#which feels kind of selfish as a stance to take but man

[liloinkoink]

probs won’t be reblogging too much stuff abt wilbur anymore considering it seems uh. somewhat obvious w later posts and stuff that the person shubble was talking abt was wilbur

if i do post anything abt wilbur it’ll probs be exclusively c!wilbur where he’s like, mostly in the bg or just not the focus of whatever posts he’s in, tho i don’t know how much i want to do even that

we may not have direct proof of a name, but with what we do have i just don’t feel particularly comfortable about posting abt him. if his name is cleared id be pretty happy to pick him back up, honestly, bc ive really enjoyed his stuff, but as of rn… not so much

[rocknroll7575]

Team ARCZ is... crazy (Pt.1)

Part 2/Part 3/Part 4

XXX

Arslan threw a right hook, and then quickly delivered a kick to his left side, before producing three quick punches into the boy's torso.

Jaune slowly staggered back in pain, each blow felt as if Arslan was not hitting his Aura, but was physically getting him.

Jaune looked back at the Lioness with a hurt glare, only to see her coming in with another punch. Jaune tried to block the strike, but a single punch from Arslan sent shocks through his body, causing him to stumble back and lose his defensive stance.

Jaune glared at Arslan as he sagged and took deep breaths. 'Damn it! She hits like a damn bull! I can hardly block any of her attacks without feeling almost every limb go numb!' Jaune told himself.

Arslan didn't let up as she charged at the blonde, and in the blink of an eye, stood in front of Jaune with her right fist pulled back, which she quickly thrust forward, delivering a devastating blow to the young knight's gut.

Arslan then shifted and punched him in the face with a left punch, sending Jaune stumbling back one more.

"This Job takes a special kind of person, if you ain't got a few screws loose, you won't make it long,"

Those words of Qrow rang through Jaune's mind as he continued to be hit.

"When in a fight, you must be selfish Jaune, otherwise you'll lose,"

Ozma's own words also swirled inside the young man's head.

Arslan then spun and delivered a high kick to Jaune's rib, before pulling back and swiping Jaune's feet out from under him, causing him to fall on his back to the ground, however, Arslan quickly towered over him and pushing as much Aura as she could in her fist, she struck him hard in the chest.

Jaune felt all the air leave his lungs and then felt himself falling into unconsciousness.

Jaune's eyes felt heavy as he breathed in deeply, trying hard to regain as much oxygen as he could back into his lungs. 'I... need the resolve...' Jaune told himself. 'No more holding back... No more...!'

Arslan began walking away, believing that she had knocked out Jaune after a couple of blows, as even with his Aura at 50%, he barely stood a chance.

Her strikes struck his aura hard enough that while he was not touched physically, the kinetic energy and power from her strikes still transferred through.

He would wake up with a few large bruises and was going to be very sore and stiff for a while, she was sure of-

"Ugh! Damn that hurt!"

Arslan's eyes widened as she turned around quickly, and when she did, she saw Jaune, sitting up and slowly getting back on his feet. 'Impossible...! He's getting back up despite all the damage I've dealt!?' Arslan thought in shock.

From the stands, Jaune's team was amazed by their leader getting back up after the beating he had just taken.

The rest of PAYS was also Impressed.

Yang smirked, "Heh! Looks like Vomit Boy's got more spunk in him than I thought!" She praised.

Pyrrha nodded, "He certainly can take a beating," She said.

Weiss huffed, "Please, he's simply a fool, can't the dolt realize he can't win?" She asked.

Arslan looked at him and simply kept up her unimpressed expression, "Stand down, you've lost," She stated.

Jaune smirked, "Have I?" Jaune asked, his tone full of amusement. "I'm still standing and hey, I didn't hear no bell!" Jaune said.

Arslan glared, "Why continue, you're clearly in immense pain," She said.

Jaune chuckled, "You bet I am! But no pain no gain, right!" Jaune cried, letting out a little chuckle in the process as well. "I ain't done! So let's keep going!" He cried as he took a fighting stance.

Arslan was taken about by the sudden change of demeanor within Jaune.

Up in the stands, Reese looked baffled, "Please tell me those punches gave him some sort of brain damage!" Reese cried. "Because there is no way he's sane right now!"

"We'll have Professor Peach take a look at him when this is all over," Cardin said with a smirk.

May shook her head, "he's so dead," She said.

Back in the arena, Jaune smirked wildly, "Come on!" He cried.

Arslan sighed, "Very well," She said.

With frightening speed, Arslan rushed forward and when in range, quickly sent a punch at him, which struck him in the stomach, however, just as he was struck, Jaune smirked and bashed the bottom of his handle into Arslan's face.

Arslan's head didn't budge but she felt the impact and was shocked by the amount of force she felt behind it.

Arslan then struck Jaune's sword hand, disarming him. Arslan then grabbed both sides of his head and headbutted him, stunning him long enough that he let go of his shield.

Arslan was about to take a step back before she felt Jaune grab both of her wrists and he pulled her right back toward him and returned the headbutt., which not only caused his Aura to glimmer but Arslan's as well.

Arslan was once again stunned by the force and power behind Jaune's physical attack, it felt as if it shook her very soul.

With Jaune's aura weakened, it didn't protect him as much as it should so after the brutal attack, his forehead bled, but he smirked at Arslan and had a crazed expression on his face as blood fell down his face, "Let's go blow for blow! Come on! Let's embrace until one falls! Jaune cried with a crazed chuckle.

Arslan herself began to smile wickedly, as she felt a fire burst up inside of her that she had never felt before. She pulled her head back and headbutted Jaune for a second time, getting some of his blood on her but she didn't care as she felt the passion of their fight grow.

"Thank you... Jaune," Arlsan told him under her breath, "My hunger for battle is back!" She cried.

The two continued to hold onto one another as they continued to trade blow for blow with their heads, both faces getting bloodier and bloodier as each of their aura began to lower.

Before finally, Jaune's aura shattered with a final blow to Arslan's head and he let go of her arms and stumbled back, still smiling as he looked at Arslan.

Speaking of the Lioness, she two stumbled back, and Jaune's blood, and even some of her own, fell down her face, as she walked back, she felt her entire body tremble, like before, it felt like every blow Jaune delivered, rattled her soul.

Jaune chuckled lightly, "Well, I tried, but... it was a good fight, right?" He said before he fell onto his back, unconscious.

Arslan smiled at Jaune's unconscious form, he heart beating faster and faster as she looked at the man who managed to go hit-for-hit with her and reignite her passion for battle, a small blush appearing on her face, "You were... magnificent~!" She said with a smile.

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Movie Thoughts: Philip

Honestly I might be the only one, but I wanna know more about Philip in the movie. And at the very least, I am begging for a redemption arc in the sequel.

Because they fucking cut the Kensington Breakfast scene, we barely get any of Philip in the movie. And the consequence is while we know that just like the book, Philip is an antagonistic character, we're not sure about his stance on the matter.

So the thing is Philip in the book isn't homophobic. And by that I mean that in the most generous sense: Queen Mary straight up says it's unnatural, which is the textbook definition of homophobia, but Philip says, and I quote from Henry "Essentially, I gathered that he was not surprised to discover I am not the heterosexual heir I'm supposed to be, but rather surprised that I do not intend to keep pretending to be the heterosexual heir I'm supposed to be" and from the man himself "I don't care if you're gay, I care that you've made this choice with him, someone with a fucking target on his back, to be so stupid and naive and selfish as to think it wouldn't completely fuck us all!"

Philip isn't necessarily against the concept of homosexuality, he's against bringing that into their family, and is worried about the conservatives turning their backs on them because of that. In a way, his stance is closer to the King in the movie than the Queen in the book.

Other stuff we can learn about Philip from the book:

he's...kind of racist, but in the form of microaggressions (his comments on Pez during Wimbleton)

He is genuinely in love with Martha, and he's kind of a hen-pucked husband (his retelling of his and Martha's suitor photos)

He started off a people pleaser, then the Queen took that and made him an asshole (explanation of why the change of attitude after Alex and Henry's photoshoot)

He wanted Arthur's approval but never got it, and resents Arthur a bit because of that (his argument with Henry before they met with the queen)

He wants to get along with his siblings, he just kept doing it the wrong way

My point is, even though a relatively minor character, Philip's motivations and character is actually painted out pretty logically if you take a closer look. His redemption in the book, his change of attitude, it makes sense if you looks back on it.

And while I can't fault the movie for cutting down details like these, this is just the way adaptation works and Matthew did an excellent job of picking and choosing, it does leave space for questions and curiosity.

The only thing I can get out of movie Philip is 1, he also loves his wife, since they're childhood sweethearts 2, the King dismisses him 3, he didn't know Henry was gay at all.

From the deleted Breakfast scene bts from Taylor and Thomas, we know that Philip is in that scene, and that Philip sees something, and is in shock.

Bur from the bts of the Thanksgiving scene, he and Martha are at the Brownstone: he's forgiven.

So here are my questions:

Is Philip homophobic in this one? Or is he also more mad about the family aspect?

Does he, at any point in the 65 deleted scenes, act like he wants to be a brother? Like he genuinely cares about his siblings

What is he reacting to during the Breakfast scene? In the book, when Henry came out to him it was just him, Henry and later Shaan, but the Breakfast has all of the Super Five there. Is he really gonna make a scene in front of all five of them?

Why is he forgiven? What is his change of heart?

I don't know, I think it's probably just me who's wondering about him of all people. But I would really like to see more of Thomas in this role (the photobooth shoots he did with Nick and Ellie, peak sibling energy) and I'm just really interested in Henry's family dynamic in the movie-verse, given that I feel like it's less black-and-white and more... realistic? than the book? There's also part of me that's somewhat sympathetic towards Philip despite being a Henry-coded girl because I feel like if I was a less feeling person, I might have ended up just like him.

Anyway, yeah. Philip redemption arc in the sequel please!!!

[padfootastic]

Ahaha thank you for the nice comments in tags <3 i love Remus but he seems bit like a spineless people pleaser and after dating somebody who would rather lie about their feelings than have people be mildly upset with them..... I chose violence 🗡

no but ur so right because!!! i’ve been sleeping on this for a while but let’s talk about remus’ personality traits and how they have the potential to make him a bad/absent partner, at best, and an abusive one, at worst. everyone wants to turn him into this image of perfection just bc he’s such an ‘uwu victim’ figure in fanon but that’s SO far from the truth omg

(i am…just gonna put this remus character analysis under a cut bc it got unnecessarily long and i wouldn’t want u to read it if u didn’t want to lol)

so, for one, he’s manipulative. he has no combinations in twisting the truth or dodging it entirely for his own benefit. like, the man could stand in front of his dead best friend’s orphaned son & not even allude to the fact that he knew his dad. he had no problem bringing james & lily up in the most twisted ways possible to guilt/emotionally influence harry. so remus in a relationship would have the capacity to either knowingly or unknowingly manipulate his partner. the definition of gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss except more sinister.

next, his spinelessness. either as a defensive measure to deal w anti-werewolf hostility or as an innate personality trait, remus has the habit of just—not standing up for things. he looks away when his friends act like assholes, even when he’s in a position of authority (which yes, u can argue that he’s afraid of losing them but atp they’ve literally risked life & magic & azkaban for him so either way, he comes off badly—either he doesn’t mind himself, or he doesn’t fully trust their friendship, or it’s just easier to look away). in a relationship, this can manifest as bottling everything inside u until it makes u bitter or u violently unload on the other person in an entirely disproportionate manner. the dynamic would also be a bit skewed. the people pleasing u mentioned is also such a big thing that people usually overlook. when ur constantly trying to make the other person happy and don’t want to rock the boat, that is a cocktail for miscommunication and breakdown of relationships. ur also constantly putting the emotional burden of constructively dealing w issues on ur partner instead of doing it urself.

connected to his cowardice is his habit of running away when things get tough. remus is conflict avoidant; he does not like to put himself in a position where he has to take a decisive stance, especially if it’s against what others around him believe in. he runs away when things get tough, and tbh, for me, this comes from a constant spiral of self hatred & self victimisation, both of which stem from his experience as a werewolf. in every difficult situation, he centres himself & his discomfort and instead of dealing with it and moving forward for a constructive solution, he decides that stepping back from it altogether is better. which, yeah, works well for him bc he can temporarily put a pin in it but it’s kinda terrible for everyone’s who’s left behind. so i also think that remus is a profoundly selfish character who doesn’t look beyond the end of his own nose. u can imagine how those traits might manifest themselves in a relationship.

and his people pleasing!! so this might be verging on fanon but his gratitude and/or devotion to dumbledore sets an…interesting tone. it’s also another example of how he cannot conceive himself in any other term except as a victimised werewolf. the marauders did a lot for him, arguably even more than dumbledore’s token representation formula, but he never felt indebted to them the way he did for D. dumbledore also kind of makes him feel needed? validates his feelings? and that just speaks to a very twisted sense of self for me. which, again, won’t bode well for his other interpersonal relations.

also, on a very hc note, i also feel like remus just…does not have any significant capacity to love. he takes and takes and takes but doesn’t give much in return. this doesn’t even have to be an actively malicious decision, tbh, just a very self-centred one. he doesn’t realise how much he’s taking bc he’s only thinking about his own circumstances.

all of these are also just why i can’t see r/s working out in any healthy manner. remus is exactly antithetical to everything sirius is/believes in, and not even in the fun ‘opposites attract’ way. but that’s another rant no one asked for lmao

[jazzafterhours]

hawke is an honourable man, but the company he keeps is questionable. two apostates, one of which is a blood mage, and another that is an abomination. shady characters who likely deal in illicit, selfish affairs. guard-captain aveline has sebastian's respect, but even fenris is too accepting of the mages in their midst, despite knowing exactly how dangerous they are.

this is not the crowd sebastian expected to find himself fighting alongside when he offered to travel with hawke whenever the man had need of him. sebastian doesn't intend to go back on his word. he only wishes hawke were more selective with who he calls a friend.

the blood mage is among the worst. she is deceptive with her bright eyes and gentle smiles, with her unassuming stance and sweet words. she plays at being a pure being.

sebastian knows better. he has fought beside her at hawke's behest, seeing the dark power she wields in battle. abomination or not, she is something of a demon herself, luring them into a false sense of security so they might forget how monstrous she is beneath. she doesn't even try to hide her magic, she insists on advocating for its usefulness.

and she seems to have the others all wrapped around her finger.

isabela flirts with many, but with merrill, there is something undeniably tangible and charged. she claws her fingers and makes a noise like a wildcat, and merrill giggles, bringing two fingers up to her lips in a fleeting vulgar gesture. it's like the two of them are speaking a secret language about the private things that pass between them.

and merrill will say, "you haven't taken a break in a while, varric," and varric will hum low, considering, before saying, "tomorrow night, then."

aveline does not appear to have a standing engagement with the blood mage, but she looks the other way when it comes to merrill's dark, magical practices, and she protects merrill fiercely in battle. she seems to hold her in a high regard that sebastian can't parse.

unsurprisingly, the apostates have colluded as well. merrill sidles up close to anders and touches his wrist under the hem of his fraying sleeve, and he blushes even from such a simple contact.

she is a temptress, akin to a demon of desire.

while on a trip with hawke, isabela, and the blood mage, the two women exchange another one of their little flirtations, and sebastian feels he must comment.

"i pray that the others can yet see you for the seductress you are and free themselves from your treacherous claws."

isabela snorts. merrill tips her head to the side in that innocent-seeming way she does.

"seductress?" she echoes with a lopsided smile. "are you looking for some seducing, sebastian?"

sebastian blanches. "what? of course-- no."

merrill's expression smooths back out. "oh. i thought you were playing a game. i'm still working on telling when someone is using innuendo."

"playing..." sebastian mutters. she thought he was coming onto her. of his own free volition! vehemently, he adds, "that is not the man i am anymore."

isabela cuts in. "yeah, that's why you're acting all hot and bothered and your cheeks look like they could start a fire."

up at the front of the group, hawke sighs. "i don't suppose i could get the three of you to care about the fact that we're about to walk into a mercenary ambush? is anyone keeping an eye out for traps?"

"well," isabela says, "if you mean the kind of trap that clamps down like a vice, nice and tight--"

then a squad of mercenaries charges them, and sebastian is saved from having to address the unexpected turn this conversation has taken.

*

he can't stop thinking about it. of the promise she makes, of the heat in isabela's gaze and the blush on anders' face and varric's easy compliance. she has earned this from all of them, she has--

sebastian takes a knee in front of andraste's statue in the chantry and forces his mind to clear, to focus on his prayers.

this isn't the life he chose for himself, it isn't what he wanted at the time, but at the time, he hadn't known what he really wanted. he hadn't known what he needed. he'd thought of nothing but himself, of wasteful activities that served no greater good. being sent to the chantry, although not his choice initially, has turned his life around. he has been given a second chance to bathe in the maker's light.

no beautiful, trickster blood mage will draw him into the darkness.

*

merrill never assumes wrong again. she never says anything untoward, at least not to sebastian. she is respectful, sebastian supposes. or maybe she recognizes that she cannot manipulate him, and simply doesn't waste the effort.

sebastian doesn't always join the others for card night at the hanged man. these nights are always full of drinking and gambling, and often crude jokes. this isn't the atmosphere that's good for sebastian anymore. he doesn't wish to be tempted.

tonight, he goes. he is the only one at the table without a tankard of ale, and he has little coin to bet, so the others accept him as a non-gambling participant.

merrill is across from him at the table, and she smiles at him, but in her usual gentle way instead of that crooked, coy thing from that day when things got out of hand.

sebastian still can't stop thinking about it, no matter how much he tries.

it has been years now since he enjoyed the company of another. the vow of chastity had chafed, at first. he's grown to understand what it means to live a life without distraction and personal pleasure, but at first--

he'd been angry. shamed. humiliated. despairing for the future he never got to have, as the chantry became a cage so soon into his adulthood. he wonders, is it so wrong to--

something nudges against his shin. sebastian looks up and sees merrill watching him with her big, worried eyes, having found his leg with her foot beneath the table. her expression seems to ask if he's okay.

sebastian isn't sure that he is.

whatever merrill sees in his face, it makes her fold her hand of cards together and set them down on the table.

"it's been a long day," she says when the others glance her way in question. "i could use an early night."

then she smiles at sebastian again, wide and inviting.

she stands to a chorus of goodbyes from their friends, still looking sebastian's way while she pushes her chair back in at the table.

when she goes, sebastian waits only a handful of minutes before following her lead, claiming he needs to be back for a late service at the chantry. varric looks at him with a pointed gaze that seems to say he sees through the lie, and if he's planning any harm to merrill, he will pay for it.

not tonight, sebastian thinks.

he goes, and instead of ascending the great steps towards hightown, he turns down the streets to the alienage.

merrill is standing in front of the vhenadahl, her hands clasped together at the small of her back as she lifts her face to regard the old, sacred branches of her people's tree. she appears small in front of the wide trunk, but sebastian knows better than to ever consider her harmless.

when sebastian approaches, she steps back from the tree and gestures at him to follow. obediently, he does. he is unsure how to feel about that, but it doesn't stop him from entering her house and letting her shut the door behind them, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

"you can leave any time you like," merrill says as if she's reading his thoughts.

sebastian questions whether such a thing is possible with blood magic, but he doesn't think so. merrill is, perhaps, just good at knowing what others need.

"you took a vow, didn't you?" she asks.

it should be an accusation, but she doesn't say it like one. yes, he took a vow, and here he is planning to break it, to give in, and to her, of all people, a blood mage who sleeps around like there's nothing wrong with it, like she cares for nothing except--

"sebastian?"

"i--" he says. "i shouldn't be here."

"why not?"

because this is wrong. because it will make him an oathbreaker. because the chantry desires him chaste and focused. right now, those don't seem like very compelling reasons, and he's not sure why. they suddenly feel empty, flimsy.

"i don't know."

merrill purses her lips, regarding him. it's a minute before she speaks again. "if you want to stop, you tell me so, okay? say 'stop', at any point, and we stop."

sebastian has heard such things before. watchwords and negotiations and boundaries laid out on the table. he'd mostly only bothered when his partner wanted to do so. other times, he didn't care what his partner did with him, as long as he felt something good in the end. he'd assumed merrill to be similar--wicked and wild, hungry and insatiable. he misjudged her in at least a couple of ways.

"okay," he says, because she's pointedly waiting for him to reply.

"good." she smiles at him. "how about you start by taking off your armour?"

she words it like a suggestion, but there's an edge in her voice that sounds almost like a command. it is whatever sebastian wants to make of it.

he takes it as an order, and reaches for the straps of his bracer. while he works them loose and slips the white and gold metal off, merrill takes a seat in one of her rickety chairs, a respectful distance away, nowhere near close enough to touch. she merely observes, a soft smile on her face and a spark of interest in her eyes.

his bow and quiver next, then the pauldron. they join the bracer on merrill's area rug. sebastian tugs his gloves off, dropping them among the growing pile. he hesitates, swallowing a lump in his throat, before working off the chestpiece and the chain mail beneath it.

as he unbuckles his belt, he can't help but ask, "will you be disrobing anytime soon?"

her smile grows. "not soon, but i will. i want to focus on you for now."

sebastian blushes, unused to having such attention after years without. he forgot what it was like to have someone preoccupied with him and only him, liking the look of his body, eager to have more of it. eager to have him.

he stoops to lay his belt on the floor, then continues with his armour under merrill's watchful eye.

she finally stands when he's down to just his plain shirt and breeches, coming up in front of him. "may i?"

sebastian nods, then shivers when she slips her hands beneath his shirt and presses them to his bare chest, sliding up, taking the shirt with her as it gathers upon her wrists.

without a word, sebastian lifts his arms and lets her push the shirt up and off. she pauses again with her fingers at the strings of his breeches, but all it takes is a swift nod from him for her to untie them and push down, breeches and smallclothes together.

sebastian steps out of them when they pool on the floor, and then he's naked before merrill, a sharp contrast in their state of dress.

merrill spreads her fingers over his abdomen, feeling his muscles. she raises one hand to run it along his drawing arm, feeling those muscles as well. she looks up, meeting sebastian's eyes, then goes to the tips of her toes to kiss him.

in all his imaginings, sebastian never expected a kiss. her lips are warm and a little chapped, full and gentle. sebastian has not even had this during his years at the chantry, and a wave of need crashes over him, a dam broken down in one fell swoop. he circles his arm around her waist to pull her closer, tilting his head to kiss her deeper. she responds in kind, making a little pleased noise that stirs sebastian further.

being with another person like this is galvanizing, and he has missed it.

merrill pulls away far sooner than sebastian would like, but her smile is still kind and soothing, granting him patience.

"i would like to try something, if you're interested," she says.

equal parts apprehension and anticipation course through him. he hasn't forgotten who she is, what she's capable of, but she hasn't done a single thing to make him consider saying 'stop'.

"i might be interested," he says noncommittally, "what do you have in mind?"

merrill flits away with a bounce in her step, opening a chest to retrieve something from inside. a strip of forest green fabric. turning back to face sebastian with the cloth in her hands, she says, "i want to blindfold you."

apprehension grows to overtake anticipation, even as sebastian eyes the cloth, already considering it. not being able to see her, to see any touch before it happens, will leave him vulnerable. he hesitates to put himself in such a position around a blood mage, but right now, merrill isn't a blood mage. she's a person offering him a release he has been without for years, and has yet to take anything for herself. even this is not a demand, but an offer.

"very well," he says.

her smile broadens. "your hands will be free. you can push it off whenever you like, if you need to."

sebastian nods, that knot of apprehension slowly coming undone, quieting to a normal amount of nervousness for a first-time experience.

merrill walks around him, and already sebastian feels hyper-aware of exactly where she's standing, knowing that he will soon not be able to see her, only hear her. he can almost feel her proximity like a physical thing, the space between them carrying new energy like he has witnessed her with the others.

she rests a hand on his back, right in the middle between his shoulders, an oddly soothing touch. sebastian relaxes under it, and only then does she loop the cloth around his head to secure it across his eyes. the light leaves the room instantly, the heavy and dark fabric blocking it effectively.

the vow he recently made in the chantry floats back into his conscious mind: he would not let temptation pull him back into the darkness. now here he stands, allowing an apostate to pull the cloth over his eyes, plunging him into the void.

merrill's hand presses to his back again. "are you alright?"

sebastian sucks in a deep breath, swallowing down the tightness in his throat. he wants this, there's no denying it. he wishes he could just expel the voice in the back of his head for a little while.

a surprising amount of honesty makes its way into his response. "i am trying to be."

unexpectedly, lips press to his shoulder, warm and a little chapped. he jumps in surprise, but the shock is short-lived.

"i think your willingness to try is very admirable," she tells him, sounding just as honest. "thank you for telling me. i understand what this means for you."

sebastian's next exhale comes out stuttered, a wave of emotion crashing through him. she is so much more understanding than he thought--at most, he has always interpreted her demeanour to be a manipulation, but if that were the case, she's already sufficiently caught him in her web, and all she's doing is praising him. she's allowing him to process at his own pace, which isn't something sebastian thinks anyone else has ever done for him.

on unsteady but determined steps, sebastian turns, holding his hands out to find merrill and guide himself. he manages to find her hips, the warm fabric and leather of her armour beneath his palms. he ducks down, only a little, aware that he can't be exactly sure of where her face is, and he'd rather not embarrass himself with clumsiness.

she doesn't leave him unmoored. her hand cups the side of his neck, and she responds to his wordless plea for a kiss. it's a deep kiss, wet and hot and encompassing. she nips at his bottom lip, curls her tongue across the roof of his mouth, exploring him, and it leaves him shivering, growing hard between his legs.

when they part to catch their breath, he hears her take a step back, feels her hands sweep down his arms to his hands. sebastian lets her tug him across the room, unable to see where they're going.

she leads him far enough, with a bit of a turn, that he thinks they've left the main room. the wood panelling floor is rough on his soles, but her hands are soft, and she doesn't let him trip, doesn't let him stumble into anything.

they come to a stop, and sebastian hears the light creak of a bed frame. after a moment, merrill pulls him closer again, and he knows to move carefully, until he can rest a knee onto the mattress and follow her.

she guides him to lie down, careful urging rather than shoving. sebastian ends up on his back, laid straight out, while she seems to be sitting by his hip, from the dip in the mattress and the touch of her knee against his side.

the shifting of weight signals when she leans over him. her hand presses to his abdomen, and her lips brush over his collarbone. she leaves a series of chaste kisses across his skin: the hollow of his throat, the slope of his shoulder, right on his sternum, just below a nipple. tingling sensation remains like a mapped constellation.

although his hands are free, he's unsure what to do with them other than curling his fingers in the blanket beneath them; he wouldn't know where to reach for her, and doesn't want to disrupt her.

her fingers trace his hip bone, coming to his side and sliding down to his thigh. he doesn't expect her next kiss above his navel.

"you're very lovely," she murmurs against his flushed skin.

'lovely' isn't a word sebastian has ever received before. he's had partners compliment his body or how he uses it, but he was more often the one doing the complimenting, and still, no one ever chose the word merrill does. the way she says it, it feels good.

her hand pushes harder against him as she moves, and a moment later, sebastian finds her seated comfortably on his thighs. she's still fully clothed, her wrapped leather leggings smooth to the touch.

she drifts her fingers down both his arms, taking one of his wrists to lift it off the bed. she kisses a line along the inside of his forearm, then over his knuckles.

sebastian gasps in surprise when her mouth closes around two fingers, silky tongue fit between them. experimentally, he curls his fingertips down on it and drags them back to the tip before pushing them deeper into her mouth again. he's rewarded with a faint sound of pleasure that reverberates around his fingers.

her reaction amplifies his own; he has always found satisfaction in sharing such intimacy. his parents would call it a shameful indulgence. the chantry would call it a selfish distraction. he only wants to connect with another, to know someone inside and out, to feel good, and to make someone else feel good with him.

after a few more passes of her tongue along his fingers, merrill pulls back, though she keeps holding onto his hand, her index finger across his pulse point. his heartbeat is loud in his ears, even more so for his lack of sight to distract him from it.

"i'm going to get undressed now," she tells him.

it's something of a promise that makes need flow through him. he wets his bottom lip, clutches the blanket between his fingers. he nods against the pillow.

he feels her move, and expects her to stand, but not to press a firm parting kiss to his lips before she does so.

then her presence is out of his reach, but not gone. her footsteps don't recede far, and he can hear the shift of fabric as she removes her clothes. he turns his face towards her, even though the blindfold obscures everything; he just can't help but seek her out in some way.

she steps further away, perhaps to set her clothes aside. sebastian shifts on the bed, feeling untethered and restless without her touch. the darkness feels more prominent when he's alone, waiting and anticipating, thinking too much.

"sebastian," she says from a slight distance away. "i'm still here."

unconsciously, he relaxes, soothed. her voice is lyrical, light, like a wind chime rustled gently in the breeze. he isn't alone here at all, and he knows she will not leave him. he cannot see her, but he trusts that she's there, and that she will remain.

footsteps approach, and her hand comes to settle on his chest. sebastian instinctively relaxes further, lifting his face to where she must approximately be standing.

"do you want to continue?" she asks.

the question is a surprise; he hasn't said stop, his cock is hard between his legs from her leaving kisses and touches all across his body, just his being here at all is a declaration in itself that he wants this enough to break a vow and seek the company of an apostate.

but she asked it with a weight of seriousness, and so he pays it its due, taking a moment to think, truly, about what he wants.

and he realizes that what he wants hasn't mattered in a long time. he was sent away because it was what his parents wanted. grand cleric elthina was understanding to begin with, but she made her disapproval well-known in the end, too, when he chose to prioritize avenging his family over his service to the chantry. he has been shaped, he has been at the whim of others, he has not even allowed himself to think about seeking personal pleasure, until merrill.

"yes," he says breathily. "yes, i want to... to feel--"

words fail him, as he's no longer used to asking for what he wants, suddenly overwhelmed with merrill's consideration.

her hand comes to his face, startling him, but not in a bad way. she draws her knuckles from his cheekbone down along his jaw, caressing him like no one has done before.

unexpectedly, sebastian feels safe. in the darkness, there is only her closeness, her touch, her care. he need not think of anything but her. in the maker's light, he is on display, scrutinized, forced to act a certain way, but in the calm dark with merrill, she only asks him to be true to himself. "please," he murmurs.

her thumb passes over his cheek, then she pulls away, but sebastian doesn't feel the loss of her like he did when she got undressed. he knows she's still there, that she is only moving to join him.

it was wrong of him to liken her to a desire demon. he has felt the cloying touch of a desire demon, and it had been twisted and sharp, insidious, sticking in him like barbs. merrill is soft and grounding, she offers him all this without it leaving gouges, without it coming at a price. he is not relinquishing anything to her, not in the same way he has to the chantry. he is not relinquishing part of himself, he is only putting himself in her gentle hands.

knees settle on either side of his waist, bare skin to bare skin. her hand curls around his cock, an action that he should have anticipated, and yet takes him enough by surprise that he jolts up hard, groaning as the sensation sparks through him. no one has touched him this intimately in so long that he's already left breathless, feeling like he would be rendered unseeing even without the blindfold, as overcome as he is.

"merrill," he gasps, a storm of swirling winds inside of him. need and elation and shame and confusion. he wants, shouldn't want, doesn't want to disappoint, isn't sure who he doesn't want to disappoint--

"it's alright, lethallin," merrill says as she continues sweeping her palm along his length. "let go. i have you."

sebastian bucks into her hand, a whine falling from his lips. there is nothing but her touch and a sense of being cared for, all of it mounting quickly with each caress.

it has been too long for him to resist his climax, as much as the blush across his cheeks is tinged with some embarrassment alongside the desire and warmth. it overflows from him almost without warning, leaving him bowed taut and enraptured. merrill just continues sliding her fingers around him to ease him through it, gentling when she correctly suspects that he's becoming oversensitive.

the conflicting thoughts return as his body relaxes, mind clearing enough to think of more than just merrill's touch. with this, he has officially, fully broken his vow. he has done the very thing that played a part in his family sending him away. he has turned his back on all his growth, has given into temptation.

and he has not felt so good, so at peace, in years.

it's backwards.

"sebastian?"

her voice draws his focus, calming the storm. he makes a faint noise, words still beyond him.

merrill rubs her thumbs into his hips in soothing circles. "you did very well. you've been so open with me. i like seeing you have pleasure, i like seeing the real you. being able to experience this with you is wonderful, you know."

the words flow over him like cleansing water, steadily sluicing away the tumultuous thoughts. she's right--this version of him is more real than the one the chantry made him into, for better or worse. she even approves, and her opinion means much more to him than he ever thought possible before tonight.

"i was a disgrace," sebastian whispers.

her hand cups his cheek. "i did not know you back then, but i sincerely doubt it."

she has such conviction. in hindsight, sebastian does know that he was going too far back then, but it was more complicated than him simply being an unruly young man ruining his family's reputation. he wants to believe he would have listened, if his parents merely expressed concern instead of sending him away, but that was not their way. it never had been, and he had always been a spare, easy to cast away. perhaps merrill is more right than they ever were.

tentatively, he reaches out for her, finding her thighs braced on either side of him. he runs his hands up them to her waist, pausing there just to hold her.

"i'm sorry i ever thought so ill of you, merrill."

he feels her shifting, and lifts his face to meet what he can feel will be a kiss. it's light and sweet. "i understand," she says, her lips still ghosting against his own. "you still gave this a chance."

she is more forgiving than anyone he has ever known. sebastian captures her lips again, pouring his gratitude and affection into it, wanting to show her that he doesn't regret this, that she has given him something good, and he knows that, despite the confusion his time with chantry has wrought. the ingrained shame is already fading, replaced with the assurance that there is nothing harmful in what they're doing, when she has been so careful and encouraging with him.

sebastian intends to be kinder to her in return. he slides his hands around her hips to her back, drawing her closer into an embrace as he kisses her again, able to sink into the sensation of their closeness without being conflicted about it. her body is warm, and strong even in her litheness. she is holding herself in such a way to avoid pressing her cunt to his cock--so, so careful and considerate--but he doesn't need her to do that anymore. he wants to feel her, and give her pleasure.

wrapping an arm around her hips, he pulls them together, feeling the curls of hair and gathered slick. at his wordless invitation, she rolls against him, breathing out a sigh against his lips. they keep kissing and roving their hands over each other, slowly moving together.

it doesn't take much to bring him back to full hardness, his body still aching for more after long years of denial. sebastian presses his thumbs into merrill's hips, guiding her, and she responds easily, taking him in hand to align them.

a silent gasp builds in sebastian's throat. the blindfold makes the sensation more acute; for a breathless moment, his mind blanks, hooked only on merrill tight and wet around him.

she kisses him, teeth dragging across his bottom lip when she pulls back, after. her hands press to his chest, sliding downward, and he can feel her straightening up, her thighs clenching against his hips. slowly, she begins to move, and sebastian matches her languid pace, thrusting up to meet her. he settles his hands on her thighs, kneading his fingers into her skin, feeling his way upward to her waist. in his mind's eye, he creates the vague image of her, beautifully poised above him, skin flush. he hasn't gotten to see her naked, yet--he feels her, instead, finding the curves of her muscles, the jut of her hipbones, a couple spots that are rougher with scar tissue.

he can hear her breath shudder as he runs his hands over her, feel her push down harder on his cock. sebastian wishes he could see her, and yet he doesn't regret the cloth over his eyes, accentuating every touch and allowing him to be one with her, to think of nothing but her and how good it feels.

he draws his hands up to her breasts, delighting in the moan he gets when he thumbs over her nipples. she leans forward into his hands as she grinds her hips down, fingers clawing on his abdomen.

they both move a little quicker, merrill's thighs squeezing hard around him and him snapping his hips up to meet her. he presses his fingertips into the soft skin of her breasts, then drags them down to sweep through the hair around her folds, wet with her slick. her hips stutter when he pushes his thumb against her; she thrusts down and forward, her weight shifting in a way that makes him imagine her arching back, seeking the exact right position of their bodies together.

her palms land on his thighs, arms back to hold herself up. sebastian thrusts hard, and she lets out a needy cry, her nails digging into his skin again. sebastian's heartbeat strikes hard, breath caught at the sounds of her pleasure.

"merrill," he breathes like a prayer, clutching at her hips. "let me feel you, you feel so good."

she jolts, sinking down and clenching around him. each of her breaths is like a gasp, shaky and desperate.

and she comes with a shiver sebastian can feel radiating between them, her body tight with it. sebastian slows his thrusts to a coaxing roll as her climax comes in waves, a wondrous wet heat around his cock.

when she begins to settle, sebastian leans up and wraps his arms around her back, need driving him. he flips them over, pinning merrill into her mattress, and fucks into her slick, still wrapped around her--wanting her close, fully against him.

she readily hooks her legs around his hips, holding him in return, urging him on. her hands dive into his hair, mussing the strands around the knot of the blindfold. with all his senses--save sight--full of her, sebastian finds his second release, clutching her close and pressing his face into the curve of her neck. he breathes against her skin, laboured and satisfied.

this time, his mind is not divided. he feels more whole than ever.

gently, he draws away from her, shifting to lie at her side. she rolls with him, keeping her arm around his back.

for a moment, they catch their breath together, merrill's fingers sweeping lightly along his spine. then, merrill brings her hand up to his nape.

"i'm going to take the blindfold off now, okay?"

sebastian nods, tilting his head back into her touch. he feels her reach for the knot in the fabric, careful not to pull at his hair when she works it loose.

when it's pulled away, sebastian squints his eyes open, but the room is lit only with candles, and doesn't pain him. in the faint glow, he regards merrill's face right in front of his own, her skin flushed and hair dishevelled, a sweet smile on her face.

it's an infectious smile, and sebastian feels lighter than he has in a long time; he smiles back.

even so, she asks, "how are you feeling?"

he understands that she wants to check on him, just as she wanted to be sure he knew he could stop this at any time. "incredible," he answers honestly. "and yourself?"

she beams. "much the same."

she brushes her fingers along his jaw, nearly making him want to close his eyes, but as soothing as it is, he wants to take in the sight of her now that he can.

they lie together for another minute before merrill leans in to kiss him on the forehead, then turns and stands up, going to a table on the other side of the room. sebastian watches her retrieve a pitcher of water and two cups, filling them both and bringing them back, holding one out.

propping himself up on his elbow, sebastian accepts the cup gratefully, only now realizing how parched he is.

merrill sits beside him, both of them sipping the water until the cups are empty and set away on the nightstand.

"i'm glad we could do this," merrill says. "it's much nicer to have an understanding, isn't it?"

it is. sebastian still doesn't know what to think of blood magic, but he has a good idea of what to think of merrill, and she doesn't line up with the story the chantry tells. she is no manipulative temptress--she is every bit the kind woman she has always seemed. he has now felt something with her that he has never felt with another, has never felt before at all. he can't thank her enough for that, he can only do better to understand her. she has earned his trust; if she is as careful with her magic as she was with him, that is something to be respected.

"the version of you i had in my head is but a pale mirage," he says. that version was born of chantry creed and cautionary tales. there are many things about his service to the chantry that he has a new perspective on--or an old perspective that was quashed and buried, now brought to the surface again. "it's good to see you with my own eyes."

merrill grins, reaching out to run her thumb along his cheekbone, just beneath where the blindfold sat. "you are welcome to come see me whenever you like."

it hadn't occurred to sebastian to wonder at whether or not this was a one-time thing. from what he can tell, merrill and their friends enjoy time together on a regular basis. he could not have fathomed that he might fit into that equation. when he came home with merrill earlier in the night, he wasn't even sure he'd follow through with this once, let alone make a habit of it.

but he does want to, and wanting doesn't make him feel as wrong as it did before tonight. he isn't the same man he was in starkhaven, nor is he exactly what the chantry made him into. he'd like to explore who he can be when he's honest with himself, and he sees that merrill is someone he can be himself around.

"then i will," he promises.

merrill smiles again, drawing her fingers down his arm. "would you like to stay the night?"

he shouldn't, as returning to the chantry in the morning will raise questions, but sebastian doesn't want to worry about that right now. "i would."

she leans down to kiss him, just a light, brief thing, a fleeting contact, before she stands again to approach a wash basin. wordlessly, they clean up, then merrill blows out the candles, leaving them in gentle darkness as she slips back into the bed beside him.

sebastian wraps his arm around her, and she settles against his side. entirely at ease, sebastian quickly falls asleep in her comforting presence.

[thepolyamorouspolymath]

The ghosts of penises past strikes again... twice in one month.

I finally had cut ties with M. Like deleted his contact info from EVERYWHERE so I couldn't dig it back out some time when I was feeling lonely and unattractive.

I didn't block him, because he hadn't been responding the last time I tried talking to him, and because I made a promise once to always be there for him if he needed me. He may have no sense of honor and he may never keep his word, but I'm not that person. If I PROMISE (rather than just saying I will) I fucking stick to it. I have too many broken promises and cracks in my heart from them to do otherwise.

So I'm sitting here one day chilling, working on some research, and I see the whatsapp notification on my bar. I assume it's this company that always sends me promos or a back up running. Nope, it's him.

He beats around the bush for awhile before making it clear he was looking for sex. And I said no, that he should remember my stance on casual meaningless sex. He suggested an ongoing thing getting to know each other. When I asked why he reached out to me when he could find someone easily to cheat on his gf with he gave me some bullshit. Then said how he didn't want to get back together, it'd take a lot of long conversations before we got there and I straight up laughed. For a solid 3 minutes straight. Then went why would I want to repeat the worst mistake I ever made. Not that he meant it -- those conversations would never happen unless he needed me to feel guilty about something and he was never going to want a relationship with me. It was the equivalent of the married man leaving hints he'd leave his wife for you if things worked out. I listed all the shit he pulled and he got mad, how it reminded him of how I'd berate him and never let go of anything (a, he kept doing the sane shit and b, funny how that's the same thing he said about all his exes to me way back when) and he'd just been thinking with his dick again and should find someone easier and thanks for the reminder. So I responded even his dick should have known better than to try to hook up with me after making his disdain for me clear, abd that he absolutely should find someone else bc not only did my mind not want him but I was bone dry at the idea of him ever touching me again.

Then I think he deleted whatsapp despite needing to talk to people in Europe, because his pic and stuff went but it didn't tell me I was blocked which it usually does, I think. Fucking coward.

So we'll see how long this sticks, as it's fine for him to ignore me but he can't stand when I don't want him. Hopefully forever.

Then I get a message yesterday. A guy I went out with 3 times in January or something. Guy wanted me to accept scraps of time when his wife thought he was with friends bc she wanted a don't ask don't tell. Even I had more self respect than that. Oh and he wanted a lifestyle partner, not a life partner. Not bc he loves his wife but bc he likes his life the way it is and if he could squeeze in some kink on his terms only, so much the better. I shot that shit down and called him out for being completely manipulative and selfish, qualities he thought he'd left behind and no, still the same guy he was when some other poor woman had to call him on it and I said so. I'm not shy.

He acknowledged I'd been right, apologized, asked to be friends first, and to unblock him on fet. I said I'd agree to friends, and he proceed to pull all kinds of manipulative crap in the course of one conversation -- still saying he wanted a lifestyle partner to which I asked why I'd want that now when I already turned down that same offer from the same guy months ago. I called him out on his refusal to compromise or adjust anything in his life, because I'm worth more than his leftover crumbs. He said how not many guys would drive out to the city I'm moving to and again I laughed -- does he think that a college town is devoid of men? No, most guys from the burbs probably wouldn't drive out there which is why I'm not dating at the moment and will find one out there if I want one. Fuck, with as young as I look I could probably have my pick of frat guys. I'm like that was manipulative implying I should settle for my last chance, and it wasn't subtle or accurate. Do better if you want to con me.

I'm so not interested in men. They continually disappoint me, with one exception who sadly lives too far away for more than occasional sexting and being an exceptional friend.

The ghost can start passing me right on. I can't think of a man I've dated that I feel the urge to test drive again. Thanks but I finally figured out that chasing my mistakes won't undo them and the time I spent is a sunk cost, and trying to recoup sunk costs has never ended well for anyone.

[fundeadasylum]

hi! feel free to answer or disregard, but I was curious about your thoughts on splinter's parenting in rise. i have seen some... very strong takes from every direction. it was quite different than other iterations, so i'd love your thoughts/opinions! (Also, Tales from the Med Bay has been super fun so far!)

Thhhaaaaaatttt is a question I feel I am not 100% qualified to answer.

In fact, I tend to stay out of the Good Parent Splinter/Bad Parent Splinter thing because it's such a sensitive subject matter and gets a lot of people hot under the collar. I can give some thoughts on the matter, talk a little mental health, but I don't really want to take a stance on either side. And I don't want to get into an argument with anyone over this kind of thing.

Disclaimer right off the bat: I am neither a parent nor a mental health professional. All I am is a 31 year old nerd who has Been Through Some Shit. Also apologies for the long post.

I think Splinter has a lot of deep seeded trust issues and has a lot of trouble connecting with others because of this. I think the "betrayals" he's suffered--his mother leaving, his grandfather's pressure about the family legacy, and Big Mama's literal betrayal--have left him waiting for another shoe to drop and for another betrayal to stab him in the back, whether he realizes it or not. I think both of these things have deeply impacted his ability to connect with, let alone raise, his sons. I think he is a man made selfish, bitter, lonely, and sad by the circumstances of his life.

And if we're going into the rabbit hole of Good Parent Splinter/Bad Parent Splinter, then you have to start talking about every iteration of Splinter. Because I feel it's not fair to say something like "Rise Splinter is the worst parent" when almost every version of Splinter have used their sons to carry their own agenda at some point.

I'm not particularly fond of IDW Splinter. I think the choices he made and the way he treats his sons are Not Good. I might understand WHY he made those choices but I don't think they were the RIGHT ones. I think there were better ways to do the things he did. Am I going to call him a bad parent? Perhaps not. He still raised his sons and did his best to make sure they were safe and healthy. I just don't like how he went about it.

Rise Splinter has been dealt with one of the worst hands in the TMNT multiverse. He's been betrayed and back stabbed at almost every turn in his life. Adopting the turtles was probably the first thing that brought a smile to his face in a very long time. I genuinely believe Splinter loves those boys with all his heart. But he doesn't know how to raise kids. He grew up being told about destiny and duty, all of it carrying the bitter sting of losing his mother (something which undoubtedly left a massive, traumatizing scar that was never fully addressed). He didn't want that for his sons and I think he was worried about being overbearing, about crushing their freedom, and about becoming too much like the person he thought his grandfather was. It's why he never actually trained them and the boys are essentially self taught until much later in the series. But I think he pulled too far back in an effort to give them freedom. He was so worried about smothering them, and trying to deal with his own issues, and unknowingly bracing for another betrayal that he withdrew from their lives without meaning to.

Rise is, at its core, about family and connections. Every major problem that the turtles have faced has been resolved because of family. Even the Shredder was just family that got too deep into something and desperately needed help. Rise is a show that says "you do not (and sometimes cannot) do this alone". I mean, it literally says "you are not alone". It's a huge motif in the show. We've seen how badly things go when characters try to do things on their own, or when they don't listen to or support their family.

And before I get off topic into over analyzing things, let's wrap this back up to Splinter.

Do I think Splinter is a good or bad parent?

I think that's a question too complicated to answer. I think parenting is too hard to easily fit into categories like that, especially if you aren't taking the parent's health into consideration. I think from an outside perspective, to anyone who didn't know Splinter's backstory, he would come across as neglectful and somewhat absent. Do I think he could be a better parent? Absolutely. But I don't feel like I'm the person who can decide whether he's Good or Bad. I don't think you can decide. I don't think there's an absolute answer. I think there are only opinions.

TL;DR - when it comes to the Good Parent Splinter/Bad Parent Splinter argument, I don't think there's a right or wrong answer and it's not something that can be easily answered. And I don't have an opinion either way. I think he was a man who was Trying.

(And thank you so much for reading Tales from the Med Bay! They've been a lot of fun to write!)

[hldailyupdate]

Louis Tomlinson doesn't think One Direction's Up All Night album was shit, actually

We had a bone to pick with Louis and demanded a rethink. Here's what he had to say.

When it came to catching up with Louis Tomlinson for the release of his upcoming second album Faith In The Future, we wanted our focus to be on Louis the solo artist. As its title suggests, this record is about looking ahead. It simply wouldn't make sense to reminisce on his already-well-documented past successes, of which there have been far too many to mention.

That said, we had a bone to pick with Louis.

The One Direction star was recently quoted as saying that Up All Night - his Number 2-peaking debut album released with bandmates Niall Horan, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik and Liam Payne - was 'shit'.

It's a standpoint we demanded more insight into because, sorry, that record plays home to some stone cold 1D bangers.

As we begged Louis to rethink his stance, he told OfficialCharts.com: "Do you know what? It's funny. It was an off the cuff comment, man.

"It was amazing for the time. But look, I couldn't imagine myself singing those songs now, at this age."

We jumped to its defence, reiterating that Up All Night is very much not shit. "Tell Me A Lie! More Than This! MOMENTS!", we protest.

"Moments - I used to love that tune, to be fair," Louis explains. "It's the one that Ed Sheeran wrote. Listen, there were loads of good songs on there, but it felt very much for the time.

"I couldn't imagine jumping up and down, singing Up All Night these days. But never say never!"

So, which 1D records would Louis himself describe as 'not shit'?

“Midnight Memories onwards," he says. "Maybe this is a slightly selfish angle, because Midnight Memories was the first album where me and Liam really had influence on the writing throughout.

"I think the bottom line is, it's not about Up All Night being shit. That was just me having a laugh. From the third album, I could take true ownership in the songs that I was a part of writing.

"That made me feel immensely proud and sparked my interest in song writing. I would say my favourite One Direction album is the last one we did, Made In The A.M. I really like that album, man.

"Those three [including Four], I'm immensely proud of. The others, I'm proud of; and the only reason I think any differently is because I didn't have as much to do with the writing of them."

When we claim there was a marked growth in quality with each record, Louis agrees.

"I think so, too. When I look back at those records, there are songs across those later three albums that you wouldn't expect a band that started out with an album like Up All Night.

“Especially where we got to, with songs like Story of My Life. Looking back, I'm immensely proud of how the credibility grew musically."

Louis also explained his upcoming second solo record is his most 'sonically ambitious' work to date; seeing him collaborate with the likes of DMA's, Courteeners' Joe Cross and Hurts' Theo Hutchcraft.

He told OfficialCharts.com: "Me, Theo, Joe Cross and David Sneddon did a writing camp together, and what was great about that was that – from the off – we were all on the same page. Theo is vastly intelligent and an incredible writer. Even just being around these people, getting into their brains and taking on their different ideas; I’ve learnt so much more making on this record than I did the first. That’s purely from being around the right kind of people.

"I'm a massive fan of both Hurts and The Courteeners. Even the fact they were willing to work with me, I was buzzing about that. We’ve got some really great songs out of it.

Louis Tomlinson's new single Bigger Than Me is out now. His upcoming album, Faith In The Future, is released November 11 via BMG.

(4 September 2022)

[silverfoxlou]

Louis Tomlinson doesn't think One Direction's Up All Night album was shit, actually

September 3rd 2022

We had a bone to pick with Louis and demanded a rethink. Here's what he had to say.

When it came to catching up with Louis Tomlinson for the release of his upcoming second album Faith In The Future, we wanted our focus to be on Louis the solo artist. As its title suggests, this record is about looking ahead. It simply wouldn't make sense to reminisce on his already-well-documented past successes, of which there have been far too many to mention.

That said, we had a bone to pick with Louis.

The One Direction star was recently quoted as saying that Up All Night - his Number 2-peaking debut album released with bandmates Niall Horan, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik and Liam Payne - was 'shit'.

It's a standpoint we demanded more insight into because, sorry, that record plays home to some stone cold 1D bangers.

As we begged Louis to rethink his stance, he told OfficialCharts.com: "Do you know what? It's funny. It was an off the cuff comment, man.

"It was amazing for the time. But look, I couldn't imagine myself singing those songs now, at this age."

We jumped to its defence, reiterating that Up All Night is very much not shit. "Tell Me A Lie! More Than This! MOMENTS!", we protest.

"Moments - I used to love that tune, to be fair," Louis explains. "It's the one that Ed Sheeran wrote. Listen, there were loads of good songs on there, but it felt very much for the time.

"I couldn't imagine jumping up and down, singing Up All Night these days. But never say never!"

So, which 1D records would Louis himself describe as 'not shit'?

“Midnight Memories onwards," he says. "Maybe this is a slightly selfish angle, because Midnight Memories was the first album where me and Liam really had influence on the writing throughout.

"I think the bottom line is, it's not about Up All Night being shit. That was just me having a laugh. From the third album, I could take true ownership in the songs that I was a part of writing.

"That made me feel immensely proud and sparked my interest in song writing. I would say my favourite One Direction album is the last one we did, Made In The A.M. I really like that album, man.

"Those three [including Four], I'm immensely proud of. The others, I'm proud of; and the only reason I think any differently is because I didn't have as much to do with the writing of them."

When we claim there was a marked growth in quality with each record, Louis agrees.

"I think so, too. When I look back at those records, there are songs across those later three albums that you wouldn't expect a band that started out with an album like Up All Night.

"Especially where we got to, with songs like Story of My Life. Looking back, I'm immensely proud of how the credibility grew musically."

He told OfficialCharts.com: "Me, Theo, Joe Cross and David Sneddon did a writing camp together, and what was great about that was that – from the off – we were all on the same page. Theo is vastly intelligent and an incredible writer. Even just being around these people, getting into their brains and taking on their different ideas; I’ve learnt so much more making on this record than I did the first. That’s purely from being around the right kind of people.

"I'm a massive fan of both Hurts and The Courteeners. Even the fact they were willing to work with me, I was buzzing about that. We’ve got some really great songs out of it.

Louis Tomlinson's new single Bigger Than Me is out now. His upcoming album, Faith In The Future, is released November 11 via BMG.

[thewritetofreespeech]

I don't know if you've done this before :( but could you maybe write about the Obey me brothers after an argument with MC?? Like a fight make up kind of situation??

400 years later.....

Well, maybe not that long, but certainly long enough. I'm sorry >.<. Hope this doesn't put you off on sending other things because I did like doing this one!

Obey me Brothers + MC After a Fight

Lucifer

It was late into the evening when you heard the knock at your door. Before you could ask who it was, you heard the even timber of Lucifer’s voice behind the door. “[Y/N], it’s me. May I come in?” There was a long pause than usual between his introduction and question, seeming to debate asking, or your response, before he asked it.

To be honest, he had a right to be cautious because you weren’t sure what your answer would be before you opened your mouth. “Yes. Come in.”

The heavy door opened and Lucifer stepped in. Prim and as well stationed as ever, but the confidence normally in his face diminished just the slightest. “I…came to apologize.” The words seem to want to drag out of his throat. Like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to say. Not the best start for an apology.

“You didn’t have to treat me that way.” You tell him. Telling you like a child in front of everyone. Getting your hand smacked for something you didn’t even do. No coming to give some lack luster, dutiful apology he doesn’t mean. “And don’t say your sorry if you’re not.”

“I am sorry.” Lucifer insisted, before he took a deep breath and tried to relax. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that in front of everyone. I was upset, and took it out on you. Sometimes you’re an easy target because I know you’ll care for me no matter what I do. We always hurt most the ones we love.” Your cheeks tint at the comment. Damn him and his suave words.

The demon makes the effort to cross the threshold and take your hands. “Please know that I am truly sorry for my behavior. I will strive to never make you feel foolish, or less than, again. My mission in life now is to show you how much more than I find you over everyone else.”

You roll your eyes a little at the comment. “Let’s not get carried away. You’re starting to sound like Asmo.”

You giggle when Lucifer gave a forced, disgusted shutter. He then lifted your hands to his lips and gave them a kiss. “Am I forgiven?” He asked.

“I suppose.” Annoyingly, he was right. You would always care for, and love him, so it was hard to stay mad at him for long.

“Good,” he said, with his usual prideful smile, “I’m glad. I do plan to still make it up to you though. So make no plans for Saturday.”

“Will do.” You agreed. Giving him a tiny salute. He then left to let you finish getting ready for bed. Ideas of how he’d ‘make it up to you’ swirling in your head.

Mammon

There was a sharp rap at your door that rung out clear in your room over your headphones. You were curious who was here at this hour, but got up to go answer the door before the tried again.

You open the door and are immediately confronted with a bundle of flowers being shoved in your face. Almost to the point of the blooms bursting against your cheeks. You stagger, at the afront of color, and the bouquet is pulled back slightly to reveal Mammon behind them. “I…bought you these flowers. To say I’m sorry.” The more he talked the more his voice trailed off. His normally confidence draining like the color from his face.

“Isn’t it rather cliché to buy someone flowers to apologize?”

Mammon flinched at your criticism. “I didn’t know what else to do. If you don’t like them I’ll buy you something else. Anything you want! Just please…talk to me.” Please forgive me, was what he was really saying.

You look at the demon for a moment. His defeated stance not fitting into his character at all. Ironic, since the fight was about Mammon being too full of himself. Confidence was one thing, but ever now and then it was too much, and when you tried to talk to him about it he turned on you. He had immediately regretted it, but you refused to talk to him for several days after to cool off.

Apparently, that was the worse punishment he could think of.

“You don’t need to buy me anything Mammon. I’ve already forgiven you.”

“Really??” He asked. Seeming unsure of what he’d heard or that he could trust you.

“Really.” You repeat, and immediate find yourself in his arms. Your flowers falling to the floor as he hugged you.

“Thank you [Y/N]! I’ll never do anything stupid like that again! I promise!”

“Well now, let’s not make promises we can’t keep.” You tease. Patting his back. “We all make mistakes Mammon. I’ll be angry with you sometimes, but I generally forgive you. How can I stay mad at my ‘First Man’ for long?” His hold on you tightened a little. It lingered for a moment longer before he let you go.

“Yeah. Right. Don’t you forget it.”

Levi

You were getting ready to head downstairs when there was a knock at your door. It was a surprise, since you were going down to meet everyone. So who was up here now? You open the door and find everyone’s favorite otaku, out of his hole and in front of your door, staring at you.

“Y-Y-You…You weren’t answering my texts.” Levi finally got out.

“That should have been a hint.” You tell him. Perhaps a bit more curt than need be.

The bluenette straightened in alarm before his shoulder slumped again. “I know. I’m sorry! But I couldn’t stand the thought of you being mad at me! I know I can get a little…-“crazy?” You interjected –“excited about my games and stuff, but I really didn’t mean to snap at you!”

The two of you had been playing some new quest game that was all the rage apparently on the deep otaku net. Supposedly it was unbeatable. No one had actually ever seen the final boss ending yet. Which of course meant Levi was determined to be the first. Confident that his eons of experience wouldn’t lead him astray.

Sadly, the legends of the unbeatable game were true. And after hour after hour of crushing defeat Levi snapped and took it out on you. He’s locked himself in his room after. Ashamed, and upset that he hurt you; if his texts were anything to go off of.

“I threw the game away and I’ll never play it again. I promise! I’ll never go all rage beast mode on you again as long as I live! Just please forgive me and talk to me again!”

“Oh Levi, it’s not that serious.” You insist as you reach out your hand to his clasped ones in front of you. Reassuring him. “We all get a little crazy when things don’t go our way. I forgive you. In the future lets try to play games that are a little less….taxing on our relationship, if we can manage.”

“R-R-R! Relationship!” Levi stammered. Turning bright red in front of you, which made you giggle. You lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek. Really frying his circuits. Maybe it was a little bit out of you missing Levi when you were fighting. And maybe it was also his ‘punishment’ for the fight as well.

Satan

Tucking into your homework for the evening, you look up from your desk when there was a knock at the door. It was sharp, to the point. You immediately knew who it was, and debated not answering. However, that would be rude and a level of pettiness not even you could manage.

“Hello Satan,” you greet when you open the door. Correct in guessing who was there. “How can I help you?”

The blonde seemed wounded by your formality, usually such a champion of manners. But he was a clever man and knew you were doing it to put some distance between you. “I came to apologize.”

“As you should.” Ok. Maybe you were a little pettier than you like to admit.

“You’re right, and I should have been here sooner. I was just….embarrassed.” Satan ran his fingers through his hair. “He just makes me so angry sometimes! Being so high and mighty. Bossing us around. I try to keep it under control but….I can’t.” Given he is the Avatar of Wrath, it’s a wonder he made any effort to keep his rage in check. Everyone says he was getting better though. Even his relationship with Lucifer was getting better; even with this spat. “It pains me more than I can tell you to know that I upset you in the process. Turning on you like that like an idiot when you were only trying to help. It was so stupid.”

“It wasn’t very like you.” You admit, and Satan gave a single, bitter scoff.

“Maybe not now. Maybe with you.” Cautiously he reached out his hand to take yours in a gentle hold. “But I am sorry. Please know that I’ll strive to not let my anger get the better of me again.”

“I’m sure you will.” You said. Squeezing his hand back. “And, I forgive you. I should know by now not to get involved with any of your fights. But I care about you all so much.”

“But you care about me most, yes?” He asked with a soft smile. To which you giggle and kiss his cheek.

“Yes. I care for you most.”

Asmo

It was late afternoon when you heard the knock at your door. Typically, everyone was off doing their own activities at this hour, so it was a surprise to have someone looking for you. You open the door cheerfully at first, but then frowned. “Oh. Hello Asmo.”

“Hello [Y/N]-kun.” Asmo greeted brightly, but you could tell it was forced. “I…wanted to come see you. To apologize. For acting so ugly earlier.”

It’s not often that Asmo lost his temper. He usually left that to his silly, older brothers. Rising above in dignified beauty, as he liked to put it. But every now and then it got the best of him, and his tongue was sharper than any knife in the draw when he got that way.

“What you said really hurt Asmo.”

“I know,” he admitted frowning. “I haven’t been able to sleep all night thinking about it. Look at these bags!” You frown as he pointed to his under eyes, and he realized he was being selfish again. “I’m sorry I said such awful things the other day. I don’t have an excuse or fix for it. Except to say that I’m sorry, and I hope you forgive me.”

You let out a soft sigh at his words. He did seem sincere. It was a little odd to see Asmo so down. “Alright, I forgive you.” The demon immediately perked up with his usual smile and took your hands in his.

“Thank you [Y/N]! Let me take you out shopping, as a further apology. I’ll buy you anything you like!”

“So we’ve resorted to bribery now?” Asmo giggled at your joke and you nod. “I’ll right. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get out. Anything I want?” Asmo nodded and made some suggestions on what you could spend his money on as you walked. Inevitably ending up on lingerie, which earned him a smack.

Beel

You had just gotten back from class when you heard the knock at the door. It startled you. You had only just gotten back a moment ago, so what remarkably good timing.

You finish taking off your uniform jacket before you open the door. Startled, yet again, to find Beel behind it. “Beel?”

“Hi [Y/N].”

An awkward silence filled the space, one that hadn’t been there since you first arrived in the Devildom, before you spoke. “I uh…was going to change. I just got back from class.”

“I know. I waited for you to come back.” The red head confessed. Nervously scratching the back of his head. “I wanted…to talk. I wanted to apologize.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” You reply. Now nervously scratching the back of your head as well. “If anything I should apologize.”

Beel was so sweet and kind. But sometimes, his ‘space cadet ways’ over anything that didn’t involve food or fitness was very hard to deal with. He’d forgotten you were supposed to meet, yet again, so when he showed up an hour late for your date yesterday you had given him an ear full. He’d been hurt, but took it. Now you just felt bad, like you had kicked a puppy, with it over.

“But I should have remembered. It’s not fair that I forgot when we were supposed to meet. Again.” He looked upset with himself and fidgeted with his hands. “I really am sorry I forgot. I don’t want you to think you’re not important or anything. I’m just dumb.”

“You’re not dumb!” You scold Beel. Not accepting him putting himself down like that. “Can’t we just agree that we’re both at fault. You should have remembered, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you either. Can’t we just….make up? I hate fighting with you.”

Beel smiled softly and leaned forward to give you a hug. “I hate fighting too. I think I’ll be ok if we both take blame. That seems fair.” He let you go and stepped back. Seeming back to his usual, easy going self already. “Do you want to do a make up date? If you’re free. I can take you to Madam Scream’s or we can go get Fire Iceies.”

You giggle and nod. “Sure. That would be wonderful.”

Belphie

It was so late at night when you heard the knock at your door that, initially, you thought you dreamt it.

Hearing it again, you woke up and threw on your robe over your pjs to go answer the door. Groggy, and a little concerned as to who could be here at this hour. Something must be wrong.

“Belphie?” You question in a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” He said. Remarkably less groggy than you were for a change. “I had to see you.”

“In the middle of the night?” You question. Getting more alert and annoyed at being woken up by him.

“Yes. I couldn’t sleep. Imagine that.” His fingers twirl at his long bangs while he looked down at the floor. “I came to apologize.”

“Apologize?” You repeat. Shocked, more than anything, that he was here to apologize. Not that he did deserve an apology to you, you just didn’t think he’d do it.

“Yes. To apologize. Can we make up now?”

“That’s it??” You remark after his ‘apology’. “You say you’re sorry like that and I’m just supposed to forgive you?”

“Yes. That’s how apologies work.”

“No it isn’t!” You snap. Louder than you wanted to with the late hour. You set your teeth and wheeze through them. You don’t want to start another fight. “You apologize because you feel bad about something and want to make it up to the person. It has to be sincere.”

“I am being sincere.” Belphie insisted. “This is sincere as I get.”

“Well it certainly doesn’t feel like it.” You reply. Crossing your arms.

It was Belphie’s turn to sigh at you. “Look. I’m not like Asmo or the others who are great with words. I came to apologize, and that’s it. I was wrong and I wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do.”

“Why do you even want to say your sorry? If you don’t sound like you mean it.”

“Because I hate you being angry with me.” You blink in surprise at Belphie’s confession, and he sighed again. “I hate it. I hate not talking to you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me, but if you hate me, I can’t stand it. So, I came to apologize. To do anything so you wouldn’t hate me anymore.”

You uncross your arms and scrunch your lips a little bit. “That’s a better apology.” He looked back up at you with a questioning look. Seeming surprised that he had ‘done good’. “And, I don’t hate you. Just because I’m angry with you, for good reason, doesn’t mean I hate you. I could never hate you.”

The demon smiled softly. His expression tired, but hopeful. “Thanks [Y/N].”

“Now, we need to get back to bed. It is the middle of the night after all. And we have school.”

“Ok.” Belphie agreed. Then stepped into your room and made way to your bed.

“In your own room mister!”

[whetstonefires]

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

-

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

A Thousand Year Love ~ Ryomen Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader

Okay, I wrote the Reader's name as "Kitsune", but that's mostly because I envisioned a nine tailed fox without an actual name, that everyone would just call her "Fox" as if she wasn't anyone worth naming, despite her rank.

This is a little fic which explored Sukuna's supposed backstory, 1000 years prior to he action of Jujutsu Kaisen - Idk if it's accurate, I didn't yet read the manga, I still have 6 more episodes from the anime, but I had this idea and I couldn't stop myself from writing about it.

Most of it builds up the bond that very slowly grows between Sukuna and Kitsune, then snaps during a scene somewhere around episode 4 of the anime, when Sukuna takes over Yuji's body, and Yuji can't switch for a while, but with enough altercations that it's not exactly the same as in the said episode.

Hope you enjoy this <3

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"What are we doing here...?" Kitsune asked her parents in a voice that was barely audible as she looked left and right at the huge estate's gardens.

Estate? Rather said, palace, since this place was grandiose - Most likely, even more so than the Emperor's own Palace, the girl thought to herself. Everywhere she looked, cherry, plum and pear trees were in blossom, even though it wasn't their time. Statues and little shrines, along with various small pools with flowers, lanterns and lotuses were scattered as much as her vision would allow her to see. Looking up at the estate, she realised just how small she was in comparison to the intimidating and imposing energies radiating all over the place.

"You are going to meet someone very important, dear." her mother spoke, yet her voice wasn't as gentle as usual, rather, it sounded stiff, on the edge...Almost afraid, maybe? It was foreign for young Kitsune, as she has been confined in her little palace her whole life under the pretext of keeping her safe. But it did exactly the opposite, she believed, considering she itched to explore and go on adventures with each second passing. "Who is it?" she asked as soon as they stepped inside the palace...But it was so dark, save for the red, malicious light from the lanterns and candles lit in just the perfect places so it would guide them to the room they had to go to. "...You will find out soon." her father snapped at her, and she could only frown, her fluffy ears flicking as her tails wrapped protectively around herself. She knew something was wrong, and she had half a mind to believe she was brought there as a sacrifice for some War Deity that would allegedly save them from this era of war...Or something along the lines.

After a longer walk than expected, they found themselves in front of two large, red doors, and without any kind of reticence, Kitsune effortlessly slammed the doors open and saw a dimly lit room with a few stairs and a throne where a man with short, kinda spiky pink hair, garbed in a loose, white kimono was smugly sprawled over that royally embellished chair, while tons of gorgeous women dressed in the most luxurious kimonos, their hair done up with intricate headpieces and flowers that would put any living being to shame...

But what is this about? Kitsune was more confused than anything, and she could only step inside the room, slowly and carefully, before turning to look at her parents, who had a pitiful look in their eyes.

"What is going on?" Kitsune demanded an answer, her voice agitated, her body ready to go into a fight or flight mode, her eyes darting rapidly between her parents and the man on the throne whose name she wasn't interested in finding out. "Well, darling...You see...You had to find you a husband. You are old enough to be married, and you can't stay with us forever. You need to have a family and children. You are the princess of the Fox clan, there is nobody more beautiful than you -..." her mother tried to reason, but the young girl wasn't stupid. She understood what was going on. "No. No. If you want to speak - Then speak the truth. Don't lie to me. This guy is strong, isn't he? Some kind of demonic thing that everyone is afraid off. You are giving me away to this guy...To be his...Thousandth concubine in his harem or something, just because you're too weak to take care of our kin. That's the truth, isn't it? Go on, admit it. Stop trying to sugar coat the situation." her nine tails opened from around her in a large, undulating fan, making her aggression obvious, as fire began to immolate the tips of her fur. "SHUT UP, IMPERTINENT, UNRULY CHILD!" her mother slapped her face, not wanting their benefactor to hear his future concubine speaking so foul of him. "You are a woman, and the princess, nonetheless, and your role is to continue our kin and obey your family and husband. Do not speak unless you are allowed to!" but before her mother could grab her face, Kitsune's tail slapped her hand away, and she stepped back. "I am nobody's toy. I will not obey anyone's orders. Not yours, and not his. I will not be just another concubine for some disgusting, good for nothing lecher with no redeeming quality." the girl snarled at them, ready to make her escape out of there, if needed. "If your sister was alive, she would have sacrificed herself for the greater good of this family! You are nothing more than a selfish brat!" it was her father's time to accuse her, which made her ears perk up, while her tails completely deflated. "Yes, of course, how could I forget. It was me who should have died, not my perfect elder sister. Sorry, but you should curse the Gods, not me for that. But, since it seems that my life is meaningless to you, then I will make you a favour! I will end it myself! I'm sure you'll be happy without me, won't you? Ahh...But how will you save our war-ridden? Too bad I won't be alive to witness your demise, huh?" with a dark chuckle, Kitsune's hand went inside her kimono, taking the small kodachi sword and unsheathing it, hearing only the gasps and shrieks of fright from the harem girls. Kitsune could only guess that these girls were all high-born and unfamiliar to the horrible things happening outside of these walls. "What the hell are you doing, you idiotic child?! Cease this madness at once!" her mother shrieked at her, lounging towards her, trying to stop herself from impaling that blade through her body, and yet...

The second the girl launched her hand down to stab herself...She got stopped. The whole place became instantly silent, save for the sound of a blade bouncing down as it fell on the wooden floor. "Enough." a dark, annoyed voice resounded through the place as Kitsune's wrists were grasped by the man's...Front hands? While her body was immobilized in an embrace by his other two arms. "I was promised a beautiful princess as a concubine, and you failed to do as you promised. Leave, before I get bored and kill you." he threatened the two adult fox people who scurried away in a hurry, leaving behind their only daughter without a second thought. "You, however...Will remain here." he chuckled in her ear, but Kitsune wasn't one to be messed with. Her answer came in the form of lighting up her tails on fire an wrapping them around the man, who hissed and unhanded her, allowing her enough time to go into a corner and get in a fleeing stance. "Why did you stop me? I have no intention of being one of your whores. You should have let me end it right there." she scoffed at the man, who dismissed the bottom pair of arms and laughed. It was almost a psychopathic laugh, she thought, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up - Unsure if it was from fright or disgust. "You amuse me, little vixen. Very much, you amuse me. Having a little fox wag her tails around this place, all fired up, would give some sense of fun, wouldn't you say?" his voice was grating her, and she only wanted to sock him in the jaw. "Keep on dreaming. I'm not your toy, and I'm not here for anyone's entertainment. You have enough girls in this place to amuse you. I'll be going now, and even if you chain me, you can't stop me from achieving my freedom." Kitsune growled at him, slamming open the sliding door that would lead into the balcony, from where she could jump the hell away from there. "You proved you value your life even less than your parents do, so chaining you would do nothing. I have never seen a woman as fiery as you. All the ones I have are the same. Meek, soft...Afraid. Boring. They all like the same things, and hate the same things." he groaned pitifully, evidently bored out of his mind. "They hate you, don't they? You want women, but you don't bother treating them right. Can you get even more typically terrible? Pitiful and disgusting, that's what you are. You just want to break people for your entertainment. You are nothing more than a selfish megalomaniac. No wonder you are in need of entertaining, you are thoroughly boring." Kitsune's degrading words, however, didn't seem to phase the man at all - In fact - It made him laugh. Never, in this life, has he heard anything this degrading before - Everyone tried their best to appeal to his benevolent and merciful side - To at least spare their lives. He was stronger than anyone alive, so nobody dared speak up in front of him. It was obvious she had no idea who he was - All the better - He thought. "Ryomen Sukuna, missy, but you can call me your Emperor." that confident laugh was enough to drive Kitsune up the wall with anger as she stomped to his side and actually punched his jaw. It was annoying - The height difference - As he towered over her entirely, but at least she managed to reach where needed, little miss firecracker. "Piss off." the fox girl growled in anger at him...And yet...He only...Laughed. And he cupped her face, getting his own so close to hers that they could feel each other's breaths. "You. Are. Mine." his grin was so wide and sociopathic that he might as well have had his face split in two. "I will never be yours. I will never be anyone's. I'm not an object. I will not obey anyone. The second you leave me out of your sight, I will flee, and you will never see me again. And if I can't, I will find a way to kill myself. I have nothing to live for, but everything to die for." Kitsune bared her elongated canines at him, and gosh, was she enticing. "And if I get rid of the harem?" he asked, not bothering with everything she talked before. "You'll be a heartless jerk who'll destroy

the lives of so many women." she refuted just as quickly. "And if I don't fuck anyone but you?" he threw that, wanting to fluster her, but the fire in her eyes only ignited even higher. "As usual, you can only think with the wrong head, can't you? There's nothing to you but your stupid little prick. How pathetic. And you call yourself a man. Go die in the war or something." she grabbed him by the loose neck line of his kimono, only to hear him laughing condescendingly. "But darling, that just couldn't possibly happen. I am simply too strong to get killed. Everybody fears my power, why else do you think your parents were so willing to give you away? They were weak, just like you said, and every weakling needs the help of Ryomen Sukuna, Japan's own God of War." this statement made the girl's gorgeous eyes widen in shock...Only to start laughing, almost hysterically. "Oh, bow down to the self proclaimed God of War! Can you believe that! Your majesty, tone down your arrogance, it's gonna get yourself killed! I knew it, you're absolutely useless! All you can do is bark, no bite, little puppy! The only thing intimidating about you is your height, other than that, you are just a generic man who thinks he's all to powerful. How ridiculous." the fox girl couldn't stop her degrading laughing, which confused the man for a while, only to smirk and pick her up bridal style, carrying her out of that room, not letting her get out of his grasp, no matter how much she tried to wiggle or burn him. "I won't let you go until you acknowledge my infinite strength, cute, little fox. But don't think that just because I favour you, I will let you get away with all the shit you called me." his voice sounded darker, more ominously, but it didn't seem to intimidate the girl. "Not in a million years. Not even in your sweetest dreams. You're pathetic and I'll never acknowledge you as anything else but a disgusting, lecherous pig!" she yelled at his face, to which he responded by letting her roughly fall on a soft futon, then crouching by her side and gripping her face just as her mother did before. "Say that again when you'll end up screaming my name as if your life depends on it." he laughed at her before leaving her new room, which she won't leave for a while.

This annoying girl, Sukuna was intrigued by her, but at the same time, he was very tempted into strangling her or snapping her neck - Despite all that fire she lets out, he was curious if she'd end up groveling in self-pity, begging him for mercy, going back on her previous misguided and foolish courage. Wasn't it bad enough that she had no idea who HE was? He also had to endure such disrespect - And even worse - Enjoy it? That little fox bitch was ready to commit seppuku in front of everyone just to prove a point, what the hell else could be more entertaining? All the women he's had were given away by their families as tributes, and none said a word. He was a jerk to them, he fucked them, he mistreated them - Sukuna didn't give a fuck about any woman, man, child, animal...Or any living being in the world, except for himself. All were beneath him - Unworthy, weak, frail -...

And yet, they still lie to his face, trembling as they say all the fake, sweet nothings - "I love you, My Lord" the women would say, their voice shaky, jumping in fright as he'd touch them. He was a rough man, he never knew gentleness, nor mercy, no love - Through all the words spewed by the firey woman, the part where she declared he had no idea how to treat women properly - Yes, it was true, but did he care? Of course not.

Humans were all puppets with whom he could play as much as he wanted - All instruments for his entertaining in this terribly boring world, he would manipulate everyone like dolls on his strings, and when they've exhausted their means of entertaining him, the string will be cut, and the puppets will fall in an abyss of infernal fire.

For the first two weeks, Sukuna and Kitsune were literally acting like a cat chasing a mouse - And each time, the cat would surprise the mouse just as she was about to survive - He was giving her hope of success, only to pick her up by one of her many tails, or embrace her from behind, pick her up, trip her, show up from behind a tree, play with her hair as he came up from a tree behind her, and sometimes, even going as far as to mock her by pointing her the way out of the place.

But very soon, she gave up, and decided to starve herself to death by not leaving her assigned room, ignoring him entirely whenever she'd get visited by him - But that ended in the worst way possible - With her fainting and unable to wake up, and Sukuna freaking out because he didn't want his little toy to die before she got boring.

He laid next to her on the futon, holding her in his eyes, brushing her hair out of her face, playing with her vivid red hair - She truly looked like a fox in Sukuna's eyes, and he almost felt his heart warm up as he felt up the soft fur on her tails, waiting for his cursed energy to heal her up. After some time, he noticed the little red ball of fur getting smaller and smaller as she cuddled into his chest, resembling a defenseless kit searching for warmth, love and safety from its mother. She was so much smaller than him - So frail, so thin, so soft...So cute? - What was it that he was feeling? Calmness? Protectiveness?

He was furious at her for neglecting her health just so she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of toying with her - But that was also endearing, in its own, messed up way? She would go to such dramatic extremes to prove him wrong...It seemed that no matter what she did, it would still make him enjoy her company.

Whenever he'd fuck one of his harem girls, he wouldn't stay over, not even for a kiss - Hell, he didn't even know most of their names - Why should he? They were all the same to him - But he felt such a strong sense of protectiveness over he - He didn't want to strangle her to death anymore - Maybe just a bit of fun, some teasing, some startling - His hand around her supple neck as she looks up at him with her sparkling eyes, calling out his name - Sukuna, Sukuna - Pleading softly, but desperately to him for her sweet release - Sukuna, Sukuna - And he will be merciful, for once, and give her what she wants.

Just as he was caught in his own, sick fantasy, he felt the girl move and grumble, turning on her back, her small hands flying to rub her eyes awake - And he rolled over her, a playful, teasing smirk on his face as he waited for her to realise the position they were in - And yet, she was still out of it, for her eyes were half-lidded and gleaming, she was still weak from her lack of self-care, and she could only look up at him, dazed..."Sukuna...?" she mumbled in a whispery tone - What is she doing to him?! How dare she entice him so much? He wasn't supposed to be attracted to her in any way, so why...?!

"Relax, sweet-cheeks. I'm here." he spoke in a low voice, not wanting to alert her...Wait, what - "...Thanks." muttering that, she let out a soft sigh as she closed her eyes again, the corners of her mouth slightly turned upright as she allowed herself to fall back asleep and rest, not caring too much that she felt a slight pressure on both of her hands, in the form of the demon man pressing his own hands to hers, intertwining their fingers together as he towered over her, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically as she breathed, her kissable, pink lips just a tiny bit parted. He couldn't stop himself - She was too irresistible, and he was much too insatiable - And he leaned down, pressing his own lips over hers - Gently - Very gently in fact, almost as if afraid of breaking a porcelain doll, as if afraid to crush a snowdrop he just picked from a glade, one just just barely managed to get out from under the remaining, melting snow of early spring. "You'll be the death of me, cutie." he found himself saying as he licked his lips, taking in the sweetness of the kiss.

Since then on, despite not being exactly friendly with the man, the fox girl didn't hate him that much anymore. It even got well enough for them to eat in the same room, or play shogi - The girl beating him at it more often than not, which left mixed feelings in his heart - And then he showed her the musical instruments that the concubines would sometimes use whenever he'd want a banquet and more sinful indulgences. He didn't ask her to play for him, though. He realised that the more he tried to push the girl, the less likely she'll actually do anything he wants.

Even more, the more time they spent together, the more his concubines would get neglected - So much that he was completely drawn to this fox girl and all the other women were completely wiped from his head. - And he started gifting her a bunch of beautiful kimonos, only to find them in front of his room's door, rejected. She didn't want anything from him, nor did she want his favour, so she continued wearing her simple clothes.

Until...

Until one night - It was a special night, really - For the moon was full, and big, and gleaming with such a beautiful silver light that neither of them saw in the many years they've been alive. And Kitsune dressed in one of her festival yukatas and went to the lotus pond, surrounded by a few wisteria trees, as the mirror of the water reflected the celestial orb like sparkling zircons. The fox gingerly jumped in the middle of the sheen, walking on it like a spirit, only her feminine silhouette being seen, as her long hair was gently blown by the warm spring wind and her tails were dancing around her in perfect sync. As her feet moved to the sound of the melody she played on a vertical flute she was given by the owner of the place, Sukuna found himself unable to move from his place on the palace balcony, his sight fixated on the woman's form as she alternated playing the instrument and dancing with ribbon-fans.

Her moves were fluid and mystifying like those of a priestess leading a will'o'wisp to rest into kakuriyo, the land of the dead - what was he supposed to do now? He was confused and mesmerised. He's seen his fair share of beautiful women playing instruments and dancing for him - Hundreds of them, in fact - But none could match the effect this nine tailed fox girl had on him.

This continued days on end, but he never admitted to her that he was stalking her every night, nor that he was completely enchanted and under her spell, at the point of no return.

"I'm going to war tomorrow." he told her one evening as he poured himself some sake. "...Good for you. Finally, more entertaining for the most powerful man on Earth...Or something. Bring me a souvenir when you return, I guess." the girl merely shrugged her shoulders as she took the tea pot and poured herself some tea, not bothering with any reaction. "You're not worried for me, are you? What if I die tomorrow? Will you weep for me?" he leaned forward, taking her chin between his fingers. " 'Course not. You're the one who keeps boasting about how you're the most powerful man on Earth and The God of War or something. Besides - If you die, I will just steal all your money and get the hell out of this place, so I can finally see the world through my very eyes, not through inked letters on paper. I want to be free and fly. Life here is boring. I've had enough years of being home stuck, don't you think?" she snapped at him as she snatched the now empty sake up and poured herself some alcohol. "And what if I promise to take you out to see the world when I return?" he smirked at her, watching her ears perk up a bit at the proposition. "...I don't believe you." she looked away before she could reveal any real emotion in her eyes. "I promise. But you also have to promise to relax around me. You're always on the edge, even if you've been here for a whole year. I saw you play in the winter, jump to collect autumn leaves taken by the wind, pick up fruit after climbing up the trees, and make flower crowns in spring. I saw you get buried completely in snow, only one of your tails being seen, I saw you make fruit wine in autumn, send paper lanterns into the sky and bathe in the lotus ponds. We're not strangers anymore, and I've never hurt you even once. So, do we have a deal?" his hunter-like eyes carefully watched her every reaction, noticing how her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, before biting into it softly - She was nervous, that much was obvious - And Sukuna was now a pro at reading her behaviour. "...I'll try. But if you go back on your promise...I promise you, you won't wake up the next morning." she scoffed, threatening him, but it only ended up making him laugh. "The little kitten has claws, how adorable. That's fair, I'll let you have that." the man chuckled at her, petting her hair just between her ears, making her close her eyes and blush just a tiny bit. He was finally able to reach her - Not by much, but even this much was enough for him...For now.

For a whole month, Kitsune was all alone in the palace - Or so she felt, despite the numerous harem girls and the servants - All who had to obey her every order - But she refused any of that. If she wanted to eat, she would make food for herself. If she wanted to drink, she'd get some herself. If she wanted to bathe, she would prepare the bath herself - Just as she's always done. However, all this time, she was never in need of company. She couldn't handle people, nor their fakeness and many other useless emotions that would only make them vulnerable and susceptible of being used and taken for granted.

She's been through that numerous times while living with her family, and she wasn't about to let that happen again.

Thankfully, Kitsune never felt lonely, nor bored - However, she realised that she actually enjoyed Sukuna's annoying presence, and somehow, she found herself awaiting his coming back sooner.

"Master came back, vacation's over. Take care, everyone...I heard he's been injured. Can you believe it? Never thought demons can bleed." the many rumours circulated around the palace, but the fox girl only snapped at the gossipers, glaring at them to shut up. But she didn't go to greet him, like everyone else did. Instead, she waited until night to go to his room, and she found him on the ground, calmly drinking some sake.

"Ah, look at this, a little fox found its way in my humble abode. What ever could you be doing here, I wonder?" he chuckled teasingly, as she only looked down at him, giving him a slight head tilt, yet no expression on her blank face. "Are you wounded?" she muttered in a low voice, almost half-wanting not to have been heard...But she was. "Ha! So you heard those rumours too, haven't you? How ridiculous! Me? Ryomen Sukuna, the God of War, getting injured? Preposterous!" his bark-like laugh echoed through the place, but it didn't move the girl in any way. Instead, slowly crouched next to him, snatching down the already loose kimono top from his torso, letting it fall down to his chest, as her delicate fingers traced his chest, arm and back, analysing each and every fresh wound and scar alike. "I thought you could heal. Cursed energy magic or something. What you did to me when I passed out. Stupid liar. All you know how to do is to boast to everyone, but you can't even admit that you are still capable of making mistakes sometimes." her voice was obviously pissed off, but not enough to sock him in the jaw again. "Anti-regeneration magic. I didn't know something like that existed. Gimme a break." he scoffed, looking away in mild embarrassment. "Lucky you. Now don't move, or you'll really piss me off." she sneered at him as she made blue fire light up her palms and focused on healing him. It was then that she realised how good it felt to feel someone's bare skin, to feel his muscles, sore from fighting so much. He was finally beginning to look more like a man - A warrior - Not like some obnoxious, bratty, entitled casa nova. "I didn't know you could heal people. It tickles." he smirked slightly, turning his head to watch her focused face. "You don't know many things about me, Sukuna. Don't even bother trying, you'll never be able to, anyway." she scowled at him, but this time, it wasn't as aggressive as usual. "I've always loved a challenge, sugar." he chuckled boastfully, only for her to frown and look at him. "Is that all I am for you? A challenge?" she asked in a softer voice, sounding almost disappointed. "Not anymore. You've always been an enigma for me. You were fun, that's why I kept you around. If you weren't, I'd have killed you. I have no regrets about killing anyone, reason or not. But you got under my skin. I don't want to unveil the enigma behind you anymore. I just want to know you." carefully, his hands found their way on her hips, just before pulling her on his lap, only for her to stiffen up completely, her hands quickly taken off of his skin, as she quickly snapped her head away from him, her face covered by the long hair that resembled the blood he spilled on the battlefield. "Aww, are you shy, cutie~?" his seductive voice was back again, one of his hands reaching up to cup her face - But she couldn't bring herself to speak - Instead, she just gulped and jumped away from him, taking a few deep breaths before getting out of the room, and climbing up to the roof, hugging her legs to her chest, leaning her chin on her knees, her bottom lip bitten into to the point of drawing blood.

What the hell was she thinking, letting herself getting touched like that? By someone like Sukuna, nonetheless, who, if given the chance, would have his way with her, then toss her aside like he did with all the other women in his enormous harem. Her heart was beating so hard, so fast against her chest. It was a foreign feeling that scared her so much that for a long while, she couldn't help but avoid him once again, going out of her way to only leave her room when she was sure he wasn't there. It didn't always work out as she wished, but she still tried nonetheless, as succeeded for most of the time.

"Are you scared of me?" Sukuna asked the girl one night, when he found her softly shedding tears up on the roof. "...No." she offered a monotone answer. "Then why are you avoiding me again? Do you hate me?" he asked again, only for her to hang her head and hug herself. "I realised that I shouldn't be alive. All my life I've known only two emotions - Hatred and Rage - All of them masked by a facade of complete neutrality, passiveness and uncaring. But, now...I can feel my heart beating. And it hurts. I was so ready to throw away my life, and I knew I would have no regrets. I lived for nothing. I have no memories of anything good happening in my life. I thought that...I thought that maybe...I would be able to feel, staying here, with you. I wanted to feel something good, for once. What was that called...Happiness? Love? I wanted to feel those too. I guess it's too much to ask from this cruel life. The second you touched me, I started panicking and I got scared. I was afraid. Not of you, but of the idea of possibly getting hurt. I don't know how to feel, and I don't think I'll ever be able to be a proper being...But maybe...Someday...I will be able to look up at the same sky, at this very same moon, and the very same stars...And smile...And my chest won't be hurting anymore. And I won't be afraid anymore. Maybe, in the next life...Or the one after that...I will be lucky. Maybe times will change, and people won't be so cruel anymore. I'm sorry, Sukuna. I didn't end up being who and what you thought I'd be. I will forever be a disappointment to everyone I meet." she wasn't sure if her words were directed to anyone at all, or if she just found the courage to speak for the first time in her life - To acknowledge the existence of feelings altogether - But Sukuna understood her. Except for the thrill of the kill and fleeting quenched lust, he didn't feel any relief. Just like her, anger and hatred, for the entirety of his life. How different and similar the two of them really were, he realised, as he went to hug her from behind, resting his chin on top of her head. "You have never disappointed me, Kitsune. You cannot disappoint me. I understand what you're feeling. It's a cruel world, and we are much crueler to everyone around us, including ourselves. If you ever think you have it in your heart to accept me, I will be waiting. Forever, if needed. And if not, I will be awaiting in the next life. Or in the next one. I won't give up on you." and saying that, he planted a kiss on her temple before leaving her alone to watch the same silver moon they've been looking up at for so long. "...Thank you." she spoke to herself after who knows how long.

And she smiled.

Every day passing, she would look at the pink haired warrior, and every day, she'd want to throw herself in his arms, but every time, she'd start shaking, and she'd turn around and leave the place. This whole ordeal continued for well over three months, until one day, the palace was attacked with burning arrows, and the whole place was lit aflame.

In the mayhem in cause, the fox girl made sure to gather all the civilians in the huge estate and lead them to safety, and by the time she was done, she rushed to search for Sukuna, the person the enemies wanted to bring down, once and for all. However, by the time she found him, the whole place was ablaze, the once blooming garden was now turned into ashes, and the Demon God of War was heavily bleeding, slouched and leaning his back against a wall.

Opposite of him, many meters away, a menacing looking enemy who had spears in his hands was ready to throw them at him...And Sukuna merely smirked, defeated, and closed his eyes, awaiting for the impact of his ultimate death.

"Sukuna...Keep your eyes closed." Kitsune's low, shaking voice called out to him, but instead of doing as he was told, his eyes snapped open, only to widen in terror seeing the girl he grew to love, impaled by numerous spears, acting as a shield for him. "K...Kitsu...Ne...?!" he managed to usher after getting over his shock. "I told you...To keep you eyes closed...Idiot." she shook her head as she curled her fingers on the wall, taking a few deep breaths, despite her legs shaking. "Idiot. Idiot. You are such an idiot." "No...You...You were supposed to run away...I told you to run away...I told you...To...Live..." his voice was desperate, trembling, not believing what he was seeing before his very eyes. "Not without you...We were supposed to...Go...together...And be happy...And look at the moon...And stars...Together..." but as she said that, she heard the air getting split by yet another set of spears that go through her tails and torso, making her lose strength and fall over the man she was shielding. With her last strength, she punched back the spears out of her body and crawled on his lap, cradling his body, wrapping it up protectively with her tails, holding tightly onto him. "I never learnt how to fight...I never had anything to protect...Until I found you. I have no regrets dying, if you live. Close your eyes, Sukuna. I...I love you." and just before all strength left her body, she cupped his face and stole a weak kiss.

She was happy. She finally found her courage to act as she wished - With her heart, not with her fears. She was finally able to expel all the bad things possessing her. She died, and yet, she was finally smiling. She regretted nothing.

She was really happy.

"...Look there, Kitsune. Look at the moon. And the stars. And we are together. In this life. And the next one...And the one after...I will find you. And I will protect you. Don't be afraid anymore...Nothing will hurt you again. Until then...Sleep well, my Princess...Wait for me...Very soon."

---------

"Don't worry, Yuji! We will find all the victims of this place and rescue them! You'll see!" the cheerful nine-tailed girl wagged her fluff left and right as she dragged her best friend to the ominous place, as their other two team mates followed soon after, both having different reactions, as usual.

As her shikigami fox and Megumi's white wolf were assigned to make sure no cursed spirit would sneak up on them, they tried to make heads or tails of the distorted reality inside the place - They knew they may be dealing with a Special-Grade monster, but to have power of such magnitude seemed...Unreal...And unsettling.

"Guys, calm down. This is the Innate Domain...Cursed energy made this foul play...But I've never seen anything like...This. We have to move fast, and not split up, or we'll get picked one by one." Kitsune gritted her teeth, feeling the fur on her tails stand up. "Where's the door?!" Megumi yelled, turning around, only for everyone to gasp, realising the way they got through completely disappeared. "Th-The door's gone?!" Yuji blinked, incredulous at what he was witnessing. "How?! We just came in through here, didn't we?!" Nobara freaked out, only to make a short, brain dead dance with Yuji. "Calm down. The dog remembers the scent of the entrance." saying that, the two fawned over the two canines as they let them lead the way, only to find three mangled corpses, one of them having a name tag - It was the name of the child of the desperate woman outside of the place, pleading to the police to rescue him.

However, a fight erupted between the two boys who couldn't decide whether they should run away or rescue the corpses, as closure for the woman outside, at least, and while Nobara yelled at them, trying to make them stop...She...Disappeared?! Through a makeshift hole in the floor that wasn't there before.

"B-But...Megumi's demon dog and my fox should have been able to sense the curse...!" Kitsune then quickly turned around, only to gasp, noticing the bloody corpses of the said shikigami protruding from the walls. "NO! CYNDER!" she whimpered, hating to see her lovely companion in such a state. "ITADORI! KITSUNE! WE HAVE TO RUN! WE'LL LOOK FOR KUJISAKI AND -" but before he could finish speaking, Kitsune's whimper, that grew louder, along with the presence of the demon she was pointing at, staring straight at her...Made both boys stop in their tracks, wide eyed and shocked...And very much afraid.

The trio was sweating bullets, trying to move, trying to get the hell away from there - But Yuji moved first, taking out his knife, slashing at the Special-Grade....Only for his hand to go flying far away...From the impact.

"Megumi, run away! Go find Nobara, I'll stay here and create a diversion! Give us a signal when you're out of here! Yuji can get Sukuna and save us!" the fox girl yelled at her brunet friend desperately as she pushed him away, but a mouth on Yuji's cheek, speaking very derogatory, pointed out he doesn't give a fuck about Yuji's body, and that he won't die, even if his vessel does. "Nope~! Even if parts of me inside you die, I've still got 18 other fragments of my soul! Still, irritatingly enough, I don't have control of this body, so go away and switch, if you want! But once you do...I'll kill that brat before the cursed spirit can! Then, I'll go for that woman. She's a lively one. I'll have fuck with her. And then...I'll claim this cute fox girl that you care so much for!" Sukuna kept talking, and it was creating a state of panic in Yuji's heart. "Don't listen to him, Yuji! I know you won't let him take over you completely! You can't hurt us!" Kitsune yelled at her friend, trying to snap him out of the trance Sukuna put him in. "No, no, no, darling, you're wrong. If he's too focused on me, his friends WILL die~!" the demon kept laughing at his vessel, until the Special Grade unleashed a full blast of pure, cursed energy. "Yuji, look out!" she jumped at him, getting him out of the blast's range. "Stop listening to him, and take care of yourself! This isn't Jujutsu, this is pure cursed energy! We have to buy Megumi and Nobara enough time to get the hell out of here! Look at this jerk, he's having fun. I'm sure we can figure something out." the fox girl gritted her teeth in anger, but before either of them could try to attack or dodge - In the blink of an eye, really - She felt herself getting picked up and slammed on the wall before her by yet another blast of cursed energy - Followed by another, that flew her on the bridge in the next room, rendering her barely conscious. "KITSUNE! KITSUNEEEE!" she heard her pink haired friend's desperate wail as he tried to shake her awake. "...Sukuna...?" she asked, her shaking hands trying to rub away the tiredness from her eyes, as she looked up at him with gleaming, half-lidded eyes.

Before he could answer, shocked that she would call him by his demon's name, and even more, his own demon shocked, hearing her say something like that, she managed to cling onto the boy enough to get herself back on her feet, turning towards the attacker, her big, fluffy tails opening like a protective fan for the boy, as she created a blast of blue spirit fire to try to counter the cursed energy blast from the enemy. It made her growl from the pain, but her mind was blank - She had no regrets - No matter what life she was living, she will only get stronger and stronger, until she succeeds and protects the ones dear to her.

But not in this lifetime.

She wasn't strong enough yet. She was nowhere near her mentor, Satoru, in power. She had no way to compete with him, nor could she protect her friends when needed.

How pathethic.

It was her last thought before the cursed energy took over her, burning away some of her skin and creating even more damage after getting slammed and breaking yet another wall. With the last bit of consciousness she was able to hold onto, she saw her pink haired friend still alive and well - By some standards, at least - And she could merely smile and fight back the darkness threatening to take over.

But...Something happened, for the boy now seemed fearless - And he even taunted with the special-grade...And then he healed his own arm, before going to her, looking down at her, shaking his head. The markings on his face...This wasn't Yuji. This was...

"Idiot." a much darker, more masculine voice came from the body of the teenage vessel as he crouched down to the girl. "You never change, no matter what life you reincarnate into, do you? But that's the charm about you, stupid fox. You never really lose your memories of the past, do you?" he gently caressed her face, feeling his heart beating a bit faster as he noticed she was smiling and leaning into his touch. "You said you'll find me...So what is there to fear?" she mused weakly, before she got picked up bridal style, allowing her to cuddle into his chest, finally allowed to rest at ease. "Let's teach this weakling a lesson and get the hell out of here. The moon is up." Sukuna chuckled as he walked up to the demon, effortlessly punching in the head, slamming it into the bridge, only to smash his foot into its head, breaking the bridge altogether. As they fell, the monster grabbed his leg, but the fox-fire burn on his hand was enough to get his to shriek in pain and let go, as Sukuna jumped on one of the falling rubbles, taunting and laughing condescendingly, as he ripped apart the monster limb from limb before impaling it into a wall, as soon as they reached the watery ground. "Honestly, I'm jealous. I could never get to your power with jujutsu alone. Satoru said this thing is 80% born talent. How disheartening." she grumbled, feeling better already. "There's nothing cursed in your heart, sugar. Let the killing to me. I promised I'll protect you, I'm not going back on my word. I'm not going to see you die again." he threw her up a bit to get a better hold on her. "Hang onto me, foxy. Let's show this sucker how we do things." seeing his infamous smirk on his face, she threw her arms around his neck, holding on tightly, seeing as he did a hand seal, calling out his Malevolent Shrine...And they were back home, dressed the same as they were so long ago...A thousand years ago...And the monster got split in 5 slices, before Sukuna dug out another one of his soul-fingers, and he started grinning even laughing even darker, realising that Yuji couldn't switch bodies again, which made villain jump out of the facility, right on top of it. "I guess...No matter what life we live, the sky is going to be forever beautiful." Kitsune sighed as soon as he let her down, but she didn't let go of him. Not this time. Fears won't take over her life anymore. "And yours is even more eternal than the moon's or the stars." he cupped her face, taking in her beauty for the first time in over a thousand years. "It's been to long. I made you wait far too long. I hope you didn't miss me too much." one of his hands found its fingers raking through her hair, and she closed her eyes a bit, taking in the warm, loving feeling that completely took over her. "I'll forgive you. You did take your bloody time...But at least you're here now. And you're not going anywhere. I won't let you." her hands slid down to the neck of his blouse, pulling him to her level, which only made him smirk smugly. "Good. That was my intention." his charming, dark voice spoke, making her heart beating faster, and feeling the hair on the back of her neck and the fluff on her tails stand up from excitement. "Won't it be weird? Being Yuji's body...?" she asked shyly, as he only chuckled, pulling the same Malevolent Shrine trick, so they finally looked as they did when they first met. "Better, sweet cheeks?" he pulled her flushed to his body, as she got on her tippy toes to get closer to his face. "Spectacular."

As the fox girl couldn't stop touching his face, raking her fingers through his hair, feeling his body closer to hers as her whole body felt hotter than ever before - It was just a kiss - His lips so sweet against her own, his arms, so strong, holding her, feeling her, loving her.

It was only them, under the gentle light of the silver moon, guarding them, as the stars softly twinkled, embellishing gold into the dark sky - Just like this love light up the darkness in their hearts.

Her tails wrapped around him instinctively, as they pulled apart, and looked each other in the eyes for the first time since they've known each other. Her eyes were sparkling with happiness, her lips were curled into a kitten-like smile, and she was glowing - It made Sukuna's heart have a pleasant arrhythmia as he saw in front of his very eyes a sight that he's been dreaming about for over a millennium - The woman that captured his heart - Happy, in his own arms, safe, and very kissable.

This feeling and image were worth waiting a thousand years.

[popi-the-fatui]

CHILDE BF HCs

(that no one asked for but here they are anyways)

A/N: this man needs some luv. Long post, there is a whole iceberg under the “read more���. Also, I tried to keep a Gender Neutral reader so pls DM me if there are any mistakes!!

TW: DESCRIPTION OF AN ANXIETY ATTACK, SPOILERS FOR THE REX LAPIS QUEST AND CHILDE’S PAST, a little bit of angst

🐋 Let’s bust some myths first: contrary to popular belief, Childe has no experience at relationships or intimacy at all. Non. Cero. The Venn diagram of romantic/intimate stuff and things Childe has done is a void. But it’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just that he hasn’t had the time to experience any of these things because he is a busy man: between fighting, training and being a Harbinger, there is not a minute left for him to indulge in other things. 

🐋 The problem with this is that Tartaglia is a people’s person. He WANTS to be able to have someone that he can do these things with. At the end of the day, when he comes home tired after a mission, all he wants is someone to be waiting for him with cuddles, hugs, kisses, reassurance, caresses, or just a simple “how did your day go?” Because of this, he has a lot of pent-up love that he has not been able to give. 

🐋 In that note, he is also incredibly touch-starved: not only does he want someone to give that love to, but Childe also craves to receive it. When was the last time he was touched by someone in a context that was not a fight? He loves fighting, obviously: he has trained for a big part of his life to be able to defeat everything and everyone. But he is also just a human, and there are limits to how long a person can go without a loving touch. 

🐋 So when he finally falls victim to the first signs of infatuation, this poor whale man will have an internal battle: do I reach for them? Would they be better off if they never meet me? Will they accept me? Has my reputation already ruined this for me before it even began? How do I approach them? Do I look presentable? Am I going to scare them away? Childe will be torn between wanting to protect you from himself (as the Fatui business is not an easy pill to swallow for everyone) and protect himself from you (his heart would not handle rejection/disgust very well), and wanting to KISS YOU AND HUG YOU AND KNOW MORE ABOUT YOU BECAUSE ARGH WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO ADORABLE.

🐋 So he finally decides to compromise between these two stances, and let YOU decide whether you want him as a friend, a lover or a stranger. He starts greeting you whenever he sees you in the streets, subtly asking if you would like him to join you in your commissions, inviting you for lunch/dinner after a mission so you can recharge your energy, asking if you want to go and share drinks with him and Zhongli. You know, friendly stuff friends do. And he doesn’t even try to hide the happy smile that escapes him whenever you say yes to him: when it comes to you, there is nothing he needs to hide. Well, except for that one thing. 

🐋 He knows that you know he is somehow associated with the Fatui, if his constant trips to the Northland Bank aren’t enough to tell. Usually, Childe dislikes going around things as he much rather hit straight to the point (being the point a fight, a deal or just a simple conversation). But he has grown so addicted to the sensations you make him feel that he can’t help but to try to postpone that tiny little detail about himself for later. He has never had anyone who genuinely wants to spend time with him and that can keep up with him. Childe knows he can be quite intense and that rumors about him aren’t really rumors but WARNINGS, and to finally have someone, even if you’re just friends, that is actively trying to get to know the real him means so much, and he doesn’t want to let that go as selfish as he knows it is because there’s a chance you could get hurt (emotionally and physically). 

🐋 Unfortunately for him, everything that goes up must go down, and that fateful day comes when his plans to take Rex Lapis’ Gnosis blows back to him. After that brief, tense conversation with La Signora and Zhongli, Childe’s ego can’t be any lower: it’s not often that he loses, and much less often that he loses while feeling like a fool. He wants to scream, fight, punch, kick. Anything to take out the impotence and anger he is feeling right now. 

🐋 You found him in this state while you were looking for him to see if he was alright because a WHOLE ASS PALACE JUST FELL FROM THE SKY and you’re very concerned for him as you haven’t had any news directly from him and all you know is that apparently Childe was the cause of it?

🐋 As soon as he sees you, his blood-lust disappears and he no longer wants to fight something: he wants to cry from shame. Shame at being found in this state. Shame at failing. Shame at what you would think of him now that the cat’s out of the bag because from the look in your face is EVIDENT that now you know how far his relationship with the Fatui goes. 

🐋 He falls to the ground, tears finally coming out and he is crying ugly sobs while hiccuping nonsense about how he is a weak, pathetic, disgusting failure and it’s not fair it’s not FAIR IT’S NOT FAIR IT’S NOT-

🐋 “Look at me” you softly call to him, but he is panicking and hyperventilating and not responding to anything that’s outside of his head, so you decide to sit on your knees in front of him, gently cupping his face with your hands, caressing his tears away with your thumbs. 

🐋 “Childe, look at me. Please?” You try again, carefulness in your tone as to not startle him. And when he finally reacts and looks up, you don’t see Tartaglia the 11th Harbinger, nor Childe the fatui flirt. All you see is a broken man that carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, exhausted from constantly fighting against everything the world has thrown at him, and your heart aches for him and wonders how long this man has suffered alone, how long has he suffered in silence. 

🐋 “It’s okay, Childe. You’re okay. Can you breathe for me?” You position yourself behind him and put your hands on his shoulders, rubbing circles with your fingers to further calm him. “Breath with me, yeah just like that. Now hold it for a bit and then release it. Keep going, I’ll do it with you. I’m here”

🐋 Childe finds himself finding it easier to breathe with each inhale and exhale, and when he is finally going down from his high, catharsis hits him HARD. Is this what he has been missing all of his life? Is releasing all that pent-up frustration supposed to feel this good? And he feels a little selfish, because he knows he doesn’t deserve your comfort after the stunt he pulled, but Childe can’t help but become putty under your tender touches and your soft words, and he wishes for a different context, for a different past in which he never fell into the abyss, never joined the Fatui, never felt that the only way to survive was to fight. Instead, he wishes for a past in which he is traveling because he wants to, and he meets you, and he courts you and makes your cheeks heat up at something he said. And you are not touching him because he had a panic crisis that he himself caused. No, he imagines the both of you after a dinner date in Liyue. The sky is dark and the stars are shining but the streets are still full of people laughing and talking and the light from the lamps are reflecting beautifully in your hair. You are walking near the harbor, and you are holding his hand and he is giving you a kiss on your forehead because he can’t help himself. In another life, he would have found you and loved you the way you deserve and the way he needs. 

🐋 But he knows that now is too late, and all he has left is a mind full of regret because he did, in fact, hurt you. How could you trust him after this? How could you WANT him after this? So imagine his surprise when the first thing that comes out of your mouth is a soft “Are you ok now, Childe?”

🐋 “I- how- what?” He mutters in disbelief. Why are YOU asking HIM that? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

🐋 “You had me very worried back there. I thought you would stop breathing at any moment. You are not hurt, are you?”

🐋 And he laughs. A high-pitched, almost maniac laugh. “You know I was the cause of all of…” he says, moving his arms to signal, well, everywhere “...this, right? I believe you now must know what my real business in Liyue was, and that I’m not just some random Fatui officer”

🐋 “Well… I kind of suspected it? How many ‘random Fatui officers’ are carrying a Vision, huge amounts of Mora and have so many ‘meetings’ at the Northland Bank with the Qixing themselves? I mean, I didn’t know you were a Harbinger, but I did know that you were a higher up in the organization. I’m not dumb, you know?” you answer light-heartedly. 

🐋 “Then why would you keep hanging out with me? If you knew all of that, then you for sure must have known that people tend to keep me in a ‘do not trust’ list. People are wary around me, and they should! If you knew of the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve DONE. The reputation surrounding the Fatui, especially the Harbingers, wasn’t built on nothing, you know?”

🐋 “Don’t get me wrong. I do have somewhat of an idea of the things you do for a living. And let me be clear: I certainly do not condone it. And to be honest, I know that things between us would be easier if you weren’t a Fatui and I actually wish you weren’t one” you can feel how his whole body deflated at that, and even if you are sitting behind him, you just know he has a pout on his face, so you resolve for hugging him from behind and rest the side of your face between his shoulder blades, and continue. 

🐋 “But in the past weeks, I also had the opportunity to get to know you. Not Fatui you. But human you. I know that you have a family that you love very much and you do everything in your power to protect them. I know that you haven’t had it easy, and that some scars you have still hurt. I know that you absolutely can’t eat with chopsticks, but your pride refuses to give up and you try anyway. I know that you’re a passionate man that holds his dearest people close to his heart. I know that you hate when I’m sad so you’re willing to make a fool of yourself if that means I’ll end up laughing. I know how you wait outside of my building until my window lights up after you get me home so you are sure nothing happened to me. I know by the way you sometimes disassociate from the world around you that you are thinking of home and returning to your family” as you speak, you feel something wet falling on your upper arms, and realize that Childe is silently crying. You have half a mind to stop, but you also know that he needs to hear this, so you tighten your hug a little in reassurance. 

🐋 “I also know that whenever I see you with a new wound, I can’t help but worry for you and my first instinct is to check if you are okay. I’m now familiar with the way my heart skips a beat whenever I get to see one of your genuine smiles, especially when the reason behind them is that you get to spend some time with me. I know my eyes soften when I see you talking about something you’re passionate about. The truth is, I care for you, Childe. I really do, Fatui or not. Harbinger or not. And yes, while I would rather you not be one, I still can’t help but long for your company because you make me happy. Because I love you. So don’t underestimate me. I’m strong and so are my feelings. You being a Fatui is not gonna change that”. After this, you two sit in silence for a few minutes, but it’s not an awkward one despite your confession. You know he is gathering his thoughts so you move one of your arms that is wrapped around Childe’s torso to card your fingers through his hair, mindful of the knots that had appeared after the battle. If he doesn’t believe your words, then you sure hope he trusts your actions. 

🐋 Childe is the one who breaks the silence when he asks “How could you possibly love someone like me?”. If you weren’t sitting that close to him, you wouldn’t have heard it. He says this so softly, so gently, almost as if he was trying to convince himself and not you. 

🐋 “Silly boy” you laugh warmly. “Did you hear anything I just said?” You ruffle his hair, and finally, FINALLY, you can hear him giggle a little. “You don’t get to decide who I love. That’s my choice, and I choose to love you”

🐋 No kisses were shared that day. No grand, magnificent romantic gestures were made. Only the silent promise of two young lovers to love and cherish each other as they were. And maybe, just maybe, you could work things out, together, to build yourselves a brighter future. 

🐋 So after all has been said and done: congrats! You are now the proud s/o of Teyvat’s biggest simp. 

🐋 Childe is your number one fan. Everything you do is carefully recorded in his mind for later use. He has to go on a mission away from you? Be prepared to be pampered and being taken on several dates the previous week so this clingy man has something to hold on to. 

🐋 Also: he is shameless. He will not be afraid of making out with you in plain daylight on a busy street. But fear not! If you happen to not be a fan of PDA, he will try to be low-profile. You are, afterall, a person he treasures and can’t live without, so your comfort comes before his needs. Now, I say “try” because he will still demand to hold your hand and give you the random kiss on your cheek. 

🐋 HUGS. FROM. BEHIND. Watch him giving you hugs like Oprah. You are buying something? Cooking? Chilling? Expect to feel a pair of long limbs wrapping from behind you in a tight hug like a koala. It’s his hourly vibe check. 

🐋 Very jealous and protective of you. He is very afraid that one day you’ll realize there are plenty of people better than him and you’ll leave him, so please remind this simp that he is more than enough for you. 

🐋 He also has nightmares from the time he spent in the abyss and will take sometime for him to realize that he is no longer there, so give him a few minutes for him to come to his senses and then please for the love of the Tsaritsa cuddle the life out of him. Also on this note, I have the headcanon that he prefers being the little spoon. That, or facing each other and he rests his face in the crook of your neck while leaving little pecks there. 

🐋 Also you discover, to your surprise and as stated at the beginning , that this man has absolutely no idea how to do relationships. To compensate for this and to give you only the best of the best (as you deserve), he spends time in his travels to read romantic novels to have an idea of what to do, so don’t be surprised if he says or does something corny or cringey. 

🐋 The most chaotic “meet the family” you’ll ever have. As soon as he takes you to Snezhnaya, you will have all of his siblings running and tackling you into a bear hug (he sends A LOT of letters to his family about you and if you read them you would not be sure if he is talking about you or a deity).

🐋 He also tries to keep you out of anything regarding the Fatui. It’s a relief that you finally know about how deep his person runs in the organization, but he also wants to spare you from the details of what he does unless something is really bothering him. 

🐋 All in all, this golden retriever is your biggest hype man and the most loyal boyfriend. You will never get bored with Childe, as everyday is an adventure with him and he will make sure you to make you as happy and loved as you make him feel.

[atlas-of-galaxies]

pls explain how ur choosing which entities to give to which yttd characters i am listening

i love u thank u for indulging me

I'm gonna go ahead and put this under the cut tho cuz it's about to get Very long and Very spoilery

Sara as the Desolation

right out of the gate is one of my favorite assignments!! Sara has proven many times that she (understandably) is willing to use others to keep herself and the ones she cares about alive. the moment with Anzu being sacrificed over Gin in the Coffin Russian Roulette is an obvious example, but she's shown her selfishness many times throughout the game, such as her scramble to find enough tokens to dump her Sacrifice onto someone else, and her subsequent reaction when she suddenly realizes she's free of it. it's one of my favorite parts of her character.

Desolation is also a lot about loss of potential; Joe's death weighs heavy over her, and she feels nothing but guilt and responsibility for the fact he died so young. not to mention her own role in the Death Game as the supposed 15.5% player; her own potential for cruelty is held over her head by both Shin and Midori, and Keiji's pressure over her to become a leader undoubtedly adds to the expectations she's already crumbling under. she's being pulled every which way, and I really do hope she has her moment of catharsis in 3-2.

... speaking of ... she has quite a similar story to Agnes Montague, doesn't she? :) and I'll admit this next bit is just coincidence, but the Desolation is always antagonistic with the Web, out of all other entities. and the Web in my silly little assignments is, well ...

Shin as the Web

okay, I'll admit I have a very specific idea for Shin, but hear me out. one of my favorite little worldbuilding details in TMA is utilized with Mike Crew: the idea of devoting yourself to one entity to escape another.

Shin is, quite bluntly, the Stranger's ideal target: he mistrusts others, he is terrified of kindness as a mask for evil intentions, and its whole thing is the perversion of identity and self. I think that his First Trial would serve as the culminating realization of his utter hopelessness and inability to trust those who may mean his downfall - however, instead of plainly falling victim to the Stranger, he turns to the coping mechanisms that Midori taught him.

he turns to the Web. he takes that same fear of manipulation he learned from Midori, weaponizing it and doing everything in his power to turn the Game to his favor. granted, he's not nearly as good at it as Midori was, but he certainly puts on a good show, and the Spider is nothing if not dramatic.

Keiji as the Slaughter

another favorite of mine. :) one mistake, one slip in judgement, one hasty pull of the trigger, and Keiji is suddenly haunted for life. he was tricked into violence, sure, but that doesn't mean he isn't still responsible for it, and he's terrified of that part of himself that killed his idol. who's to say it won't happen again? will the next person he hurts be less innocent than his idol? does that make it better?

I think he also has a little bit of Fear Soup Syndrome going on; his fear is very much Slaughter-based, but it manifests in a Spiral-esque fashion, hence the hallucinations. Keiji's absolute lack of trust in himself is also very rooted in the Spiral. Sara, too, but to a less intense degree.

speaking of,

Joe as the Spiral

what else would fit the guy who had to deceive others to try to survive but the embodiment of deceit? even in the single chapter we know him for, Joe has multiple moments where he shows a lack of faith in himself or his beliefs. honestly, he's really only exceptionally strong in his stances where Sara is concerned, hence his one man show in the first Main Game. even if he had somehow managed to survive, though, the guilt I have no doubt he'd foster over tricking the others would weigh heavy on his shoulders. what kind of guy would let 9 people die for his sake? no one worth trusting, that's for sure.

and, of course, then there's the easy part of the assignment: Hallucination Joe! not much to explain there.

Reko as the Stranger

here's an easy one: she literally gets Not!Themed. she doesn't die, sure (at least in one route), but she gets swapped out with a fake that can't quite get Reko down right. the fake is even a doll, for hell's sake. reko was the blueprint (i'm joking i'm 90% sure not!sasha was introduced years before)

barring the elephant in the room, though, her regular self still fits the bill; she's a performer at heart, and her distaste at being manipulated into specific roles and boxes could definitely align with the Stranger's dealings with identity. hell, even her dealings with Alice lend themselves to the Stranger, as she finds his supposed actions utterly incomprehensible. how did she ever trust someone who has the potential to take a life?

Alice as the End

everyday I think about the fact that Alice doesn't even remember the actual act that put him in prison. his entire life becomes tarnished and defined by this singular event that he cannot even recall; I can only assume that his brain moved to fill in the horrifying gaps and concoct his own version of events from what he's gathered in court proceedings.

he parallels Keiji very nicely in this regard, so I could see Slaughter working for him, too. but the thing that strikes me is that Alice's punishment becomes his entire existence, while Keiji's strife is over the fact he isn't punished. Alice isn't even allowed to forget his role in the Death Game; he's constantly in his prisoner's uniform, and his occupation is listened as a Murderer (I'm sure that's more Midori being petty than anything else but it still counts).

the final nail in the coffin is the fact that death is the thing that keeps Reko and Alice from reconciling, which is really the one thing Alice wanted to do before he dies.

Nao as the Corruption

I love assigning characters as the Corruption because it's almost always for one of the less-utilized aspects of it: toxic love. and Nao, through no fault of her own, fits the bill quite well. whether it's her maddened grief that inadvertently endangers Gin and gets manipulated into attacking Shin, or the fact that she is responsible for the only canon ending we have so far at the price of the lives of 6 people, Nao is almost always put into a situation where sympathizing with her means harming others.

she seems to have issues with boundaries too, as evidenced in her rapidly warming up to Sara, a total stranger, and some. um. choice scenes in YTTS. she gets attached hard and fast to others, even if those others happen to be an AI of her dead professor ... I forget if any characters call it out as such, but I doubt such coping is exactly healthy.

I feel like I'm absolutely dragging Nao thru the mud rn and I feel BAD cuz I adore her, but she's a wonderfully complex character who, despite her understandable situation, is capable of doing some very bad things. she's fascinating and I miss her deeply.

Kai as the Hunt

as an extension of the organization that has been tracking and studying the participants for years before the Death Game, Kai fits quite neatly into the Hunt. his role as the hunter ("stalking" Sara, protecting the Chidouins, keeping track of other participants) suddenly being flipped into being prey (being put into the Death Game, receiving the Sage) is classic Hunt behavior.

hell, he's even an assassin who doesn't like to kill! people engage in the Hunt for the chase, not the end result.

okay this is already long enough so I'll save the last four for once I finish their pieces, but I will say that I didn't repeat entities anywhere so. do with that information what you will

[e-wills-afterhours]

Affairs Of The Heart, Chapter 4

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3

-----------

The sky was deep purple; a dusky blanket of stars that shone brighter with sunset. Dark clouds were formless masses, ominous without their sunlit outlines.

Everything was more formidable in the dark. Hiccup knew that.

And he should have known the slight hope lurking behind his common sense was plain stupidity. Astrid was going to marry Stefnir, and that was the end of it. Any further anguish he felt then would be foolish echoes of a one-sided infatuation. He growled, more at himself than anything or anyone else.

Toothless was flying along his own course and Hiccup was his passive rider. Flexing his prosthetic foot in the tail mechanism was second nature now, performed almost involuntarily based on subtle cues from Toothless's shifting muscle. His mind was freed to wander, vulnerable to all his furious, self-disparagement. He was vaguely aware of the salty sea spray prickling along his skin like icy needles; and the fluttering of his tunic, circulating humid evening air over his body.

Hiccup gazed out at the spreading dark of the freshly set sun. Time passed. He did not know how much.

"Toothless, where are we going?" he asked, clicking the Night Fury's tail fin into a new position when he felt the dragon begin to list.

Toothless warbled and Hiccup squinted in the fading light. He could make out a barren stretch of land, distinguishable by the volcanic peak rising up from black sand. He asked his Night Fury to take him far from Berk quick, fast, and in a hurry; but Dragon Island was not as far off the edge of the world as he wanted to go. Still, it was uninhabited by man or dragon, haunted by the memory of the Red Death. Although she was long dead, her tyrannical presence could still be felt in the reigning silence and the island's perpetual gloom.

The beach rushed closer and a small adjustment in Toothless's tail fin saw them safely to it. Sand was never kind to Hiccup's prosthesis, forcing him to readjust his stance often as the metal limb sank into the grit. He would have chosen more solid ground, but Toothless gazed at him with rounded eyes and a soft growl, seeking reassurance that he was satisfied.

Hiccup's lips twitched; not a true smile but sparing whatever shred of kindness he could for his best friend. He laid a hand on the dragon's scaly snout, and Toothless pressed into his touch.

Gulls shrieked above them, just visible. Toothless jerked his head, following their path with a curious snort.

Hiccup did not think it fair to keep his dragon with him as he wallowed in his misery.

"Go on, bud." He gave the Night Fury a gentle pat. "Have some fun."

Toothless hesitated, barely turning away, warbling his reluctance. Hiccup nodded and his dragon lingered a moment before bounding off into the shadows, in search of whatever prey would best entertain him. With the Night Fury gone, Hiccup felt alone on that beach; but for once, that did not trouble him.

He trudged through the black sand to the water's edge, his limp more pronounced, watching the waves rolling in by the rising moonlight gleaming off the crests. A briny wind combed through his hair and cut through his tunic. The moisture in the air made his skin feel clammy.

Sighing, he sat down, just out of reach of the breaking surf. One knee bent, and the other leg folded beneath it, he leaned back on his hands, staring out at the sea. Images flashed in his mind, more vivid than the world around him. Old memories of kisses and smiles; and newer memories of cold stares and disappointed frowns; colors and fragments of conversations past, which had been all-consuming at the time, but had ultimately amounted to nothing. Sitting alone on Dragon Island with a heap of regret was all he had to show for two years of pretending he was above everything; for failing to see the bigger picture beyond his own selfish concerns.

He had been punishing Astrid under the pretense of safe guarding his feelings; reading too much in her attempts at lukewarm friendship; expecting there was something deeper and intentionally hurtful there; claiming he no longer cared when, in reality, his feelings for her ravaged his subconscious, flailing away in the back of his mind and making a mess of things. How he managed to fool himself into thinking he was over Astrid was a mystery.

Maybe she had a crush on him once: a girlish attraction to a boy who tamed wild dragons? Giggles still followed him around Berk from the younger girls of their tribe, now coming of age. Sure, he could see how that pedestaled image of him was appealing; but there was no depth to it beyond the ebb and flow of adolescent hormones. He and Astrid were older now, and she found something more satisfying in whatever her relationship with Stefnir offered. Hiccup could not beat that, and he knew it. Holding it against Astrid was counterproductive to any sort of healing or reconciliation. It was a barrier to any civil interaction between them. For no other reason than Hiccup wanted what he could not have; and was unwilling to accept what was for the idea in his mind of what should be.

If he could take it all back, he would have. Pining away brought a lot of unnecessary pain when he should have been focused on moving forward with his life. His father had more than implied a political marriage. Such a notion was not an inherently despicable thing. It made sense for him, and for his people. Political marriage was the inevitable conclusion when no love was to be found on Berk. Indeed, in times gone by, he might not have had any choice in the matter, if it was for the Hooligans' survival. Now, Astrid would be another man's wife. He had no other sensible prospects above a daughter of Berk's allies. He could do it. He would do it.

In the morning, he would finally make peace with reality. He would be sincere the next time he congratulated Astrid. He would go to his father and tell him to start working diplomacy with other tribes, to offer up their eligible daughters. That was how it had to be. He would go on to take a strange bride from a strange tribe and provide Berk with an heir. Such was his duty to his people.

He could learn to be pleased with it, too.

After he spent one last night lamenting everything.

-------

Stormfly landed gracefully, spraying a little sand as her claws gripped the damp earth. Dragon Island was about as far from Berk as Astrid was willing to fly that night. It was also remote enough to shout all manner of obscenities at the gods, should she feel so inclined.

She slid out of her saddle, crouching low as her feet hit the beach. The island held so many memories that needed to be laid to rest. On that very shore, her feelings for Hiccup had evolved from girlish fancy to a deep respect and admiration, watching him risk everything for the people who rebuked him. How fitting it was then, that she had returned to the same place to let him go.

The stars twinkled above her, in a beautiful mockery: little vantage points from which Hiemdall could watch her struggle.

"Damn you," she hissed at whatever deity might be laughing now.

She paced, locking her fingers together and running them over her head with a long, slow breath. Her nerves were still shot. She looked to her left at the colossal bones of the Red Death, like twisted, grotesque shadows to remind her of a short-lived happiness where she thought everything might be alright. She should have told Hiccup then how she felt about him; she should have told him so many, many things…

...That her marriage was arranged, was at the top of the list.

She had never wanted it, never asked for it. Her parents had sprung it on her one evening when she had come home from Dragon Academy business. The world seemed so bright and full of limitless potential then. She and Hiccup often lingered behind after the other teens had gone home for supper. They would talk, laugh, and enjoy each other's company in a way they just couldn't when their friends were around. Then, that world dissolved in one evening of bitter truths that ruined what remained of Astrid's youthful carelessness.

Her parents informed her the marriage arrangement had been struck before she could crawl; before she showed she had any prowess in battle, that she could survive as a shieldmaiden not beholden to any man for her welfare. A deal, to better her family and protect their assets, uniting with another clan of repute, seeking more influence on the chief's council. Strategic social advancement: that was what it was about for the Svensons, too. The Hoffersons were a respected family of warriors. Moreso since Hiccup helped her clear her Uncle Finn's name. In return, Astrid would be cared for, should her husband fall in battle with dragons or Berk's enemies: that was the rationale behind it, and all the arranged marriages made at the time. They were meant to provide a young lady with means when war could take her husband early in life. But such a system became antiquated as soon as there was peace with dragons. The practice quickly fell out of favor before many youths their age became victims to it. Some families, however, still clung to old ways, be it for tradition or power-grabbing. Or, in the Hoffersons' case, because they felt honor-bound to uphold withstanding arrangements.

Astrid had been furious. She felt betrayed by her parents, making her into an object for barter. On top of all that, her mother had known of her attraction to Hiccup, even when her father was clueless. Astrid would have denied it then, if anyone asked her outright; it was a matter of pride to a foolish girl to whom being tough once meant everything.

But she did not feel tough any longer, made brittle under the weight of a false affection for her intended husband and Hiccup's cool, distant demeanor. She could handle one or the other, but not both.

Perhaps it was what she deserved for her duplicity? For lying to Stefnir, to Hiccup, and to everyone else. Telling the truth in the beginning would have been easier in hindsight, but her parents made the finality of the engagement abundantly clear. She had thought, at the time, the truth was too messy; too many feelings that would lead to nowhere, if she was, indeed, bound to marry Stefnir. Playing along seemed less complicated, since marriage still was still a far-off, abstract concept to a fifteen-year-old. Astrid would do what was expected of her, because that was who she was; she respected her parents and traditions.

Until her friendship with Hiccup became collateral damage.

Then, everything was suddenly much harder than she anticipated, but the lie was already set in motion. The longer it went on, the harder being honest became; the more harm it would do, and the more shame it would bring. She was not one to disappoint and stir up trouble, so she kept pretending; she kept pulling Hiccup in only to push him away, all while she held her future husband at a comfortable distance from her heart.

Hiccup always tried to simplify the situation by doing what she could not. He saw the futility in a continued friendship, so he drifted his separate way; and Astrid had grated on his kindness by holding on to him just tight enough until there was nothing left to squeeze from him anymore.

She had come to Dragon Island to let go, painfully wrenching her delusions from her heart and setting them adrift in the tide.

Stormfly growled, piercing her thoughts. The dragon trudged through the sand to nudge her rider. Astrid turned, running her hand over her dragon's neck, before burying her face in those familiar scales.

"I'll be alright. At least I have you, Stormfly," she murmured, scrunching her eyes shut as they burned and blurred with tears of self-pity she would not shed. Her lip trembled and she bit the inside to make it stop.

She stood there, face pressed into her dragon as the sea tried to sing her its soothing melody. While it was unhelpful, it was better than lying curled up in her bed, staring out of her window at the chief's house as she reflected on everything she had done; hating herself for it.

It crossed her mind that her parents or Stefnir might wonder where she was, but it was a fleeting concern eclipsed by her own need to decompress. She could have stayed there on that beach all night, everyone else be damned.

Her dragon, however, was not content to let her drown in all of her unhappiness. Stormfly started to fidget, then squawk. Astrid pushed back, staring at her dragon in confusion. But Stormfly gazed past her. Something moved toward them in darkness. Astrid could hear its heavy strides; but her dragon did not seem threatened. Instead, the Nadder took a few steps forward, flapping her wings in a jubilant greeting. Astrid's fingers twitched for her axe, fastened to her dragon.

"Stormfly, what are you-?"

Eyes.

Large, feral eyes stalked toward them, with a warble that made Astrid's heart flutter, before cutting her with a nauseating realization.

"Toothless," she gasped; and a thin veneer of sweat broke out across her hairline. Her heart started to race.

If the Night Fury was there, then so was Hiccup. And that was terrifying.

She reached out for Stormfly, resolved to return home to Berk. She felt stupid for leaving in the first place. Her impulsive quest for solitude had only brought her around Hiccup again. He was inescapable.

Her hand rested on her saddle, curling in the weathered strap she often used to hoist herself up.

She paused.

Hiccup was inescapable. Their village was not too large, and her weapon would need maintenance on occasion; their paths were bound to cross in the sky, on their dragons; and he was going to be the chief someday. She could not duck into buildings or whip around to avert her gaze every time he walked by. She refused to spend a lifetime of dodging and hiding, even if it would hurt to face him.

Alone, on the island, away from prying eyes and eavesdroppers, Astrid could finally explain everything to him. She doubted it would change anything, but at least her conscience would be cleared. Then she could lay their friendship to rest with permanence, knowing there was no more left unsaid between them. She did not expect Hiccup to care, but she felt she owed it to him for who they used to be.

She patted Toothless and the dragon crooned, always glad to see her even if his rider was not.

"Where's Hiccup?" she asked. "Take me to him?"

Toothless cocked his head as he processed her request. She climbed on Stormfly's back, but the Night Fury did not keep her waiting. He raced off into the shadows, and Astrid did not need to urge her dragon forward; Stormfly was already flying after him.

-----------

Hiccup stood, brushing the sand from his hands. His heart was pounding in his head. Shock gave way to angry disbelief. Even when he had been prepared to give up, she had that unnatural ability to find him. It was as if she existed to do nothing else but complicate things. He offered her no other greeting than lips pulled in a tight line, eye blazing.

She dismounted Stormfly, but she did not come toward him. There was only a short stretch of beach between them; but it felt far too close, yet a world apart. They gazed at each other, their thoughts no longer mutually discernible as they had been just two years before.

"What are you doing here?" he meant to snap, but he was too exhausted to muster his full indignation; he sounded more annoyed than anything.

Astrid floundered for a moment. She seemed skittish even, more so than he could ever remember seeing her.

"I didn't expect anyone else would be out here this late." She started to approach him and he took a couple of steps back. "I didn't follow you here, if that's what you're thinking. I came out here to be alone."

She advanced one step at a time, and he retreated until the surf was lapping at his ankles. Silver moonbeams flashed off the studs of her kransen and rested in her hair, brilliant in a way Hiccup wished he had not noticed.

"So you didn't follow me here after I left the forge?" he asked, voice still with an edge.

Astrid's brow furrowed. "Why would I follow you? I thought you were still back there, working on some new project or whatever task Gobber had for you."

"Well, if you want to be alone, I'd be happy to oblige. This island is big enough that our paths don't have to cross again." Hiccup turned his eyes on Toothless, gesturing for the dragon to come to him; but the Night Fury only balked and growled an apology.

Astrid tried to cut him off. "Don't leave! Now that you're here, I-I want to talk to you. I want to explain things."

"Explain to me why you're marrying your boyfriend of the past two years?" His voice was too flat, even for him. "I think I can figure that one out on my own, Astrid."

She sighed. "There's a lot more to it than that."

Hiccup set his jaw, brushing past her. They had already exchanged enough words in the smithy. He made a beeline for Toothless, no nearer to making peace with reality if he lingered there with her.

"I'm not much of the type for planning weddings, if that's what you're getting at," he said.

"No, I-"

"And I'm too busy with work to craft your wedding bands." Which was a lie he hoped she could not see through. "Gobber would be the better choice for that."

He climbed into his saddle. Toothless crouched with a plaintive warble and wide eyes. The dragon could be comforted later when Hiccup was calm enough to soothe him and explain things like he might understand.

"Hiccup, don't."

There was something in Astrid's voice, but he probably imagined it, because she did not plead.

"You'll have a lovely wedding, I'm sure of it." He fixed his prosthesis to Toothless's. He ignored his dragon's protests. "It will be a half-week-long celebration, at least. Berk will be thrilled. Any excuse to throw a party."

"Hiccup-"

"There will be more offers to help out than you know what to do with. Why would you even need my help?"

"That's not-"

He was being petty again. Facetious; hurting like he felt he was entitled to do. He breathed deeply, forcing the most insincere benignity in hope he could make them both believe it.

He opened Toothless's tail fin, preparing to fly off and put an end to the disaster of their strained relationship. "It's exciting, though. Really. I'm very happy for-"

"Gods damn it, Hiccup! It's arranged!" she blurted out, grasping his arm. Her fingernails dug into his sleeve to wrest his attention back to her. "The whole marriage is arranged! I never wanted any of this!"

Her outburst left a ringing silence in its wake, save for the squawking of gulls and the eternal rush of the sea.

--------

Astrid's face was burning, and she was glad for the lack of daylight to hide the rosy curse of a fair complexion. She released her grip on Hiccup. He was sitting astride Toothless, just staring at her. He did not say anything, and the expression on his face was unusual. She did not know what to call it. He looked surprised, but also irritated. His eyebrows were set somewhere between the two. There was a faint curl to his lip, though she did not know if it was disgust or disbelief.

"What do you mean it's arranged?" he asked. He rolled his shoulders back so he was sitting upright. Gods, he had gotten so tall.

She cleared her throat, hands on her hips. She wanted to regain some composure, to feel like she had some measure of control to such a long awaited conversation. "I would think, Hiccup, you're smart enough to know what that means."

He sat, poised on his dragon for another moment, considering her with an intensity that she had not seen from him for a long while. She felt like she stood an eternity under his scrutiny.

Finally, his face softened, but not anywhere near the point of friendliness. He dismounted Toothless, holding fast to his saddle. He was not looking at her then, gaze fixed to the sand. She wished she could decipher it, whenever he thought that loudly. His mind shouted out words at her, but her ears were not tuned to hear them anymore.

"So you're…not marrying Stefnir because you love him?"

"Does it matter, Hiccup?"

He hesitated.

"No. It doesn't," was the answer he gave; but not the one Astrid suspected he wanted to say. His feet were firmly planted on the ground. He was not trying to run; he was engaging her, for once.

"I don't want to talk about whatever feelings I may or may not have for Stef, okay?"

"Stef? Adorable. Did he come up with that one? Points for originality."

"Hiccup!" Astrid was huffed, dropping her arms to her sides.

He was being unusually abrasive, and she could not begin to imagine why. He had no interest in her romantically; that much was plain. She did not understand why knowing she had no control over her fate aggravated him.

"If you don't want to talk about him, what is the point of bringing up your impending marriage at all? Why bother telling me it's arranged?" he scowled. "What does it accomplish?"

"Because I'm hoping it'll change things."

"As far as I know, you're still going to marry him."

"Yes. But that's not the point."

"Then nothing's changed. You and he are-"

"No. I want to change things...between us, Hiccup." She gestured between them emphatically.

"Us?"

Astrid nodded.

Hiccup withdrew his hand from his saddle and turned toward her fully. "What is 'us', Astrid? What is there to change?"

"All of it. Hiccup, we've lost something. I want to get it back, if that's even possible."

He moved toward her, closing the distance between them. Her breath caught in her chest.

"I've spent two years trying to convince myself that all of those kisses and flirting didn't mean anything. You're trying to tell me now that they did, once?"

"They still mean something."

Hiccup laughed, but it was humorless. "Does Stefnir know that?"

"No. He thinks you're little more than a friend to me now."

"Not even that, Astrid."

He turned back for his dragon but she lunged forward, seizing him by the shoulder and spinning him around. The floodgates had opened, and she was not going to leave things there. Reconciliation or not, there would be an end to all of it, right there on that beach.

"You've never been a cruel person. You said you don't hate me. You congratulated me on my engagement. Now you're so distant. You won't talk to me for more than a few minutes. You avoid me. Hiccup, I could freeze to death from that icy wind blowing off your cold shoulder!"

He scoffed. "You have Stefnir to keep you warm. You're not marrying for love, but you care for him. What, then, could you possibly want from me? You made it clear two years ago that you'd be just fine without me around, and now you're trying to tell me you're not? So all of the toying with me you've done has been to get back in my good graces? I guess it must really be miserable for you to have only one guy to jerk around. I'm tired of the games. I'm tired of the bitter feelings."

"Don't presume you know how I feel!" She brandished a finger at him. "I was trying to salvage a friendship that you've, apparently, lost interest in. Come to find out, you've been stewing in bitterness this whole time? Don't act like I'm the only one who's been dishonest!" She took a deep breath and continued, "We can put a patch on things, Hiccup. I'm sorry it's taken this long. I should have told you the truth two years ago. I never told you I had to marry Stefnir because I was trying to save you the disappointment."

"Right. Replace it with a different kind of disappointment? Makes sense."

Astrid's mind was reeling. She was so livid with his flippant comments, and hurt by his persistent disdain. Her heart ached with guilt and indignation, knowing the whole two years she had thought he simply did not care, he was inwardly seething. Things were more dire than she thought, and they were at a crossroads. The way back to yesteryear's rapport was blocked by their mutual lies; but the two roads ahead diverged. Down one path, they parted ways completely; down the other, they found a tepid new friendship always undermined by the truth that they could have been something more if only given the opportunity. Both roads were unsatisfying in their own right; and Astrid frantically scanned the horizon for a third option.

"If you can look me in the eye, right now, and tell me that you hate me; if you can honestly say you're not interested in any kind of friendship between us anymore, then I'll leave you alone. I'll go on to marry Stefnir, and you can go on holding your grudge and marry…some daughter of another chieftain, I suppose? We'll coexist in our miserable, parallel lives," Astrid said. "But you have to look at me now, and mean it!"

She was trembling, leaning in and rising up on her toes to make herself taller as she delivered her challenge. Hiccup was gazing down at her, arms folded across his chest. He did not answer her, but he was thinking loudly again. She could see it in his eyes as they stood so close. If he was so resolute–so determined to cast her aside–his answer should have been quick and sure.

But he stalled.

"I'm not interested in just a friendship with you, Astrid." His tone was sincere. He had meant what he said, but his eyes were laced with regret as the words left his mouth.

He seemed genuine, but so did his eyes telling her there was a follow up to that statement; an implied "but" he would not speak. It was there nevertheless, in the utterance of "just".

In his reluctance, Astrid found the third option: the hidden road.

"Good," she replied. "Because neither am I."

She seized the collar of his tunic and pulled him down the short distance into a desperate kiss.

[ellsbclls]

" wow... you look... you look amazing. " for peter please? i love love love ur writing btw!

NOTE: This... ended up so embarrassingly long... i don't even know what the word count is, but i can bet it's a good 20%-30% longer than the average blurb.

WARNINGS: cursing, quirky🤪 mentions of drug use, implied making out (but can be perceived as sex, dear god please don’t perceive it as sex though), and some good ol’ fashion stark!ready x peter parker banter

They say, "never meet your heroes." Well, Peter wished he had adhered to that warning before he ended up here — a lanky, overdressed thumb towering high above the roof of the Avenger's Compound.

A semi-annual assembly of New York City's finest heroes that had little to do with their civic duties, and much to do with their inhibitions, and just how much alcohol it would take to release them — but there was one glaring problem.

Peter didn't drink.

He never saw the allure, especially when it came at such a high risk. He'd convinced himself that he refrained for the sake of Aunt May, the only remaining part of his family who put her life on the line to ensure his safety and overall well-being — the Spider-Man reveal already took some getting used to, he didn't need to add drunken night expenditures to her overnight fretting. Yet, when Flash's 'End of the Year' party had been raided by the police, a small part of him found joy in knowing he needn't fear the police or their breathalyzer test, even if he was deemed Pussy Parker for the remainder of that summer.

Even if he wanted to instill some liquid courage into himself, he hadn't the basic courage to let himself be vulnerable like that, in front of all the adults that made up the Avengers. Mr.Stark had already commented on his only suit, and how small he looked as it swamped his form, and the entire altercation made him wish the roof would just open up and swallow him whole.

Bullies, you'd call them.

There they were, New York's finest Defender's, huddled around the Mastrangelo like it couldn't put their entire life savings to shame, hosting a rousing game of beer pong upon its marble exterior. Your father was lucky your mother was still in Milan, tying up loose ends on a new line of bullshit you didn't concern yourself with. You just counted the days until she returned home, and you could soak up every ounce of her nurturing presence.

God, did you miss her.

It’s not like your father wasn’t just as nurturing, competitively so, to a point were you almost felt smothered — but you were too alike. In spaces where you both held too stubborn, your mother was there to mediate, and with ceaseless barrages of dry humor came her firm, unwavering severity, proving her love with candid remarks instead of jesting quips.

“Oh, free intern!” He dragged you from your nostalgic supercut with your endearing nickname, coaxing a fierce glare from your hues. “Run down to that place on 7th street and get some beer? And not that Miller Coor’s Bud bullshit, the upper echelon on Sigma Delta Nu delicacies.”

Jesus Christ.

You had caught glimpses of his argument with Steve, complaining about how stupid it would be to pour anything top shelf into a red solo cup — blasphemous really — but you didn’t expect him to do anything more than concede.

"Father of the year, everybody." You clapped just above your head, prompting the remaining company to join you. "I think you're forgetting that I'm not twenty-one."

"First and foremost, I know I am," Tony counters your triumphant grin with a sarcastic one. "Which is how I know that your fake ID says 21."

"Stark, it's fine. I can grab the beer," You thanked God and her impeccable timing once Steve interrupted, settling himself between the two of you with outstretched palms. "I could use the fresh air anyway."

You mimicked Steve's stance, cocking your brows toward your father. "See? Problem solved. Now leave me alone."

Losing interest in the company exponentially, you started to retreat, but groaned once your father's voice pierced the air again. "Nuh-uh-uh, Rogers. Why? So you can go to the nearest GNC and snort a container of protein powder? I don't think so."

You retreat to the furthest recesses of your mind as Tony and Steve bicker back and forth about honesty and friendly competition. Steve wouldn't know how to bump a rail if the U.S Army assembled a thorough, interactive training course on it, and his age quadrupled the life expectancy of most snow-packed socialites. Yet, on the other hand, you were shocked that your father even knew what a GNC was — ultimately, you were riled from your thoughts by an irksome realization.

"Are you fucking- Why can't old man Jenkins do it?" you gestured wildly toward the enhanced super soldier in question, blind to the obvious offense scrawled across his features. You seldom took your opulent lineage for granted, but when situations such as these presented themself, a selfish corner of your mind wondered what it would be like to have a run-of-the mill, cheesy-pun equipped, golf short wearing father. "You'd rather risk your daughter's own safety, and the sanctity of her criminal record, for a stupid game of beer pong?"

Natasha's incredulous laughter chimed between your incessant back and forth, spurred by the uncanny resemblance you and your father shared between every aspect imaginable — your dry wit just so happened to be in the spotlight.

"Yes," He didn't bother to meet your glare, already familiar with its scorching beam against the side of his face "Yes I would."

Hues practically rolled into the back of your skull, exaggerating your every move to a thespian level to make it clear, to even the boniest of heads, that you didn't take pleasure in this task. You were so excited to finally unwind at this event — slam down the sugary mocktail your Uncle Thor always "forgot" to order virgin, dangle your feet over the shallow end of the pool, maybe even shoot a few low jests at Bucky if there wasn't a carnal gleam in his eyes.

Your thrilling plans were now put on hold just to support your father's mid-life crisis.

"I know, I know." He tried to repeat the name of the wine stop n’ shop, only for you to wave him off. He wasn’t wrong — you had been abusing your fake ID in that very stop n’ shop for years, though you’ve recently come to the conclusion that the cashier was far more interested in your chest than your credentials. "If I get arrested, I'm bring you down with me. I'll tell Business Insider that FRIDAY's just one, big elaborate ruse for the underground Fake ID business you have on the side. They'll eat it up like-"

"Love you, honey! I'll venmo you!" He butt in, sending you off with a wave of his fingers.

You flipped him off, shouting an earnest 'I love you' in return. There was no denying that you loved each other, some would even argue that he loved you more than he loved himself — you just chose to show it in your own, eccentric way.

Mere seconds into your newfound task, you stopped dead in your tracks. You could make out that bed of chestnut locks anywhere.

"Parker?" Swiftly surveying his frumpy attire, you struggled to stifle the upward tilt of your lips. Even as he stood uncomfortably before you, visibly seconds away from crawling out of his own skin, he still managed to be the sweet, endearing Peter you knew and loved. "God, I didn't even realize that was you."

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you caught one fleeting glimpse of him at the very beginning of the festivities and thought he was a part of the catering company, nor did you feel a need to disclose the snide remark you whispered into your father's ear about the miserable staff. There was no sense in kicking a dead horse while it was already down.

His gaze weighed heavy against your frame, though, bolstered by an overwhelming intensity that forced you to wonder if he could read your mind. Though, if you could tap into his thoughts, you'd be shocked to find a reflection of your own — bewilderment, adoration, the tell-tale signs of a burgeoning crush, and the myriad of excuses that disputed them.

He could only manage to stumble over his words, complimenting you with sentiments that could never amount to the emotions welling in his chest. "Wow... you look... you look amazing."

And you couldn't argue, not with the way you were pampered hours prior. Mercier had smothered your hair in this honey-infused serum that made your curls bounce to life with each step, and the custom Jacquemus silhouette you were sporting hugged every ample curve enticingly so. You felt like a million bucks, and you probably cost that much give or take, so why deny it?

Peter, on the other hand — Well, he was very lucky that he was so cute, and his jawline could probably cut Vision's infinity stone straight out of his skull. It almost made up for the tragic shape of his suit, and just how tragically out of place it was at this event.

"You look, um-" Softness tugged at the corner of your eyes as they crinkled dotingly. "You look very cute."

"That was a very convincing half-truth." He chuckled, a subtle pink hue blooming over the valleys of his cheeks."

"Oh, so a part of you knows you're cute." You teased, enjoying the way the pink hue grew deeper.

"Oh! Oh, no... No, I mean, kind of? On the scale of confident perspectives, I think-uh-cute... Cute is on the lower end? And you know what? My Aunt May-"

"Peter, you wanna get out of here?" You interrupted him, hoping to save him from all the words he had yet to stumble over. "And then immediately come back?"

"Yeah," He vigorously nodded his head, despite being equally as confused. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Come," You offered your hand, a small gesture the two of you have woven into your complicated relationship. 

You'd tend to straddle a very thin line between friendship and something more, reaping all the warm, tentative affections of newfound lovers without explicitly considering yourselves so. The both of you, for as brilliant as your merits show, continued to convince yourselves that the hand holding, the comfortable silences, the mornings plastered against each other's sides, were simply happenstance. Despite the increasing willingness of each encounter, you'd only ever chalk it up to chance. So when you offered your hand out to him, he took it in stride — because the two of you would indulge in every ounce of attention you could get your hands on, at least until one of you inevitably came to your senses and found someone worth your time.

Your fingers were firmly intertwined as you led him to the roof’s exit, tugging him down the staircase and through the vacant halls of the top floor just in time to catch the elevator. You found no reason to keep his hand hostage once you were inside, so you begrudgingly retracted yours. You swore you could hear a pitiful huff come from his side of the elevator, but you chalked it up to wishful thinking. 

Now it was just you and Peter, left to your own devices, and roughly ninety-two floors away from your destination. Just enough time to do what you were aching to do.

“Peter,” You murmured, and his gaze flickered to your own without a moment of hesitation, drenched in a hopeful haze you failed to decipher.

“Y/N?” He echoed, tilting his body toward your own.

“You look...” You paused, unsure of which word accurately portrayed your thoughts. ”insane.”

“I know.” He whined. You tried to stifle the giggle that bubbled at his hopeless demeanor, brows furrowed together as he squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders slumped impossible low.

“It’s a good thing you have such a charitable friend.” And you made light work of his suit jacket, the air suddenly rapt with a thick air of electricity as you worked the offending article off his shoulders, haphazardly tossing it on the ground. Protests formed on the tip of his tongue, but he opted to swallow them in return for your help, going slack when you ran your fingers through his meticulously gelled hair.

Though he embodied the vision of a suave, debonair socialite alarmingly well, with his carefully quaffed locks, nothing suited him as well as the pillowy, fawn tendrils that made up his soft curls. You needed them back, needed a reminder of your sweet, darling boy, and patience was never your strong suit. 

You wondered if he was in need of the same reminder, seeing as he’d let you manhandle him without so much as a hum of discontent.

All done. Only a few revisions, and he was a completely different boy. Clad in a crisp, white shirt, sans its horrifying grey counterpart, you rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top three discs. The fabric was taut against his impressive set of muscles, leaving little to the imagination with each sweeping roll of his arms. You’d pat yourself on the back, but you were too busy drooling all over your work.

“Is- Is this good?” He broke the silence with a tentative query, peering back at you through his lashes.

"Yeah,” You voice came out strangled at best, distracted by the flurry of butterflies ravaging your stomach. There was something about this moment — maybe it was the glint of tenderness ridding his gaze, or your tight proximity, or maybe it was fate, finally persuading you to topple over that dangerous line — but regardless, you decided it was now or never. “but there's still something missing," 

“My jacket?” He breathlessly queried. His eyes frantically searched your face, like he couldn’t settle on just one feature to admire.

“No, no...” You breathed back, cautiously inching closer, until there was only a sliver of space separating your chests. "You need to loosen up, Parker."

“And what- What do you suggest I do?” His gaze flickered down to your lips shamelessly, and returned just as quickly. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

“Good,” You sighed, your breath fanning over his lips before you greedily chased its warmth, kissing him with such feather-light pressure, it almost felt like a dream — a thrilling, delicate dream. You had to tear yourself from his lips before you delved even deeper, hoping to find a mirror image of your relief, your satisfaction, in his own features. However, before your eyes even fluttered open, his palms swept under the curve of your jaw, and coaxed your mouth back to his, instantly qualming any of your fears as you both melted into the exchange. He tasted of spearmint, and cherries, and something so intoxicatingly him that you could barely restrain yourself.

You wanted him, God, did you want him, and for the first time, someone wanted you just as much, without an ounce of greed to it — He wanted you for you.

The remaining seconds of the elevator ride were filled with fervent kisses, and wandering hands, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck while his bunched the silky fabric of your dress. It was all smitten, indulgent brushes of your lips until the elevator dinged, and the doors opened up to reveal the fashionably late, dynamic duo —Sam Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes.

Their expressions were nothing short of priceless, one complexion green while the other ran pale at the sight of your interwoven limbs. You tried to open your mouth before they could comment, but you were far too late, buried in a booming wall of—

"This is a public space! You are defiling a public space!"

"I can't do this— I'm gonna take the stairs."

Their voices weaved into a messy, irritated harmony of disbelief, managing to still complement each other despite their varying levels of urgency.

An idea, a selfish, evil idea, popped into your head, and you enacted it before you could even unravel yourself from Peter’s hold.

"You just reminded me, I was about to text you! My dad needs a couple cases of Yuengling.” You gestured for Peter to press on the “Open Door” button, and by the time he started clicking the prompt, you’d already fetched your wallet, fishing your card out for Sam. “They probably have some at the corner store, but he’ll throw up if he finds out he was drinking alcohol from the corner store, so you’re gonna have to walk down to that market on Seventh.” You could feel Peter’s perplexed gaze gnaw at your shoulder, but you persisted in your impish pursuits, shoving the AmEx into his hand. 

“Chop chop, lover boys!” You hastily snapped your fingers in his direction, and yelled just loud enough to make sure Bucky accompanied him, parsing their punishment out evenly. 

Served them right, encroaching on such a perfect moment. 

Bucky’s groan echoed through the stairwell, followed by a childish stomp of combat boots, and you were pleased enough to shoo Peter’s hand away, pressing the “Close Door” button.

Sometimes it was nice being Tony Stark’s daughter — less backtalk from the sovereign throne of comebackdom.

“I thought you said we were getting out of here.” His brows were pinched together, the most adorable little frown forming between them.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” You replied, pressing the button for your floor. You could tell that the pieces weren’t clicking all the way, and you proceeded to spell it out for him, dropping a chaste kiss to the spot just below his ear. “We’re gonna go to my room. And then we’re gonna go right back to the party when we’re done.”

“When we’re done?” He mused, voice wavering beneath the soft caress of your lips, scattering even more tentative kisses down the column of his neck.

“When we’re done.” You parroted back, meeting his downward gaze through your lashes.”I think you still have some loosening up to do.”