you could leave the study? Did I say you could join the conversation with Linda?” His voice was steely, flat, but he knew full well that she understood that to mean he was pissed and she visibly recoiled in the doorway, her eyes widening. When she didn’t answer immediately he slammed the bottle he was holding down on the bar top, and when he spoke again his voice was louder as he demanded an answer. “Did I?”

“No.” She answered with a quiver, “But I…”

“But I…” he mocked, sneering before he scoffed. “You know considering how smart you’re supposed to be, at times you’re really fucking stupid.”

Y/N blinked a little, and opened her mouth to talk but she fumbled over her words as she frantically began to apologise, which simply served to irritate him even more. With a frustrated growl he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to look at his.

"You do as I say, when I say it. That rule has NEVER changed," his voice was filled with venom. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not...” she whimpered slightly, and the grip he had on her face tightened causing her to cry out. “Hugh, please!”

And there it was, that fucking name.

You immediately realised your mistake as his face burned red and his lips curled up into an ugly sneer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…you were hurting me and…”

“You think I give a shit?” He spat, and the hand suddenly released your face only to wrap painfully in your hair. Without so much as another word he began pulling you from the room, ignoring your shouts of pain and protest as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists, desperately trying to get him to release you. But it was no good, the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became.

Before you knew what had happened he’d dragged you to the door that led to your room and down the stairs, your feet slipping slightly, causing you to stumble, harshly banging your knee on the bottom few steps where he finally released you, shoving you harshly. Your balance already gone, you stumbled and collided harshly with the side of the vanity table, the pain in your cheekbone causing you to yell out once more as the stars exploded in front of your eyes.

It took you a moment to shake off the daze, and when you finally did you looked up to see his retreating back heading up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. With a gasp you slumped down, your back against the wood of the dressing unit, your hand reaching up to your tender face. From somewhere upstairs in the house you heard another door slam, then a moment or so later there was a roar of an engine, which was followed by nothing but eerie silence.

Hugging your knees to your chest you let out a sob as the tears streaming as uncontrollably down your face.

***** All he could see was rage. Red, hot, firey rage. He slammed the basement door and didn't miss the bar cart on his way out, a full bottle of top shelf scotch in his hand, coat and keys in the other. He drove for miles, no destination in his conscious mind but a rather interesting one in his subconscious.

Headstones came into view until his SUV stopped at the end of the grassy knoll where the mausoleum stood surrounded by trees. He climbed out of the car, bottle clutched in his hand and shut the door behind him, simply leaning against the dark metal of his vehicle. For a long while, he didn't move, he simply stared at the entry, gulping large pulls of the scotch as he stared. His thoughts raced and raced, almost making him dizzy. It was that or the fast burn of the booze.

It felt like a flash of his life replaying in his mind. His great-nana, his grandparents, his parents, a life of entitlement growing up, parties, recreational drugs, booze, women, his fight with Harlan, his sudden plot to commit murder and then the crime, his arrest, and then the visions came to a halt with a mind bending pain and at the end of that pain was Y/N.

Her face, her scent, her voice. The way she felt beneath him, around him…those breathy, little moans, sighs. They’d connected recently, Ransom was sure of it, ever since he’d invited her upstairs and let her do something as mundane as cook. They talked more, engaged more, he no longer fucked her and left, instead he’d dress and hang around for a while, and he liked it. But then, today, after his Mother’s visit, those eyes which had mesmerised him from the moment he’d met her had once more reflected fear and confusion.

And Ransom didn’t like it.

Where that fear had, at one point, given him a buzz, now it simply served to remind him exactly how things had been when he had first taken her, and he didn’t like that one bit. He’d grown to crave the other things, like the way she would touch his arm or squeeze his hand. The way she smiled and spoke. The way she made him feel human, not some ghastly, beastly monster capable of killing someone. But he hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. He hurt her and did things to her, he was vile and despicable. He WAS those things everyone said. 

He was a fucking monster.

He felt the upheaval of emotions begin to collapse around him and he fell to his knees. The sting started and he couldn't stop it. An outpouring of emotions, years, decades even of built up anger, resentment, unhappiness, disgust, fear, pain all erupted in a strangled cry as his chest heaved and his heart raced. Salty steaks of tears wet his cheeks.

And all Ransom Drysdale felt in that moment in time was utter defeat.

His Greatnanna, the only other member of his family who truly ever cared about him, that remained on his side or remotely understood him other than Harlan was now gone and the realization of loneliness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body shook, his chest ached, his mind grew numb and all he could do was cry. 

What the fuck had he become, WHO had he become? What did he do? Why did he do it? This was all his fault, Harlan didn't deserve to be cold in the ground. He did this, all of this. Again, but why?

He had absolutely no answer other than because he could. 

It grew cold, dark, and late. The scotch was gone, his eyes burned and he couldn't breathe through his nose. At this point he didn't care if he made it back in one piece. He was a piece of shit and deserved everything that came to him by way of a tragedy. He climbed into his SUV and tried to collect enough sobriety to drive towards home. Towards her.

******

You had no idea how long you sat on the floor, but by the time you finished crying and had mustered enough about you to move; you were cold, stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Your face hurt from the blow you’d taken against the dresser, your knee hurt from where you’d banged it but all that paled into insignificance to the pain that was going on inside your chest.

You didn’t understand why Ransom had flipped like he had. For a few weeks now, things had been okay between you, good even. He’d been reasonably amenable to most of your requests and dare you say it, almost happier in himself. But all this served to remind you what lay underneath that façade. A dangerous narcissist with the ability to swap his face and mood at the click of a finger.

Or, in this case, a visit from his mother.

You wiped at your face, hissing as your fingers brushed your tender cheekbone and with a slight whimper of pain you pushed yourself up off the floor and stumbled over to your bed where you lay down and curled up, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you recall it was dark and you were still cold. Whilst the basement was equipped with heaters, you couldn’t shake the chill from your bones so you decided that your best option to warm up, and ease your aches and pains was a nice, hot bath. Stretching out slightly, you gave yourself a moment before you pushed yourself up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand before you got up and headed into the bathroom, flicking on the light. 

You paused at the basin unit, glancing at your reflection and you swallowed at the sight of the bruise that was already forming around your right eye and cheek socket. Swallowing the emotion you felt at seeing your face marked once more in such a way, you turned your attention to the bath and the suddenly remembered that the other night Ransom had presented you with a bag from a Boutique you liked that sold home-made soaps and bath bombs, clearly having been in one of his good moods that day. You had yet to unpack it all and put it in the bathroom, so, deciding that you were going to use one tonight, you turned to head back and grab the bag, but as you emerged into the main part of your room, you were stopped short as a thick chest, covered in a ribbed white tee, a hint of a cardigan peeking out as broad shoulders kept warm by a camel coloured coat blocked your path.

You gasped and felt your belly drop out. Your body immediately began quaking in fear as he stood so close to you. You cowered away, taking a half step back but it wasn't enough to put space between you as his hand gently grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into his chest, a shriek emitting from your voice. 

"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't scream, I'm not gonna..." his words trailed off and he just shook his head. 

He held you against him. You were sure he could feel you trembling as his large hands pressed against your back. You inhaled a deep, shaky breath through your nose and was met with his scent. He smelled so good, like an expensive aftershave with hints of amber and sandalwood, cedar and vanilla but there was an underlying, distinct aroma of alcohol, scotch you suspected, unless you were mistaken.  

You felt his face press into your hair as he took a large, shaky deep breath, as if he was inhaling your scent, which he exhaled before he pulled away, his hands cupping your face. He tilted your face slightly so he could examine your left cheek and you saw him swallow as he took in your bruising. Something stirred behind his eyes, a sad melancholy that you’d seen only once before crossed his arrogantly handsome features, and his head dropped slowly to yours. He held your jaw in his big hands, his lips on yours. You didn’t fight, fighting was futile, but as the kiss continued it soon became clear that this wasn’t like any of the times he had kissed you in the past. No, this one was soft, like a need to just feel you pressed against him. His plump lips pulling yours in and holding you there and you realised, from the lingering taste of something sweet yet ever so slightly tinged with sour, that your suspicions were correct.

Despite your earlier fear, you willed yourself to relax into the relative comfort. It was like he was back to how he had been before his mother had visited and whilst he was in that frame of mine, you knew you were safe, so keeping him there was in your best interests. Your fingers moved from your sides to his chest, the ribbed tee rough against your skin. You continued your movements as his mouth pulled you in just a little more until he traced his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers moved out to and up the lapels of his coat, the soft texture like a cottony suede under your fingertips, before settling on the back of his neck, his smooth skin and hairline a definitive juxtaposition to feel. He didn't balk or pull away as he had done previously when you’d tried to show him affection, and you continued to respond to his kiss, your touch seeming to be a comfort for him and in the back of your mind you wondered what had changed to make him act this way. He broke away and rubbed his nose along yours, almost as if he were touching a butterfly, soft and unsure. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He continued to whisper, over and over. A soft, barely there kiss to your bruises and broken skin and more words, "Let me take care of you."

You were scared to admit that this felt good, the way he was being gentle, apologetic even. Pain radiated from his body once again, like it had just a few weeks ago, his eyes telling you everything he was feeling. The outpouring of emotions there were hard to ignore. You weren't sure if forgiveness was in your repertoire, but compartmentalization was. You looked back at him, and with a slow blink, almost hypnotized, you nod in reply to his request. 

Long fingers reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind your ear, the other hand simply cradling your jaw. You swallowed hard as he bent down and placed his lips on your neck. Your body shivered at the feel of his mouth warm against your skin. His breath hot on your ear, “do you trust me?”

"I don't know," your voice was breathy as you replied. 

“Let me fix this," his voice wavered. It was a question, not a demand. He nipped at your skin and you shivered again from a combination of desire and disgust at the way this asshole could make you feel, how traitorous your damned body was. 

Ransom felt her breath hitch against his touch. She wasn't fighting him, she wasn't combative, she was...receptive. The thought nearly made him crow for, in that moment, he could feel her trust in him coming in, even if she couldn't verbalize it. He was debating on his lips devouring hers but he was... oh God, he was actually afraid of losing her in the moment. Of her closing herself off. No, he thought, it's best to wait. Ignoring the throw blanket on the floor and the mugs of cocoa on the table, Ransom held her face in her hands. "Do you trust me?" He asked again. She swallowed hard and blinked again, slowly. It was as fair if a reply as he'd get. He could see the war in her eyes, her mind battling with her feelings, her heart. "Stay here."

He left her standing there while he started the hot water. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He felt different, better even, from the moment he sought her attention when he'd come home. He started the tub faucet and as he brushed past her again, he shucked his coat, tossing it on her bed. He took a small bag he'd brought her earlier in the week and carried it with him. He emptied the contents of a small vile like bottle and watched a moment as bubbles began to firm in the hot but tolerable water. With the bath filling, he sighed to himself and turned to face her.

He peeled his own dusty blue cardigan over his shoulders and let it set over the basin unit. He pushed the sleeves of his white thermal up his forearms and held his hand out to her. She hesitated but slowly slipped her hand in his. He pulled her close and his hands gathered the lapels of her cardigan and peeled it away from her. Underneath her cardigan, Y/N sported a firm fitting white tee and jeans that looked well fitted for her hips and ass, toned legs, bare feet curling into the tiled floor. Ransom salivated as her nipples hardened through the material. He realized she had no bra on under her tee and his hand gently slipped under her rib cage, his thumb padding over her pert nipple. He lifted the thin white tee away from her body and tossed it to the floor. He was half hard just at the thought of her naked under her clothes and now he was solid. Discomfort growing by the second. 

A hooked knuckle traced down her sternum, between her breasts and along the center of her taught stomach. He watched as goose flesh covered her exposed skin. As his knuckle reached the waistline of her jeans, he took to his knees, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her belly, just above her flies. With just his fingers, he undid the button, unzipped the zipper and the peeled the material away from her legs, all the while deep blue eyes peered up at her. He wasn't disappointed to find she'd still worn panties under the rough material, in fact he was delighted. His eyes roved down to her black, lace panties and he reached out, fingers gently tracing long the detailed waistband. Those came down next and as she stepped out of the material, Ransom's hands traced patterns up her leg, faint kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly. He stood and admired Y/N, completely bare, with less than a foot of space between them.

Ransom hummed, his right hand reaching out, pads of his fingers again trailing a path down the valley of her heaving breasts to her navel. He paused as her breathing hitched and with a smirk his hand dropped lower still, over the faint tuft of hair he insisted she kept groomed, his fingers slipping into her folds. She gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he continued to tease her, her hands reaching to up to grasp at his biceps as he played with her. She was wet, so wet from just this little bit of play and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers inside of her. 

He leaned forward, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, “Just say the words and I’ll make you feel so damned good, Sweetheart, like you’ve never felt before.” Ransom pulled away, removing his fingers from where they’d been, his hand curling on her hip, sticky with her essence. He backed her toward the tub's edge, his forehead pressed into hers. All motion stopped the second the back of her legs touched the tub. "Get in," he whispered. 

You sunk down into the water, the aromatic smell of calming lavender swallowing your senses. Bubbles covered your body, to the point they tickled your collar bone. You eyed him kneeling as he reached over you, grabbing the natural sea sponge loofah and dipping it into the water before he squeezed it over your skin, gently scrubbing. Your face once more met his and you carefully watched him as he exhibited a patience you had never seen from him before. Those blue orbs bore into you, but still he made no move to take you.

And it was unnerving.

But then, as you stared into those deep, icy blue pools something suddenly clicked in your mind. He wanted you to want him. That was what this was about. He’d spent his entire life with people who regarded him as unworthy of love or any kindness and he was seeking validation. Whilst you could see he was genuinely hurting, you also still knew this man was violent, angry, had taken you without your permission, taken what he wanted from you and when. You knew he would take what he wanted tonight too, regardless of what your answer was, the moment for you to back out had been and gone.

But something felt so good about his touch that you were shivering in anticipation of more rather than in fear and the feeling of enjoyment on your mind started to overpower the feeling of disgust in your belly as your core tightened with each breath you felt against your skin. You blinked, your head a whirl, as you were shamefully turned on despite the depraved nature of this entire situation. You broke from your thoughtful trance as a hand cupped your face, a thumb pad tilting you chin upward just a pinch to look at him,

"What?" You whispered. 

"Let me in?" He asked, his tone a bit contrite and hopeful. 

When she nodded in a slow reply, Ransom felt his stomach drop out from under him. Butterflies grew to take flight like an albatross deep in his gut. He dropped the sponge in the water and stood tall, towering over the tub. He reached behind his neck, between his shoulder blades and pulled the thermal over his head, his hair catching slightly on the fabric. He ran a hand through it to straighten it back up and tossed the garment to the floor. He watched as her eyes grew noticeably wide as they roamed over his taught, well-formed abs, his bare chest. He flexed a little, his muscles twitching as he focused on the buckle and flies of his pants. He'd kicked his boots off as he'd undone his belt, the clank an ignored sound as all he could do was watch her and she him. Ransom allowed the material to fall between them, his pants hitting his ankles and he was quick to slip out of his pants and socks. He palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs as she watched him touch himself.

He could see the change in her, the look of desire and lust in her eyes. The way she was admiring him now, rather than cowering at him. She was appreciating what was before her. His pale skin, his sculpted body, his naked form. He’s seen her, stripped her bare. But normally he's pulled his dick out and just fucked her. This was uncharted territory, this was new. And he liked it. He liked the way she was looking at him, feeding his ego and willingly participating. This, yes, this was something fun for him. And oh yeah, she wanted this, he could see it all over her.

One foot, then the other, Ransom stepped into the tub and sat opposite of her, careful to avoid the faucet. The water felt inviting, the company even more so. Her one leg nestled between his legs while the other just to the outside of them. She slid her left foot up close to his thigh, bending her leg at the knee. At this new comfortable position, his fingers started drawing intricate circles along her shin and calf. He watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head towards her shoulder, observing him. 

As you watched him, carefully, you saw him swallow, the hollow of this throat constricting a little before he took a deep breath, his touch on your leg still feather light. You wanted to lose yourself, give into the desire that you were feeling whether it be wrong or right, at that point in time you were past caring. You were in this position, nothing was going to change that, so was it really wrong to want to feel something more than fear? It was like there was a game of chess being played between your mind and heart, your gut and will.

And then, Checkmate, the idea came to you. You had a chance here to keep Ransom satisfied but on your terms. You had the power. And as long as you kept it that way you could control his temper and his actions, and get what you now shamefully admitted to yourself that you wanted.  And the realisation that you had the winning move here was almost liberating.

Ransom shifted a little, the water sloshing around him as he sat up, his chest poking a little further out of the water as he studied your face, and you waited to see what he would do. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, he was clearly going through a mental battle himself and eventually he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your breasts which were just under the water line and he swallowed once more before his hand on your leg stilled and he squeezed your calf muscle gently before he moved, leaning forward, his large hand once more resting against your cheek as he drew you in for another deep, gentle kiss.

You leaned into him, letting his lips works softly against yours as your hand dropped under the water and grasped his solid cock, giving him a gentle stroke. The kiss stuttered immediately, and he let out a choked groan as his eyes flew open, locking onto yours.

“Sit back.” You encouraged, and he did just that, his back once more resting against the top as you followed him, your hand remaining soft but firm enough to keep drawing those noises of satisfaction from his throat. His head tipped back as he let you take control, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes closing as no words left his lips, no dirty talk, no hissed little demands about what depraved position he wanted you to adopt, nothing. You held the power, and that turned you on in a way it really shouldn’t.

He gave a strangled hiss as you gripped him tighter and then you shifted, letting go to allow yourself to move your right knee to his left side, following with your other, his eyes flying open, a look of surprise on his face as you lined yourself up and his hands reached up, surprisingly gentle as they rest against your hips. There wasn’t much room, but it was doable, and you sank down onto him, his eyes flying to your hips as you both gave a little whimper as he filled you completely.

His fingers flexed against your skin, blunt nails biting ever so slightly, as you remained still, your hands sliding up his chest, curling over his shoulders. He was tense, coiled like a spring, clearly fighting back the urge to slam up into you and you began to work at a little of that tension, fingers rubbing up and down his neck, the index on your right trailing that vein that was bulging along his throat. His eyes never left yours until you softly began to knead at the strained muscles along his shoulders and neck, massaging deeply as you worked at the knots, his hands still resting on your hips, contracting every so often as you found a particularly knotty spot.

Every so often, he would make the slightest of movements, simply because he was relaxed and you could feel your walls fluttering sporadically, just from being full and stretched to your fill. But, still he made no move to take over, until at one point you hit a particularly knotty area at the point his neck met his collar bone and he gave a little jolt which caused you to groan and he opened his eyes, searching almost for permission. When he found no objection, his hands gently started rocking you.

The pressure and friction on your clit was boiling. It was slow and burned in a way that was so delightful it was almost painful. And, before you could stop yourself you were rolling into him as he kept that same delectably slow rhythm, rocking you back and forth slowly, deeply, before one hand left your hips and grasped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss.

Ransom pulled away from her, breathless, his forehead against hers. The words were barely heard, but he knew he said, "I want you..."

"You have me," she replied in a soft whisper. 

"Not here," he shook his head, their foreheads rubbing. He glided his nose against hers. 

He missed the way she felt around him the second she managed to stand and slip out of the tub. Ransom was quickly behind her, following, bubbles and water dripping to the floor from them both be damned. He followed her to the bed where she stood at its edge, her eyes inviting him. He took a seat, bare ass and thighs soaking the comforter, knees bent over the edge. His eyes roamed her body, taking her all in. His own deep appreciation for her firm an awakening in his soul.

Slowly, just like she had in the tub, one knee slipped passed a hip, the other following. His lips were on her breasts, inhaling the scent of the oils and bubbles clinging to her skin as his tongue traced a hardened nipple and then the other. As he did so, she sunk back down his shaft again, a guttural groan escaping them both. She was ready, the thick vein of his cock giving a seductive friction against her wall.

Ransom ran his hands up and down her back, long index finger tracing up and down her spine as hot open mouth, needy kisses covered as much skin as he could. His hands splayed over her shoulder blades as his hips met her grind, catching her as Y/N arched into his movements. Her head tipped back, sheer wanton pleasure radiated from her with a heat he could almost feel. His mouth moved to the spot he knew drove her wild on her neck under her ear and the little whimper she made was nothing short of delectable. 

As he began to lean back towards the mattress, he rolled her body against his, bringing her down with him. He planted his heels against the comforter and scooted them both to the center of the bed, still buried deep inside her. With a hand back to her hip, a gentle grip keeping his own pace with her rhythm, the other tangled in her messy hair as his tongue dove deep into her mouth, savoring each pass her own tongue made against his. He could feel her body flutter against him, sweet kisses her walls made against his solid cock. Her hands braced herself against his broad chest as she sat up, riding him with fluid, long rolls of her hips and he shivered, despite the searing fire between them. He was no longer fighting that desire to take control, he was more than happy to let her take the lead and respond accordingly, dare he say he was enjoying it. The slowness and sheer intimacy was something he never knew he’d craved until now and as she gave a particularly desperate roll of her hips he groaned, "Fuck yeah, Baby, just...like...that..."

A gasp and a shudder ran through you, your walls clenching down on him as a rush of power surged through your entire body. You rolled your hips deeper against him, the friction against your clit nearly too much. You brought your eyes down and looked down at his face, strong jaw, piercing eyes, his thick bottom lip sucked between his teeth. You had full control over him, beneath you he was as powerless as you had been made to feel. "Oh, God," you’re ready to sing a song of pure ecstasy as your body coils and tightens under your own volition. The signs of orgasm were just...right...there.

As you felt a deep thrust from his hips, hitting your sensitive and perfect spot within, your head lulled back and you felt his name roll off of your tongue, "Ransom...."

At the sound of his name spilling from her mouth Ransom gave a groan. It wasn’t Hugh, or Drysdale, it was Ransom. The one thing she had refused to say from day one and she had finally let herself go enough to give in to what he knew she wanted. His chest swelled, a warm feeling flooding from his toes right to his head and he surged up, his lips on hers, the kiss sloppy as with an easy movement he flipped them both so she was underneath him, all semblance of self-control now lost as her voice echoed round his mind, the soft, sultry way in which she’d cried his name repeating like a prayer. 

"Gimme one more, baby, just one more..." his hips were thrusting hard, but not painfully so."Say it again, please," his voice was laced with fire and emotion, a whimper or sob nearly on his lips.

"Ransom...." she replied coming again and his fingers gripped into her skin, holding her in place as his seed shot deep into her, filling her, his entire body shaking, no nearly convusling as he came.

Breathlessly, they laid there, his body gently caging her in, her fingers curling around his neck and into the nape of his hair.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and you blinked, not quite sure you’d heard him right.

“What for?” You asked, your breath still punctuated by your gasps as you came down from your high.”

“For trusting me.” His nose nudged yours and you looked into his eyes, “for forgiving me.”

“I’m not sure I have.” You replied honestly, and a frown furrowed his brown before he sighed and closed his eyes, his head hanging a little.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” He looked back at you before he moved, pulling out of you and immediately you missed his presence, the heat of his body gone as he rolled to his side. You waited for him to rise and dress as he usually did but he made no effort to move. Instead he lay still, looking up at the ceiling before he turned onto his side, his fingers gently trailing down your bruised cheek as it brushed the soft pillow when you turned to look at him.

“Can I stay?” He asked.

It was a pointless question. Because, let’s face it, you didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to go he wasn’t going to, and it wasn’t like you could leave. But, nevertheless, the fact he had bothered to ask you in the first place was another first. And you found yourself suddenly believing that if you did say no, he would leave.

Instead you nodded, and he gave you a small smile, not a sneer or a smirk, a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face as he leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.

Together you managed to get yourself under the duvet before you reached up for the lamp and clicked it off before settling on your side, facing away from him.

“My err, my cheek hurts.” You said quietly, offering him an explanation as to why you’d turned your back on him. He gave a small sigh and one of his arms snaked under your neck, the other curled round your bare body, resting just underneath your breasts. He gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, another unspoken apology before you felt him tug you back into him, your back pressing against the hard wall of his chest.

He was the first to fall asleep, his body spent as was yours but you laid there still feeling the electricity roll through your muscles, tiredness settling into your bones. You had given him what he wanted but kept your ground and done it on your terms. It's what he'd needed this entire time, to hear his name from your lips, to be wanted to be cared about, to be "loved". You internally scoffed. To be loved... you doubted he had any idea what that actually meant, to be loved unconditionally. But as you’d questioned the other day over hot chocolate, was that really his fault?

This situation was fucked up. What you were doing was fucked up, but, if giving him what he wanted and what he needed kept you in the driving seat, so to speak, you could work with it.

**** Part 5