#twisting his mind further so he would lean more on him rather than his family

[izzy-bee]

— 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

— word count: 1.8k

— pairings: jj maybank x fem!pogue!reader

— summary: 5 times jj resisted the urge to kiss you, and the 1 time he didn't

— warnings: kissing, fluff, swearing, a bit of jealousy

— a/n: my first fic!! i'm so excited to share my writing with you guys! feel free to send in requests, and thank you guys for reading!

masterlist

one;

the first time jj wanted to kiss you, you were twelve years old.

he hadn't seen you all summer. you and your family had travelled to your grandparent's cottage for the holidays, and jj hadn't seen you for three whole months. despite the fact that he would never admit it to anyone else (especially john b and pope), he missed you.

he had had a crush on you for years. although, he would rather die than admit that to you, or anyone, for that matter. you had been his best friend since you two were seven. he didn't want to ruin that.

now, jj had always found you beautiful. with your flowy hair and your pretty eyes and your full lips. but when you showed up at the chateau after being gone, jj's heart practically stopped in his chest.

your skin was glowing from the hot sun, lips pulled into a sweet smile. you were dressed in a simple blue sundress, hanging just above your knees, and a pair of black and white converses.

at the sight of your blonde best friend, you immediately pulled him into a hug. your arms were wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to your height. jj's arm enveloped themselves around your waist, tugging you into his body.

you swayed the two of you back and forth. you had giggled as you separated, grinning up at him. "hi," you had said, resting your hands on his arms.

"hi," he mumbled, breathless at the sight of you.

subconsciously, jj had leaned closer to you, eyes flickering down to your lips and your heart stuttered in your chest. just as jj wanted, so badly, to press his lips against your own, the door to the chateau swung open. out came john b, arms spread wide open as he tackled you into a hug.

the sight of your glittering eyes was on jj's mind for the rest of the day.

two;

the second time jj wanted to kiss you, he was teaching you how to surf.

it had never been something you were interested in. usually, you had laid on your beach towel tanning in the sun as the others were in the water.

but not today.

you had expressed your sudden curiosity to the blonde, and he had immediately jumped at the chance to teach you about one of his favourite things. you were straddling a surfboard (his surfboard) as he stood in the water next to you. your fingers were skimming the water's surface, staring up at the sky with sparkling eyes and clumped lashes.

you were practicing getting into position and going over small waves, a request made by you.

one of jj's hands was holding the edge of his surfboard to steady it. you had been contemplating actually standing up from the board or giving up and swimming back to shore.

you had sighed, before looking down at your best friend with a nervous smile. "okay, i'm ready."

"you sure?" jj asked, just in case.

you nodded, using your hands to paddle further out into the ocean. jj backed away, watching as you pressed your chest to the board before you got to your feet. you allowed the waves to push the board without stumbling, riding it back to the blonde.

jj smiled when you laughed in happiness. you sent a bright grin his way, jumping into the water in front of him as you got close enough. you brought jj into a tight hug, giggling with glee as you wrapped your legs around his waist. one of jj's hands cupped your neck as his other arm curled around your back as the two of you bobbed in the water.

he leaned his head back, eyes tracing over your face. you cupped his face in his hands and jj's stomach twisted in knots. he stared at your lips, wondering if they tasted like salt water. "how do you feel?" jj asked.

somehow, your grin grew even more. "amazing."

three;

the third time jj wanted to kiss you, it was unexpected.

it wasn't as much of a drastic realization as the other two times, but to jj, it was the most important one.

it was the moment jj knew he was in love with you.

the two of you were lounging on the couch. your feet were resting on the couch's arm, head thrown into jj's lap. one of his hands was running through your hair as the other rested on the back of the couch. you were distracted by the breakfast club playing on the tv, but jj was distracted by you.

the blonde had always found you beautiful, but this summer you were ethereal. your hair had gotten longer, bangs framing your face. your lashes were longer, and your eyes were so bright.

you must've noticed his staring, because you looked up and smiled that bright smile, before snuggling your face further into his thigh.

and boom, jj knew.

four;

the fourth time jj wanted to kiss you, you were flirting with someone else.

it was a kegger, the one the pogue's always threw before school started again, and you were flirting with some touron. he was tall, with dark black hair and green eyes and a lanky body. he wasn't ugly, per se, but he wasn't exactly cute either.

jj had been glaring at the two of you for the past ten minutes.

at some point, pope had sat down next to him, holding a red solo cup in his hand as he followed jj's line of sight. pope smirked, before nudging the blonde in the ribs with his elbow. "she looks comfy, doesn't she?"

the two of you were snuggling together on a log. the touron's arm was wrapped around your shoulder with you tucked into the side of his body.

jj grunted in response to pope's comment, tilting his cup forward and the rest of his beer tipped into his mouth. your pretty pink lips were pulled into a smile. the soft one reserved for jj. it was probably the alcohol running through his veins, but jj thought you looked so pretty.

jj was getting increasingly annoyed by the minute. he kept making eye contact with the boy next to you, sea green meeting ocean blue. the smug look on the boy's face made jj's blood boil. clearly, he could sense jj's jealousy.

the boy leaned forward, whispering something in your ear that jj couldn't make out. your eyebrows furrowed in response. your head turned toward the blonde. your head tilted in confusion at the angry expression on the blonde's face, before mouthing a small "you okay?".

jj's lips had twitched, before sending you a small smile, nodding.

he had drowned himself in his drink for the rest of the night after watching you leave with the touron.

five;

the fifth time jj resisted the urge to kiss you, you and the pogues were hiding from the smugglers.

jj had just pushed you out of the window of big john's office, grabbing you by the hand to drag you to the chicken coop. you were crying, fat tears falling down rosy cheeks. you were shoving yourself against the walls, jj sitting next to. kie and john b were on another wall and pope was on his own.

jj peeked through the cracks between the wood, watching as the smugglers carried big john's things into their truck, eyes shifting to the chicken coop every few seconds at the loud clucking from the rooster.

"do something, pope," jj had hissed. "shut that thing up."

"what do you want me to do?"

"pet it or something," you cried, fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt. "or talk to it, i don't know."

the sound of a trunk loudly slamming echoes through the bullpen, and your back hunches forward as you flinch. you let out a small squeak as jj leans forward and grabs at the animal's throat. you squeezed your eyes shut and turned away, avoiding the sight of jj snapping the rooster's neck.

jj's jaw clenched as he paused, leaning away. he slid an arm around your shoulder as you let out a sob. you tucked your face into his neck, sniffling. jj pressed a kiss to your hairline. not your lips, but close enough.

your nails were digging into one of his thighs, your other hand holding onto the arm wrapped around your neck.

it was weird timing for jj, wanting to kiss you after he had killed his favourite rooster. but at the time, he had wanted to comfort you, distract you from the paralyzing fear you were feeling.

+ one;

the first time jj actually kissed you, you were cleaning the blood off his face.

he had gotten in another fight with some pug-faced kook, and you were not happy with him. to be fair, the other guy had started it, (something jj had clarified multiple times). the guy had been making very loud comments about you, well, mainly your ass. in retaliation, jj had tossed a drink in his face. but the kook had thrown the first punch.

after john b practically yanked jj off of the kook, you had dragged the blonde into the upstairs bathroom.

now, he was leaning against the bathroom sink as you cleaned him up. there was a damp cloth in your hand and an emergency first-aid kit on the counter next to him. jj let out a hiss when you pressed against the cut on his lip.

"sorry," you mumbled, running the cloth under more warm water. despite the fact that you were clearly angry, jj couldn't help but smile at the adorable look on your face.

your eyebrows were furrowed, lips in a cute pout. your hair was pulled into one of those buns jj liked, and your free hand was twisted in his tank top. jj's hands were gripping onto your hips, squeezing a little when the pain got too much.

jj's blue eyes were tracing over your features as you grabbed an alcohol-free wipe. he smiled. "you mad at me?"

you glared at him in response. jj giggled and your lips twitched. jj never giggled.

you looked away from his piercing gaze, deciding to focus on the cut on his eyebrow instead. "you're an idiot," you suddenly stated, leaning away to look at him.

jj scoffed, "that guy was a dick."

"still," you shrugged. "didn't give you the right to beat the shit outta him."

jj sighed. you loved to be dramatic, didn't you?

"how can i make it up to you?"

you hummed before an idea seemed to pop into your head. you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a small kiss. jj's eyes popped out of his skull before he mentally slapped himself when he pulled away slightly.

he stared at you with wide eyes. your cheeks were tinted a soft pink, and your lips were a bit puffy.

"what was that for?" jj asked, to which you shrugged. you didn't respond to him, only choosing to lean forward to capture his lips with your own again.

you tasted like sugar.

[merlyn-bane]

For Foelu snippets stuff (if you're still doing) -- I adored how you handled Obi-Wan's dysphoria in the story. Do you have anything about him getting his implant back or his dysphoria settling or, idk. I just kind of crave some resolution to Obi-Wan's lack of agency over his body and the dysphoria situation. I hope that made sense. Thanks!

So another fill got a little out of hand in terms of the length, whoops 😅😅 Thank you so much for this prompt, it was super interesting to work on, and I really really hope it's everything you wanted @bluemaskedkarma 🥰🥰 Also thank you so much for the compliment, because it really was so important to me that the queer themes inherent to the story were handled respectfully.

This fill does get spicy as a heads up<3

~~~~~~~~

“And have you given more thought regarding what you might like to do regarding your implant?”

Obi-Wan, already part of the way through re-shouldering his tabards under the apparently false assumption that his yearly check-in with the chief healer had reached its natural conclusion, pauses to turn and blink at the woman. “I’m already on an implant, Healer Che.”

“I’m talking about your androgen and enzyme blocker, Obi-Wan,” Che says, flipping through his file again as though she doesn’t know it by heart. “You said yourself that you think Kai-Tal will be done weaning soon, right? Have you thought about what you might like to do when that time comes?”

The thing is, if you had asked him at the start of all this, back when he’d first become pregnant, the answer would have been incredibly easy. He’d have done almost anything just to return to his own self-determined baseline. But it’s been nearly five years, now, with his daughter having just turned four—the Jedi typically ascribed to the notion of allowing the child to lead such things wherever possible, and while she’s been quite contentedly enjoying solids for some time now she’s also been loathe to give up milk entirely and he’d simply been glad that his beloved parasite had at least ceded his nipple once she’d grown teeth. 

He’s had five years to get used to the anatomy he has now, to adjust to the small changes it’s brought about in his day-to-day life. Five years with incredibly supportive partners and the extraordinarily satisfying sex that he has with them, often utilizing aforementioned anatomy. Force knows that producing his own lubricant has been incredibly convenient. 

He’s had five years to make a whole lot of headway on really internalizing that having a cunt does not make him any less of a man than when he doesn’t. 

The question becomes, then, he supposes, whether or not returning to that self-imposed baseline is truly that important to him. And he—doesn’t know. Not for sure. Not yet.

“Take some time to think about it,” Vokara suggests, sensing his indecision. “There’s no timetable here except your own, and you can always change your mind later.”

Obi-Wan ticks up one eyebrow, a touch sardonic. “What, no reminder to make sure I’m only making the decision for myself?”

The chief healer raises a brow right back at him. “I’ve met your partners, Obi-Wan. I seriously doubt they’d let you do anything else.”

~~~

Obi-Wan thinks about it.

And then he…rather forgets to, in-between rearing his daughter and serving on the Council and spending time with his family and teaching classes. Life goes on as it always does, and later he will realize that the ease with which he puts it out of his mind again likely should have been something of a tip-off, but he doesn’t yet.

It isn’t until he catches sight of himself in the ‘fresher mirror one morning some few weeks after the last time he pumps and realizes that his chest is flat once more that it crosses his mind again. He twists to the side just a little further, smiling completely unconsciously at the total lack of rise beneath his undershirt, and Rex must notice because he pauses in brushing his teeth long enough to spit into the sink and lean over to kiss the side of his head.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” the blond offers, grinning before he swats playfully at Obi-Wan’s rear. “Now get movin’ before you’re late for another Council meeting.”

“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan retorts, raising an eyebrow even as warmth blooms in his gut. It only grows when he folds his arms over his chest and finds fewer obstacles in his way. And when there’s every bit as much heat in Rex’s eyes now as there’d been before his breasts had receded. “And who was it, pray tell, that made me late?”

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t move your cute little shebs—”

Obi-Wan dances out of the way of his partner’s grasping hands, huffing and elated and feigning annoyance. “Alright, I’m going—”

Rex reels him in for one last kiss first. “You look good, sweetheart,” he reiterates sincerely, and then he’s knocking their foreheads together gently and hustling him out of the ‘fresher. “Have a good day, I love you, I’ll eat ya’ later.”

Obi-Wan lets out an inelegant snort but lets himself be prodded anyway, and if he’s smiling like a dolt through the rest of the morning, well—that’s his business.

~~~

Being able to fit completely back into his old robes, the way he remembers them fitting is—another sigh of relief.

His body will never be exactly as it was—he is not expecting it to be, nor does he particularly desire it to be, not when he bears the marks he does and perhaps the little bit of extra pudge around his middle through giving life to their daughter—but. He’s really starting to recognize himself in the mirror again, and. It’s…nice.

~~~

The last facet of Obi-Wan’s decision making is perhaps not, he thinks, quite what Healer Che had had in mind when she’d sent him off to consider his options. 

To be fair, it isn’t exactly what he’d had in mind himself, either.

Obi-Wan finds his partners congregated in their bedroom one evening after he drops Kai-Tal off for a sleepover in the créche—not particularly unusual, and really, to be expected with a planned night all to themselves. The surprise comes in when he’s presented with an almost alarmingly elegantly wrapped box by a grinning Waxer and immediately bid to sit down and open it.

“Dare I ask?” he teases dryly, even as he takes it and lets Boil guide him down to sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s tempted to shake the box lightly just for some kind of hint but resists the urge; even just the wrapping looks expensive and he’d hate to accidentally break something.

“It’s nothing we haven’t already talked about, mesh’la,” Waxer assures him, grinning wider. 

“Just took some time to save up for it,” Boil murmurs, piquing his interest—and his apprehension—further. The two of them sit down on either side of him as he finally caves and starts carefully peeling open the paper.

“It’s a strap-on,” Waxer tells him somewhat sheepishly as Obi-Wan blinks down at the mostly phallic-shaped object in the box. “But it’s—supposed to be a real nice one. There’s this piece here that goes inside you, and the lady at the store—I didn’t really understand a lot of the technical stuff, but she said there was some sort of nervous feedback system so you’d actually get some sensation from the shaft, too.”

“We thought something like this would be the best compromise, if you wanted to top without having to go through the process of growing the real thing back,” Boil adds, “like we talked about. It’s totally up to you, of course, but we thought this might give you more options.”

Obi-Wan runs his fingers across the—device carefully, touched. “This must have cost you—”

Cody cuts him off before he can even finish getting the words out. “Do you like it, cyare?”

“Well, yes—”

“Then that’s what matters, mesh’la,” Waxer grins again, and leans in to kiss him softly. “I told you, we saved up for it, and it’s not like we don’t all live in the Temple for free. Besides, any amount of credits would be worth it if something that makes you happy or more comfortable in your own body.” A wicked glint enters his eyes, then. “And this in particular really is just as much for us as it is for you, anyway.”

A few years ago, at the start of their relationship, Obi-Wan may have felt the need to continue pressing the issue. Now, well…he’s learned to take them at their word on things like this, even if he personally feels like they’re spoiling him unnecessarily. Force knows that he enjoys spoiling them, when the opportunity presents itself. “Well when you put it like that,” Obi-Wan drawls, fisting a hand in the fabric of his partner’s shirt and tugging him back in close to lay claim to his smiling mouth. 

~~~

“Aren’t you going to join us?” 

Cody grins, ducking down to kiss Obi-Wan softly. “This was all Waxer and Boil’s idea, cyare. The rest of us are just here to watch this time.”

“You can bet your pretty ass that I’ve already called dibs on the next time though, sweetheart,” Rex winks as he settles down on the sofa they keep across from the bed with Helix and Cody.  Obi-Wan chuckles a little, even as he feels his face flush slightly. Being watched is something he’s always been a little embarrassed to be quite as into as he is, but of course, his partners had figured that proclivity out rather quickly and had hardly hesitated to take advantage. Though he supposes that it is rather convenient that they enjoy watching as much as they do participating, with there being so many of them and but one of him. 

Waxer grins and settles back on his elbows, spreading his legs a little bit. “If you’ll pass me the lube, mesh’la—”

“I’m quite offended that you seem to be under the impression that I’m just going to sit here while you work yourself open for me, my dear,” Obi-Wan sniffs as he leans over to dig the lube out of their bedside table. “Why don’t you get naked for me, darling, and then I’ll finger you myself.”

Waxer’s breath hitches, and Obi-Wan grins wickedly at the rustle of fabric that follows as the other man eagerly obeys. When he turns back around, lube in hand, Waxer’s laying back against the pillows again blessedly nude and holding his knees back and open with his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Obi-Wan scoots forward on his knees until he’s settled between his partner’s thighs, stripping out of his upper layers as he does so. “Hi,” Waxer breathes, and Obi-Wan’s grin widens further. 

“Hello there,” he croons. “Ready?”

“Very, mesh’la.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan slicks fingers up without looking away from Waxer’s face. “I’m going to take good care of you, darling.”

~~~

Obi-Wan takes his time with getting Waxer ready for him, working him open on his fingers until Waxer’s panting and gasping and squirming and pleading for more that Obi-Wan is loathe to give him just yet because he’s just having so much fun doing this. He’d almost forgotten how much he enjoyed taking his partners apart in this way.

“I’m gonna take your pants off now, Ob’ika,” Boil murmurs, plastering himself to Obi-Wan’s back and pressing a kiss to the place where his neck meets his shoulder. “Help you get set up with the strap while you keep playing with Wax, how does that sound?”

Obi-Wan nods, drunk on the rising lust in the Force and each sound he manages to pull from his partner’s lips. Boil kisses his throat one more time and then starts working his pants down his hips.

“Kriff, you’re wet,” Boil groans when his fingers find their way between the Jedi’s thighs, his other hand tightening around Obi-Wan’s hip, and Obi-Wan groans when the tip of one finger dips into his pussy. “That excited to fuck him, are you, Ob’ika?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan gasps out as one finger becomes two, the sound echoed by a drawn-out keen from Waxer. Boil grins against the Jedi’s skin and then his hands are disappearing from Obi-Wan’s skin while he retrieves the strap-on from its box.

“Good,” the former ARC says, “because we can’t wait to watch you do it.”

~~~

Boil is careful to avoid touching the shaft of the toy as much as possible even as he’s fitting it into place, pressing the bulb portion into his cunt until Obi-Wan moans and clenches around it. “There you go,” he murmurs. “We did get you a harness as well, by the way, in case you feel like you’d like the extra support.”

Obi-Wan is touched by the thought, but really, it barely registers. Especially when Boil’s hand does wrap around the shaft of the toy and strokes oh-so-lightly. It sends a shivery sensation up his spine, and Obi-Wan finds himself bucking his hips forward into it and gasping.

“Oh does that feel good, Ob’ika?” Waxer grins, the expression turning sharp with interest when the Jedi nods wordlessly. “Good. Now fuck me with it.”

~~~

The strap is, of course, not quite the same. The sensation is a little duller and a little different than it would be with his own cock, something almost phantom about it.

But the first slide in is still—indescribably good, all tight heat and delicious friction. It’s almost too much, with his cunt full at the same time like it is. He and Waxer both moan as he bottoms out, and Obi-Wan shivers and drops his forehead down to rest against his partner’s sternum as he gives them a moment to adjust. 

“Kriff,” Waxer whines above him, bringing strong legs up to wrap them around Obi-Wan’s waist. “Move, please, mesh’la.”

“As you wish, darling.” Obi-Wan presses a kiss to the skin over Waxer’s sternum and then carefully draws his hips back as far as his partner’s hold will allow, rocking back in slowly as he adjusts to the way the strap feels and moves with him. After a few experimental thrusts he props himself up onto his elbows and leans up to capture Waxer’s mouth with his own, picking up speed and confidence as he goes. After only a few moments more he finds a steady pace that feels good for them both, panting and groaning into each other’s mouths with each smooth thrust in and slow drag out.

Obi-Wan’s eyes snap up at the sound of a shivery moan that doesn’t come from either of them, and feels his hips buck forward out of rhythm all on their own when he sees three sets of dark eyes intensely focused on them. Force, they’re—all stroking themselves, just watching him fuck Waxer into the mattress. Waxer lets out a ragged cry at the hitch in the rhythm, and Obi-Wan is helpless to do little other than to fuck him harder. 

“Gonna come,” Waxer gasps out, and Obi-Wan ducks down to kiss him again as he works to drive them both over the edge.

~~~

“How was that?” Obi-Wan grins as he collapses over onto his back, still breathing heavily. He turns his head over to look at his partner, who’s still staring up at the ceiling and panting just as hard.

“Holy kriff,” Waxer whistles. “So fucking good. Sweet Force.” He turns his head over to look back at Obi-Wan, smiling just as wide. “Good for you, too?”

Obi-Wan reaches over and runs the tip of an index finger along Waxer’s bottom lip. “Exquisite, my dear. Truly.”

“Good,” Boil growls, wrapping a hand around the strap Obi-Wan hasn’t gotten around to removing yet and tearing a ragged cry from his throat. “My turn.”

~~~

In the end, Obi-Wan makes the decision to go back on the enzyme blocker in the interest of avoiding another spontaneous shift, but ultimately decides to skip the androgen—at least for now. He’s comfortable in the body that he’s in, and it serves him well, and he knows that he can always change his mind in the future if that ever stops being the case.

Even though the decision he comes to ultimately is not to take an action, he still finds that he feels more settled for having made it. It feels good, to have made the choice. He wonders if perhaps that isn’t why Che had pushed him to do so, ultimately, rather than letting him dither over it forever even if it would’ve essentially been the same end result physically. Force knows that he probably wouldn’t have appreciated it if Che had pointed it out explicitly how little agency he’s had over his own body in all of this. 

It feels good to take that agency back.

[dubiousduskwight]

Day 2: Horizon

“If you don’t mind my saying so, good sir, I think it’s finally come to me where I recognized your name.”

Kensuke could feel the scowl coming on and, because of that, his face starting to flush, for he had no reason to scowl. His accommodations in the village were meager but they were more than respectable, and he had chosen the village rather than to shelter in the Kato estate knowing they would be less than what the family could offer him. With much of the estate at least partially the scene of a crime in his eyes, he had chosen to sleep in the village to avoid contaminating it any further with his presence. And the villagers had been more than happy to help, giving him clean straw laid out in an old tool shed that he was quite certain lacked any spiders. As he saw it, things were all very nice.

And the woman at the doorway, Otoko, also gave him no cause to scowl despite the possibility that she was a murderer, somehow contriving to drag the master and mistress of the Kato manor out of their homes in the dead of night to pin them under a boulder in the wilderness and die of exposure days later. She was cheerful and kind, pretty in the manner of a peasant who had little time for the finer things afforded the spouse of Doman samurai of old, and nobody in the village had a bad word to say about her. This made her very suspicious to Kensuke, but it didn’t make her unpleasant.

Quite apart from all of that, he already knew what she would say, and that, too, was no cause for his expression. He tried to keep it concealed in the relative dark near the small, hooded lantern he was using for light before bed. “You do? You flatter me by remembering. What makes you say that?” “Tobe Kensuke, you said. From the Tobe family, right?” She leaned forward in the doorway, clasping her hands to her chest in a delicate grip just where her neck and shoulders disappeared beneath her kimono. “Great Magistrate Tobe Sakai. Are you related, perhaps?” The scowl sank further onto his face, threatening to become angry, and Tobe had to duck his head further back into the shadows to avoid being misinterpreted. Here, too, he had every reason to delight. He was proud of Sakai, and proud of the family tradition. Growing up, he had heard some of the stories of Sakai’s clever investigations, and how well he had served Lord Kaien. Kensuke wanted nothing more than to have his face light up in joy and let all around him see the pride he felt in his chest at his relation. But the kami had their way at his birth, and his spirit was all twisted.

“His grandson, actually,” he said, waving his hand where it could be seen in the light as if this were something to be dismissed. “You’ve heard of him?”

Otoko’s head bobbed, her eyes wide with delight “The master of the house read an old story to me, once. It was a story about a murder with a great prayer bell, and the magistrate showed how it could be lifted by one man with a pulley and a trick.”

“Ah, I know that one, that was a very good one. It was sad that he couldn’t stop all of the culprit’s murders, but at least he caught the man out in the end. Sometimes that’s how justice is, you know.” So Otoko had been in contact with the late master Toshiyuki. Perhaps his late wife’s insistence they were having an affair was true. He thought to press her on this, but she seemed in good spirits, and such a change of subject would have been unseemly. “I would offer you a copy of another,” he went on, “But I am sad to say they’re gone. Lost in a fire.”

She waved her hand as if chasing away the offer. “It’s all right, it’s quite all right. Please, don’t trouble yourself. It’s nice to meet you as Tobe’s Sakai’s grandson all the same.” Silent for but a moment, she soon twisted her fingers together in thought. “Did he ever handle cases involving magic?” “Often,” Kensuke replied, settling back into his straw. The first wave of happiness had passed, and his face had settled into something neutral and flat, his mouth a thin line. “He didn’t have any talent for magic himself, but an onmyoji would come with him to see if magic had been done.” “What about here, though, like at the manor? When there’s a witch involved?”

Closing his eyes, Kensuke’s mouth tipped into a slight smile. “Do you think there really is a witch?” “That’s what everyone says, anyway.” “Mm. Well, not a witch, but there were impossible cases where no magic seemed to be involved, and people said it was a kami or worse. They always turned out to be tricks, like that prayer bell. There’s magic, and there’s tricks, but he never saw divine acts like what you’re thinking.”

“Oh...so nothing like at the manor, then,” said Otoko, who lowered her head. “It seems like that will be difficult.” “No, it’s exactly like at the manor. It’s more tricks, you see.” “But if there is a witch - “ Kensuke sat straight and upright in his straw bed, illuminating his face well enough that Otoko could see. He had a wide and open smile and his eyes were a little too wide in apparent affability. “’That’s what everyone says’, I know. And it’s not a witch. That’s not what they say. It’s the Witch. Right? Do you believe that?” Otoko hesitated. There was something about his tone of voice that didn’t match his face. She bowed her head quickly, wringing her hands together near her waist. “I’m sorry, I meant no offense.” “Why do they want to believe that, hm? If not you, then all the other villagers I’ve spoken to this day. ‘The Witch of Doma cursed the Kato family’.” As he spoke, his voice rose, and the apparent joy in his voice increased. He had to fight to stop himself from shouting. “She wasn’t even a magician, you know that? No spells, no powers. Just a cruel woman who spent a year tearing the kingdom apart, and she’s dead. Lord Hien affirmed that himself. Surely they don’t miss her so much that they’d wish her ghost back just for the sake of hurting the Kato family. Surely you don’t. Do you?” Otoko flinched backwards at the accusation, and the cheerfulness was gone from her eyes at once. Kensuke watched them for a moment; if they were filled with malice, or resentment, perhaps he would have to look into her further. Telling expressions weren’t evidence enough for him, but they at least gave avenues of inquiry.

All he received was a downcast head, and, from what he could see, the beginnings of tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should go check to see if anything else is needed.” She gave Kensuke a quick bow, and pulled away from the tool shed.

With a broad grin, Kensuke cursed to himself and fell back into the straw. That would cause problems later, he was sure. Try as he might to work around it, he feared the villagers couldn’t or wouldn’t see past the specter of the Witch.

[milksnake-tea]

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: when in his former homeland, blade's past keeps him unable to rest. ❀ ˎˊ- blade x gn!reader ❀ ˎˊ- wc: 703 ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: none, just blade dealing with his past ❀ ˎˊ- img credits

Blade rarely ever sleeps.

It's not like he doesn't need it, rather the opposite - with his methods of combat and getting things done, he needs it more than anyone else in the Stellaron Hunters.

And yet, he deprives himself of even that.

Strange, isn't it? Blade despises anything that might get in the way of his mission, whether it be other people or himself. It's why he takes the time to eat, to drive off the pangs of hunger.

And yet, only when he reaches absolute exhaustion does he ever allow himself to rest. But only then.

Tonight is another sleepless night for him.

Returning from a side mission, you find Blade standing outside on the balcony of your hotel room. It's well past 3 in the morning, and yet here he is, clutching his namesake like a lifeline.

The trees of the Xianzhou rustle, their leaves fluttering around him like snow.

He's watching the moon, you realize.

His eyes, so vibrant in the heat of combat, are dulled as he gazes up towards the midnight sky. Dark bags line them, evidence of his weariness. And yet he persists, refusing to even close his eyes for a moment.

He doesn't notice you as you set down your weapon and approach him, too engrossed in the sun's twin. Not even when you stand besides him, seeing his expression twist for the first time.

Blade was never an emotional person - never. He only cracked under the weight of his mara, and even then he wasn't truly himself, but a deranged version of him.

When he was with the Hunters, he was a statue. Still, tranquil, obedient. Never cracking, never changing.

But tonight, you see a foreign emotion in his eyes. His brows are creased as he sees not the moon, not the leaves, but a lost friend of the past - both family and traitor. Standing here, in the midst of his former homeland, Blade is living his nightmares.

But rather than fear, there is only regret. Regret, guilt, and sorrow swirl in his eyes as he hugs his blade tighter, trying to ground himself.

He looks so lost, so conflicted, and more like a helpless child rather than a heartless killing machine.

It's what compels you to speak.

"Blade."

Your voice is gentle, yet cuts through his haze like a sword. Blade freezes, only just realizing you were here. You smile wearily, clearly tired yourself.

"We should head back in."

He shakes his head wordlessly. Sleep is the last thing he needs right now. Sleep would only bring visions of war, retching immortality, and him.

But you insist. You cautiously touch your fingers to his shoulder, lingering there for a moment. But when Blade doesn't protest, you allow your palm to rest fully on him.

His expression has solidified into the blank mask you know so well, but you can still see the remnants of his turmoil. He stares at your hand, and stares at you, silently wondering your persistence. You've never made a fuss before.

You move to return to your room, and for reasons unknown to himself, Blade follows you. You guide him to the bedroom, laying him onto the soft silk sheets. Blade meets your eyes, having half a mind to push himself back up and march right back to the balcony.

But that thought dissipates when you lightly pet his head.

You know you're overstepping your boundaries here. The two of you have never been anything more than coworkers, friends at most.

But watching as Blade leans into the warmth of your palm like a cat, observing you warily, makes you want to venture further into this risky territory.

Don't leave me.

The message is clear as Blade resists sleep one last time, his lidded eyes peering at you. You nod, threading his dark hair through your fingers.

"I won't."

He nods briefly, before he finally relents, trusting you just this once. He closes his eyes, and soon, slumps against the bed into a dreamless slumber.

When he wakes up, he finds that you are still there, sleeping in a chair, your fingers intertwined with his.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[burning-fcols]

tuesniverse: 

@burningfcols

{⚡} Oh jeez…should Adam really be doing this?

It feels so awkward…Adam is close enough to Andi to know when their mama’s birthday is but not close enough to know where he stands with their family. Do their parents even know about him? Are they at the point where they’re supposed to be meeting each other’s parents? Adam has introduced Andi to Maddie, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Andi is at the same level of commitment. Considering how he made a bad first impression because he thought they were going further than they actually were, this is something he’s super concerned about.

Well…it’s too late to turn back now. Adam doesn’t know why he thought it was a good idea to pay a visit, but he feels obligated to at least try. Carefully holding onto the handwritten card and cupcake box with his free hand, he knocks on the door and proceeds to die inside. {⚡}

「 ☆ 」  Birthdays are an odd thing for the spider now. Always have been, if he’s being truthful. But arriving in Hell added a whole new layer. It’s not as if he’s physically getting any older and so many of these inconsequential ones had passed that they’d become rather repetitive. Sure, there were blocks of time he could break them into.

First arriving in Hell when he barely spared them a passing thought. He had far more pressing matters to worry about. After ‘ partnering ’ with Valentino, birthdays had oddly stood out to him more. A cruel, self-punishing twist of irony. Each date burning into Angel’s mind like a brand. Reminding him of how long he’d been ironically trapped in Val’s web… Cherri’s friendship had provided a crack in that routine. Offering some solace, even if she couldn’t entirely take away the bitterness. It helped though, knowing there was someone willing to try.

Now, there’s THIS change. One that Angel hopes will last the longest.

A family and, daresay friends, who make the day something worth celebrating. Pointless as plenty of Sinners would claim it is. Hell, maybe it is pointless in the grand scheme. But isn’t everything? Might as well enjoy a few things while dancing through this sea of futility… That’s how Alastor would probably put it, anyway. He’s always been one for flowery prose. It's one of the things Angel adores most about him.

Curiously glancing at the door, Angel steps over without any hesitation. Figuring that if it's anyone looking to cause trouble, he can handle it. No matter how much Valentino might have tried to stifle his ability to take care of himself, he hadn't been able to break Angel's spirit... and any sinner who thinks otherwise is quickly proven wrong when they try to cause trouble with the former star of Hell. Challenging gaze turns quizzical when he opens the door, slowly trailing downward to take in the unexpected sight of a child... One who looks ready to pass out from nerves.

Oh. Okay, Angel has a feeling he knows who this one is.

❝ Lemme guess... Yer Andi's li'l friend, right? ❞ It's a hypothetical question, Angel leaning against the doorframe and resting a hand on his hip as he continues, ❝ I was wonderin' when I was gonna get t' meet ya face-t'-face. Heh, no offense but wit' how dodgy they were bein' about it, I was startin' t' think you weren't real. ❞ Not that Angel can blame Andi for being hesitant to bring people to the hotel. It's colorful cast of characters aren't for the faint of heart. Especially hearts as faint-looking at this poor duckling seems. Plus, with how difficult it can be for Andi to make connections with people their age, even more is at stake than most might think.

❝ Name's Angel Dust... But you can jus' call me Angel. ❞ He says, extending a hand to the semi-stranger. ❝ I'm Andi's mama. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[greyturned]

honestly,  after the events of TROS is a whole other shitshow for him - after the war ends,  everything seems like it’s looking up,  he’s finally free and can figure out his own path and who he is without interference,  and he’s working towards rebuilding the Republic and prepared to deal with whatever fallout comes if the galaxy outside of the Resistance finds out that he was Kylo Ren,  when it finally hits him just all that happened to him,  that he had everything taken from him.  his childhood,  his chance,  his mind,  etc,  and was a tool of the Sith.  he never really got a chance to process all that after Snoke was killed because the fight wasn’t over and he’d been trying not to think about it.  he’s angry all over again,  and while he’s better about talking it out,  he isn’t inclined to do so because he doesn’t want to worry others with his problems and isn’t sure they could relate / help him through it.

[looooooooomis]

FINAL GIRL | FIVE

You were his final girl.  And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

p a r t   five  |  t h e  c a b i n (part I)

masterlist here

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader word count:  5.6k (I’M SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY) warnings: s m u t (18 +!!!!!)

A/N: after 8 months of MIA, SHE’S BACK BABY!!! this is part 1 of 2 of our fav couple being at the cabin x next chapter will have soft moments I promise lmao 

You should have been paying more attention.

If you’d been paying more attention, you wouldn’t have had five sets of eyes currently watching your every move, waiting for an answer you didn’t have. Why had you thought it was a good idea to stay up as late as you had packing your overnight bag for the cabin? If you had gone to bed at a reasonable hour, you wouldn’t have been as braindead as you currently were and, if you hadn’t been braindead, you wouldn’t have wound up in whatever ring of hell you were currently stuck in as your friends stared at you as though you’d grown a second head.

You pleaded with your tongue to say anything, pleaded for your brain to register a decent enough lie to make this uncomfortable silence end but nothing came out of your mouth. Only a pathetic hum and a gusto of forced laughter.

You wanted to die.

It should have been an easy enough answer to what was an even easier question. One that you’d practiced answering for the last two days and yet, as the moment for the lie came and went, you were left scrambling like a fucking moron.

You didn’t dare look at Billy as Sid curled into his side knowing if you managed to catch his coffee-coloured stare, you’d only be met with something between terror and amusement as you royally shit the bed. So, instead, you did the next best thing. You replayed the question over and over again in your head until you were driven mad.

‘Are you up for a movie this weekend?’

It was a simple enough question, one you’d managed to decline easily enough but, as Tatum frowned and asked the one question you were expecting to hear, your mind went blank.

‘Why? What are you doing?’

The answer you were supposed to say: I have to babysit my cousin in Santa Rosa all weekend. The answer they got? Silence. Pure, awkward as fuck, silence.

“Earth to Y/N,” Tatum laughed, brows furrowing. “Are you alive?”

“Sorry,” you huffed out a quiet laugh and shook your head, “I barely slept last night, I’m braindead.”

While it wasn’t a lie, you were still on edge. You’d think after months of sneaking around with the asshole sitting in front of you that you would have chilled out a little more but not today. Maybe it was the nerves of a full weekend away with Billy Loomis as his girlfriend hosted a fucking movie night sans her boyfriend and best friend – but something was making you stumble over what should have been second nature to you.

“You feeling okay?” Sid, the angel she was, asked with a small frown. Your stomach twisted in the familiar way it always did when your sweet friend showed concern. Concern which you most definitely didn’t deserve. “You seem…off.”

It would have been so easy to confess your dark little twisted affair with Billy right then and there. To just open your mouth and let the truth of everything you’d been doing behind her back play out. But you knew it would break her heart and, more than that, you were a fucking coward.

“I’m fine, Sid,” you smacked on a small smile and leaned into your locker. You had one more class until you were home free. Free of your friends’ inquiring eyes, free of Biology, free of Woodsboro. If you managed to get through this incredibly uncomfortable moment. “And I would if I could, trust me. I have to babysit my little cousin in Santa Rosa.” You feigned disappointment with a small frown. You could see Stu’s lips tug up in mild amusement out of the corner of your eye. “She’s nine, so if I don’t come back on Monday, know that she annoyed me to death.”

Randy scoffed and casually threw his arm around your neck. “Every day I’m thankful I don’t have any snot-nosed kids in my family. Losing my weekend to babysit? I’d rather rot.”

Despite your guilt, you managed a small smile as you looked across at him. “I think the kid would rather you rot, too. You’d be a terrible babysitter.”

“She’s right,” Tatum smirked, “you’d show the kid one of your weirdo movies where a girl with big tits is running helplessly away from her killer. It’d scar the kid for life.”

“Or,” Randy mused, “prepare them for the real world. Put some hair on their chest and all that shit.”

“Furthering my point, Meeks, you’d be a shit babysitter.” You laughed. “But, yeah, I’ll be suffering at the hands of a nine-year-old, so you guys have fun without me.”

“How about you, lover boy?” Tatum asked, looking across at Billy. “Will you be joining us this weekend?”

You should have averted your eyes. Should have done anything besides wait, with bated breath, to see what Billy would say. Slowly, those brown eyes tapered over towards you just briefly before looking at Tatum. With a casual shrug of his shoulders, Billy shook his head and leaned into Sid. “Can’t,” he merely said, “I’m going up north with my dad. He wants to get some of his affairs in order or something, I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “All I know is I was promised free beer if I helped him. So, I’m helping him.”

If Sid caught onto his lie, her face didn’t betray her once. And, as she looked up at her boyfriend with doting eyes, you couldn’t help but feel that pang of shame slice into your gut once again. She believed him. She always believed him. Believed you. Regardless of how good it felt to have Billy, that shame of knowing just who it was unwittingly hurting in the process never dissipated.

“You sure you guys won’t need help?” Sid asked, further digging that knife of shame into your chest. “Besides this movie, I’ve got nothing else going on this weekend.”

“Real nice,” Randy teased. “She’d rather watch Billy’s dad punch away at a fucking calculator then sit down with her nearest and dearest.”

Billy ignored Randy entirely as he glanced down at the brunette. “I’m sure,” he affirmed, giving her a quick squeeze. “Enjoy the movie night. I’ll be there for the next one.”

He lied so effortlessly, so casually, that it should have unnerved you. But it didn’t. Because for as good of a liar Billy Loomis was, you were right here with him. This dangerous little game the two of you were playing was becoming second nature to you and for as much as it pained you to see Sidney get lied to, you couldn’t help yourself.

You loved Billy. Billy loved you. Right person, wrong time. Only rather than wait like you knew you should have, Billy’s glow was much too enthralling to miss. You were both moths to each other’s’ flames and no amount of guilt or shame was strong enough to outweigh the otherworldly affliction the two of you had for one another.

The bell signifying your final class rung out, snapping you out of your brief reverie as you blinked and focused on pushing Randy off of you. “Want to drive me to the bus station?” You asked him. “I don’t want to drive all the way to Santa Rosa, so I bought a bus ticket.”

“Tonight?” Randy considered it briefly before shrugging. “Sure, I guess. I’ve got a shift tonight at seven, though. When’s your bus leave?”

“Six thirty,” you lied, mainly doing this so that should anyone drive by your house this weekend and see your car still neatly parked in your driveway, they wouldn’t bat an eye. “I owe you.”

“Yeah, you do,” Randy agreed. “And, lucky for you, I accept a lot of different payment options.” He wriggled his brows, earning a playful smack from you and an annoyed glare from Billy. Thankfully, Randy didn’t catch onto the latter. “Pick you up at six?”

You nodded. “Perfect.”

With your eyes flickering to Billy’s once more, you managed to shoot everyone a quick smile before disappearing down the hall towards Biology. Just how you’d managed to dance your way out of what could have been an incredibly awkward moment, you didn’t know. But as you felt that weighty stare of Billy’s on your back as you walked away, there was an air of excitement that swallowed you whole.

No matter how much guilt you felt, no matter how sick it made you to see Sidney get hurt, even if she didn’t quite know about just yet, there was a much larger part of you that couldn’t wait to get Billy alone.

Because for the first time in the seven months since you’d started this torrid little affair, you were finally getting Billy all to yourself. No prying eyes, no secret kisses, no having to hide every part of your relationship with the man. None of that.

This weekend, it was you and it was Billy.

And you couldn’t fucking wait.

»»-------------¤-------------««

Randy, being the superstar he was, had dropped you off at the station a little after six-fifteen and by six-thirty-two, just around the time the actual bus was leaving for Santa Rosa, you were scrambling into Billy’s car with a wild grin on your face.

Just how the pair of you had managed to pull it off, especially given your brain lapse earlier in the day, was beyond you. But, as Billy tore off down the main street leading to the freeway, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of freedom engulf you the farther and farther you got from town.

It was exhilarating.

And, as you glanced at Billy, who couldn’t have looked more like a movie star with his dark locks blowing with the wind cascading in through his open window, you couldn’t help but reach across the divide to gently squeeze his jean-clad thigh.

“Thank you,” you found yourself muttering and as those brown eyes met yours, you couldn’t help but grin. “For your stupid key proposal. In hindsight, it was very sweet.”

The dimple in Billy’s cheek deepened as his own grin grew. “Glad you let me steal you away?”

You loosened your seatbelt momentarily and leaned across to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Very glad.” You made a move to pull away but stopped when he gently grabbed your chin with the hand not holding the wheel. “What—”

The kiss, while dangerously stupid, was short and sweet but the emotion behind it, the genuine happiness that exuded out of Billy in those few seconds was palpable. “I really do fucking love you, you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned it,” you hummed and slinked back into your seat. When his large hand found your thigh, he gave it a firm squeeze that sent shockwaves throughout your whole body.

“Not going to say it back?” He teased, giving you a sidelong glance as he drew nearer to the freeway.

“I’d rather show it.” Rather than put your seatbelt back on, you shimmed in your seat and leaned into him as your fingers scraped along his thighs towards the button of his jeans. “Eyes on the road, Loomis.”

Easier said than done, Billy thought, torn between watching the road and watching you unzip his jeans. Raising his ass out of the seat just long enough to allow you to tug his pants down his thighs, the second Billy saw yours eyes light up as his now somewhat erect cock sprung free of his jeans, keeping his eyes on the road seemed impossible. But, the second he saw that pretty mouth of yours perk up in anticipation, it was game over. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

A low chuckle escaped your lips as you began to pump his length with your hand. “Focus on the road, Billy.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” Not being able to keep his hands off of you, he reached for your nipple and gave it a pinch through your shirt. “Take your shirt off, baby.”

“Shut up and drive.” You chided him, shimming in your seat so that you were on your knees leaning over the console. His cock was rock hard now and, as you ran your tongue alongside his length, from the base of it all the way up to coax your tongue along the precum that had gathered along his head, you felt him shiver beneath you.

“Fuck,” he hissed, tangling his fingers through your hair. You were too fucking good with that mouth of yours.

Still pumping the base of his cock with one hand, you swirled your tongue along the tip of his dick again before taking that perfectly girthy cock in your mouth. His grip tightened on your hair and your eyes watered as he pushed your head down to fully take the length of him inside of your mouth. He heard you gag on him but even as his grip eased up, you continued your pursuit of deepthroating him.

His breathing was shallow as he felt your hot mouth all over him. Between the sounds of your wet mouth taking him in and the occasional gag as you choked on his length, Billy was in heaven.

But having you this close as you fucked him with your mouth whilst still fully clothed was killing him. He needed to feel you. He wanted to feel your juices on his fingers and running down those perfect fucking thighs as he fingerfucked you. He wanted to hear you moan, feel you moan on his cock as he made you feel as good as you were making him feel.

He wanted all of you, needed all of you.  

Trying his damnedest not to shut his eyes as your mouth brought him closer to the edge, he reached beneath you to work on your own zipper but when that proved to be impossible, a frustrated growl tore out of his lips. “Undo your pants.” He hissed through bared teeth.

You hummed against his dick which nearly sent him into the other land of traffic. “No,” you purred, “I want to make you feel good.”

With one hand on the wheel and the other now gliding up and down your back as you fucked him with your mouth, Billy couldn’t help but buck into your mouth as you began to massage his balls. He was going to bust and soon if he wasn’t careful.

You were too fucking good and he was too fucking in love with you not to get lost in the way you made him feel.

“Touch yourself, at least,” he breathed out, desperate to see that pretty cunt. “Please, baby.”

Not granting him the satisfaction, you simply dug your nails into his thighs and moaned onto his cock and the sensation of it alone was almost enough to make him come down your throat. It seemed to slither around his cock, making him twitch and buck into your mouth.

But it was the second you moaned out his name as you swirled your wet mouth along the head of his dick one final time, swallowing back his precum with a contented hum, that Billy blew his loud inside of your mouth.

For a good five seconds, he didn’t care if he crashed the goddamn car as he watched you swallow his seed. He was bucking into your mouth, his breathing was ragged, as you guzzled him back and, as you finally released his cock with a pop, Billy almost lost it.

With a devilish grin, you simply wiped a finger along the edge of your lips and leaned back into your seat with a satisfied glimmer in your eyes. You knew you’d be in for it once he got his hands on you at the cabin, but for now, as you watched him lamely try and pull his jeans up his body to cover his slowly softening cock, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s the matter, Billy?” You teased, fastening your seatbelt back up. “You look a little rattled.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he simpered, not bothering with the zipper or button of his jeans. Instead, he reached across the divide and grabbed for your hand as he ghosted his lips across your knuckles. “Just wait until we get to the cabin.”

With your suspicions confirmed, you couldn’t help but beam across at him as you drove further and further away from Woodsboro. That was definitely a threat and good god were you excited for its execution.

»»-------------¤-------------««

By the time you’d pulled into the Loomis family cabin, it was pitch black outside.

The moon was too high in the sky and only a sliver of its light poked through the tall pine trees that surrounded the small house but, even with the low light surrounding you, the shadows that danced along the lake was enough to bring out a small smile as you quietly made your way out of the car. You didn’t need full sun to see the beauty surrounding you and the smell of the fresh air mixed with the spice of pine made any ounce of nerves filter out of you.

You were happy.

Unreservedly so.

Glancing across the roof towards Billy, he seemed almost distracted as he looked around at the familiar surroundings. You couldn’t quite tell if he was feeling as happy as you were in those brief moments, but you couldn’t quite blame him for that. The cabin held a lot of memories within it, many of which you knew included his mother. Where you felt freed and excited, you could tell the weight of his current whereabouts was heavy on his shoulders.

“Hey,” you muttered, slicing into the quietude around you. Walking around the front of the car, those brown eyes found yours as you circled your arms around his middle. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he assured, but his voice was low and distant. All the same, however, his strong arms enveloped you as he kissed your hairline. “Lost in a memory, I guess.”

You nodded into the crook of his neck but said nothing. He needed time to decompress, to familiarize himself with a house he hadn’t been in since his mother left. So, you’d give him that time.

For what must have been minutes, the two of you simply stood at the helm of porch holding onto one another. It wasn’t until Billy placed another quick kiss to your forehead that you felt his arms slowly fall only to grasp your hand in his own. “Come on,” he hummed. His grip on your hand was firm as he walked up the steps leading to the wrap around porch and as he stuck the key inside of the lock and opened the front door, the smell of cedar surrounded you.

The cabin was gorgeous. Wooden slats covered every square inch of the small house and a small fireplace sat at the front of the house with a worn-in couch and chair facing it. It was obvious nobody had come to visit for quite some time judging by the dust lining most of the countertops and shelving units, but you didn’t care.

To you, it was perfect.

Your own little oasis with the boy you loved without any sort of outside interruption.

You released his hand to take a brief look around the small living space but you could feel his eyes on you with every step you took. You knew he was looking to get even with you after your little stunt in the car, but you also knew that he hadn’t quite been expecting the swell of emotions to hit him upon driving up to the cabin. So, you continued to wander around the cabin to both grant him the space he may or may not have needed and, simply, to snoop around.

There were family pictures lining the tables and one in particular made you smile as you caught sight of a young Billy swinging from a tire swing. With a quiet laugh, you picked the frame up and surveyed it with a fond smile on your lips. “Cute,” you remarked, looking across to catch his stare. “A little model, eh?”

Billy watched you carefully place the frame down on the table before continuing on with your self-guided tour. No matter how hard he tried, regardless of the bittersweet memories swirling around inside of his brain, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Not that he ever really could, but there was an ease rolling off of you tonight, coming off of you in waves, that drew him in.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week, you know that?” He remarked, leaning against the back of the couch as he watched you pick up another picture frame. “Just me and you. Out here alone in the woods for an entire weekend.”

“Sounds like a scary movie when you put it that way,” you goaded with a wink. “Or a really niche porno.”

“Why not a bit of both?” His molasses coloured eyes glimmered mischievously as you walked up to him and stepped between his legs. The second you were close, he pulled you flush against his chest and kissed the tip of your nose as he pushed your hair back and away from your face. “Both could be fun.”

You grinned. “I’m down for anything,” you shrugged. “So long as you promise to take me on an actual date tomorrow. We’re not just fucking like bunnies inside of the cabin all weekend.”

“Heaven forbid,” he leaned in and gave you a slow, torturous kiss.

“I’m serious, Billy,” you moaned.

Pulling away from your mouth, Billy nudged his nose against yours and nodded. “The entire population in Bumfuck, California will know you’re my girl by the end of the weekend,” he avowed, skimming his hands down to your ass to give it a firm squeeze. “I promise.”

“Oh, yeah?” You hummed, kissing him again.

His calloused hands slipped beneath your shirt and scraped up your side. “Yeah.” Digging his hips into yours, he gave you one last kiss before nodding towards the bedroom. “Take your clothes off.”

You giggled as he slapped your ass to steer you down the narrow hallway. “And if I don’t?”

“I’ll rip them off of you,” he simply said, “so either they remain in one piece or I ruin your outfit.”

You glanced down at your jeans and tank before frowning. You looked cute tonight and you’d be damned if the bastard ripped them. So, being the good girl you were, you held his stare and slowly slinked out of your clothes. His eyes seemed so much darker as he watched you strip and the small smirk he wore slowly fell into a hungry thin line as you then perched yourself on the edge of the bed, completely nude.

“You just going to stand there looking pretty or are you going to do something about this?” You slipped your fingers between your thighs and ran your fingers along your swollen clit. A low moan slipped out of your lips at the sensation. “I’m already so wet for you, Billy.”

Slowly, Billy stepped towards you and undid his belt. Leaning down, he kissed you, hard, and steered you backwards on the bed beneath you until your head reached the soft pillows. You could feel his cock straining against his jeans but rather than grant himself any sort of reprieve, you watched him gently grasp your hands and raise them above your head only to wrap his belt around your wrists.

In the blink of an eye, you were tied to the bedposts.

“Is this payback for the car blowie?” You laughed, looking up at your restrained wrists. “If it is, I can’t say I’m mad about it.”

“You wanted something between a horror movie and a niche porno, remember?” He hummed against your skin, placing sloppy kisses along the vein that ran along your neck as he pinched your nipple. “God, you’re fucking perfect. You know that?”

He bit down on your collarbone, kissing his way down your chest until his warm mouth wrapped around your nipple. You could feel his teeth slither along your breast as his tongue lapped expertly on the sensitive bud. You hissed, arching into his mouth as your wrists, on instinct, fought for freedom. “Hardly.”

His eyes met yours as he slowly released your nipple. You were in nothing, of course, but he was still fully clothed, and you hated him for it. You hungrily eyed the bulge in his jeans as he propped himself up on his arm, letting his other hand glide up your chest and neck until it cupped your cheek. His nose brushed against yours, nudging it up to allow his lips to hover just over yours. Close enough that you could almost taste them, but much too far away to satisfy the hunger you had for the man.

“I love you,” he whispered, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek as his warm, brown eyes swallowed you up. “You know that, right?”

“Yes,” you swallowed hard and tilted your head up just enough to finally catch his lips. But, just as quickly as it happened, the man pulled away and let his hand begin to roam down your body. His mouth was at your ear now, nibbling at your earlobe as his hot breath slithered against your neck. You shivered. “I love you, too.”

His voice was gruff in your ear. “I’d kill for you,” his hand continued its journey down your throat, brushing past your nipple, down the length of your stomach until reaching the small smattering of hair along your mound. He was careful to keep his hands from dipping any lower, tormenting you as best to his ability, which just about killed you, if you were being honest. “You know that?”

Bucking your hips up, you nearly growled at the lack of attention you were receiving. You were soaked and touch-starved for him. His fingers, his mouth, the erection currently poking into your thigh, anything. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” you managed a quiet laugh. “But I appreciate it.”

His teeth bit down on your neck again. “But, I would. I’d do anything for you, sweetheart.”

His hand slipped further down to your sopping cunt and as he slowly slipped his fingers through your wet folds, the moan he got in return nearly killed him. “Billy,” you whispered desperately. It felt as though you were going to die if you didn’t feel him inside of you. “Please.”

His lips hovered over yours and on instinct, you caught his bottom lip between your teeth and bucked your hips against his hand. He snarled as you bit down on his lip but as the metallic taste of blood met his tongue, it was as though Billy was transcending. His pace on your clit quickened but it was still too slow for you and he knew it. He was torturing you, killing you, and he was enjoying every second of it. Struggling against the belt, your struggle was all for naught as it didn’t so much as move an inch.

“You’d love me, no matter what, right?” He asked, slipping one of his fingers inside of you as he kissed his way down to your chest. Lapping at your nipple, Billy was gentle at first before biting down hard enough to draw blood. Tit for Tat.

“Yes,” you moaned. Your entire body was on fire as his fingers brought you closer to the edge. “But I’d love you even more if you fucked me. You’re killing me, Loomis.”

Licking up the small trail of blood off of your tits, Billy hummed against your nipple and added another finger inside of your pussy. He’d fuck you soon but right now, he needed to feel your entire body light up the way it always had when he drove you into that fit of madness. You were a woman unhinged in the bedroom, he knew as much, and he knew exactly how to get that animal inside of you out.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he admired, reaching his hand up to coat your tit in your own slick. When it was sufficiently wet, he licked your juices off of your breast and growled. God, you tasted so fucking good. “You’re my girl, Y/N, you’re always going to be my girl, right?”

You looked up at him as those words fell from his lips. His brown hair hung down his forehead, his neck red from the strain of having to watch you writhe beneath him without doing a damned thing about it. But what struck you was the look of vulnerability in those brown eyes. That longing, far-away look as his eyes searched yours.

He wanted nothing more than to hear you say that you wanted him. Needed him. Just as much as he needed you.

“Always,” the answer tumbled out of your lips before you so much as thought twice. “I’m your girl, Billy.”

His mouth caught yours in a bruising kiss. Finally, his pace quickened inside of you as met your throbbing core with his dept fingers. With his thumb circling your clit, he dipped two fingers inside of you and grinned against your mouth as you let out a low, desperate moan.

It happened so fast after that. One moment, you were the one tied up on the bed and the next, he’d released you, stripped himself naked, and managed to flip you over so that you were the one on top of him, straddling his waist. Pulling away from you mouth, Billy’s eyes darkened as he saw that familiar glimmer in your eyes. That animalistic side of you was out in full force now.

“Get up here.” He demanded.

You smirked and leaned across him so that your lips hovered over his. “Why would I want to do that?”

He leaned up, the veins in his neck swelled against his neck as he caught your bottom lip between his teeth. “Get. Up. Here.”

Releasing your lip, Billy watched you smirk and crawl up the remainder of his body until your pussy was less than an inch away from his mouth. Grabbing onto the metal of the headboard you’d just been tied up to, you gasped as Billy’s tongue slid into your folds. Finding your clit instantly, you moaned and allowed your eyes to fall shut as you reached down to play with your hardened nipples.

Fuck, what Billy could do with his mouth should have been illegal.

He sucked and lapped at your clit as you rocked back and forth against his mouth. His fingers dug into your hips, so much so that you knew there would be bruises in the morning but, blinded by the pleasure between your thighs, you couldn’t care less.  

The moans that were coming out of you were raw and guttural and, as you played with your own tits, envisioning his hands being the ones to squeeze and nip on the swollen buds of your nipples, you saw stars.

“Fuck,” you moaned out, “Billy, baby, fuck.”

He pulled your hips further down so that you were sitting on his face. Not just hovering but sitting on that perfect mouth of his as he held you in place. You knew it must have been hard for him to breathe but he was adamant and as his tongue continued its assault on your throbbing cunt, you came devastatingly hard and incredibly loud.

Stars danced behind your eyes as you continued to ride out your orgasm. When you couldn’t take another second of Billy’s skilled tongue, you climbed off of him only to feel his large hands take hold of your hips again.

Swinging you around so that you were on your back and he was the one hovering over you, Billy wasted no time in slipping his rock-hard erection into your soaking pussy.

He was thrusting hard and the sounds of your juices squelching with every thrust of his cock would have been off-putting if it hadn’t been for the raw, primal need coursing off of the pair of you in waves. He was kissing your lips and biting them and suckling your neck as he continued to rail into you with all of passion in the world. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him this riled up and you had to admit it was inherently sexy seeing him so affected by you.

Not surprising in the least, it didn’t take him long to come. You’d riled him up to the point of no return in the car and, as you felt him come inside of you, you all but laughed when he dramatically crashed on the bed beside you.

Sweat glistened over every inch of body and the sheen of your juices was still on his lips as he kissed you. This kiss was slow, methodical. Sweet. And you felt yourself fall even harder for the man as he broke the kiss and gently brushed your hair away from your now damp forehead.

Wrapping one arm around your chest, Billy held you against him as he propped himself against the headboard. You were both naked and sweating and while a shower was something you both definitely needed, neither of you found yourselves all too willing to move out of the other’s embrace.

“Is it hard being back here?” You asked, listening to his heart beating in his chest.

“For a second, maybe,” he admitted, soothing your hair down. “Not now.”

“What’s changed?” You asked with a small smile. “The sex was that good, huh?”

A quiet chuckle shook his chest as he kissed the top of your head. “I think horror meets niche porn is my new favourite genre.”

Kissing his naked chest, you grinned into his body. “Same.”

[everything-withers-and-dies]

I'm currently rewatching season 5 and the episode where Riley leaves just happened. The ending annoys me so much (even if does make sense). If Riley would just glimpse down, he would see Buffy there, doing exactly what he wanted: trying to give him a reason to stay.

Buffy isn't a perfect girlfriend but it's clear that she loves Riley and, more importantly, trusts him. Maybe she doesn't need to rely on him in a physical fight but she obviously believes that he's going to be there when she needs him (at least most of the time). She can't always lean on him, even when she wants to, but that has more to do with her own issues than her relationship with Riley.

The real problem is Riley's deeply rooted insecurity. He wants to be the one to protect her, especially in a physical sense, and feels weak, unimportant and emasculated if he can't do that. After meeting Angel, his insecurities really ramp up and he compares himself to him constantly. In his mind Buffy thinks he's inferior to Angel. When Buffy doesn't tell him everything or come to him with all of her emotional needs, he can't handle it.

Istead of addressing his issues, Riley blames Buffy. Buffy doesn't love him, Buffy doesn't need him, Buffy doesn't care about him, when really that's what he thinks and feels. He takes his feelings as fact rather than a reflection of his own insecurities. Even when presented with evidence of Buffy's feelings, he ignores it or twists it into further proof of his beliefs. He can betray Buffy's trust because he's convinced himself that Buffy doesn't really care about him.

From Buffy's side this is tragic: She's had to take care of her family and be strong for them, so she's had to hide her fears and pain. She's trying to keep Dawn safe. She has a lot on her plate and, understandably, hasn't really been able to spare much of her time or energy on Riley. She believes he understands and still will be there once things calm down. Then she finds out how wrong she was.

No matter what he says, Riley tries to put the blame for his actions on Buffy. He's so convinced Buffy doesn't love him that he isn't capable of listening to Buffy when she's telling him how she feels. He brings up his need to take care of her but, as Buffy kind of points out, it would really be her taking care of him by trying to fulfill that need. She's the Slayer and that's why she can't fully rely on anyone else. Riley wants something that Buffy can't give.

He then gives her an ultimatum: If she wants him to stay, she needs to give him a reason to do so. (Again, it's on her to save the relationship even though he's the one who broke her trust.) In reality, she can't give him a good enough reason to stay. This is all rooted in Riley's insecurity and Buffy can't fix that for him, no one can. Even if she showered him in love for the rest of eternity, it wouldn't change anything. It certainly hasn't before.

Still, she tries once again to prove to Riley that she loves him. She rushes to stop him from leaving but it's too late. No matter how hard she tries to yell, he can't hear her. And he doesn't look back.

I think Riley doesn't look back because he's certain that Buffy isn't there. He doesn't even glance back because that would mean he still has hope that Buffy loves him. The fact that she's there is proof that she does love him. Riley is blind to Buffy's love for him, so he can't see her.

[shorkbrian]

I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3

but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.

Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.

Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.

-----

You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.

“Are you alright?”

A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”

He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”

And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.

‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.

“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.

“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.

“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”

The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.

It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.

You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.

And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.

“You haven’t eaten?”

You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”

“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately. 

“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.

But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.

“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”

So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.

You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.

“How does everything taste?”

“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.

Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.

Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.

He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.

When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”

“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”

Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”

-----

The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.

Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”

It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.

“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.

“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”

“Why?”

“Why me.” 

“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”

You contemplate his answer for a moment. 

“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”

The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.

“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”

Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”

“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”

This is crazy.

And yet you accept.

The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.

Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way. 

-----

Months pass by.

You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.

Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.

You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.

Life is good.

Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.

The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.

And you’re more than happy to be that.

You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.

Until he starts acting weird.

“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”

“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.

“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.

So you move in.

���I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.” 

Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.

It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.

“Oh, you really don’t ha-”

“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.

All you can do is stare at the back of his head.

“Could you pass me a spoon please?”

-----

Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie. 

At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone. 

Weird.

Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.

You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.

Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?

The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.

The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.

He seemed to notice.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.

“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.

Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.

You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed. 

But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island.  It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.

He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”

You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.

Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.

“Too sweet?’

The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.

“You’re distancing yourself from me.”

The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”

The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.

“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.

But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.

Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.

“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”

Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.

Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.

“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”

Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”

Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words. 

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”

“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”

A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.

“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”

You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.

-----

The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.

“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.

Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.

Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn’t really matter.

The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.

When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.

Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.

Someone was kissing you.

With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.

Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.

Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.

Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?

You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.

This wasn’t right.

Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.

“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest. 

Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.

Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.

You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.

“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”

“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.

“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.

“Wait-”

You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.

“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”

“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.

“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.

Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face. 

You couldn’t believe how he was acting.

“Be nice.”

Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.

Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.

Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.

You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.

But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly. 

“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much

You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.

“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”

His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.

“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it. 

You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.

The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.

He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.

(You didn’t know, but neither could he)

“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.

But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.

It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.

“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”

[girl-next-door-writes]

You Are My Happy Place

Characters: Bruno x reader

Summary: Love is not an easy emotion for Bruno, but there are moments where he feels like it could be.

Word Count: 1129 words

Prompt: This post

Love. An intense feeling of deep affection for someone or something. It was supposed to be a warm feeling, like a cosy blanket wrapped around your heart, keeping it safe. So why, when he thought about that word, did it feel too hot? It was like taking a coal from the fire and cupping it in his hands, placing it in his chest. The heat was too much, the searing pain too deep. That was not how it was supposed to feel, he was certain of that. Perhaps he was incapable of ‘normal’ human emotions.

From a young age, Bruno had mixed feelings about the whole ‘love’ thing. His own experience was limited. His mothers love, well, that seemed to be very conditional. It wasn’t given freely, it was tied to how useful he could be, and it turned out that his gift was a hindrance rather than a help. A curse. His sisters loved him, although that love was usually tied to frustration, leaving Bruno feeling that he was in the way more often than not, the third wheel. When Julieta and Pepa wanted ‘girl time’ and to talk about boys, Bruno was definitely not included. Then the family grew, and he finally got brothers, although he often found it difficult to fit in with them. Felix was always so vocal and expressive. Agustin was too, in a slightly quieter, clumsier way. Bruno found it hard to be useful to them, and so never felt he had earned their love because surely, if he was of no use, how could anyone really love him?

He had been useful to Mirabel, had earnt his place back in the family, and in the back of his mind he was always searching for ways to maintain that usefulness. His mother had said that he was more than his ‘gift’, and he accepted that to some extent, but the way his mind had intertwined ‘love’ and ‘use’ was twisted in ways he could not undo. Even when he met you, when he finally understood what the shape of love could be, he had the feeling that he would never be good enough.

Those early days, he had followed you around, finding little ways to make your life easier as you helped rebuild his home. If he could show you that he could be useful, then perhaps he could earn your love. He hadn’t even realised that he had given his own heart so freely with no proof required from you. Bruno also couldn’t see that you had been completely smitten with him from your very first exchange.

Things had progressed at an achingly slow pace, you giving him time to adjust to being out in the world again, letting old scars heal. For every step you took forward together, you felt Bruno pull back a little, retreating as he felt the stabbing pain that came to him with love. It took some time for him to be convinced that his feelings were reciprocated and that he didn’t need to prove anything in order to hold your heart.

It had been a long day, and Bruno found himself in his favourite place in the entire world. You had seen him from the window, trudging towards your home, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the world, and you had immediately begun to draw a bath. Now, he sank a little further into the warm water, flower petals floating on the surface as the candlelight shimmered in the ripples his movements created. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against your chest with a dopey smile on his lips, finally feeling like he was right where he was meant to be.

Your fingers made their way through his hair, tenderly untangling any knots you found there, as his fingers trailed over your thighs, tracing random patterns over your skin. He was aware that this could be considered quite an erotic situation, his naked body pressed against yours as he sat between your thighs, but there was an innocent domesticity to it that made his heart swell in his chest. Being wrapped in your loving embrace was everything he could have ever wished for, and he knew he wanted to spend his days this way.

His voice was low and a little sleepy as he began to tell you about his day. He could feel your chest rise and fall with each breath, could imagine your heart beating in time with his own. Bruno’s muscles relaxed, as if all the stress of the day was being drawn out into the water, much like the grains of sand and salt that you slowly rinsed from his skin. The tenderness of your touch drew a soft sigh from his lips as you cupped water in your hands, pouring it over his chest and trailing your fingers over his skin. He knew you were attempting to rid his chest hair of any sand that had accumulated through the day, but your actions were more than merely practical. With each touch, he felt lighter, felt that overwhelming burn of love slowly shrinking back to a comfortable warmth. The aching in his soul lessened, the heat of his love smoldering rather than an intolerable inferno.

As he got more engrossed in telling you about an interaction in the town, water splashed over the side of the bath, a candle hissing as the flame was extinguished, but Bruno didn’t notice, he was too busy enjoying the vibration of your chest as you laughed at his tale. It was so easy to talk to you, he felt heard, felt like you took each and every word and placed it into your heart, even when he was rambling almost nonsensically. He didn’t feel like he was a burden, even when you took care of him like you were doing right now. This was not about proving love, not about proving you were of service, that you deserved affection. He had come to realise that your love was nothing to do with what he could provide for you, that it did not come with strings and conditions. It wasn’t something he could ‘fail’ at.

The sunlight was dying and the water losing its warmth, but neither of you made any attempt to leave the bath. It was as if the world outside the room did not exist, as if it truly was just the two of you. Love, real love, is what Bruno felt for you in every sense. It was a very deep, very intense feeling of affection, and he could sense it returned from you. The pain he usually felt had faded, although not entirely gone, and in this moment, Bruno truly believed that the only thing that mattered was you and him.

[plush-rabbit]

Uncertainty in the Household

Picture Perfect Series

TW: talk and action for miscarriage, slight manipulation

Word Count: 4.1K

A/N: I wanted to explore the reader and Danny’s relationship in this chapter, so i hope you like it, first part is p rough with the whole miscarriage, so you're free to skip to after the second - if you're uncomfy with that

-

Tears fall into your palms as your fingertips dig into your scalp, your belly- while still early in the pregnancy, still feels as if it’s protruding, and you sit on the shared bed, a faint smell of cigarettes and alcohol lingers in the air and you’re alone. For now, at least. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it were Danny who was the father. You want to kid yourself, to tell such lies that he could be the father, that sleeping with- that being forced into whatever sick game Ghostface has with you- that he didn’t impregnate you. You blame yourself. You should have taken the morning after pill, you should have purged yourself of everything and anything to make sure that you didn’t let yourself have his child. Your stomach twists and turns, a thin veil of acid on your tongue and you wonder how to explain this to Danny. If you even should. It’s still early, maybe you could get rid of the child before anyone has to know. Your eyes widen and you sit up, your eyes scanning the room and you let out a breath, nodding to yourself.

You can get rid of the child. No one knows. You made sure to throw away the pregnancy tests in a dumpster at a park and rip the receipts before anyone could ever see. No one has to know.

Loneliness, while always being your aggressor, has finally worked in your favor. You rush to put on your clothes, ignoring the burning desire to cry, your purse in your hand, you walk to the front door, pausing to leave a note to your partner.

“Went out, I’ll bring dinner.” Something short and simple. Marked with a little heart at the end that makes you feel a bit sick, like it’s something like a lie that you’re telling him. You place the pen down and grab the car keys, rushing down the steps. Each step down the stairs is something that feels heavy, chains around our ankle and the child- no, you can’t call it that. You know you’ll get attached. You’ve heard about the tactics that are used to pressure vulnerable people into keeping their unborn children, and you won’t be one of those. You can’t. Not now and you’re sure not ever. The car purrs to life, the steering wheel a bit too hot from being under the sun and you wait, letting the cool air fan against your already hot body and you reverse out of the parking lot.

-

You return with tuna, alcohol, fenugreek, a peppermint and aloe vera plant, a thin bag that is filled with peaches, different varieties of caffeine that you can already taste, and pineapple. Your hands ache, the base of your fingers sore from the heaviness of the bags that you stubbornly carried up to the apartment. You were not going to make multiple trips, that much was certain about your day. You hear his voice before you see him, a greeting cut off as he realizes just how much you’re carrying. Danny’s eyes widen, and he rushes off the couch, taking bags away and your palms are redden from the indents of the bags.

“Are we having a feast?” His hands are inside a bag and he pulls out wrapped fish, and he stops, turning to you, a tight smile on his lips that you don’t recognize. “I didn’t know you liked fish.” He places it down and watches as you carefully place a clinking bag down onto the table. “Alcohol too, huh? What-” he turns to you, a nervous chuckle filling the space of his words- “Did I forget a special date?”

You shake your head no, already biting into an unwashed peach, trying to ignore how many hands and bacteria have touched the fruit before you. “Just-” you speak with a full mouth and turn your head, covering your mouth with your hand and taking another bite. You swallow and take a gulp of air. “I was just craving fish is all. Why? Do you not like fish?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I- I just wanted soup, and-” your smile falls and he shakes his head. “I can get soup tomorrow. How long until the fish is down?”

“Actually-” you reach into another bag and pull out two containers- “I was able to buy some sushi on the way home.” You pull out a pack and slide the container to him. You spare him a glance as he stares at the sushi with an odd, angry feeling. “Oh, I’m uh, I have tomorrow off, by the way.” You meet his eyes for a minute and he gives you a nod, allowing you to continue.

“You’ve been throwing up lately,” he adds, taking a bite from his plate. Your heart sinks and you try to mask your emotions, turning around to grab a bottle opener from one the drawers. “I’ve been worried, you know. Maybe-” the chair squeaks and when you turn, he’s sitting down, an unopened beer beside his plate- “I should take tomorrow off too and we can go to the doctor. Just to see if you don’t have the flu or-” he tilts his head, his lips twitching- “if it isn’t anything else.”

A part of you wants to tell him your fear. You don’t want to be pregnant, and you hope that if you manifest it enough, it’ll be true. But you also fear that he wants a family and you’ll be the one ruining it for him. Maybe you aren’t even pregnant. Maybe it’s just needless worry over a few faulty exams, but you can’t risk it. Not now. Not if it has the chance to be someone other than Danny’s.

With a bottle opener in hand, you walk towards Danny, his eyes on you the entire time. You place the bottle opener beside his drink, a hand on his shoulder and the other brushing back his hair, combing it to the side. His hands leave his meal and rest against your hips, his gaze up at you and there’s a hint of a smile at his lips, and you lean down, pressing your lips over his scar that adorns his forehead.

“We have bills to pay Dan,” you mutter, “at least one of us should be responsible.” You close your eyes tightly to avoid tears spilling over, the hand on his shoulder tightening and when you pull away, he looks unbothered for a moment before giving you a forced smile. “Let’s eat, okay? You can tell me about your day.”

-

All it takes is one doctor appointment to confirm that you are not pregnant. It was just a scare. And as if life and everything else in control of you wanted to laugh, you bled through your underwear on the ride home. The vomiting in the morning was your body simply pretending to have the signs, your mind so strong that it created a falsehood of pregnancy, just because you were so scared and sure of it.

Life is odd for the moment. You tried so hard to get rid of the unwanted child and they were never there to begin with. You had to go through with the nervousness that consumed you. The call to the doctor, the waiting, the glances that Danny gave you as if he knew something. You wonder if he did know. He isn’t dumb, a bit dense when it comes to your feelings, but he’s smart in a way that matters. You hope that he doesn’t know, for both your sake and his. The little scare will be something that you take to your grave, hoping that it’ll remain just that.

The fan is turned on with a simple swipe of your hand against the light switch, the room filling with white noise. You sit on his couch, your body stiff as if it were the first time that you had visited his home. You still remember how it was. Dirty. You hadn’t expected that from him. There was trash all over, a sort of musty smell and an empty fridge. He hadn’t seemed embarrassed, but rather mildly inconvenienced even though he was the one to invite you over. However, now the place is as clean as it can be, the musty smell now replaced by a slight twinge of alcohol and tobacco, but with an overlapping floral scent from one of your candles. You can’t help but wonder if he minds that you added bits and pieces of yourself into his home. He calls it your home too, almost too eager to make sure that you know that you belong here, but even so, it doesn't feel like your home. It’s too empty, too devoid of your touch. You still feel as if you’re a guest, waiting and cleaning, tending to him when he needs it.

The simple fact of the matter is, this isn’t your home. Your stuff, your personal items that you decorated your home are still in boxes shoved under the bed. You miss your home. “I miss my home,” you say to yourself, tears pricking in your eyes. The rent was cheap, and the landlords were kind enough, but it’s gone. The place scooped up by some stranger and the thought has your stomach rising.

You’ve thought about leaving here. Perhaps not Danny, but maybe that would be a consequence of you leaving. It was too rushed. You were too scared of Ghostface invading your life again. You made a rash decision that the both of you now have to pay for. He lost his space, his privacy and you can tell he holds some resentment, the way he slams the doors close, how he locks the rooms and won’t speak to you until he needs something, until he’s pressuring you to kiss him with a half-hearted apology on his tongue.

You glance at the coffee table, old and cracked, the paint on the wood chipped and revealing the unfurnished finish. The photo frame is cold, a slight layer of dust over it, concealing your nervous smile and Danny’s wide one. He isn't happy, but he’s smiling. You both only have a few pictures with each other. It isn’t much, and you’re surprised that the photographer wouldn’t want more, but it can’t be helped.

The photo is placed back on the table, and you lay down on the sofa, grabbing at the throw blanket that you added. Your arms act as a pillow underneath your weary head, and you stare at the photo, training over how his arms are wrapped tight round you and how close that he holds you.

-

Daniel walks into his shared apartment with you, and he immediately spots your shoes in a different position than when he left. He frowns, walking further into the apartment, his eyes scan the room, his eyes landing on a crumpled bag of fast food on the table, the drink creating a water ring on the table. It isn’t like you to be so careless.

The drink rattles in his hand, nothing but cold liquid is inside the container. His bag is heavy as he leans it against the wall on the floor, and he finally finds you. You’re asleep on the couch, your body curled with the decorative throw blanket covering your body as the fan spins above.

He lowers himself to watch you, your soft breaths and the way your face is relaxed. You’re asleep and it brings him back to a time where you were under him, where night concealed him and he was able to hover above you. It’s much different now, you’re still scared but he’s able to kiss you, to have you rake your nails down his back and hold his hand as if it’s the only thing to keep you sane.

A calloused hand cups your cheek, your skin soft and blemished with faded scars that he’s studied meticulously night after night. You wake up with his fingers tracing over your face and he doesn’t make a sound, everything about him is stoic and he wonders how you are seeing this situation in your eyes. Are you scared? Do you know? Are you pregnant? What are you thinking of him at this very moment? You blink slowly at him and he’s reminded of a cat, watching and tired, and there’s a burning desire in him that wonders what you would do if he strangled you right now. Slowly, his hand lowers, his knuckles brushing over your cheekbones and down your jawline, touching against your pulse on your neck and he feels it quicken. Your eyes never leave his and he doesn’t look away. He’s sure that he could convince you that it was a joke or that maybe it was just a dream that you had. It’s been a while since you had such a vivid dream.

Your hand creeps from under the blanket and you hold the back of his hand, moving it back to your face, letting your lips press against the side of his palm in a soft kiss. “Danny,” you say in a sleepy voice as your eyes close. “How was work?” Your hand that holds his becomes limp and he watches as it slides down his hand, catching on the cuff of his sweater until it dangles off the couch.

It wasn’t smart of him to invite you to live with him. He was too reckless, too needy and desperate to have you beside him that he just wasn’t thinking. Even if you are naïve and easily pulled into a false sense of security, he can’t just explain his costume, he can’t explain the knife and all the careful cleaning kits that he has. This is all too risky.

But he can’t throw you out either. He’s become attached. You’re like a pet to him now, and as every disgruntled man says on television, don’t name something or else you’ll get attached. And now he’s fallen victim to it. It’s nice to have such an easy fuck around, to know that he cold do whatever he wanted to you and you’ll stay here with him, because the other option is much scarier. The corners of his lips pull upwards and he pulls his hand away, fixing the blanket above you and he rises from his knees with a sigh.

“Another dead body,” he says with a chipper voice that he can’t seem to hide. “All signs point to our residential serial killer.” It’s much too risky to have Ghostface visit you, you thought this as your safe haven, you have to know and think that it still is, but fuck does he miss your fear and how pitifully you cried. “You never told me why you hated him so much.” He has to bite the inside of his cheeks when your brows knit together. “I know he’s a killer, but did he ever hurt anyone close to you?”

Your eyes shift and you pull the blanket closer to you, the folds stretching across your frame and showing the curves of your body. “I’m not sure, I just-” you catch his eyes and he sees you visibly shrink away from him- “I’m scared of his mask.”

His mouth fills with saliva as he thinks about just how frightened you are. “What a shame, I was hoping to get into roleplay.” He could think about you know, how you'd hit and scream, how he could pretend that it was all part of the act and just hold you down, thinking about how you would put the pieces together and sob.

“That isn’t funny,” you say in a high-pitched voice, already cracking and sitting up to lessen the distance between the two of you. He rolls his eyes in response, standing up from his crouch with a hiss between his teeth. “People are dead,” you whine, as if he hasn’t been keeping up with the news with you. “He killed people.” You’re much more emotional than he thought, but you’ve held your mouth for so long, suffered in your silence and in your vulnerability; it's only natural you would have such strong emotions.

“Relax, it was a joke.” He takes off his jacket and tosses it beside you, watching as you pull yourself closer, further away from his jacket and only staring at it with confusion, as if he dared to have the audacity to throw something your way.

“A dumb one,” you say with with a pout, gripping tighter onto the blanket.

“I said relax,” Danny says in a stern voice, already done with the conversation. He may have been the one to start it but he was hoping for a more playful one, or rather one where you go along with him rather than try to fight him.

“Whatever,” you huff, and he sees you bundle the blanket in your arms, pushing yourself to the further end of the couch, looking at the wall with furrowed brows as your hand tries to discreetly cover your pout.

“Great,” he says sarcastically, turning around and walking towards the fridge. “Now, you’re angry,” he says loud enough for you to hear.

He rises back up with a bottle in his hand, toying with the cap, letting the ridges play against his fingertips. You don’t respond and he can feel his anger start to rise, something thick that lodges in his throat and makes it impossible to swallow. You aren’t answering him. Usually this would be a good sign, something that means he still has you wrapped around his finger, but it feels different. You aren’t moving from your spot, and you aren’t apologizing to him. He puts the bottle down, and runs his hand down his face with a heavy sigh.

“I think,” your voice is small, and he can barely hear it, but he can, “we both rushed into this… relationship. We should have taken it slow.” When you turn to him, he sees that your eyes are wet and you try to take steady breaths but to no avail. “I’m happy with you, but I don’t think we were thinking clearly when we chose to-” your eyes glance around and you look away from him- “to do this.”

His jaw twitches and he watches you, anger boiling inside of him, white-hot that makes it impossible to think and if he could, he'd grab the knife on the counter and stick it in your back but he can’t. Copper fills his mouth and he turns on his heel, the bedroom door slamming behind him, loud enough that he can hear your yelp and loud enough that it makes his ears ring. He wonders what the neighbors would think of it, but he can’t really bring himself to care. He’ll find an excuse, he always does.

His name is muted through the door and he rummages through the closet, pulling out a worn backpack and knocking a few clothes off the anger that he steps on. You enter the room just in time to witness him opening your drawer and throwing your things inside without a care.

“Danny?” Your voice sounds so fearful and it makes him stop for a second, and when he looks at you, your foot slides back out of the room. You’re terrified of him right now. “Danny, what are you doing?” You ask in a small voice, as you take a tentative step inside the room.

“You want to leave right?” He asks in a condescending tone, stepping closer to you with the back held tight in his hand. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll help you pack.”

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t you say that we rushed into this?” With every word he stalks towards you and he tosses the backpack onto the bed, only to miss and have it slide down, the contents inside spilling onto the floor. You look away from him and that only adds fuel to the fire that is tarnishing him from the inside. “Didn’t you?” He shouts, slapping his hand on the dresses, rattling your bottles of perfume and creams. He stares at you, his nostrils flared and jaw tight as he tries to keep a sense of composure. “Did you or did you not?” He asks, his voice eerily calm as he lets his nails drag along the wall. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry, Dan,” you cry, your eyes spilling over with tears. “I wasn’t thinking. Please, I promise, it was just a long day and I’m sorry.”

You’re pathetic and not in the way that he wants you. He turns around and you grab his arm, latching yourself around his forearm. His name is on your tongue and before you have a chance to finish it, he turns around, his hand raised, and mouth pulled into an ugly snarl. You let go of him immediately and try to shield yourself, but he aims for the wall instead. His palm stings and you let out a choked sob.

He can’t think. Not with you here. Not with his emotions running so high. Not when his palm stings and there’s something dark brooding inside of him. He takes a deep breath and he forces himself to look at you. You stare up at him with worry creasing your features.

“It's okay,” his words are still tense, but your body lowers its defenses slightly, and he knows he’s on the right track. “I was angry.” He pulls his hand away from the wall and rubs it with his other, the palm of his hand a light shade of pink. “Why don’t we have dinner, huh?” He tries to give you a charming smile, but it falls flat. “We’ll talk about it over dinner. You know-” he reaches for your hand and grabs it in both of his- “like couple’s therapy or some shit. How does that sound?”

You break away from his gaze, glancing at the floor, and he knows your habits and tics by now. You’ll scan the floor, and look up at him and smile and nod. You play your part so well, and if he had to be honest with himself, he can’t lose that. Not yet. Not when you’re so dependent on him and him on you. He waits for our smile, to give you his own to show that he’s okay, that his anger has subsided for now, but you never give him that. Your mouth parts open and there are tears in your eyes, your hand shakes and grows clammy in his. He calls your name, but you don’t respond. Your breath is ragged, sharp inhales and shaky exhales, and he follows your gaze to the floor under the bed.

In the corner of his eye, he spots white and his nails dig into your skin. “Go get me a beer, I’ll-” he looks down at you and your eyes are stuck, glued to the floor where you can see the face that has haunted you- “I’ll clean up, okay? Just give me a moment.” It isn’t enough, you’re still looking where the mask lays, the bottom half of the face peeking from under your undergarments. Your mouth opens in a silent question and when you look back at him, you’re scanning his face. His body runs hot, his mouth going dry and he says the only thing that can come to mind. “I told you I wanted to try roleplay.”

“I thought you were,” you hesitate, and your tongue peeks to wet your lips, “I thought you were kidding,” you say breathlessly, your words slow as if you were hypnotized and the truth of the matter is, is that you are. You’re ruined by the mask that lies on the floor, the mouth of it the only thing that you can see. You peel away from him and have your back turned to him, your arms coming up to give yourself a hug. “I’ll go get you a beer,” you say in a daze, and when you turn back, your smile is weak, and you can’t look at him for long, your eyes magnetized to the mask on the floor.

He’s left alone in the room, his nails digging into the palm of his hands and red in his vision. The worst part of it all is that he can’t go out tonight. Not when you saw his mask. You’re naïve, and easily spooked, but even you could put two and two together. Even your suspicions would start to rise as you questioned why there was a murder the night he went out. Why Ghostface hasn’t come back for you. You’d suspect him and he can’t have that, not when you’re already so fearful of him.

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, OCs, mild drowning/hypothermia, violence, one instance of self-inflicted injury, attempted self sacrifice, cliffhanger

-

Virgil laid low for a while after his encounter with Roman, avoiding towns and taking winding paths far from the main roads. Every passing moment, he half-expected a maniac with a sword to descend upon him out of nowhere.

Isolating himself probably made him seem more suspicious, an easier target, but he didn’t want to risk getting caught in a crowd. Demon slayers were an odd bunch, rumored to have supernatural senses to counter a demon’s, and the last thing he needed was to be outed in front of everyone.

The rumors about the ‘Hooded Demon Slayer’ had shown him that gossip spread in unpredictable ways, and he didn’t want to have that unpredictability turned against him.

So, yeah, no towns.

Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t accounted for the people living out in more rural spaces, the way his own family had once.

And now he was here, in a silent standoff at the shore of a frozen lake with a stranger who was staring at him with far too much alarm for his liking.

He held up a hand in an awkward wave. The stranger threw a handful of salt at him, made a sign to ward off evil, and then twisted on their heel and bolted.

Virgil blew some salt out of his fringe, nonplussed, but didn’t move after them.

Either they’d noticed his eyes reflecting eerily the way they sometimes did when light caught on them, or they really hated social interactions. Regardless, who was Virgil to stop their frantic flee to safety?

There was an ominous cracking sound from the direction they’d just run off in.

That could be anything, Virgil told himself stalwartly.

As if in retribution for the thought, there was a splash, as though perhaps something approximately human-sized had been abruptly plunged into the waters of an icy lake.

Virgil was sighing even as he hurried onto the ice after them.

Sure enough, the stranger was scrabbling at the edge of the brand-new hole they’d made, eyes wide and breath coming in tiny little gasps as they clawed at the ice.

He stepped closer testingly, and the ice pinged in warning, hairline fractures spreading under his feet. The stranger let out a half-sob, probably thinking that an evil demon was taunting them or something.

Virgil pulled off his cloak, brushing his fingers over the clumsy stitching of the patch closest to the neckline for good luck. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to patch it up further after this.

His ears catching every minute noise the ice made, he leaned forward as far as he could and tossed one end of the cloak in front of the stranger’s grasping hands.

They latched on with surprising speed, maybe due to cold shock, and Virgil tugged them up.

The ice in front of them broke the moment their weight was leaning on it, and he hissed through gritted teeth. Didn’t this person know anything about escaping thin ice?

He struggled to speak, and only growled, the noise low and half-choked. Somewhere between his mind and his mouth, the words became tangled and refused to form. He would guess that horrific man-eating monsters didn’t deserve to talk, but he’d witnessed other demons chattering away, so maybe it was just something in his brain that had been scrambled. Figured.

Giving up on words, he instead slowly lowered himself until he was flat on his stomach, now eye level with the stranger. He forced his hand into a flat shape and laid it on the ice several times, hoping that they would catch on.

Gradually, they did, though they looked as though they could hardly believe they were listening. They stretched their arms out and kicked their back legs in the water until they were as level as possible, though their movements were growing more sluggish.

Virgil reeled the cloak towards him, providing the leverage needed to help them propel themselves onto flat, unbroken ice. He relaxed slightly in relief.

They immediately tried to get to their knees, prompting a creak from the ice beneath them, and Virgil snarled so viciously that they went right back down like their limbs had given out, terrified eyes locked on him.

That was one way to tell them not to stand, he supposed.

As quickly as he could, he shuffled back to solid ice, towing the stranger along with him over the smooth icy expanse. Once the ice beneath them was solid against even a few elbow jabs, he rose to his feet and gestured for them to do the same.

Apparently being dunked in life-threatening waters had taken the fight out of them, because they followed without protest, trembling from the cold or fear or both. They were still clutching tightly to the cloak, so Virgil used it to lead them along the ice until they reached solid ground again, mindful of their slow, stumbling pace.

All told, they hadn’t been in the water very long, perhaps under a minute or two. Still, Virgil knew better than to leave them to their own devices. One didn’t grow up on an icy mountain range without knowing what the cold could do to people.

He sniffed the air, the dip in water thankfully muting the scent beside him, and easily caught the trail that the human must have taken. Hopefully, it would lead to an actual building as opposed to some campsite in the woods.

The stranger seemed to be about Thomas’s age, though they currently looked more like a drowned mouse than anything else, and Virgil had been able to lift Thomas up into a fireman’s carry even before he’d gotten the supernatural strength of a demon, so he had no problem scooping them up and beginning to run.

They kicked and flailed for a short moment before seeming to just… give up, letting their limbs go limp and heavy, their only movement the full-body shivering that was still tearing through them.

Shivering was good, Virgil reminded himself, shivering meant they weren’t at lethally dangerous levels of cold or shock yet. He should feel reassured about that, but he couldn’t ignore the terror that was practically coming off the stranger in waves.

He couldn't shake away the memories of carrying a younger Thomas around in the same hold, either. The gleeful shrieks of his kid brother being toted around overlapped with the taut, tremulous silence of this stranger, painful nostalgia twisting in his chest.

Once again, the world proved that he was right to have left Thomas. Even the idea of his little brother like this-- drenched and resigned and terrified of him-- was enough to make his stomach roll. He didn’t want to imagine how bad it would feel to face it in reality.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek and kept moving, hoping that shelter was nearby.

-

The upside was that Virgil had found a small house, saturated thickly enough with the stranger’s scent that it had to be their home.

The downside was that there was someone in there.

The other downside was that as soon as he got within sight of the little home, the drowned-kitten stranger found a reserve of energy apparently dedicated to trying to smack the shit out of him.

He grunted in annoyance as another swing thwapped against the back of his head, their other hand frantically attempting to grab at his ears and throat with surprising vehemence. It was about as effective in actually harming him as a kitten’s pounce, but he tilted his head away anyways before they could get too close to one of his eyes. Sure, his eye would probably heal from any damage human hands could inflict, but superhuman regeneration didn’t mean he couldn’t feel it.

Calm down, he tried to project, but the few throaty chirrups that curled out of him weren’t exactly reassuring to a human.

They continued to struggle, not subsiding even when Virgil’s annoyance turned to literal growling, and he eventually just gave in and crouched to shift them off his shoulders.

Rather than try to struggle to their feet and bolt for the door, they plunged a hand into a pocket and came out with-- Virgil’s irritated rumble spiked up into an alarmed snarl, but he was too late to keep them from putting the carved whistle to their lips and blowing hard.

The piercing noise was enough to make him shift back, and two heartbeats later, the door of the cabin slammed open, revealing the silhouette of a new stranger.

Next to him, Drowned-Kitten was making a motion with their hands over and over, but the new person barely even glanced at them before running directly at Virgil, pulling a knife from a sheath with vicious intent.

The dagger’s blade practically glowed, even in the dark of the night, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose up the moment it got in range. He jumped backwards, but Stab-Happy just kept coming, matching his ‘back-off’ growl with a shattered human snarl of her own.

Slayer-knife or not, this human didn’t have nearly half the trained grace he’d witnessed from Roman, and so he was able to trip her up and grab her wrist mid-strike, ignoring the way being so close to the blade made his skin crawl.

He twisted, forcing her to drop the knife, and the moment it hit the ground, he dragged her back toward the open doorway, ignoring her vicious swearing as she struggled to break away.

Drowned-Kitten made a choked-off sound but was barely able to move, let alone stand and stop him.

The interior of the cabin provided what he needed, and he yanked a blanket from the mat on the floor and shoved Stabby into a chair, swiftly wrapping the blanket around her until she could only snap her teeth and kick her legs, the rest of her swaddled against the chair back.

“Get back here!” she screamed when he turned back to the door, the anger in her voice cracking into something close to fear.

Drowned-Kitten had crawled a few paces from where he’d left them, and they’d grabbed the fallen blade. Virgil grimaced as they pointed it at him with trembling hands, looking frantic enough that they seemed more likely to injure themself with the jittering knife than him.

He couldn’t tell exactly in the dark, but it seemed like their hands were turning the shiny red that heralded frostbite. They needed treatment. Why did people have to make everything so damned difficult?

A moment passed in this silent standoff, Stabby’s angry shouts still going strong, and Drowned-Kitten’s gaze strayed past Virgil to the doorway before their gaze went firm and hard.

They tightened their hand on the knife hilt-- and ran it clumsily over their other palm, opening a thin red line.

Virgil was there in the next instant, wrenching the knife away before they could try again for a less shallow injury. They shuddered but didn’t recoil, tucking their face away like they didn’t want to see what happened next.

The smell of blood turned thick and cloying in the air, and Virgil swallowed the sudden welling of saliva in his mouth with no little irritation.

Snarling, he grabbed the back of their shirt with his other hand and yanked, using the shirt as a makeshift scruff and stomping back inside. He dropped them on the mat, pulling the satchel he’d restocked at the last town from his back.

“Don’t you dare touch them, you monster!” Stabby yelled indignantly, and Virgil ignored her entirely to press a pad of gauze against the cut and breathe very carefully through his mouth.

Drowned-Kitten watched him wind thin cloth bandages around the gauze with wide eyes, like they weren’t quite sure this was real. More of those hand motions-- signs?-- and even Stabby grew quiet, thankfully for the headache beginning to pulse behind Virgil’s eyes.

The two of them were eerily silent as they watched him poke around their cozy little home with bated breath, dragging any extra cloth he could find to drape over the one who’d fallen into freezing waters and stoking the fire stove until warmth suffused the room.

Drowned-Kitten’s breathing turned strained almost immediately, the increasing temperature likely feeling much too hot on their skin, but they grit their teeth through it and didn’t try to shed any of the blankets after Virgil just insistently pressed them back on.

He crouched in front of them and held his hands up, moving his fingers through the slow stretches that would help ease the near-frostnip that had blistered Drowned-Kitten’s fingertips red. This, at least, was something he was familiar with, having done it frequently for passing travelers back when he apprenticed under the town’s doctor.

Back then, he’d mostly helped neighbors with colds or bruises and ran delivery errands, rarely seeing the doctor perform actual large-scale treatments. How was it that he was only getting more experience with medicine out in the field after becoming a demon?

Seriously. He was pretty sure that having a monster tending to them was freaking people out.

Case in point, the silent, secretive conversation that the two teens behind him were trying to have, made slightly less discreet by Stabby’s occasional hissed answer. He added a bit more charcoal to the stove, and rose from his squatted position to stare at the two of them, feeling fairly satisfied at the way Drowned-Kitten no longer looked as though they’d been dunked in freezing waters.

It had been an annoying detour, but at least he could say that he hadn’t yet managed to drive someone to death-by-lake just by walking past them.

Dawn would come soon. He unraveled the knotting keeping Stabby in the chair and ducked through the door back into the cold night air before she could fully untangle herself.

He took the knife with him.

-

Naturally, because the fates weren’t fond of him, the pair found him curled up in a cave the next day.

Drowned-Kitten-- or Harley, as Virgil would learn-- could smell demons, and had followed his trail, DW-- also known as Stabby-- right behind them. He hadn’t bothered to hide his scent trail because he hadn’t caught wind of another demon for miles, and foolishly assumed that he was safe. Which had led to him being cornered and interrogated by two teenagers.

Yeah, he’d been less than pleased.

Still, he could snarl and snap until they stepped out of his cave, but he couldn’t exactly get away with the sunlight bright overhead. So, he grumpily conceded to the questioning.

Surprisingly enough, they seemed to believe him when he shook his head ‘no’ to ‘are you going to eat people’. They hadn’t outright expressed doubts, at least. It was kind of concerning that they took his word for it.

DW had demanded the knife back, at least. Smart kid.

He’d attempted to shoo them off afterwards, but Harley had been very insistent on ‘repaying their debt’, wary in the way that meant someone had given them kindness before, but with strings attached. DW had eyed him with more blatant suspicion.

They didn’t owe him anything. Debts, deals, returned favors... Those were for people, not monsters. Virgil had dragged a hand over his face and wished he could say as much.

And then he’d paused.

He’d jabbed a clawed finger at the little hand signs that Harley made, the ones DW had been translating the entire time, and tried to mimic them sloppily until the two cottoned on to what he was asking.

Lessons in hand-speech.

Maybe there was still a way for him to speak after all.

-

From there, they settled into routine.

Virgil spent his days in the shadiest corner of their little house at the urging of Harley’s puppy-dog eyes, and at night, after their daily work was done, he would slink out under DW’s wary gaze and learn how to angle his hands into the proper shapes and flick small motions full of meaning in the right directions.

He picked up on the structure of the language surprisingly fast. Harley was a patient teacher, and DW was always willing to provide extra details on where Virgil had gone wrong.

He’d half expected them to usher him out the door once he’d had the basics down, but the season began to turn and still, they allowed his presence. The blatant trust was enough to make him worry, though any attempts to convince them to be more careful around demons earned him a confused look from Harley and a derisive snort from DW.

Hopefully, Thomas wasn’t being so reckless.

Since he was staying, he insisted on carrying their heavier goods down to the market in the nearby town, heading out with them in the early-morning dark and making sure they didn’t fall into any more lakes on the way there. He spent those market days waiting in a dark spot, his nerves frayed, until evening fell and he could meet them at their agreed rendezvous point.

As he adjusted to the sudden presences around him after so long traveling alone, the two adjusted to him as well. He hadn’t realized just how many noises he made aloud in substitute for his thoughts until Harley showed him all the signs for different emotions, and matched each of them with a soft imitation of Virgil’s growl, or huff, or even, embarrassingly, that cat-like purr that got started when he was particularly pleased. DW had laughed hard enough to make her side cramp up.

He could admit it. It was… nice. To not be feared. To have people to look after again.

Naturally, though, his occasional presence at their side couldn’t go unnoticed forever, and once one person knew, practically the whole town was guaranteed to hear about it. If Virgil had been paying better attention to anything but the two teens under his protection, he could have had advance warning.

But he hadn’t, and so he wasn’t ready when a polite knock came at the door, unusual considering how remote their little home was. He wasn’t ready for the sudden foreboding that washed over him as the three of them exchanged glances.

He wasn’t ready when DW opened the door to the sight of a smiling stranger with a sun-bright sword at his hip.

[blackkatmagic]

It's just turned monday here and I know I'll forget about it in the morning so... For some reasons (insert furious handwaving) Maul was married off to Jaster to cement an alliance with the Mandalorians. Maul is pissed off but can't afford to be sent back so he's just. Silent and glowering. This is torture for Jaster, who has SO MANY QUESTIONS about the force and can't get a word out of Maul. Jaster learns to echolocate facts about the force by confidently saying things and measuring how wrong they are by how much Maul grinds his teeth. (Maybe he'll hit upon the thing that will make his new husband finally open his mouth and correct him)

Maul is going to make himself a widower in short order.

Murderous, faintly sleep-deprived, entirely fed up with absolutely everything, Maul slouches in his chair, one foot braced on the seat, and glares across the table at his new husband, contemplating whether he can refine his technique enough to actually murder someone with his eyes. Even if he can't, the excess of gold he’s wearing has to be good for something. Jaster won't be able to spout his stupid theories if he’s choking on five kilograms of jewelry.

“Don’t be silly, Arla,” Jaster says, in that particular confident tone that truly drives Maul to the edge of homicide. “Force-users have a long history of translocating themselves across vast distances.” There's a pause, and Maul ignores the dark eyes on him, watchful and amused, and instead contemplates how hard he’d have to throw the delicate curls of gold currently wound around his horns for them to kill a man.

Then, with the conviction of a man who’s never been mauled by a Zabrak for his sheer idiocy, Jaster says, “And besides, everyone knows of their ability to change their shape on a molecular level.”

A vein in Maul's temple probably throbs. He definitelygrinds his teeth, trying desperately to remember that Savage and Feral are both currently under Mother Talzin’s thumb, both sold into their own marriages to bring her power as she plays all sides. Serving the Sith Lord before his untimely demise wasn’t precisely better, but—

At least the safety of his brothers didn’t rest on Maul's ability to tolerate sheer stupidity.

Jaster doesn’t show any signs of recognizing that his lack of intelligence is causing Maul physical pain. He simply sinks back in his chair, swirling his wine in his glass, and smiles at Maul like he’s won something. “No shapeshifting, then?” he asks, amused.

Maul narrows his eyes, tips his head back to look down his nose at Jaster. Thinks, determinedly and a little bit mulishly, of Feral married to the clone army’s Marshal Commander, of Savage wed to a Jedi and forced to play husband to the new Master of the Order. Kit Fisto isn't Obi-Wan Kenobi, but Maul has no faith in a Jedi’s willingness to guard his younger brothers from Talzin. Clearly it falls to Maul to uphold this bargain, at least well enough to establish a safe place for Savage and Feral to flee to when they’re inevitably betrayed.

“Still no words for me, husband?” Jaster asks, still smiling. Maul might think him attractive if he weren’t so frustrating. “You were willing to exchange words at the wedding, but I've rarely been blessed with your opinions since.”

“Jaster,” Arla says, rolling her eyes from further down the table. Deliberately, like she’s making a point, she reaches out, tips more wine out of the pitcher and into her cup, and then downs it. “Please. Some of us are trying to eat here.”

“I'm hardly stopping you,” Jaster protests, entirely innocent. Maul twists one of the rings on his fingers and contemplates how much force he’d need to embed it in the wall above Jaster's head, as a warning. “I was just saying, Maul can finally confirm what I've known for years, which is that as the Force is the manifestation of a vast creature of entropy—”

Maul is going to break a tooth, he’s grinding them so hard. He digs his fingers into the arm of his chair, the black cloth of his formal wear, and fixes the image of Feral in that last moment before parting in his mind. Feral, thin and weak from punishment at the Nightsisters’ hands, being tradedto Commander Cody, passed into the ranks of the vast army made with stolen DNA and set against the Republic. Feral will suffer if Maul breaks this alliance. Talzin made that very clear, and Maul has little enough family as it is. He isn't about to lose his brothers. Not for this.

Jango, slumped down on Arla's other side and looking as though he greatly regrets agreeing to this dinner, groans and buries his face in his hands. “Old man, if you can't even flirt normally—”

“It’s not flirting, it’s science,” Jaster says. “I have a theory. Maul, would you care to help me prove it right?”

Since Maul would much rather attempt to drown Jaster in his soup, he bites his tongue and glares.

Jaster beams. “The Force,” he says, and Maul braces for impact, “is the expression of a vast hive mind beyond the known galaxy—”

It’s worse than Maul thought. He’s going to physically implode if he has to listen to this for one second longer—

“The Force,” Jaster says again, still watching Maul, “is an energy field created by living things.”

Not quite correct, but certainly more so than hive minds, and Maul only rolls his eyes a little. “If you're quite done,” he says darkly, because he knows what Jaster is doing, but that doesn’t exactly make it easier to bear.

Jaster chuckles, leaning across the table to pour Maul more wine. “For now,” he promises. “Though if you're open to a debate on the origins of the Jedi as a cohesive order—ow!”

One of the small, bright red fruits pegs Jaster squarely in the side of the head and bounces off. Not, surprisingly, thrown by Maul, and he blinks, casting a look sideways down the table, to where Jaster's majordomo is veryinterested in the last few spoonfuls of liquid remaining in his bowl. There is, notably, a bowl of the fruits right in front of him.

“Treachery,” Jaster complains, straightening with an offended expression. “Jango—”

“If it had been me, I would have thrown my whole plate at you,” Jango says, raising his hands. “Blame Arla.”

“If it had been me, it would have been a knife,” Arla says, clearly already a little tipsy, and single-mindedly trying to get herself right to drunk.

Well. Maul can appreciate the assistance of an ally, when the circumstances are right. He opens his mouth to take credit—

“Did you know,” Jaster says, perfectly certain, “that each lightsaber’s color represents the phase of the moon under which it was mined, and the resonance of them—”

Maul is going to murder him, delicate political alliances be damned. Feral will understand. With a low growl, he shoves himself up, lunges across the table, and grabs Jaster by the collar of his shirt, hauling them in until they're eye to eye.

“You,” he bites out, “are the most imbecilic manI have ever had the vast misfortune to meet. That is not how lightsabers work.”

“Oh?” Jaster asks with interest, leaning in even as Maul's eyes narrow. He smirks, his hand curling over Maul's, lacing their fingers, and then he deliberately, like a dare, raises Maul's hand to his lips. “Tell me more?”

Maul picks up his soup bowl and coolly upends it over his head. Truly, such a request deserves no other possible response.

[On AO3]

[battlekidx2]

Amphibia Season 3B Thoughts (Part 2)

Since Amphibia is entering its endgame with this week’s episodes “The Three Armies/The Beginning of the End” I have decided to write out my thoughts on Amphibia season 3B so far. Because of Tumblr’s image limit I decided to split it into 2 parts. This part covers the episodes “The Core and The King” up to “Fight or Flight” (Here’s part 1 and my series thoughts so far) Without further ado lets jump right in.

The Core and The King

I enjoyed “the Root of Evil” and knew when they introduced the mind control collars in “Commander Anne” that they were going to reintroduce the spores from season 1 and Jeremy. But it should come as no surprise to anyone that the episode I came away loving more was “The Core and the King”. I think this was my favorite episode of season 3B so far. It finally let us see Darcy again and gave us insight into Andrias’ past, something that had been mentioned and hinted at with the torn painting but never seen, and it didn’t disappoint. I think it would have benefitted from being a 22 minute special episode, especially with selling us on Barrel and Leif’s characters, but not a second of the 11 minute runtime was wasted.

First thing’s first. We finally got to spend time with Darcy and get to know them. Getting confirmation that Marcy is still in there, just not the dominant personality, and seeing just how her quirks and passions have seeped through was fascinating but also deeply creepy. (It’s like a constant reminder that this isn’t really Marcy but a bunch of old, undying minds who have started the world's most morbid sock puppet routine.)

The core loving red velvet cupcakes with ube frosting and naming themselves Darcy because of Marcy’s favorite video game were nice touches that lay the groundwork for Sasha and Anne being able to get through to Marcy when they finally come face to face. Marcy may be locked in a room inside the core but she clearly isn’t entirely restrained.

“So is Marcy in there or…” this line said a lot. Andrias sounded hopeful, but trying to play it off as casual, that marcy would still be there. He really does care about her and reinforces the parallels that can be found in his relationship with Marcy with Grime and Sasha as well as Anne and Hop Pop. It also further sets up his possible betrayal of the core for Marcy’s sake. I think it is a possibility that he does one good thing with his life that turns the tides of the final battle. (or he could allow himself to be possessed once Marcy breaks free in one last desperate bid to gain his father’s approval. I’m leaning towards the former but this is a possibility)

Andrias’ backstory was finally revealed in this episode and we get to see how distorted his version in True Colors was. Barrel didn’t betray him. He sent Barrel away and started the caste system seen in Amphibia in the present day. It’s like I had already theorized. He was betrayed by Leif which caused him to double down and commit to toxic mindsets that his father enforced. He is in a way a dark parallel to Anne. 

I originally thought he would be made a parallel to Sasha because I believed his friends would betray him because he would double down on his lust for power and colonization but that wasn’t the case which was an interesting twist on my expectations. 

This episode heavily implies that Leif is a Plantar when she does the Plantar family dance for Barrel and Andrias in the garden. This has basically been confirmed as of Newts in Tights with Sasha and Hop Pop finding Leif’s room in the Plantar family basement that contains a red paper note that her and Andrias would use to communicate. (This will definitely play an important role in Andrias’ final decision in the last few episodes.)

I like the decision to have Leif change her mind about using the box because she sees that Amphibia is in danger if they keep using it. Often in media there is a character that just knows what they have been raised to believe is wrong and that is why they do the right thing rather than having to learn through experience and grow out of their mindset. I like that they decided against that route and instead went in the direction of her seeing that this will lead to the destruction of Amphibia rather than the prosperity they hoped. It makes for a more natural clash between childhood friends in my opinion. 

I wouldn’t go so far as to say Andrias is a good person deep down but that he seems to want to do what is best for Amphibia. His father’s manipulations coupled with Leif stealing the box out of desperation make it so he has a warped perception of what the right thing to do is. 

He clearly has doubts about whether this really is for the best with everything in the last scene portraying this conflict. His memory of Leif’s words “We have your back. Together, we can use that power for good.”, the burning of the painting, and his line of “Ready? After a thousand years, I've thought of..nothing else.” all sound more like he is trying to convince himself of this fact than reassure Darcy. 

The show is clearly setting Andrias up for a big decision sometime in the finale where he will be forced to choose between Leif’s words (especially now that they have a letter from her that he is definitely going to see at some point) and making his father “proud”.

The voice cast was stellar this episode from William Houston as King Aldrich to Jason Ritter as Barrel to Cassandra Lee Morris as Leif but I want to shout out Zeno Robinson in particular. He’s really become a powerhouse in Disney Animation voice acting with his performances of Remy on Big City Greens, Hunter on The Owl House, and now Young King Andrias on Amphibia. 

I loved the way he would make his voice deeper whenever he would turn towards his father’s ideals and away from his friends. The start of this transition could be heard when he has the outburst at Leif when she says they can do good with the box and he does his best Keith David impression at the end when he banishes Barrel and commits to “redeeming” himself.

This Episode also surprisingly explained why there was a single free moss man way back in the season 1 episode “Wally and Anne”.

Newts in Tights/Fight or Flight

I like how these episodes once again brought back a season one plot point. Nothing is really redundant in this show. So much “filler” within amphibia contains important character moments, plot points, or little details that are important down the line to the story. Tritonio and Domino II are characters I initially thought would be one offs when I first watched season 1 and I’m glad I was wrong.

“Newts in Tights” was a funny episode that managed to keep sight of its heart. I thought the humor and allusions to Robin Hood were all fun and Anne’s reactions to it all were the best part. With these episodes being in Matt Braly’s own words the last fun episodes of Amphibia it was fitting.

The decision to return to Anne and Sprig adventures for these last two fun episodes was a smart one. It’s a good reminder of how important Anne and Sprig’s friendship is to the series. Their friendship was the catalyst for Anne’s change and represents the core messages of Amphibia: change, growth, and becoming your best self.

This episode really emphasizes that there is strength in connections and that you have control of how you respond to things. Tritonio’s continued insistence on the rules of the streets is a learned behavior that he must make the active decision to work against. This has been a recurring theme in the show but especially this season. Sasha and Grime are prime examples.

Grime and Sasha chose to change. Tritonio chose to change. Their connections were catalysts that pushed them in that direction but the choice was ultimately their own. Just like their past bad actions were their own.

The closing scene was probably the most important part of the episode by far. They find Leif’s room in the Plantar basement and Sprig opens her “blank” note. This message is definitely going to play a very important role in Andrias’ actions in the finale. That note is one of the ones that Andrias and Leif created that only he can read with his special glasses. I’m going to guess that these are Leif’s final words to Andrias before she left for earth.

This really gives an air of fate and inevitability to what the girls have gone through in the series even more than the prophecy. It’s a fascinating case of the cyclical nature of life but also of how you can break the pattern. Sasha, Anne, and Marcy aren’t going to fall into the same trappings of Andrias and his friends and I think that can make this ending even more powerful.

Domino II being the alpha was foreshadowed! I was not expecting this rant from Anne to have any significance at all, but it came around in a really big way. This is just further proof of how well planned out this series is. Everything is coming back around and I am onboard with it.

I mostly have scattered thoughts about this episode (This has become a lot longer than I initially intended). Domino II’s babies are all adorable. I 100% understand how everyone fell in love with them so quickly. I love Sprig having Anne’s back through everything. I called Sasha being a dog person and I think it’s so funny that her and Grime adopt the hairless cat. Wally Jr. and his tiny hat have my heart.

Anne has always been a character that follows her heart and seeing how that pays off in such a big way this episode is nice especially considering things are definitely going to go south next week. Anne’s big heart has always been her biggest strength and a large part of why I love her as a main character so much. She always tries to do the right thing even when things don’t work out and I’ve loved watching her journey the past 2 years.

Thoughts and predictions for the finale

I’m not the best with predictions so I don’t usually make them but I thought “why not?” this show is ending and I have some ideas for where it can go. None of these are concrete and I won’t be upset if they don’t end up happening.

Marcy will end up going home and moving. Marcy’s flaws lead to her running from this situation and to have it come full circle I think she would have to return and accept this.

If anyone stays in Amphibia it will be Sasha. I think all 3 will end up going home but if one of them has to stay Sasha is who I think it will be.

Someone will end up sacrificing themself. In particular I think it will be one (or all) of the Amphibians that have been most deeply affected by the girls and become mentor/parental figures to them (Grime, Hop Pop, and Andrias).

Earth will be part of the final fight. I hope that we finally get to see the Wus and Waybrights. I think we’ll get confirmation that Sasha is estranged from at least one of her parents (probably her father since Grime has filled a father role of sorts for her).

“The Hardest Thing” will deal with the aftermath of the fight against the core and Andrias with the hardest thing being saying goodbye to their found families and friendships.

Anne will have a big sacrifice play in the finale. She won’t die but there is a pattern. Reunion had Sasha almost sacrifice herself, True Colors had Marcy almost sacrifice herself, and it stands that this season will have Anne almost sacrifice herself.

[god1ngs]

━‎ end of the world

synopsis; a forbidden love told for generations

contains; human reader, major character death, swearing, mentions of war, spoilers

god c!technoblade / reader, 3.4k wc

note; the title doesn't make much sense but whatever lol ,, this is for @mayasimagines 's 600 event! congratulations and i hope you like this :)

   throughout the fall of countries, the crumbling of empires, there stood a man. he gazed upon the vast land, the grass stained red. buildings had crashed down, debris staining the area around them. they layed in heaps of piles, taller than most. the fallen down buildings had been a sign of the empire's loss.

   there was no one alive to commemorate the loss however.

   screaming rung inside of his head, shouting and yelling, with some other tones mixed in. displeased and ecstatic and mocking tones blended together, sounds of chaos lingering in the mind of the man. he only sighed, walking away from the destroyed country.

   he's seen this happen too many times before, the repetitive cycle of watching a country build itself only to come crashing down years later. they never lasted long. always the one for chaos, he sometimes participated in the destruction of the countries, though most times he didn't need to.

   humans were savage, brutal creatures who only cared about themselves. by studying their nature, the way they go about certain scenarios, he had figured out that much. selfish, twisted beings who would betray each other in a heartbeat. all it took was more wealth or a promise of better gear.

   how easily swayed they were. technoblade sneered, his red cape dragging beneath him as he stalked the hallways. pillars of quartz, chipped at the edges from years of standing, lined the hallway. they reached the ceiling, some even going higher. the magnificent red carpet he stalked down had ended at a throne.

   a throne made of gold, the shiniest material he could get his servants to find. emeralds and diamonds and rubies lined the top of it, the same jewels lining the gold of his crown. at last, he sat down, the voices calming down at the familiar seating area. they always got loud whenever there was destruction.

   technoblade, the blood god. also known as the god of war and chaos to many, he wasn't very popular among the peaceful people. people often worshipped him for protection, to which he rarely granted. protection from him, a god of war, was seldom. often he didn't care about the hunans enough to waste his protection on them.

   yet, one mortal, had caught his eye. they were nothing too special, middle class and usually someone technoblade wouldn't even spare a glance at. they were different though. they outshined any ray of sun, their smile proving to be the brighter of the two. he found them, despite all odds, very interesting.

   later, after wine and more sparring, the man had caught wind of philza coming over. philza, the angel of death, had been one of technoblade's good allies, even so far as to consider the blond a friend. he brought saints to their knees in their final moments, allowing them either an eternity in hell or a peaceful life above.

   he wanted to meet them, and technoblade always gets what he wants.

   even before technoblade had become the god he is now, forever cursed to watch humanity rip itself apart, he knew philza. the two fought wars together, never straying from their path of loyalty. the blond perched himself on the windowsill, his striking white wings folding on his back, as he smiled at the other. "hello technoblade." he greeted, ever the polite man.

   technoblade only scoffed, shaking his head with an amused grin. "please, phil," he drawled, looking from his red wine to the angel of death. "no need for the formalities. just call me techno." the blond threw his head back with a laugh, wide smile painting his features as the other chuckled. "of course, mate."

   silence washed over the pair for a moment, a comforting silence that allowed them to bask in the moment od seeing each other. they didn't get to visit often, one thing they mutually hated about being in the sky palace, usually swamped with other duties. philza with guiding people to the afterlife, and technoblade with causing conflict.

   "i actually wanted to talk about somethin' with ya, mate." phil broke the silence, hopping off of the marble windowsill to come lean against one of the pillars. the pink haired man, ever so interested, hummed questionably. "and what did you want to speak to me about? come on, spit it out." the man said, looking down at philza.

   he sighed, glancing up at technoblade. "you've been acting off, mate. less wars are starting, and that's weird for you. i know you also started protecting that one mortal. fuck, what was their name?" he murmured, brows furrowed. technoblade sighed in annoyance, not wanting to be pestered with questions.

   "[name]." he answered phil quietly, not bothering to look back at the blond man. the clouds danced with each other in the sky, entertwining and morphing with each other freely. sometimes he wishes he could be as free as the clouds. "you know," phil said, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes. the blood god could only dread what he was going to say. "rumor has it that gods only protect mortals they're interested in."

   the teasing, despite only being light hearted, had a quizzical undertone. while technoblade had been acting strange, protecting somebody was something phil had never expected. either something was special about that mortal and their family, or someone had begun fantasizing. he could only hope it wasn't the latter.

   with more conversation, technoblade denying any feelings blooming for a human, phil left to go do his job. he was alone with his thoughts, the voices making him tug at his own hair to keep them quiet. they craved the mortal, despite how much he willed himself to stay in his throne room, the man had to go see them.

   it was a normal day for you. nothing was different, much less weird. it was only normal, a basket of bread in your hands as you walked home. you hummed as you stepped on the path, enjoying the peaceful walk back to your house. you were content with your life, having a few people and more deaths than you could count.

   and see them he would.

   you partially blamed philza, the angel of death, for the passing of your loved ones, but you also knew he wasn't the one to kill them. he simply took them to the afterlife, guiding them to where they would spend the rest of their days. the deaths in your family had piled up, mostly from war and some of falling ill.

   you spent your days worshipping gods now. you were always the lonely type, choosing to stay by yourself rather than interact with others. you never minded the comforting embrace of being alone, the silence enveloping you at every given moment. it provided you with a sense of comfort you couldn't get anywhere else.

   while you did worship other gods, you mostly worshipped technoblade. he was the primary god, you giving up all your offerings to him ─ ranging from bread to trinkets to gold galore. the tales of the blood god, always grand stories with daring adventures that had you on the edge of your seat, had always intrigued you.

   your favorite, the one you read the most to the slim amount of people you did contact, was the tale of the butcher army. when he was human, a detail that many didn't know whether to believe or not, he blew up many countries. it hinted at the start of him being the god of war many years later. for punishment, the butcher army hunted him down.

   they lied to the man, once they had captured him, in which they had prepared for his execution. some say he died that day, only to be revived due to the gods holy whim; others say he had never died, and broke out of the iron bars to kill the men who had hunted him down. learning about the magnificent god, a god you admired, had faced an army of four and won, allowed you to admire him even further.

   once you got home, setting down your basket of bread, you had sighed. you always liked coming home, your safe space filling you with a joy like no other. the everlasting comfort of your home, a familiar place you longed to be at constantly, helped you feel safe. the comforting feeling of being home at last filled you at peace.

   until it wasn't so peaceful anymore.

   from your kitchen came a clanging noise. there were a few grunts followed afterwards, your eyes wide. fear flooded your system, nervousness coursing through your veins. you stayed silent, hoping you'd either been dreaming or had been imagining sounds. however, once a voice spoke, you knew that was not the case.

   from your kitchen came, with his red cape dragging behind him, technoblade. you stammered, confusion replacing your previous nervousness. your grip came loose on the item you were holding, not being able to process what you were seeing. "well this is awkward." the god stated, putting your kitchen utensils he had just knocked down back on your counter.

   if anything, this was awkward. very awkward. who expected a god to come through their kitchen window? "uh, do you," you stuttered, voice measily yet you still tried to fight it out. "do you mind telling me why you're here?" it was more than odd to see a god in your kitchen, the sight one hard to believe for even yourself.

   technoblade had sighed, draping himself over your couch cushions as if he lived there. his arms, unlike your bare ones, spread across the back of your couch, the sight making you nearly sigh. "well, mortal, i had taken intrest in you." he answered bluntly, your mind still reeling from the fact that he was even here, but taking interest in you? no, this had to be some kind of joke.

   the visible confusion highlighting your features made the god chuckle. it was amusing, seeing the looks on mortals' faces whenever something odd or unexplainable happened. "what's so confusing? i took interest in you, and so i came down here to see you." the blood god explained, shrugging his shoulders. the confusion you felt only worsened.

   why was the question. why was a god in your house? why had he taken interest in you? you shook your head, suddenly feeling lightheaded. "sorry, i need to sit down." you muttered, trying to regain your footing. you sat down, going slowly as to not pass out in front of him. "so," you spoke up as soon as you had calmed down. "why have you taken interest in me?"

   a cloud of silence loomed over the two of you, technoblade falling into his thoughts. why had he taken interest in you? there was no particular shining traits in you, even if he studied you as if you had carved out the world with your own hands; he watched you as if you had brung down a fantastic reign upon everybody.

   "who knows?" he wondered aloud, a hum of amusement following his words. technoblade didn't know the reason for it, and despite itching with curiosity, he didn't bother trying to find out. he only let it be, coming to terms with the fact that you, a mortal, had piqued his interest. you kept him entertained, and that's all that mattered.

   after the two of you talking more, you still trying to get over the shock that the blood god was in your home, you had to say that he was fairly a nice guy. maybe he was kinder than all of the other ones, however you've never crossed paths with a god either, so you couldn't tell. when technoblade had stood up, braided hair falling against your couch, you knew it was time for him to go.

   he turned to look down on you, his towering figure highly intimidating. there was a reason he was feared across nations. he stared at you for a second, maybe deciding on what to say, though you couldn't tell with his blank expression. the man only sighed, wishing you a good day, and then turned to leave.

   "you've got me interested, technoblade."

   you only spoke to the god more after the first encounter. seconds turned into minutes and then minutes turned to hours. he was an interesting guy, choosing which emotion to show and when to show it. perhaps it came with being a god. as he came by more, each visit surprising you, you only talked to him more.

   "as you've got me, [name]."

   soon he started telling you stories. the butcher army, the l'manberg war, how he met philza. he told you great things of philza, the angel of death, so much so you nearly stopped disliking philza. you were always interested in his stories though, no matter how long or how action packed. each further lured you in to his grasp.

   technoblade, however, had stopped visiting so often. with more conflict arising everyday, he didn't have as much time to visit you anymore ─ philza was starting to catch on as well. how he wasn't home as often or how he lied to philza each time he asked him where he was. he was getting suspicious, and wanted answers quickly.

   philza confronted technoblade on this issue a while later. his wings puffed up confidently, he was so sure something was going on with his eldest friends, the edges torn at the seams. "technoblade." he addressed politely, standing in front of his throne once again, as he did not so long ago. he would get answers out of him.

   technoblade only sighed, his cheek pressed against his closed fists as he stared at philza. "yes, philza?" he asked, voice heavy with exhaustion. the recent wars, as much as he loved the excitement and panic that came with it, have been too tiring for him. he also couldn't visit you that morning, only pissing him off more.

   "have you been seeing the mortal you told me you had interest in?"

   silence crashed over the room, violent in its malicious intent. phil's questioned nipped at the blood god, desperately pleading for an answer. philza sighed, one of disappointment and perhaps even anger. the silence was enough of an answer. "mate, are you kidding me?"

   technoblade merely sighed, eyes narrowing at the blond. "you have no say on who i take interest in, phil. that is none of your concern." he dismissed the blond, turning back to look at the window. philza had no say in what technoblade done with his life, no matter how long the two have been friends.

   "none of my concern? mate, they're a mortal and you're a god! hell, the blood god! for fucks sake, mate, you can't be seeing mortals!" philza snapped, brows furrowed and cheeks red from anger. the trouble a god could get in from seeing a mortal was irredeemable.

   if technoblade got caught with the mortal, he would lose not only his titles, but his life. he would be executed.

   technoblade merely scoffed however, rolling his eyes. "as if i'll get caught, philza. those laws are stupid anyways. what, are you going to tell on me?" he arched his brows at the angel of death, sneering at him. how dare he barge into his temple and then go off at him; a beloved friend of his.

   however, the mortal was too intresting to not keep seeing. he may of even caught feelings. how laughable ─ the blood god, feared across empires, falling for a mere mortal. philza only sighed, rubbing his temples. he weighed his options: technoblade could continue seeing the mortal, get caught, and then both of them get in trouble.

   or philza could tell the council. tell them of his affairs, tell them why he hasn't been here as often. once more, a vicious silence swept over them. only for a moment, for philza had declared:

   "if you don't stop seeing this mortal, i'll have no choice but to stop it. don't make me do it, mate."

   his evening visit was late that night. you had already prepared dinner, setting it up for when he was to arrive. from what he's told you, he hasn't had human food in a long time. he told you that gods didn't need to eat nor sleep. you had decided to make him food for when he comes, wanting him to have food even if he doesn't need it.

   the gust of wind from deceiving angel wings swept across his face. messy hair cascaded over his face, and for once, the blood god had found a problem he didn't know he could solve.

   ten minutes. twenty minutes. thirty minutes. you sighed at the mocking tick of the clock, each passing second being another sign that he wasn't going to come. perhaps he had better things to do. frowning, you began to gather the food up, knowing you wouldn't eat it all, before the familiar two knocks came at your door.

   rushing over, once you had opened it, you were surprised to see something different than you were used to.

   technoblade was there, but he looked different. more angry, perhaps even upset.

   worried, you frowned at the god. "are you okay?" you asked, hoping the man was alright. the god only nodded, staring at the ground. he came back to you after a moment of silence, sighing. "yes, just got caught up in some things. nothing for you to be concerned of." he said, brushing you off before you could even speak.

   when technoblade had gone back to his temple, rubbing his temples with a sigh, something unexpected had greeted him. there was philza, perched on the window with a firm look of coldness. "visiting the mortal again, were you, mate?" he asked once he had came into view. technoblade had half a mind to tell him to fuck off.

   that night provided a great distraction from what would come the following days.

   no words were spoken from technoblade afterwards. the betrayal of another friend, a promise to do something about his meetings, had wounded him. he didn't want to lose philza, but also had begun to realise something ─ he had caught feelings for the mortal.

   for you, who had been the sunshine on his darkest days. call it a cliche, but technoblade truly didn't know happiness if you weren't by his side. having watched countless deaths and falls of kingdoms over the many, many years of being alive, the man had never found as great of a comfort than by your side. you were the sun to his moon, a forever shining force to his immortal darkness.

   though the moon and sun are destined to never touch.

   that night, philza had technoblade bring him to your house under promise of telling the council. they had shown up to your house late at night, when the world was asleep. it had been abrupt, the two males coming into your home. you were shaking, scared as to what this meant. the angel of death and the blood god inside your home could mean nothing good.

   and you were right. that night, that forsaken night, technoblade had been cursed in front of your eyes. the wide eyed look on his face, the shock of what a former friend could do. you tried to reach out for him, but were stopped by philza. he permitted you to stay still, or else your blood would be on your walls.

   "technoblade, the blood god and the god of war, i hereby sentence you to an eternity of reincarnation. as long as you are alive, your lover, [name] [last name], will be killed and reincarnated. only ever letting you get close enough to hardly touch them."

   your words were caught in your throat, the cruel punishment knocking the wind out of you. philza's eyes shone, bright in an unholy way, rising up with his wings behind him. technoblade had felt the burning sensation of a marking, a forever sign of the curse, on the side of his neck. a flower had been burnt into the side of his neck, your favorite flower.

   "i'm sorry, technoblade." were the last words you heard before a sword made of light had stabbed through your stomach.

   the blood god had frantically scooped up your body in his arms, panicking for the first time since you've seen him. he tried to get you to say anything, although the words were too hard to say, no matter how hard you tried to get them out. he reassured you would be okay, despite knowing the inevitable would happen.

   "you should've listened to him ... heh, you're a dumbass, you know that?"

   you took your last breath seconds later.

[scribbling-dragon]

Shifting Perspective

Chapter 24

Summary:

And the crimson snow hangs heavy over the field

(AO3 Link)

(Masterpost)

(6,211 words)

He dips to the side as another volley of arrows flies past them, whistling between the feathers on the edges of his wings as he flares them out, lifting him higher into the air. He rolls to the side again, and he feels Jimmy cling a little more tightly to him.

The troops below them haven't quite reached the walls of Rivendell yet, the snow likely slowing them down as they march towards the gates, red banners flared and flapping in the breeze below them. He watches their slow advance, twisting his head around to watch as they slowly begin to disappear behind him as he rises higher above the mountain.

The others around him are similarly silent, only occasionally firing off a rocket, as though afraid one more echoing boom bouncing off the jagged cliffs will summon the army closer to them.

The banners of Rivendell are flying when they approach, the blue and gold swirling in the gusts as it tugs it this way then that, indecisive as though the wind itself does not have a unified mind and is each trying to pull it in one direction. He watches it for a moment longer, as it stills momentarily, before beginning to thrash again.

The number of guards on the walls have tripled, and as they fly over them the guards train their crossbows on them; they huddle into a small group as the guards watch them descend, several of them preparing to leap from the wall at the first sign of an attack, of danger.

He lands first, and the square around him is silent as he stumbles to a stop, unbalanced by the weight clinging to his front. He slowly pries Jimmy away from himself, allowing him to balance on the ground, before releasing him completely. He feels the judging eyes pass over the pair of them, watching him critically as he untangles Jimmy’s hands from his shirt.

The surrounding elves watch as the rest of their small party land. Several stare at him, a mix of horror and confusion rippling over the crowd the longer he stands there, squinting at them, turning in a slow circle to face them all. He hadn't considered his scar until this moment, as the elves lean towards one another and murmur, eyes still fixated on him.

“Sire,” one brave soul steps forward, elvish rolling off their tongue in a way that does nothing but tell him he’s home, and he turns to them. They don't cower back, remaining steady, even as the eyes of the empire turn on them, pinning them beneath their collective gaze. They meet his eyes unwaveringly, mouth set in a thin line. He does not know them, and he doubts they expect him to. “Armies are approaching from beneath the mountain, and we do not know what to do. We needed your guidance in that crucial moment, and you were not here to provide it. So, now, what do we do? When they are almost upon us?”

“We prepare.” He looks around, responding in a way each of them will understand rather than allowing his friends a peek into this. He doesn't miss the way fWhip eyes him, or the way Katherine watches him with cautious eyes, slightly narrowed, though not as hostile as fWhip’s. “Those who wish to fight, and do not feel obliged, this is your choice to make and yours alone, may step forward. Find those that will help and assist you in these moments. Those who wish to flee, may return to their families and leave through the eastern gate.”

The elf that had spoken up retreats into the crowds, and when he looks, he cannot pick them out from the shifting hues of the crowd that has formed around them. He looks away again, searching the eyes of those that looked to him, those that are still looking to him, awaiting further guidance. He takes a breath, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments and reassuring himself.

“I cannot promise you anything. I cannot even promise you that you will not die.” The crowd watches, and their faces do not change. He breathes again. “To promise you something like that would be lying, and I prefer to keep my intentions transparent.” They continue to watch him, and he braces himself for what he’s going to say now. He’s ready for his citizens to turn away at this, and he likely won't even have the support of his new found allies.

“We aren't simply facing the army.” A few perk up in interest, and he sees Cormac appear within the crowd from the corner of his eye. “We’re facing a force older than that, one that many thought was dead.”

“The statue of Aeor has begun to glow again.” Someone else interrupts him, and he turns to face Cormac properly this time. Xe step forward, nodding to him as they approach. “I was visiting the Church this afternoon when looking for a tome, and when I looked up, the eyes of Aeor began to glow with a light I have only hear of in the most ancient of texts.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, a mix of Common and elvish gracing his ears as he watches them. “What Cormac speaks is true. We have a…prophet with us now who has sensed their return, and the armies that we have seen approaching are those of the Gods. They are…they are not what we have been taught they were, they were cruel and they were almost evil. Their power fed their arrogance, and they believed them could not be humbled, keeping their eyes high above us, so much so that they were toppled by the lowest of society.”

He watches a few within the crowd bristle at that, and he carefully reminds himself not to offend. “Due to these…recent discoveries, I have come to the conclusion that those who sought to eradicate the Gods were better informed than any of us could ever hope to be.” A few scowl, and a few grin, nudging their neighbours. “In such a case, I wish to make it clear that shifters have not been brought in front of a Court for years now, but I will not hesitate to pull forth those who act against them. Truly,” he takes a breath, reminding himself that he has allies now, he has people to fall back on, “I do even suggest it would be treason to act in such horrendous ways towards shifters when your King is one of them.”

He watches a few in the crowd take a step back, disgusted looks crossing their faces as they begin to scowl at him. “Any who wish to continue with this practice, this line of thought, is welcome to flee now. And they are encouraged not to return.” He allows his gaze to sweep over the crowd, eyes cold. “I am putting my foot down on this matter. Flee if you wish, step forward if you do not.”

He turns, and Cormac meets his eyes. He swallows, anxiety crawling up his throat for a second as he stares at xem. They laugh, and shake their head. “If you thought we were not aware, you must take us for idiots.”

“I do not.” He frowns at xem, even as he begins to usher the other emperors from the square, away from the activity that has begun to take over the small area. “If I believed you to be idiots you would not be a part of my Council.”

“I am…proud of you Sire,” they smile, and it’s less sarcastic, more genuine, “Though you could do with using a few less words next time.”

“I was doing a motivational speech,” he protests, “I can't just tell them we’re going to war, and yeah I'm a shifter by the way, like-”

“It would be nice if you spoke Common again.” Katherine butts in. “There are other people here that would really like to know what’s going on.”

“And you will.” Cormac smiles at her. “If you look around, what does it look like we’re doing?”

Katherine looks around slowly, as though proving a point, before looking back at Cormac. “Nothing in particular.”

“That is where you are wrong, little fae.” Xe smile. “We are preparing for war, something I am rather certain you are entirely unfamiliar with.”

“Cormac Ingolmondur.” He chastises, though xe don't look particularly sorry, and he doesn't particularly mean it.

“She was being rude.” Xe shrug. “Next I shall ask her to speak elvish in an elven empire.”

He scoffs, and Cormac pushes them into a meeting room, one that conveniently has every member of the Council within it, excluding Sorin. He presumes they're outside, preparing everyone for battle.

Their eyes land on him immediately, and he clears his throat, skirting around the edges of the room to the chair they have left vacant for him. “I'm sure you already know why we’re gathered here today.”

“Less words, Scott.” Cormac reminds him, and he rolls his eyes.

“There are armies marching towards us. Most of which are likely magic users, as they hail from the Crystal Cliffs and Mythland. Some are likely from the Grimlands too, so expect advanced weapons. Some of which we may not be able to combat with our own.”

“And what are we doing about it?” Idris meets his eyes, and he can see worry glimmering in them, obvious beneath the harsh lights of the room. “We have one army against three.”

“But we do not need to fight three. Remove the head, and the body shall die. Surely we can follow that same logic here?” He glances at Axen, and they nod their head.

“How?” Lizzie stands between Ophelia and Cormac, meeting his eyes across the table. “How can we remove the head of operations here. They're Gods.”

“Being channelled through one person.” He counters. “We do not know what spell Xornoth used, but I know them well enough to know they never paid any attention in lessons related to that. They likely used one that directly ties to their life force. If we can sever it without killing them, great. If we have to kill them to sever it?” He frowns. “We shall have to do it anyway. They would rather the whole world could belong to no one than admit defeat.”

Silence settles, and it barely lasts a moment before Ophelia is pushing their chair back. “We might as well jump to it then. I’ll prepare my medics, we’ll be on the field in twenty. Don't take any longer than that.” They stride past him. “Though you might want to go find some better armour.” They glance back. “Maybe a better weapon too.”

“I'm working on it!” He responds, and he stands too, chair scraping back. The rest of the Council files out with him, into the courtyard that has quickly become a training grounds. He watches as swords flash, silver scraping against each other for barely a second, sparks flying to the ground, before they're pulling away again, dancing around in sync and in stride.

He watches them prepare, and he watches as the swords are sharpened and the armour is buckled. He only disappears for five minutes, to retrieve his own armour. It settles comfortably on him, and he’s able to find a chestplate that accommodates his wings. He fastens it on his own, and the silence in the room allows him to gather his thoughts.

He breathes in. He is about to lead his empire to war. He breathes out. He does not know how many will survive. He breathes in. He does not know if they will win. He breathes out. But his people believe in him. He breathes in again, steeling himself. His people still believe in him, and there must be a reason for that, even if he cannot find it himself.

He collects his sword from where it lays, and the weight of it feels comfortable in his hand. The leather beneath his fingers is worn, and he rubs a thumb along it absentmindedly, lost in thought of the last time he picked it up. It must have been when he was still a child, when they were both still children, and when they were all together as a happy-

He turns as the door opens, and the scared messenger that always follows Idris around peeks their head through the small gap. They watch him with wide eyes, and he smiles back at them, sheathing his sword.

“Are they ready?” He asks, and they nod, retreating from the door when he approaches it. He pulls it open, and watches as they scurry away, disappearing into the throng of gathered people. They weave between the people, deft on their feet. Perhaps that is why Idris keeps them around.

He steps forward, and a hush falls, eyes on him as he stands there. His gold armour glimmers in the faint moonlight, and people watch him with wary gazes. He is the harbinger of death for them, even as his fellow emperors stand shoulder to shoulder with them. He is the one that will order their loved ones forward to a place they might not return from. They do not hate him for it, but neither do they like him. He does not blame them.

“Those that wish to walk forward with us, assemble beside the gates.” He nods to Sorin when they appear. “I'm sure they will have almost reached the walls by now. I see no reason to keep them waiting.”

No cheers follow his statement, only a sombre silence as the crowd parts to allow him through. The emperors follow his lead, stepping in time with him. Soldiers file in behind them. The macabre procession moves forward, and those that remain watch them leave through the gates.

There is no sound as they descend the mountainside, eyes fixated on where the opposing army has gathered. Their banners are still now, tall and imposing. They had brought none of their own, the blue flags left flying in the city as they trudge towards the fight.

Jimmy slips into place beside him, and he grabs his left hand, squeezing it once, before allowing his grip to slacken. He does not pull his hands away, and he welcomes the warmth it brings him, even if the hold is loose.

The field their opposition has chosen is filled with snow, and it stacks against the cliffs they walk down. A few stumble, slipping on the ice that litters the path, and those beside them grab their arms and guide them back upright.

He stands at the front of his army, and he meets the eyes of Xornoth. He stares into the red depths of their eyes, and considers the person he once called a brother. He doesn't see a resemblance to them now.

Two people flank their sides, heads bowed and wrists bound, though it isn't hard to guess who they are. Gem glances up, eyes teary and wide as she stares across at them. One of her antlers has been snapped off, leaving the end in a jagged point. Blood is smeared across her face, and as he watches, it drips onto the snow, steaming slightly.

“Ameer!” Xornoth steps forward, mouth breaking into a grin. “We were wondering when you would arrive. We’ve brought you some gifts!” Their cheer is overly fake, and he sees fWhip lurch forward when they gesture at Gem and Sausage, still grinning that same, menacing grin. “Won't you come and collect them?”

He steps forward, and his foot crunches in the snow. fWhip struggles, and Pearl grips his shoulder tighter as he takes another step forward, and another, and then another. He stops, two paces from Xornoth’s face. He rests his hand on his sword, and his brother frowns.

“Truly? Is there such distaste for me, brother dearest?”

“Yes.” He lunges forward, and he could have killed them then and there, but he has other priorities, even as fWhip screams at him in a way that will rub his throat raw. He turns to the side, and rams his elbow into their sternum, listening as something cracks, and then as they hit the ground. Their head cracks against it.

He grabs Gem, Sausage already stumbling away from where Xornoth’s grip has left him free. He pulls her forward, and she stumbles, though she doesn't fall. She watches Xornoth as he pulls her away, just behind Sausage as he returns to their side.

fWhip pulls his hand off her arm with a glare, pulling her into an embrace that she returns just as fiercely. He backs up a few steps, before turning. He watches Xornoth, and they're no longer grinning as they stagger to their feet again.

They frown, flicking a hand, and the army surges forward, a wave of red bathing the snow as swords begin to clatter. Cloaks swirl around him, and he ducks beneath someone’s sword, pulling his own free from its sheath and turning the blade on them.

It shimmers in the rising sun, and the blood on it glistens even brighter. He averts his eyes, feeling faintly sick as he looks around himself. He ignores the way the snow beneath his feet is quickly turning to slush, dark with something that could be mud or blood. He doesn't inspect it closer in the fear that his own blood would only add to the darkening white.

People approach him from all sides, and swords clatter around his ears and beside his arms. Sparks fly, and he hears thunder rumble as he pushes his way through the crowd, deflecting the occasional blade with a quick strike.

He crashes into someone, and they turn on him, blade inches from his neck. He breathes, eyes going wide, then blinking. He pushes the blade away from his neck with a grin, and Jimmy apologetically returns it.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Jimmy jokes, and he huffs a laugh, pulling him down by the shoulder as someone swings for his head. His sword finds itself embedded in their gut, and they stumble back, sliding off the end of it with a sickening squelching noise. He grimaces, and Jimmy makes a gagging sound.

Metal clatters to his left, and he turns towards it. Jimmy presses back another soldier as the waves of people converge on them. He finds his back pressed against Jimmy’s moments later, wings confined as he pushes back against a stronger warrior.

Their eyes are tinted a deep red when he meets them, and they have a glassy look to their eyes that he wouldn't expect from someone actively fighting against him. Their arm jerks up, as though someone has yanked on a string connected to it, and they narrowly avoid cleaving his head in half.

He shoves them back with a kick, before turning to the next person beside him. The people only press closer, more and more of them searching for a body with their sword. Many find a body to pierce, and he hears Jimmy grunt a few times behind him.

He dispatches another person, slamming them to the ground and stomping his foot down on their chest. He tries not to feel remorse as their face changes, fear flooding it before it freezes over, turning to ice against the snow.

He spins, and Jimmy squeaks as he picks him up. People clamour for his attention with their blades and they claw at his wings as he extends them, patches of feathers being ripped free from their places. He ignores the way the nails scratch and scrape against his skin, breathing in steadily. He launches himself from the ground, knees protesting as he ascends. Jimmy tucks his legs close, hanging from his arms in the way you would hold a cat. He watches as the soldiers turn on each other, violence driving whatever force has overcome them.

He watches as the blood is spilled, landing a few feet from the fringes of the fight. The ground here is less churned, whiter than the surrounding area. It has remained unmarred by the fight, though he doubts that shall last much longer.

“I didn't think I would find you out here.” Xornoth speaks from behind him, and he turns, a glare already set on his face. “Taking the coward’s route, are we?”

“I could say the same for you.” He responds, and they smirk.

“I'm not cowering away. I'm performing our next attack. The Gods really are desperate to meet their loyal subjects again.”

“They shouldn't have returned.” He steps forward, and they step back, still watching him with that same, infuriating smirk. They don't seem scared, even as they continue to retreat as he advances. “They couldn't have returned.”

“If you're worried about the sacrifice bit, we got all of that sorted out.” They wave his concern away. “We found another shifter. I really do hope you're not jealous of their fate. Though, you might be by the time the Gods are through with you.”

“What do you mean?” He steps forward, and they do not step back, simply smirking at him.

“It means, we went out, and we found another shifter. We found several, and each and every one of them was key to our cause.” They blink. “We needed a lot more blood than anticipated.”

This time, he’s the one taking a step back, bile clawing its way up his throat. He stumbles into Jimmy when he steps back. Jimmy’s hands are weak on his arms, and he feels them tremble.

“I wouldn't lean too much of your weight on him.” Xornoth warns, watching him with wide eyes. “Wouldn't want him to…collapse.” They grin, and the hands on his arms slip away. He hears a thud behind him. And he turns, spinning as he crouches to pull Jimmy up and away from the icy ground.

The air around him falls silent, and when he looks up, he and Xornoth are the only ones left standing. The battlefield is silent, and swords are cast aside, strewn across the blood ground. They stain the ground a deeper crimson than before, and as he surveys the mass of bodies, he cannot tell who is dead and who is still alive.

He pulls his cloak off from his shoulders, pillowing Jimmy’s head on it. He hears Xornoth scoff as he presses a kiss to Jimmy’s forehead before rising and facing them. He shifts, and they follow his motions.

The snarling maw of a wolf is beside his face in a moment, teeth glistening beside his eye, and he snaps back. They don't retreat, simply snapping at his neck again. He feels their teeth graze over his skin, and he rears up, before bringing his paws crashing down onto their shoulders, plunging both of them to the ground.

The roll, and they tussle. He feels something catch on his cheek, and he gasps, breaking free from their hold. He shifts, and swings his sword as they charge at him. They roll away, shifting back as they scramble to their feet.

Their hair is loose, scattered around their face in stringy tendrils. Their eyes are wide, and they laugh as they stare at him, half-bowed over, hand clutching their stomach. “Come now, Ameer, can't you hear his call? Can't you hear the way he cries out for you, he’s asking for his Champion. Don't you know it’s reduce to refuse such a thing?”

He blinks, and their eyes are filling his vision, crimson melting into magenta as he stares at them. Their hands guide him to the ground as his legs give way, surprisingly soft for someone grinning like a maniac. “He’s waiting for you, and it seems he’s already captured your attention.” They murmur.

His ears fill with static, and it seems to force its way into his throat, choking him as he struggles to breathe without air. He turns in the Void, and the white that greets him is blinding. He gasps and chokes, inhaling quickly as he bends over double, eyes squinted shut against the light assaulting his eyes.

“My child.” A voice calls out, and he looks up. A stag stands across from him, giant in stature, and he looks down upon him in something that could be disdain. “Why do you fight me so?”

“Because you're a piece of shit.” He spits. “Don't you know that?”

He laughs, and it presses in on his eardrums, threatening to burst them as he bends beneath the pressure of his laugh. “You're an amusing one.” He doesn't move towards him. “Though I’d appreciate a little more respect.” A force presses at his back, pushing into his wings. He drops to his knees, wincing at the bones shift with the force. The pressure on his back increases, until he’s almost forehead down on the ground, bowing to the God in front of him.

“Do this often?” He asks, and the pressure evaporates. He’s back on his feet a moment later, hands grasping for a sword he no longer has.

“Sometimes.” The stag nods his head. “But surely you can feel the power here, yes? It surrounds us all.” The ‘power’ Aeor is speaking of feels overwhelming, pressing in on his senses as he stands there and pushing him backwards.

“I can feel it.”

“But wouldn't you like to embrace it? To become one with it? Surely you wish you could feel this power beneath your hands? You could make the whole world bow to you with such an advantage.”

“And if I don't want that?”

Aeor pauses. “Whyever wouldn't you want that? Power is the only thing you truly need. Knowledge and wisdom are power, as is victory. What could turn you away from such power?”

“Corruption.” He spits. “You're a prime fucking example of that. Look at you, prancing around there as though you can lord over us all, simply because you have some power.”

“You’ll do good to remember yourself, mortal.” He warns.

“And you would do good to remember yourself. You've been gone for eons, and no one, no one, has attempted to retrieve you from whatever stasis you found yourself in. You were a forgotten and dusty memory.”

“Enough.” Aeor slams a hoof down, and the space around him shakes, sparks flying from his hoof. He stares at him, unimpressed.

“Your tales of power don't impress me. They just make me pity you. Truly, what kind of life must it be to depend on those mortals to survive? To have been banished by those very same mortals?”

“You could have been a Champion.” Aeor announces, and he falls silent, words sticking in his throat. “You and your brother were meant to face off against each other, and you were my Champion. It brought you glory and it brought you fame.”

“And I'm sure it brought me death and sorrow just the same.”

“As is life.”

“I'm living without it currently. And I plan to keep on doing so.” He scowls up at the deer.

Aeor doesn't watch him, instead, his eyes dart past him, narrowing in what can only be disdain. “Aster.” He spits, and when Scott turns, he finds Pixl, standing a few feet behind him. His trident is sparking, smoke curling from the ends of it.

Pixl smiles at him, and he grins back. “Old friend.” Pixl greets Aeor with a bow that feels too mocking to be genuine before stepping past him, pushing him a few feet back. “It has been a while, hasn't it?”

“No thanks to you.” The deer snorts. “I suppose you've come to ask for an apology?”

“Something like that.” Pixl’s fingers twitch behind his back as he speaks, and he watches as he points to his right. Pixl begins to walk to the left, chattering on about something he doesn't understand. Aeor watches him, head turning as Pixl rounds him.

He steps to the right, watching as Aeor continues to focus on Pixl. He doesn't miss the dripping trail of gold that follows him, splotchy patches making their way across the pristine floors. Aeor hasn't noticed, and when he shifts it’s quiet.

Pixl watches him, nodding his head upwards. His claws clack against the floor, and Aeor’s ears twitch backwards. He lunges as his head turns, jaws closing easily around the deer’s neck. He struggles, legs kicking out and scouring down his sides. He clenches his jaws tighter, feeling the warmth surrounding his face building.

He pulls away when Aeor stops twitching, shifting back a few moments later. His legs give way for the second time that day, and he sits down with a small bump. He stares at the corpse of Aeor, watching as the golden blood pools from his neck, pulsing out in shimmering waves from a still beating heart.

He wipes a hand across his face, only succeeding in smearing golden blood along his hand.

“Scott?” He glances up, eyes wide. He feels tears building in the corners, and Pixl’s eyebrows press together, eyes worried. “Are you okay?”

“I just killed someone.” He gasps, drawing in a shuddering breath as he tries to wipe away the blood on his face again. It drips down his chin, still warm as it stains the front of his shirt. “I just killed a God.”

“You definitely did.” Pixl shuffles in front of him, blocking his view of Aeor’s corpse with swirling robes. He grabs one of his hands in his own. “I just need you to breathe for me, okay?”

He nods, eyes still staring at Pixl’s shoulder. He can see Aeor’s corpse still, can see the waves that pool from his neck and pulsate in a way that blood should not be able to. A few tears slip down his cheeks, and the warmth of them is soon lost amongst the mess of blood on his face.

He sucks in a deep breath, and Pixl murmurs something, pulling him to his feet. He settles an arm over his shoulder and pulls him in a direction, still speaking words that he cannot hear.

He blinks, drawing in a shuddering breath. The snow beneath him is cold, and it has been slowly soaking into his clothes for the past however long. He glances down, watching as Jimmy continues to sleep. He watches his face contort, something like anger flashing across it.

He doesn't know how he came to be here, but when he glances up, he sees Pixl wandering around the field of people. Pausing over a few. He watches his mouth move with words he cannot hear, making a small sign in the air, before moving on. He’s watched him do it before, and he watches him do it now, making his slow way around the field that had been white the previous morning.

The snow around him is churned up and crimson, spattered with flecks of gold. He wipes a hand through the snow, leaving a long streak of gold behind him. He doesn't look at it. The image threatens to burn itself into his retina.

Jimmy shoots up, and he shoots back. Jimmy gasps, and when he turns to face him, his eyes only grow rounder. He hears someone else breathing behind him, but he doesn't get the chance to turn and look at them as Jimmy seizes his face in his hands.

He feels dried blood come flaking away, and Jimmy gives him a worried look. “It’s not mine.” He reassures, which, he hopes that’s obvious. He doesn't have gold blood.

“Who’s is it?” Jimmy asks, whispering as Pixl makes his way back over to them.

He looks away before replying. “Aeor’s.”

“Ah.” He looks back at Jimmy and watches as he nods. “Piece of shit had it coming to him.”

“Jimmy.”

“What?” Jimmy gives him a puzzled look. “He had it coming.”

“That doesn't mean you can say it.”

“What’s he gonna do? Kill me? I don't think you can do that from beyond the grave.”

“You're incorrigible.” He laughs, bringing their foreheads to rest against each other.

“You like me anyways.” Jimmy grins, connecting their lips in a chaste kiss that still leaves him reeling.

“I’d really rather you didn't do that.” Lizzie says, and he flushes, hunching forward so she can't see his face.

“Shove off Lizzie.” Jimmy scoffs. “I've had to watch you suck face with Joel for the past several years.”

“In private places.”

“The main entrance to the Matral Palace is not a private place.”

“Just stop it.” Lizzie sniffs, and he hears a rustling of fabric. He pulls his head away from Jimmy’s chest, giving him a small smile as he leaves behind a large smear of blood.

“I think I’d be really annoyed right now if you didn't look one bad word away from a breakdown.” Jimmy says, looking down at his ruined shirt with a frown.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks.

“You're covered in blood, and you look as though you're about to start crying.” Jimmy says. “Are you alright?”

He hears someone else gasp behind them, and Jimmy's eyes dart away from his own, breaking him free from the hold. He scrambles up, pulling Jimmy with him to check on Pearl and Sausage.

The field slowly fills with noise again, as people continue to wake up. The fighting doesn't continue, instead they stand there, awkwardly watching each other. He swallows, looking around as the conversations rise in noise, buzzing around his ears like a particularly annoying bug.

His eyes scan the crowds, but even as he looks, stepping away from the small group they had formed, he still doesn't see them. He glances backwards, and they're still speaking, completely engrossed in whatever they're speaking about. He’s standing slightly away from the group, leaving them to their discussions as Joel boasts about the God he killed, and Sausage retells the story of him and his armies charging the Blood God. It makes him feel sick, and the bile returns again, making his mouth taste bitter and his tongue feel heavy in his mouth.

He takes another, and then he’s halfway up the path, slipping around the corner and back through the gates to Rivendell. The city within is desolate and bare, and he stands just inside the gates for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden silence surrounding him.

There’s only one place his brother would go. Dread fills him as he stares up at the spiralling towers, and for the first time in fourteen years he pushes the doors open. They creak, light spilling into the desolate halls.

They're silent, and his footsteps echo as he makes his way towards the throne room.

There’s a shape huddled on the floor there, knees pulled to their chest as they stare up at the twin thrones. He sits beside them, swallowing as he follows their gaze. The stained glass window above the thrones casts an image of Aeor’s antlers down onto the ground at their feet. He casts a shadow over it, fracturing the image the window is meant to create.

“I would have thought you'd been on the throne by now.” He muses, and Xornoth laughs. It’s not full of malice like it was earlier, instead it’s hollow and sad. It sounds like the brother he used to know.

“As did I. But…I couldn't.” They look up, eyes fixing on the window, on Aeor’s antlers. “My mind is so, so quiet. I can think, and I can be confident the thought is my own rather than a God trying to influence me.” When they look at him, their eyes are watery, tears brimming in the corners. “For the first time in years my mind is quiet and I don't want the throne. I've never wanted the throne.”

“Then why come back?” He asks, and he’s afraid for the answer as Xornoth continues to stare at him, silent. Their eyes are more purple than before, a shade that he remembers. “Why return if you didn't want the throne?”

“I wanted to see my brother again. I wanted to see my brother one last time.”

He feels his breath hitch, inhaling jerkily as Xornoth turns away, head bowing again. “You can remain in Rivendell, if you wished.” He offers, and it’s stupid, and his Council will definitely have words to discuss with him later.

“No.”

“No?” He hears his own voice break, and they shudder.

“No.” They confirm. “To try and mend our relationship would be like trying to fix a sheet of glass.” They sniff, and he watches a tear slide down their cheek. “There would be pieces missing, and we would only end up hurting ourselves and each other.”

He watches them stand, remaining sat, staring up at the throne and pretending they're both children again, sat watching their parents. “You don't have to go.” He tries, even though he knows his plea falls on deaf ears. The room around him is empty, and he knows Xornoth disappeared long before his final plea.

He bows his head, sat in front of the thrones that have sat empty for fourteen years. He almost gets deja vu, of another time he sat here, utterly alone in the icy peaks of Rivendell. Again.