#why must you persist in torturing us

[ab4eva]

Honestly, I’m getting real tired of this man’s blatant disregard for our feelings.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅹ▬ ⁽ 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝑔𝑜𝓃 ⁾ ¹

part two

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₁₀˖₆ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : slightly edited, talk of death, suicidal thoughts (??) ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : i had to split this into two parts since the entire one-shot might be at least 20k words long. there is no smut in this but in order to understand the second part i'll be writing, you'll need to read this! also, if you've read my demon one-shot, there's a little hint at these worlds colliding, let me know if you find where that is 😌

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : you, the princess of the jade empire, are on the run from your tyrannical uncle who is hell-bent on taking the throne for himself. following the death of your family members, you stand as the sole surviving royal descendant. as the unforgiving winter of the north looms closer and you find yourself without shelter, your desire for vengeance is set aside. stranded in a dark cavern, you struggle to stay alive and search for sustenance. but as you delve deeper into the cave, you unknowingly awaken a sinister creature lurking in the shadows, waiting to consume you whole.

꒰m!dragon ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

“ℳ y lady, you must go now!”

    What had your world come to? And why now?

      You stand there, overwhelmed and devastated as Eunice, your personal maid, thrusts a satchel into your quivering, awaiting hands, her eyes of umber brown are widened and her lips quiver with dread— she was terrified, and rightfully so. She was soon to meet her end, and yet she was accepting it with ease, so much so that it made your heart thump painfully within your ribcage. 

    Eunice was an older woman with greying, thick brown hair that usually framed her heart-shaped face perfectly, but it was now strewn about aimlessly at the top of her head in the midst of utter chaos. Her eyes were the faultless color of brown which held just the tiniest specks of hazel. Within the depths of those chocolate pools, a previously unseen emotion emerges, leaving your hands sweaty and your face pale.

    You shake your head softly at her command, clutching her wrist within your clammy hands, pulling her along with you. "Come, come with me, Eunice, let us flee together!" you beg frantically, tears streaming down your face in heavy rivulets, your mind throbbing with an impending migraine. Your watery, scared eyes make Eunice’s stomach twist torturously— she who had taken care of you since you were a child, could only force a wobbly smile.  

  Eunice's heart trembles with fear at the thought of her death. The mere concept of dying was a chilling specter that haunted her every waking moment. No one willingly wished to die. However, when it came to you, the child she had considered her own? Eunice would willingly embrace death a thousand times over if she had to. 

  She couldn't bear to watch you die, not like this, especially when there was still a chance for you to live, to experience the pleasures of life, and perhaps even create a family of your own one day.

  With her resolve solidified, the woman firmly withdraws her arm from your grasp and gently pushes against your shoulders. “I cannot. I will stay, buy you time,” she whispers. The distant echoes of battle cries resonate in the distance, and Eunice swiftly guides you toward the concealed passage nestled within your chamber.

    "This path shall guide you to Thaos Village within three sunsets. It is my hometown, seek out Geoffrey Jill. Remember My Lady, be smart, be alert. Do not trust anyone, the Kingdom is your enemy.” Her voice trembles, yet even amidst this harrowing ordeal, she maintains her composure, selflessly offering herself as a sacrifice. 

  You’d always been a stubborn child, Eunice used to playfully say that you got it from your Father. He was a formidable figure, unwavering in his decisions, and she saw that same strength in you as a child.

    With glazed eyes, you looked on to Eunice with persistence. Your hands twitching at your sides to grasp at her frayed garments, wanting to tug on them with earnestness, a commemoration to the youth you once were. 

  However, she couldn't help but wonder if she had been too sharp with you during your moments of defiance. Perhaps if she had indulged your rebellious spirit, you would've dragged her along to escape rather than sit arguing with her about it. This notion evoked a sense of self-centeredness within Eunice, as she contemplated her yearning for survival. The longing for life above all else was an inherent trait in human beings after all.

   Her throat constricts as you swallow thickly, your head nodding with a heavy reluctance. Drawing Eunice closer, you envelop her in your arms, feeling the weight of her absence already settling in your chest. “I will miss you dearly,” you whisper, your heart skipping a beat before throbbing painfully against your breast. Her delicate arms wrap around your waist, her tear-stained face seeking solace in the curve of your neck; and her tears searing into your flesh, eternally marking you. "And I, my lady, shall forever carry your memory."

 With a heavy heart, she lets out a hiccuping sob, it’s heavy and distraught– painful. Before abruptly pushing you into the dark passage. With a haunting intensity, she leans against the door, sealing you in. "Now go, My Lady. We shall meet again." Eunice grins, it's etched with weathered smile lines and a small dimple that imprints on the bottom left corner of her mouth, and it's gut-wrenching to see it as her final farewell to you.

 The weighty door crashes closed, its resounding echo reverberating through the air causing you to crumple onto the stony floor, tears muddying your sight and sobs wracking your body. The satchel she has given you feels leaden in your grip, its contents unknown but undoubtedly important for your survival outside the unfamiliar palace wall.

 Before you can gather yourself from your hunched position, you startle at a dull sound of noise beyond the thick passage wall. While your lips tremble with trepidation, you gently lean your ear against the door, desperately yearning to catch even the faintest whisper. And there it is, piercing through the thick barrier of the passage door - the deep resonance of your Uncle's voice, reverberating in your mind like a haunting wail. 

  The tempest raging inside you teeters on the edge of an eruption, stoked by the ghostly memories of a man who once held a special place in your heart, a man you revered and faithfully trailed. But now, he’s the man who mercilessly slaughtered your entire family, driven by his insatiable thirst for power and a birthright that rightfully belonged to another. 

  However, his unappeasable greed eventually caused him to become careless, and amidst the bloodbath of your twentieth name-day, Eunice found an opportunity to aid in your escape. Yet, in just a few hours, your Uncle and his soldiers managed to infiltrate your section of the palace. Eunice, informed by the guards posted near your quarters, unveiled a hidden passage to you in a last-ditch effort. Your world had crumbled in a matter of moments.

“Do not feign ignorance in my presence, woman. My niece, where has she gone?”

    You find yourself drawn back into the moment, where Eunice's unwavering silence lingers in the air. A sense of unease mixed with anticipation twists in your stomach. In an instant, a sharp sound echoes through the room, accompanied by Eunice's anguished wail. Overwhelmed, you reflexively muffle your gasp with a quivering hand, hot tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. 

“I will ask you once more–” His words are abruptly halted and a hush descends upon the room as if time itself has frozen. In the stillness, the piercing sound of a blade being unsheathed pierces the air, followed by the steady voice of Eunice, filled with unwavering resolve. “Go to hell.” These are the last words that reach your ears before a sickening thud echoes— signifying her gruesome decapitation.

  The acrid bitterness of bile scorches your throat, causing your eyebrows to furrow as you suppress the urge to retch. Tears well up in your eyes, stinging like venomous drops. With a burdened soul, you inhale shallow breaths, feeling your heart pound relentlessly within your chest. Rising unsteadily, you clutch the satchel tightly to your breast, all while his voice booms out furiously, demanding, "Find her! Now!"

 Hobbling along the path, you descend into the darkness of the passage, your thoughts consumed by Eunice and the peril that awaited you beyond the safety of the palace walls. Outside the Palace, the Kingdom was a relatively foreign land to you; your parents had taken great pains to shelter you and your siblings from the outside world.

   As the eldest child, you had always harbored suspicions, for as the future ruler, it was your duty to be well-versed in the inner workings of the Jade Kingdom. But you dared not challenge their authority; after all, they were your parents. All they wanted to do was protect you. Right?

    But now, as you make your way through the dark and winding passage, you can't help but feel a sense of unease creeping over you. Eunice's cryptic message left you with more questions than answers, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something sinister was at play in the Kingdom. Your parent's secrets could now cost you your life, all because you didn't know what to expect from journeying outside.

   Shaking your head, you realize it was not the time to cast blame upon the dead; you needed to clear your mind and concentrate.

   The hidden passage leads you through a labyrinth of tunnels, its walls damp and cold. The atmosphere hung heavy with the pungent aroma of soil and mildew, suffocating your every breath. But you press on, driven by the urgency of the situation and the haunting image of Eunice's selfless act.

  As you meander through the never-ending hallway, time dissolves into obscurity, lost in the depths of darkness. But then, a delicate fragrance of flowers wafts through the air, piercing the stagnant atmosphere. The scent dances around you, a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the chaos. 

   In this desolate and forsaken corridor, it becomes your lifeline, a glimmer of hope in the face of despair. It whispers sweet promises of safety and freedom, offering a respite from the relentless onslaught of confusion and fear. With each breath, the aroma seeps into your very being, until finally, you stumble upon a door.

  Emerging from the underground maze, you find yourself in a desolate courtyard garden, surrounded by towering walls that seem to close in on you. The sounds of battle echo through the air, growing louder and more menacing with each passing moment. 

   The relentless ticking of time pushes you to move quickly, and with a sense of dread, you scuttle towards a weathered wooden door seamlessly melded into the formidable barrier, shrouding yourself beneath the protective embrace of your hood. 

   You steal a final look at your home, a shiver running down your spine as it’s consumed by flames. The echoes of joy and warmth that once filled the walls now fade into the crackling of fire and the scent of smoke. The devastation grips your heart, the realization sinking in that the haven you cherished is now a haunting relic of the past. The charred remains stand as a grim reminder of what once was, a place now lost to the merciless fire. A place that was no longer. 

  Time seems to slip through your fingers like sand as you wander along the road. Your footsteps have carried you through its endless expanse, and though it seems like an eternity since you’ve started, it might have merely been a few fleeting hours. You can still see the billowing smoke of your home lingering on the horizon, the ghostly remnants of your past life looming behind you, a chilling reminder of what once was and can never be again.

 The cold breeze nips at your fingertips and cheeks, attempting to penetrate the layers of your clothing and suffocate you in its icy embrace. With rapid, heated breaths, you valiantly defy its persistent advances, feeling your bones shiver beneath your flesh as you fight to retain warmth.

  As the sun starts its slow descent, your nerves start to unravel, the fleeting warmth it provides fading away within the hour. The thought of navigating these paths in the dark filled you with unease, unsure of what creatures may be hiding in the shadows of the woods.

The sun's radiant beams gradually retreat, stretching out elongated shadows over the terrain, and a feeling of unease starts to crawl up your spine. The once comforting warmth that the sun had bestowed upon you throughout the day now dissipates, leaving behind a chilling gust of northern winds. 

As the sky transforms into a canvas of dusky hues, the once vibrant landscape takes on an eerie stillness. The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves are replaced by an unsettling silence, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl or the haunting howl of a lone wolf. The encroaching darkness seems to awaken fears that lay dormant within the depths of your mind.

  The road ahead appeared to stretch endlessly, its twists and turns becoming more disorienting with each passing moment. The gnarled branches of the trees reached out like skeletal fingers, casting eerie silhouettes against the sky. The once ‘familiar’ surroundings now come off as distorted and unfamiliar, as if the very essence of the oncoming night had transformed them into something otherworldly.

And though part of you wanted to keep moving, to get as far away as you could, this was not the time to be negligent and risk losing your way or, even worse, losing your life. Not when the fate of the Kingdom rested on your shoulders. Sighing shakily, you deviate off the trail and make your way into the woods, seeking refuge amidst a gathering of trees and vegetation.

The frigid ground greets you with a harsh embrace as you sit down, the cold seeping through your clothes and freezing your body further. Sorting through the hefty satchel, a rush of emotions overwhelms you when you uncover a soft wool covering, a beloved reminder of days when you were younger. As you unfurl the blanket, you lay down, finding yourself nestled on the forest ground, tucking the satchel beneath your head for a bit of comfort, and wrapping yourself up tightly to ward off the chill.

   The hushed rustling of foliage and the indelible chirping of crickets lull you into a state of eerie wakefulness. The fast-fading light seeps through the dense leaves above, casting an unnerving ray over the forest. The fragrance of pine and soil permeates your nose, pacifying your thoughts if only for a moment. 

    However, the life of the woodland is shattered by the haunting echo of horses in the distance, the flora and fauna within the forest coming to a bone-chilling standstill. Every breath you take feels like a desperate struggle, as if the air itself is suffocating you. The trees seem to whisper warnings to each other, their leaves rustling in fear for you. 

  You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, a primal instinct urging you to flee from whatever unseen danger lurks in the darkness, but you’re rooted to the spot, unable to move as the ghostly hooves draw nearer. With a sense of anticipation, you sink further into the smothering embrace of the thick foliage, clutching your quivering legs tightly to your shivering body.

  “She couldn't have gotten far while on foot! Spread out and find her!” 

    Shivers skitter down your back, it was Dominic, your Uncle’s son. The echo of his once comforting voice sends tremors down your spine, a startling reminder of the past. Who could have imagined he would also be involved in the massacre of your family? The very cousin who playfully showed you how to handle a sword, how to scale trees, and capture frogs. The very cousin who had once held a special place in your heart, akin to that of a beloved brother.

  You couldn't help but wonder what had led him and his father down this path of destruction. What demons had possessed them to betray their own family, to turn against those who had loved and cared for them? The questions swirled in your mind, but the answers remained elusive.

   The thundering hooves fade into the night, causing you to release a trembling sigh, yet you freeze at the eerie sound of a horse's whinny. “I know you're there, cousin. Your tracks have betrayed you." You stay quiet, wondering if he is testing to see if you will flee, to confirm your presence. The echo of his words fills the night air with a chilling sense of pain, it's sorrowful, and desolate as he utters again.

   “Make sure that your tracks are well-hidden and keep off the main roads. It would be wise to depart the Kingdom immediately, go as far as you must, until nay even whispers of the King's death are uttered. My father, he will never stop, he will hunt you down relentlessly, until he claims your head, cousin."

    Tears well up in your eyes, causing a sharp sting as you blink them back, your stomach knotting with anxiety– perhaps he did know you were here. “Be smart, trust no one, for even the most innocent faces may hide ulterior motives. Stay one step ahead. You must survive if you want revenge for Unc— the King, Queen, and Royal Highnesses.” 

He falls into a chilling silence, and for a fleeting moment, you swear you hear a faint sniffle. "I never wished for any of this, trust me," he whispers. And then he’s galloping away, further and further until you hear him no more. As his presence dissipates, you finally let yourself weep with sobs that darken your vision, and tears that turn frigid upon meeting your cheeks.

The weight of his words lingers in the air, haunting you as you lay alone in the darkness. The truth of his revelation slices through you, sharp as a blade, leaving you adrift and lost. You try to make sense of it all, but the pieces of the puzzle refuse to fit together. 

   You try to shake off the feeling of despair that threatens to consume you, but it clings to you like a shadow. 

    Reflecting on the events that led you to this wretched state, a myriad of questions plague your mind. How did the path you once tread, filled with hope and promise, veer so drastically off course? What unseen forces conspired to orchestrate this cruel twist of fate, leaving you stranded in a world of darkness and unfamiliarity? You wonder how such a sinister fate befell you. Your mind whirls in a frenzy, grappling with these haunting questions until exhaustion finally claims you, dragging you into a restless slumber tormented by blood-curdling visions.

  As the night drags on, sleep remains elusive, antagonizing you with its restless grip. It's not until the first light of dawn filters through the twisted branches above that your mind finally succumbs to sleep, allowing you a fleeting moment of respite.

As you embrace the peaceful caress of sleep, a faint sense of consciousness lingers. The real world has its challenges and griefs, however,  they seem almost insignificant when compared to the terrors that haunt your dreams. 

  If asked to choose between facing the bitterness of reality or the torment of your nightmares; you'd rather brave the acrimony of the real world over the haunting dreams of days long gone.

   It’s when the sun reaches high in the sky that you rouse from your unfulfilling nap. But as you pry your eyes open, which are almost sealed by the bone-chilling cold of the North, you are welcomed not by the sight of frost-laden greenery or the towering yellow Cyprus tree that stood tall yesterday.

  Instead, a face is peering down at you. A countenance that has only existed within the pages of books and tales of caution. 

 It’s a Romog, a magical beast similar to dogs yet towering in size like battle wolves. From what you've read, Romog's are renowned for their savagery, and their prowess in combat. Their hide and sinew possess an almost outlandish thickness and strength, rendering them almost impossible to kill. Even the most seasoned of knights have stumbled in their endeavors to hunt these formidable creatures.

   And since Romog's are known for their exceptional tracking abilities, enforce wizards often form magical pacts with them to harness their talent. Their keen sense of smell and knack for locating elusive targets made them indispensable companions in the realm of magic. However, as it perched on your legs, its tongue lolling and panting deeply, you couldn't help but ponder why it had not yet chosen to devour you. ( You also guessed that your lack of chill throughout the early morning was thanks to the mutt. )

   Why was it here? 

   Your breath hitches in your throat and you swallow thickly, a tremor dancing down your backbone. The Romog's cranium tilts to one side, its gaze overflowing with unsettling fascination before it inclines closer, its sleek tongue sinuously gliding forth to caress your cheek, the coarse texture catching at your skin. 

  “Ugh! Disgusting!” 

  You swiftly wipe away the wet warmth from your cheek, your upper lip curling with revulsion. The Romog, looking innocent, emits a low growl before clambering off of you, its tail wagging frantically. You observe its every movement cautiously, yet you find a morsel of comfort as it nudges you with its massive snout, darting away to perform a playful bow before dashing toward you for another gentle nudge.

   Fear dissipates in an instant, causing you to release a soft chuckle. It's evident that this Romog hadn't yet reached adulthood. Rising to your feet, you retrieve your blanket, which now feels like a thick slab of ice, and proceed to fold it as neatly as possible before tucking it away in your satchel. Throughout this process, the Romog playfully nudges your back, emitting playful yips to further lighten the atmosphere.

  Hefting the bag over your shoulder, your gaze falls to the Romog beside you. Its eyes are wide and almost pleading, and suddenly, a soft gurgle fills the air. It must be hungry – you couldn't remember if Eunice had packed you any food, but it wouldn't hurt to take a look.

  Nonchalantly discarding the satchel, you allow it to descend with a weighty thump upon the earth. You gracefully lower yourself onto one knee, slowly loosening the drawstrings. The Romog creeps nearer, its snout descending to delve into the contents of your exposed bag. With lips slightly pursed, you delicately nudge it aside, engaging in a steadfast gaze with the creature. “You must wait, I'm trying to find you something.” 

  The creature emits a soft chuff. With an air of nonchalance, it raises a front leg and stretches its neck to noisily lick at its paw. You can't help but roll your eyes at the creature's audacious demeanor. Determined to find something worthwhile, you plunge your hand into the bag, rummaging aimlessly and extracting various objects, only to discard them back into the satchel as you realize their inedibility.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you find yourself in possession of a sizable portion of compacted ivory bread, its texture cold and unyielding, as if it had been shaped by the frigid gusts of the northern winds. The Romog stirs with interest at the scent of the doughy morsel, edging nearer until it is practically nestled in your lap. Its gaze meets yours, a silent exchange passing between you, without hesitation, you rend the loaf apart and fling it away into the forest.

  The beast swiftly gives chase, its insatiable appetite driving it forward. Its viscous drool, warm and thick, tenderizes the bread, rendering it more palatable. With a gentle smile, you deftly rearrange the items within your bag, securing them in their rightful places before sealing it shut. Rising to your feet, you hoist the satchel onto your shoulder once again, ready to continue your journey.

 The time of day still lingered in the early hours, urging you to press forward and cover as much ground as possible. If Eunice's information proved accurate, you would reach Thaos Village within at least three days' time. Thaos Village, as the tales tell, revered the water Goddess Euna, it was a relatively peaceful place where mages often resided before embarking on their journeys or seeking wisdom at the renowned arcane institution. It was also the birthplace of Eunice and the man you’d be meeting in only a short while.

As you gaze upon the Romog, its sharp teeth tearing into the meager offering of bread, a shiver runs down your spine, that could've been you under different circumstances. With a forced smile, you hasten your steps out of the eerie forest, eager to escape the looming darkness that surrounded you even in the morning light. Making your way back onto the trail to continue your journey to what you were hoping was safety.  

  The frigid morning breeze froze your face, your nostrils growing numb and your mouth parched from the icy assault. Merely moments into your stroll, your ears seemed on the verge of detachment. To safeguard the remnants of your inner heat, you raise your hood and plunge your hands into the recesses of your cloak, huddling your form in an attempt to repel the gusts of the wind. The fabric provided a small barrier against the frigid wind, but it was not enough to fully protect you.

The frosty air clung to your skin, leaving a tingling sensation that bordered on pain. Each breath you took felt like shards of ice piercing your lungs, causing you to exhale in short, shallow bursts. The trees stood tall and bare, their branches coated in a layer of frost that glistened in the weak morning light. 

   With each step, you could feel the chill seeping deeper into your bones. Your muscles tensed, your movements becoming slower and more deliberate. The cold seemed to sap your energy, leaving you feeling sluggish and drained.

  The sun's feeble attempt to break through the thick layer of clouds was met with resistance, as if the heavens themselves were conspiring to keep the landscape below in a perpetual state of desolation. Its golden beams, though they managed to pierce through the gloom, seemed almost mocking in their presence. They danced upon the barren earth, casting long, eerie shadows that stretched across the desolate terrain, and illuminated the cracked and parched ground.

   As if the sun's futile efforts were not enough, a biting wind swept through the air once more. It howled through the skeletal remains of trees, their branches stripped of leaves and their insides hollowed out.

  ‘snap’ 

 Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat when you jump, swiftly turning to locate the source of the noise. It was only the Romog from earlier, its mouth still coated in breadcrumbs. You purse your lips, fully turning to confront it, cocking your hip to the side, and crossing your arms over your chest.

  “I cannot give you anything more. I also need to eat, beast.”  

   At your acknowledgment, the creature hastens forth to halt before you, perhaps taking your response as a cue to accompany you. Its frigid, damp snout presses against your abdomen, urging you onward to proceed. You delicately push it aside, your hands now finding solace upon your hips. “You mustn't follow me. Now go, I can do nothing more for you.”  

  This time it hearkens, descending into a seated posture and whimpering, its grand cranium inclining to the side. You affirm, content with your actions. "Well done, farewell beast.” 

   Twisting on your heels, you press forward along the trail, tucking your hands into your pockets once again to restore warmth. As you journey for a few more moments, the Romog's heavy, wheezing breaths fade away, which are loud even amidst the piercing gusts of wind.

   You were alone now, it was something you would have to get used to. 

  Moreover, if what you read was true, untamed Romog's were labeled as ‘kill on sight’ in numerous regions. The creature would draw too much attention to you, and you couldn't bear to see it die.

  You've witnessed an excess of death in a brief span and the thought of being responsible for yet another one weighed heavily on your conscience. You knew that if you were to survive in this harsh and unforgiving world, you would need to adapt quickly and make tough decisions.

  You would brave this journey on your own. 

   Or so you thought. The Romog continued to follow you.

   Concealing itself amidst the foliage each time you glanced over your shoulder, its mighty tail protruding from a tree and rhythmically thudding, inadvertently revealing its presence. Hiding itself within shrubs, but its snout, long and thick, would stick out, giving it away. Vanishing into the encompassing woodland, yet its profound, labored breaths would once more, accidentally expose its existence.

   What did it want? 

  Halting abruptly, you inhale deeply, the frigid air chilling your lungs as you pivot swiftly, the Romog attempting to scuttle into the forest to evade your scrutiny. "Come out!" A brief silence ensues, save for the monotonous symphony of howling winds and rustling foliage atop the towering trees. The Romog emerges from its hiding spot, albeit reluctantly. Its head hangs low, ears plastered against its skull, and tail firmly ensconced between its hind legs.

   Its eyes, once filled with mischief and childish curiosity, now reflect an uncertainty. You take a press forward, your presence commanding and unwavering. The Romog takes a hesitant step back, its paws sinking into the soft forest floor.

"I will tell you once more. You mustn't follow me! ‘Tis dangerous, for me and for you. Do you understand?"  For a moment, you forget that you're talking to a beast and not a human, it probably didn't understand a word that you were saying. This realization causes a frown to crease your lips, your eyebrows knitting together sharply.

   As you once more assert your desire for the creature to leave, it cowers slightly, its large, sorrowful eyes gazing up at you with confusion and longing. Its body, covered in sleek, dark fur, bristles in response to your rejection. Yet, despite your firm words, it remains steadfast. 

   With a heavy sigh, you realize that the creature has attached itself to you for reasons beyond your comprehension. Its unwavering resolution tugs at your heartstrings, even as you try to distance yourself from it. Perhaps it senses something in you, a connection that you are yet to understand. Is what you try to convince yourself, to somehow make this situation feel right.

 As you contemplate your next move, the creature finds time to sneak towards you, nudging your leg gently, its touch both cold and comforting. It emits a low, woeful sound as if pleading for you. And despite it, you find yourself softening, your resolve weakening as you look into its eyes, they're filled with such a deep despondency that it almost seems as if you were gazing into a mirror.

  Relenting with a soft huff, you crouch down to meet the creature at eye level. Its snout, still damp and frigid, brushes against your cheek, leaving a trail of icy moisture. You feel a surge of empathy, a sudden realization that this creature searches for companionship and purpose, just as you do. ( though you deny it. )

"I cannot promise you anything," you whisper. Your voice, scratchy from the icy breath of the northern frost, resonates with a delicate blend of tenderness and hesitation, because within you lies the awareness that this was a foolish idea. "If you so choose to accompany me, know that the path ahead is treacherous and filled with uncertainty. I cannot guarantee your safety nor mine."

   The creature's eyes glinted with a newfound emotion, as if understanding you and the risks involved with being your travel companion, but that was just wishful thinking on your end. It emits a soft, almost grateful sound at your words. With a gentle touch, you stroke its furry head, rising to your feet. 

 "Then, let's keep moving."

  “Perhaps I should give you a name. It would be improper to refer to you as ‘beast’ the entire time.” you state, your teeth clashing together in a frenzy. The creature walks alongside you faithfully, its massive form exuding warmth like a furnace, impervious to the icy chill of the north, a fact that you couldn't help but envy, even if just a tad. Your cloak had been breached long ago by the freezing air, and it genuinely felt as though you were treading on pins and needles, your body wracking with tremors from the cold.  

  As the two of you trudge the frost-covered road, you rack your brain for a suitable name for the animal. Alas, you're not particularly skilled in this endeavor, and it appears that the beast is aware of this as well. "What of Charles?" You propose, the words slipping hesitantly from your lips. The being reacts unfavorably to the name, meeting your gaze and snorting in response.

   Your mouth gapes and you narrow your eyes. "Very well, perhaps I shall persist in calling you a beast! Now's not the time to be picky." The creature lets out a low rumble, its eyes narrowing in what seems to be yielding delight. It seems to understand the concept of a name, but is not easily swayed by your meager attempts at bestowing one upon it. Especially that of Charles.

   “Fine, I’ll think of a better one later,” Your gaze shifts towards the sun as it begins its gradual descent, the darkness of night beginning to envelop the sky in its velvety cloak. The frigid air, already piercing, seemed to intensify, as if embracing an even colder essence. 

 Despite this, the two of you had made remarkable progress throughout the day, and it instilled confidence in you that the village would be within reach before nightfall the next day.  Although the tracks upon the nearly frozen ground had begun to fade, you had found them nonetheless, a mosaic of footprints and wagon imprints. A sign of life.

  “Let us stop for today, we mustn’t be out on the road during nightfall.” The latter part of your statement is uttered softly, a reminder to yourself, and the creature joins you as you stealthily veer away from the path and venture into the encroaching shadows of the woods, its tail wagging in delight. You continue walking for a brief period until you once again find yourself amidst a gathering of trees and shrubs, placing your bag on the ground before settling down beside it. You feel almost numb, as though your body has been submerged in icy waters.

The creature settles down beside you, its warm body, thick with fur, brushing against your side, providing a sense of ease in the eerie stillness of the forest. The darkness seems to press in around you, the only sound being the rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the chill that has settled in your bones, digging into your satchel to pull out your wool blanket.

  You purse your lips and run your hand along its back, patting softly. “Lucky mutt.” With slow, creaky motions you envelop the blanket around your form and awkwardly collapse, distancing yourself from the creature, head landing harshly on your bag, yet you pay no mind, you were too cold to care. 

   The Romog stands abruptly and moves closer to follow down after you, massive frame wrapping around you. It smells of damp soil and dog and you scrunch your nose. “By the Gods, you need a bath.” you utter, burying your face within the comfort of your blanket to escape the scent. 

   The animal grunts, unamused at your insult, shifting away from you; and in an instant the cold envelops you, freezing the entirety of your body. Your teeth begin to chatter rhythmically, and you instinctively seek warmth by burrowing into the creature's body, no longer bothered by its scent. “P-perhaps just for tonight, yes?” 

  The beast snorts again and affectionately rests its large head on top of yours, tail curling around your body. You smile to yourself as the Romog nuzzles closer, its warm fur providing much-needed comfort in the chilly night. Despite the less-than-pleasant smell, you can't help but feel thankful to the creature for its unexpected aid. 

“What about George?”

The gates of the Village loomed ahead, towering and sturdy, constructed from the timber of a Viloz tree. Though guards stood watch at the entrance, it appeared they paid no heed to verifying identities or trade permits. In most bustling regions, such protocols were customary to gain access within their walls. 

   Considering your Uncle's relentless pursuit, one would expect wanted posters or even a bounty on your head. Yet, the lax security raised suspicions— could it be a ruse, an artifice to entice you into the open?

   You duck behind the bushes once more and look toward your companion. “Alright, Aslan—,”  the Romog grumbles at the name, and you sigh, rummaging through your bag to retrieve the final piece of bread. The name was still a matter of debate, as it seemed that no matter what name you chose, the Romog disapproved. 

 For now, it was best to refer to it as 'beast'. You take out the stale bread and struggle to tear it in half. Placing one portion at the creature's feet, you reluctantly return the other half to your bag. "Remain here, you cannot enter the village. I will come for you later tonight if everything goes according to plan."

The Romog sniffs at the bread before tentatively taking a bite, its sharp teeth tearing into the tough crust. You watch as it devours the meager meal, its eyes never leaving you. The two of you had made good timing today and thankfully made it to the village before nightfall. 

   The sun was drifting lower as the minutes passed but you weren't too worried about it, not when safety was within reach. Gone were the worries and anxieties that had plagued your mind just a few short days ago. The weight of the world seemed to lift, replaced by a newfound sense of security. Safety, once elusive and distant, now stood within reach, beckoning you to embrace its solace.

   Although the Romog remained oblivious to the intricate nuances of the Lomaliue language, there were instances when an inexplicable connection seemed to materialize. It was as if the creature possessed an innate comprehension of your commands and the very essence of your words. It was almost comforting in a way, akin to engaging in a heartfelt conversation with a fellow human being, albeit one who chose not to respond.

 “Alright?” 

   The Romog emitted another discontented growl, causing a faint smile to grace your lips. With gentle strokes, you caressed its velvety fur, which bore traces of frost from the relentless northern gusts. Although the biting chill persisted, your body had grown accustomed to its icy touch, rendering you impervious to its sting. 

  At most, you suffered from a mild case of frostnip, far from the severe frostbite that could afflict you if you prolonged your stay in this frigid wilderness for a few more days, a constant reminder of the dangers that awaited those who dared to defy Mother Nature's limits. 

The Romog, sensing your restlessness, nudged you gently with its snout, as if urging you to move on. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly withdrew your hand from the beast’s fur, feeling a pang of sadness at the loss of its comforting presence. 

   You knew that you had to continue your journey into the Village to seek shelter and warmth before the unforgiving cold took its toll on you. You needed to find Geoffrey Jill.

  Flicking your hood over your head, you venture farther from the village to a side road, so you don't look suspicious walking to the Village from the tree line. As you approached the gate, a sense of unease settles in the pit of your stomach.

  The towering entrance, constructed from the timber of a Viloz tree, its bark known to be as sharp as a blade, was a formidable barrier, separating the outside world from the safety and sanctuary within.

   Despite the imposing presence of the gates, the guards stationed at the entrance appeared strangely indifferent to their duties. They stood there, their eyes glazed over, seemingly oblivious to the comings and goings of the villagers and outsiders alike. It was as if they were mere statues, frozen in time, rather than vigilant sentinels protecting the Village.

  If what your teacher taught you about the Kingdom was right, then in most bustling regions, gaining access to a village of such importance would require strict adherence to protocols. Identification checks, trade permits, and thorough questioning were customary measures to ensure the safety and security of the inhabitants. Yet, here, it seemed that such precautions were nonexistent. Which was odd. 

This lax security raised a myriad of suspicions in your mind. Was it possible that this was all an elaborate ruse, a carefully crafted plan to lure you into the open? After all, your Uncle had been relentlessly pursuing you, his desire to capture and kill you evident in the wanted posters that seemed to adorn every tree you and the beast had passed. 

But for now, this seemed to be your sole option at the moment. Where else could you possibly seek refuge? Escaping the bitter cold and finding this mystery man is your top priority. The urgency of the situation left no room for hesitation or contemplation; your next move would have to wait until later.

Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on your weary shoulders. The biting wind whipped against your face, numbing your senses. With a gulp, you cautiously approached the two guards, trying your best to appear nonchalant. 

Your trembling added to the act, making it seem like you were simply a weary traveler seeking refuge from the impending winter storm that loomed ever closer. The first stick of snow to the ground usually meant a winter blizzard would follow. 

 Your heart thudded rapidly in your chest, almost to the point of pain, as you breezed past the guards who seemed more interested in chatting with each other than actually checking credentials. And just like that, you found yourself standing within the walls of Thaos Village, your pulse still racing with the fear of your successful infiltration.

 ‘Mother, Father— I made it.’ 

  It was only when the moon rose high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the village, that you had finally stumbled upon Geoffrey Jill. 

     When you wandered through the village, you were initially lost in admiration of its liveliness despite the cold weather and impending blizzard. The streets were bustling with people, their laughter and chatter filling the air, while the cozy glow of warm lights spilled out from the windows of quaint cottages. The villagers seemed undeterred by the freezing temperatures, going about their daily routines.

  The aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats wafted through the air, tempting your taste buds and igniting a hunger that had long been suppressed. The colorful array of fruits and vegetables displayed in the market stalls beckoned to you, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the dullness of your daily routine. 

   As you meandered through the throngs of people, their laughter and chatter creating a symphony of life around you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for the simple joys that seemed so out of reach.

It resembled a passage extracted from the cherished storybooks of your childhood, it was enchanting in a way. especially for you who had rarely stepped foot out of the castle. Commoner life seemed almost… peaceful in a way. You were fine with just walking the streets, dodging running children, and gazing longingly at the food stalls— it had been forever since you had eaten an actual meal. 

   "Would you care for one?"

As you snap out of your reverie, the world around you slowly comes back into focus. Your eyes meet with those of a woman in her middle age, and you are immediately struck by her captivating appearance. She possesses a round figure, exuding an air of warmth and comfort. Her delightful rosy cheeks add a touch of vibrancy to her overall countenance, giving her a youthful glow.

Her features are refined and elegant. A flat nose sits perfectly in the center of her face, adding a sense of symmetry and grace. Her full lips, slightly curved upwards, seem to hold a perpetual smile, inviting and comforting to all who encounter her. They speak of kindness and understanding, ready to offer solace or share a laugh. Her skin boasts a rich, deep umber brown, like the earth itself.

Yet, it is her eyes that truly captivate you. They are the windows to her soul, and they hold a depth that is both mesmerizing and intimidating. A flawless, all-knowing amber hue fills her irises, shimmering with a wisdom that seems to transcend time. 

When her gaze meets yours, it feels as if she can see into the very depths of you, peering into your thoughts and emotions. There is an intensity to her eyes, an unwavering focus that demands your attention.

   You smile beneath your hood, you doubt she could see it but do so nonetheless. “Oh, that's alright; I have no money at the moment,” you utter, your voice hoarse from the winter chill, and your throat parched from the absence of water and the biting cold.

    The woman grins, it's beautiful and motherly and it warms your belly better than any beverage ever could, it makes you miss your own mother a bit more; if even possible. She grabs one of the skewers and holds it out to you. “My treat, child. Now run along and get home, the winter blizzard is coming.” 

     Initially hesitant, you tentatively extend your hand towards the bottom of the skewer, feeling the cold seep through your frost-nipped fingers as they slip out from under the protection of your cloak. Though she doesn't acknowledge it, the sad smile that encases her full lips tells you that she's noticed. “Thank you, I’ll pay you back, swear it,”  you assure her earnestly.

   She lets out a gentle laugh and gestures for you to leave, “Alright, alright, head on home.” 

   With a now full belly, warmed from the delicious blend of salty meat and spicy vegetables, you now search for Geoffrey Jill with a new intensity. Despite the freezing temperatures of the northern region, which seem to penetrate your very bones, you navigate through narrow alleyways and bustling food stalls without giving the cold a second thought.

    However, as night fell and the temperatures plummeted even further, your energy waned and your awe from earlier, quickly transformed into bewilderment. The once vibrant village now appeared eerie and desolate under the pale moonlight. The laughter and chatter had faded, replaced by an unsettling silence broken only by the howling wind. The cozy glow of lights had dimmed, leaving the streets shrouded in darkness.

   Despite being disoriented and having already been turned around twice, you struggled to find someone who could point you in the right direction to locate Geoffrey Jill. The few villagers you encountered were bundled up in heavy outside blankets, their faces hidden beneath scarves and hats, making it difficult to discern their features.

 Their hurried footsteps echoed through the empty streets as they scampered home, seeking refuge from the biting cold.

   You felt helpless, standing in the middle of the street.

    However, it appeared that the sight of you struggling to find your way through the village, weighed heavily on the shoulders of a man named Tomás Duall. He was an elderly figure, who was reliant on a cane for support, possessed a slight hunch, and a crown of wispy white hair– and he had offered to take you to Geoffrey. 

  His eyes held a deep sadness, as if burdened by the weight of his past. A peculiar scent lingered around him, a mixture of smoke and a hint of sweetness, reminiscent of candy. Tomás had led you to Geoffrey, and while doing so, spoke softly of his lost love and the children he never had, his words tinged with a sense of longing and regret.

   “Child, don't follow my example. Pursue the one you desire.”

  He left you with those words as he bid you farewell at the entrance of Geoffrey’s house. Unexpectedly, you discovered a fondness for this elderly man. Despite his cheeky demeanor and tendency to give hearty pats on the back while sharing a funny story, you found him rather endearing.

 As you brought your attention back to the present, you extended your hand from beneath your cloak and rapped on the door. It's silent, causing a brief moment of panic as your heart tightens in your chest. Could it be possible that he wasn't home? Had the elderly man led you to the wrong house?

You stood there, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you as you waited for a response. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one feeling like an eternity as you listened for any sign of life inside the house. The wind whispered through the trees, the only sound breaking the eerie silence that surrounded you.

  Swallowing thickly you knock once more. “Is there a Geoffrey Jill that lives in this home? Eunice has sent me here.” A moment of tense silence follows, the air thick with anticipation. Suddenly, the door swings wide open, revealing a large, intimidating man filling the doorway. His towering presence sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively take a step back, feeling small and vulnerable in his presence.

But as the door opens wider, a surprising shift in the atmosphere occurs. The sound of children's laughter fills the air, accompanied by a woman's voice, likely his wife, softly joining in the joyous chorus. The contrast between the imposing figure before you and the sounds of happiness emanating from within the house is jarring, creating a paradoxical blend of intimidation and warmth.

  “How do you know of that name, girl?” 

   You startle at the sound of his deep voice, it's thunderous even over the sound of howling wind. You gaze up and then further to lock eyes with him. “She was my nanny– she sent me here to look for you, my Unc–” 

   “I cannot help you, go on your way.” 

   Your mouth drops open in disbelief and you cautiously tug off your hood, showing him your face. “Do you know who I am? “ You watch as the blood drains from it, watch as his jaw clenches and his eyes flutter shut. He glances behind him before stepping outside to confront you, shutting the door behind him. “Why has she sent you here, where is she?” 

Despite your best efforts, tears begin to fill your eyes. “She...she is gone,”  you murmur gently, and briefly you fear he has not caught your words amidst the roaring wind due to his profound silence. Yet, as you meet his gaze, you involuntarily recoil at his steely stare and tightly clenched jaw. "She was a foolish woman..."

   You cannot bear to hear him speak ill of her, not when she was your dearest friend, your confidante, your mother in all but blood. You feel a surge of anger rise within you, but you swallow it down, knowing that now is not the time for confrontation. As the wind howls around you, you stand together in silence, each lost in your own thoughts and memories of the woman who brought you together, even in death.

Nevertheless, he eventually breaks the silence.

"Forget whatever she may have told you. I cannot help you, you must leave," he declares harshly, turning his back on you. Your breath catches in your throat, and panic threatens to overwhelm you entirely. This couldn't be real. 

You reach out to him quickly, your hand grasping his meaty wrist,  but you recoil when he flings your hand away, glaring. "P-please, I have nowhere else to go. My Uncle will find me, I cannot die like this-- not when I've done nothing to avenge my Family!"

He scoffs at your words, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Your fate is not my concern. You made your choices, now you must face the consequences," he replies, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. You feel a surge of desperation rising within you, knowing that without his help, you are truly alone in this world. Choices? What choices? You had none. “I have a family now, and I cannot risk their lives to hide a fallen Royal.”

 What has your world come to? And why now? Why was this happening to you?

 Geoffrey goes to retreat once more and you whimper in the back of your throat, restlessly fidgeting on your feet. "Only for the night, to escape the cold," he explains, his gaze meeting yours, revealing a slight softening in his expression. At that moment, he recognizes you as just a child. With a gruff grunt, he gestures towards the side of the house. “There is a shed, stay there. I want you gone as soon as the sun rises.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” 

        The resounding echo of a door's closure is the only response you receive. With a heavy gulp, you suppress the tears that threaten to cascade down your face. What were you to do now? You had no place to go, there was a bounty on your head and winter was coming—  you would surely succumb to the icy grip of death before avenging your family.

   Quivering beneath your cloak, you navigate around the corner of the dwelling and chance upon the shed that Geoffrey had mentioned. Though modest in size and riddled with gaps in its wooden structure, it was better than nothing. 

Pushing open the door, which emitted a mournful creak, you slip inside and collapse onto the floor covered in fragrant hay. As your body temperature gradually rises, shielded from the frigid northern winds, a torrent of tears breaks free, streaming down your frozen cheeks. Why you? 

   Before the sun rose that morning, you were gone, you had slipped away unnoticed, escaping through the gates where the soldiers stood watch as stoic as ever. The bustling of the villagers as they started their day only served to highlight the emptiness in your own life. With no direction and no sense of belonging, the weight of displacement settled heavily on your shoulders.

 The icy touch of the northern winds no longer fazes you, your eyes dry and unyielding to tears, and the sensation in your feet has long faded away. You wander without purpose beside the road, your hood tattered from snagging on skeletal branches. Your mind is a foggy haze, memories slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

   You trudge forward, your footsteps echoing in the silence of the winter wilderness. The road stretches out before you, endless and unforgiving, leading you further into the heart of the icy wasteland. But still, you press on, driven by a force you cannot name. 

  Perhaps it is a glimmer of hope, a flicker of light in the darkness that propels you forward. Or maybe it is simply the instinct to survive, to keep moving despite the odds stacked against you.

The 'beast' had vanished from the very spot where you had last seen it. Maybe it had decided to leave, and you couldn't fault it for that. In fact, if given the chance, you would have done the same thing in a heartbeat. 

   And although you had initially chased the creature away when your paths crossed, now you couldn't help but acknowledge the profound sense of solitude that engulfed you in its absence. It was astonishing how deeply you had connected with it, even in the mere span of two days.

   Banishing those intrusive thoughts, you shift your attention to the world around you. After trekking for what seemed like an eternity, the snow crept up to your ankles, and you were hardly able to see in front of you. The frigid air enveloped you like a thick blanket, making each step feel like wading through a sea of molasses.

   You could feel the weight of the snow pressing against your boots, making each movement a struggle. The once familiar path had become a treacherous maze, with the snow-covered trees and bushes blending in a monochromatic blur. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of your labored breaths and the occasional creaking of branches under the weight of the snow.

  The bitter cold gnawed at your bones, seeping through every layer of clothing. Your fingers and toes were numb, and you could feel the sting of frostbite threatening to take hold. The frigid air seemed to penetrate every pore, leaving you shivering uncontrollably.

    As the blizzard began to manifest its icy wrath, the wind surged with newfound vigor, and the temperature plummeted to depths unfamiliar to your senses. In this desolate road, the realization of your death gripped your heart, an undeniable truth that whispered through the frigid air. You were going to die.

 You slowed to a stop, and your limbs, once enfolded tenderly around your midsection, descended languidly to your sides, resembling a lifeless puppet. You were going to die. The icy grip of death or the cruel clutches of starvation awaited you. You had no place to go. The dreams of revenge that once fueled your every action now seemed distant and unattainable.

     Perhaps it was time to consider a different path, one of acceptance and surrender. Why not just meet your family halfway? You could be reunited with them if you just…stopped. 

  So you did. Your legs gave way, and you collapsed, your bag slipping from your weary shoulder. As you tumbled into the snow, it welcomed you with open arms, cushioning your fall. Then you were no longer cold, no in fact you felt warm. 

  Nestling deeper into the snow, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be transported to a different time and place. In your head, you saw yourself as a child, cradled in your mother's loving arms. You could almost hear her gentle humming, a lullaby- its name long since forgotten.

   The world around you faded away, and you felt yourself drifting off to sleep, the weight of your burdens finally lifted. It was a slumber that beckoned for eternity. A few moments more, and death would claim you as its own, offering you an escape from the pain and suffering that had plagued you for far too long.

   But just as you were about to surrender to sleep, a voice pierced through the darkness. It was faint at first, barely audible, but it grew louder with each passing second. "Wake up," it whispered urgently, pleading for your return. Confusion washed over you and you slowly opened your eyes, the vision of your mother fading away.

   Instead, you were met with the comforting gaze of your beast. It stood tall and formidable, its snout tenderly nudging your cheek. But you couldn't, you didn't want to go on anymore- and so, with a heavy heart, you closed your eyes once more, yearning for the eternal embrace of sleep.

It was warm you realized, almost tenderly so, the thick heat permeated every fiber of your body and it carried with it the intoxicating scent of smoke and embers, enveloping your senses in a dizzying embrace. This was no mere illusion, no figment of your imagination like the deceptive warmth you sought while nestled in the icy embrace of snow. No, this was a tangible warmth, a palpable sensation that was real. 

  It was all-encompassing, like you were wrapped in blankets and surrounded by a huge, blazing fire. It was as though the very essence of existence had been breathed back into your body. It was as if every nerve in your body was on fire. You never wanted it to end, never wanted to return to the mundane reality of life on the run. If this were death, you’d eagerly welcome it. 

  But it was not. You could hear the eerie sound of the howling blizzard wind and if you focused hard enough, you could discern the faintest touch of icy coldness caressing your skin from time to time, only to be swiftly engulfed by a comforting warmth. You were alive. You were alive. It shouldn't have tasted bitter on your tongue, the thought of living– but it did. Reality had a cruel way of creeping back in, like a thief in the night.

 Fluttering your eyes open, you’re immediately met with darkness accompanied by the faint sound of the rhythmic dripping of water. Groggily, you tilted your head towards the left, where the furious northern blizzard continued to roar with a vengeance, and you gave your weary eyes a chance to adapt to the profound darkness. After a few minutes, gradually, the feeble radiance of the moon emerged. Night had fallen.

   You could hardly think, let alone remember what happened after you passed out. Where were you? Who brought you here? And where exactly was here? All these questions but no answers. Sitting up slowly, you turn your head, scanning the surroundings with a sense of unease, the warm air wrapping you in a soft embrace, as if it were alive. Yet there was no fire to be found. No flickering flames, no glow of light, no sound of crackling firewood. Where was it coming from?

   The sound of crunching footfalls on the snow startles you and your body, overcome with a primal instinct, lurches backward, stumbling and trembling, seeking refuge against the warm cave wall. “Who is there? Have you brought me here?” Silence hangs heavy in the air, amplifying the thunderous beats of your heart, as their steps hasten and your breath becomes shallow and rapid, your chest tightening with each passing second.

   There was a high pitched whine before your Romog companion sauntered into the wide expanse of the cave. Its fur was matted with snow which seemed to twinkle like jewels in the dull moonlight. You closed your eyes and let out a soft breath of relief, resting your head against the wall, heart slowing to a soft thump. 

  You could now vaguely remember seeing the Romog before you passed out, feeling the icy cold touch of its wet nose on your cheek. Perhaps the beast had pulled you into the cave before the weather could truly put you out of your misery. 

    A nudge on your neck makes you open your eyes, gaze slanting to the right to look at the animal. Its eyes are familiar and warm, it leaves your heart to somersault lazily in your ribcage. You smile small and reach out to run your hand along its jaw. “Where have you been?” 

   There’s obviously no reply but the beast cuddles its large head into your lap and rumbles contentedly, eyes falling shut. You breathe out a sigh and caress through its wet fur, once again resting your head on the warm cave wall. With a little bit of the security you had, now that the Romog was here, you took the time to scan the cave.

  It's massive, and if the warm draft is anything to go by, it's quite deep as well. The constant but faint sound of dripping water also hints at some type of lake or stream within the cave— your mouth salivates at the thought of water sliding down your parched throat. It had been days since you'd last had anything to drink. 

   And despite how paranoid it might've sounded, this cave felt strangely, lived in— it didn't seem abandoned in the slightest, but you also felt safe. In the state that you were in, it wouldn't be wise to roam and explore the cave just yet. However, when you have the energy to go do so, you will. 

    But for now? You would sleep once more.  

[double--blind]

(SPOILERS) Ashley, self-esteem, and starvation

So, I adore Ashley. She's this intensely toxic, vicious, cruel, manipulative girl, and her psychology gives me hella brainworms. Andrew's not the only one whose head I wanna crack open and root around lol. She's thrown away the world just to keep her brother by her side, and she'll continue to do worse and worse for the same reason. She's pretty awful! I've been thinking about why, though. How did things get so bad? How did her soul get so dark?

We don't know everything (I'm waiting for those new eps patiently aND CLAWING AT THE WALLS AND FROTHING AT THE MOUTH but whatevs y'know whatevs I'm normal. I'm fine), yet what information we have been given is bumping around my brain like a DVD screensaver on hyperdrive

It's clear from the start that the roots of Ashley's issues lie in her horrible, neglectful upbringing, but it's hinted that even those outside of her family felt the same abt her. I'm lowkey even betting we'll learn later on that she was ostracized by her peers somehow. However, what's most disconcerting, I believe, is how little she was when the results of this alienation are first made apparent to us (bc kids aren't dumb; they notice this stuff oftentimes instinctively, impossibly young, before they even know what it means to be hated), and how devastating the consequences were.

(There's something decidedly childish abt her dream sequence in the "questionable" route—filled with crayon scribbles and rabbit plushies, the metaphors simplistic yet profound—which really hammers in how these sentiments are things that have made a home in her since childhood. Formative subconscious truths.)

Growing up unloved and noticeably unwanted by virtually everyone around her likely left her with a gaping hole in her heart that she'd spend the rest of her life trying to fill. She'd make friends, but she'd always worry that they'd leave her, that they'd betray her, nothing tangible or weighted enough in their connection to trust in its persistence. Why should she expect otherwise? Not even being bound by familial ties ensures affection if her parents are any indication.

Every lesson she'd ever learned had always taught her this: you are easy to abandon. You cannot love and be loved by virtue of your own worth.

You have to rip their affection from their clenched hands if you want it so bad.

This understanding carries with it an undercurrent of degradation, instilling within Ashley a constant, biting inferiority complex which will never fail to be a source of insecurity. She will always be put last. She was difficult to raise, so her parents gave up on raising her. She was difficult to get along with, so her friends gave up on getting along with her.

It's an odd cycle. She's difficult bc she needs to be to get attention, but bc she's difficult, she can't keep it. Not without having whatever fondness she's managed to cultivate within someone fray at the seams, volatile and prone to collapse, bleeding toxicity.

Hence, her relationship w/Andrew.

By being the only reliable constant in her life, caring for her and keeping her company, Andrew essentially became her only source of happiness, and she's since learned not to bother with anyone else. Still, it's dangerous to keep all your eggs in one basket; since he is all she has, she must protect her place in his life with even greater ferocity, which becomes a torturous ordeal when coupled with her damaged self-esteem.

It's apparent in her quarrels with Andrew that she needs constant reassurance that she is wanted in some capacity or perceived in some positive light (getting pouty when Andrew says he's "stuck with her", needing to hear that she's pretty, needing him to "choose her", wanting him to say he loves her back, etc. etc.), yet her insecurity remains, bc unlike her, he's got options. She doesn't think he needs her like she needs him. He's got a gf, their parents love him, her friends love him. Why would he settle for her? What if someone better comes along? Someone she can't scare away?

Wouldn't he just leave her like everyone else?

Even before getting locked in the coffin of their apartment, starvation's been a constant theme in Ashley's life. She's constantly aching for love, and Andrew's the only one who can feed her. When you're forced to fight for a bite to eat or suffer every moment you hunger, you become ravenous—covetous—when faced with food; you don't want the hunger to return, so you lock down the source of your sustenance, wary of its retreat. Ashley's in a permanent state of intense insecurity, always anxious that the love that gives her life will leave her.

Andrew knows Ashley better than anyone else in the world, and it's obvs to everyone and him how desperate Ashley is for him, but I don’t think Andrew has truly, consciously processed the depth of that desperation. It's there buried in his head somewhere no doubt, but rn, he doesn't operate w/the direct awareness that he is everything. He is brother, mother, friend, and soulmate. He is life and love, air and water, everything that is good in the world—everything that there is to justify existence.

It's heartbreaking, in a way, that it's so difficult for Andrew to convince her of his loyalty. This goes further than his tendency to hide his true feelings, bc when push comes to shove, he's at her beck and call. Objectively, he's hers. She doesn't see that bc all she sees is all the ways she can lose him.

So, she gets bratty. She gets pushy, possessive, territorial. Manipulative. Gets under his skin, guilts him to exhaustion, bc she can't see him staying any other way, bc he doesn't get it, bc it works. He bends to her will, for her sake. For now. It's always "for now", bc he'll start slipping away again, and then it'll get worse. She does worse.

Becomes worse.

[radioactive-earthshine]

Orla's Non-Bat Comic Recs.

Hello folks, in light of the 'all published comics are BAD' wave that has been swept everywhere recently I would like to share a collection of comics that are good actually and are generally isolated (you don't need a spreadsheet to read them).

1.) Impulse (1995)

Why: This is about a neurodiverse coded teenage refugee from the future who cannot live with his blood family in the 20th century due to circumstances that are beyond his control. It is about learning to adapt to a world that doesn't make sense, and learning to love it too. As time goes on Bart learns how to love and he discovers who he is and what is important to him really. All the while some of the most chaotic things happen that you may ever see in a comic (Bart tricks the whole school into getting into a brawl and drives a car off a cliff). Primary themes: Found family (for real), loss, immigration coding, neurodiversity, foster homes, friendship, self discovery, school. Trigger warnings: child abuse, ableism, ptsd, gangs and gun violence (a shocking amount) mental illness. Available in Trade Paperback: Partially. Reckless Youth - collects Bart's first appearances from The Flash plus issues #1-#6 in Impulse. Flash/Impulse: Runs in the Family - collects Impulse #1-#12 plus supplementary issues from The Flash. Mercury Falling - Collects the entire Mercury Falling arc.

2.) Jack Kirby's New Gods (1971)

Why: This is the epic that started it all with Darkseid as he scours the earth in search of the Anti-Life Equation. It is about many deep layers of history involving the New Gods, the divide between New Genesis and Apokolips. In desperation to stop an endless war Darkseid and Highfather of New Genesis agree to a pact - to trade sons and in return a long period of truce and a ceasefire would pass between worlds. Highfather agreed, trading his son for Darkseid's whom he raised with love on New Genesis. Orion, years later, is a god of war and he fights for New Genesis and he fights for Earth, undogged he persists in vanquishing Darkseid's evil wherever it dwells. But Orion has a secret, and deep shame, for he experiences anger and wrath like no other on New Genesis but there is deep compassion and love that tempers it. As Orion fights for Earth he uncovers many secrets about himself, and at his side is his 'friend' Lightray who knows the darkness in him but never turns away. Primary themes: war, anger, ptsd, secrets, space opera, family, anti-war, malice, self discovery Trigger warnings: ptsd, this was written in the 70s but was pretty liberal for its time, still has some awkward moments that are slightly sexist and racist (mostly with names of black characters Vykin the Black and Black Racer which some people are uncomfortable with). Available in Trade Paperback: Complete. 1 book. Jack Kirby's New Gods - Collects all issues of Jack's 1971 series plus Even Gods Must Die and The Hunger Dogs. NOTE: Jack Kirby's entire Fourth World epic with Mr. Miracle and The Forever People is also highly recommended and is part of the New Gods tale. All 3 series has been complied into one massive trade called Jack Kirby's Fourth World, and all are available individually as well. Either way you might be able to find these at your library, or on Hooplah.

3.) Orion by Walter Simonson

Why: Decades after Jack Kirby wrote his final chapter for New Gods Orion finally gets his solo where he faces his father on Apokolips and steps up as its ruler. Now the leader of Apokolips Orion begins the arduous task of cleansing it of its malice and cruelty, a feat that is not easy and even more so when he does it without aid. With sinister deception at every turn Orion struggles and finds himself being tempted to use the very force that he was sworn to protect everyone from; the very anti-life equation itself. Primary themes; deceit, temptation, rebirth, life and death, redemption, mercy, compassion, love, forgiveness. Trigger warnings: torture, sexual assault implications. Available in Trade Paperback - Complete. 2 books.

4.) Barda by Ngozi Ukazu (NEW!!)

Why: This is a graphic novel and is a retelling of Barda as she comes to understand love and what she really wants from her life all while navigating the cruelty of Apokolips. Primary themes: love, cruelty, malice, torture, imprisonment, hope Trigger Warnings: torture, execution. Single complete graphic novel.

5.) Superman: The Harvests of Youth by Sina Grace

Why: This is a heartbreaking coming of age story about Clark Kent as a teenager in Smallville as he finds his place among his friends, family and himself as an alien during a time of death and hatred. It is a young Superman story that is incredibly relevant today in an age of internet toxicity and leaves you feeling hopeful. This blends some elements from Smallville (the show) but tweaks them to make this its own unique bubble world that feels believable and fresh. Primary Themes: toxic masculinity, incels, bullying, suicide, capitalism, teenage coming of age, teenage romance, high school Single complete graphic novel

6.) Superman Smashes The Klan by Gene Luen Yang

Why: In the 1940s the Superman Radio Show released the story "Clan of the Fiery Cross" that told a terrifying story about the KKK targeting a Chinese-American family that moved from Chinatown into Metropolis white-dominated suburbs following WWII. This is a graphic novel that is based on the same story. Primary Themes: racism, identity issues, internalized racism, police brutality. Single complete graphic novel, and also has 3 separate novels.

7.) Bad Dream: A Dreamer Story by Nicole Maines (New!!)

Why: This is Nia Nal's solo and origin story that has been confirmed to take place in the main verse for the current comics. Nia was born and raised in a small heavily isolated Sanctuary where aliens live safely. Even among dozens of alien species Nia is still seen as different as she is the only person who is trans. To complicate everything even more, Nia inherits her people's precognitive powers when her sister Maeve was raised her entire life to accept the powers into her. Terrified of her new powers and destroying her family by revealing them she inherited them instead of her sister, she flees from her hometown to Metropolis where she for the first time in her life meets other queer people. But there is a threat to her family on the horizon, and in order to protect them she must go back and face her fears. Primary Themes: transphobia, self discovery, xenophobia, acceptance, fearfulness, family, secrets, deceit. Trigger Warnings: see above, also internalized queerphobia. Single Complete Graphic Novel

8.) Static: Season One

Why: This is a modern retelling of Milestone Comic's Static as bullied nerd Virgil Hawkins comes into his powers at a protest when police discharge an experimental tear gas. The gas leaves many of his classmates dead, but some like him gain amazing powers - unfortunately some other people, like his bullies, also gain powers. Caught between law enforcement, capitalism, and the complexities of being a new teenage superhero Virgil works to uplift his community and stay strong within his nerdy friend group. This series is heavily based on the Static Shock TV show so fans of that show will be delighted with familiar faces, and names. And yes, Richie Foley is gay. Primary Themes: racism, police brutality, bullying, anger, frustration, dehumanization. Trigger Warnings: See above Available in Trade Paperback - Complete in Static: Season One which collects all six issues. Note: We also have its sequel Static: Shadows of Dakota out as well.

9.) Superman: American Alien

Why: This is a collection of short stories about Clark at varying stages of his life that range from funny to incredibly heartfelt. Primary Themes: finding ones self, self discovery, compassion Trigger warnings: I cannot think of one Available in Trade Paperback - Complete as Superman: American Alien which collects all 7 stories.

10.) Legion of Super-Heroes: Post-Zero Hour Reboot

Why: In the 30th century R.J. Brande Industries creates the Star Gate System, finally connecting the galaxy closer than it ever had before. Travel that once took months or years to complete now could only take hours and with it came the United Planets with Earth as its home headquarters. In an effort to promote the United Planets and unify the galaxy, the Legion of Super-Heroes was formed by Brande as a peacekeeping unit and an inspiration to cooperation. Sadly, it was co-opted by political parties and turned into a draft for talented teenagers to serve, or risk their planet's enrollment in the U.P. Over the course of over 200 issues teenage super heroes are given unfathomable responsibility and power while unifying to protect their galaxy and friendships while combating xenophobia and political corruption. This series is everything people wanted TTv3 to be but never got. Primary Themes: Dehumanization, loss of autonomy, death, life, space, technology, capitalism, political corruption, manipulation, deceit, hope, romance, found family Trigger Warnings: See above plus ableism and teenage pregnancy. Available in Trade Paperback: Partially. We have 2 volumes called Legionnaires which collect approximately 20 issues, plus extra content, of this run. We also have various other trade collections such as Legion Lost in its entirety.

11.) Ascender and Descender by Jeff Lemire and Dustin Nguyen

Why: Tired of superheroes? These are two separate series that follow the same story about a young companion robot named Tim who was assigned to be his human brother's best friend and companion. Unfortunately, during a mining accident his entire colony had to flee and leave him behind as they attempted to escape toxic gas. 10 years have gone by since then, and a lot has changed in the world since he was shut down. Mostly being 95% of all robots have been destroyed and are targeted for destruction after a mysterious robotic alien force attacked all sentient worlds and obliterated the populations down to catastrophic levels. All Tim wants to do is find his brother Andy, but what has become of Andy in 10 years, and what will happen to him in 10 more years after they reunite? This story takes place over 20 years as Tim and Andy both grow and change, as they face the challenges before them and unravel the mystery of the Artificial Intelligence that swore to destroy all organic life. Oh, and magic is also involved too. Primary themes: hatred, violence, abuse, xenophobia, forgiveness, found family, brothers, dehumanization, life, death, magic, balance, manipulation, deceit, mysteries, will probably remind you of Mass Effect. Trigger Warnings: see above Available in Trade Paperback: the entire series is available across multiple books.

That's all I have for now folks, I'm tired of writing.

[bleachbyatch-blog]

Do it like daddy

Summary: Shoto tries his best to help you finish. When Endeavor catches you two, he offers to help. (Takes place after graduation, so everyone is 18+)

CW: Explicit sexual content, Rough oral sex (f and m receiving), breeding kink, threesome, incestual themes? (Shoto and Endeavor don't do anything with each other, the focus is on you), Dubcon at one brief point

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

This is my first fic on tumblr, so if you're reading this, please be gentle!

“Let me try again, please.” Shoto asked you, his eyes so sweetly earnest.

“What now? Here?” You were finishing up your sidekick work at the Endeavor agency.

“Why not? It’s late, we’re probably the last two here.” You chewed on your lip, thinking about how badly you wanted a release, one that had evaded you for a long time. 

“I dunno, Sho. If we get caught-”

“We won’t get caught if you’re quiet.” He toyed with the hem of your costume’s skirt and brushed his cool fingertips over the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Ok, but don’t be upset if I can’t finish.” 

***

Endeavor’s flames burned lazily from where he sat at his desk, his whole body exhausted from another day of hero work. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and realized how badly he needed to shave. The rest of the paperwork could wait until morning, he decided. So, he gathered his stuff and began making his way out of the building. He was just about to leave when he swore he heard a tiny whimper from somewhere deeper in the building. 

“Dammit.” He headed in the direction of the noise to investigate. The building was usually empty by that time of night, but the soft sobs persisted, getting louder with every step he took. Endeavor rounded the corner to the sidekick’s office, when he stopped short in the shadows. His brain must have been short-circuiting (maybe the flames finally cooked it?) Spread out on the closest desk before him was you, one of his sidekicks. And down bobbing his head between your legs was his youngest son, Shoto. 

“Shoto, please..” You panted out, your muscles clenching, trying to help your orgasm along.

Endeavor couldn’t help himself, he palmed his suddenly agonizingly hard cock through his costume. He’d always had a soft spot for you and deep down he knew it was because he was attracted to you. He always loved how your soft and shy demeanor hid your immense raw power. He loved how you smiled at him even when he didn’t deserve it. He wanted you, and apparently his son wanted you in the exact same way. A sort of gross jealousy made his flames crackle a little, seeing his son have another opportunity that he himself would never get. 

“Shotoooooo.” You were practically wailing, your exposed breasts heaving with frustration. “Please, I’m close.” You were close to tears, feeling your orgasm build but never break was a special kind of torture that you could never get used to. Shoto worked his tongue eagerly over your softness, encouraged by your words. In his excitement, his rhythm faltered a little and you couldn’t help but groan in disappointment. 

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, hiding his face in your thigh. “I didn’t mean to.” He looked up at you self-consciously, his mouth and chin dripping with your wetness. That sight almost made up for the ruined orgasm. Almost.

“It’s not your fault.” You sighed. “It’s impossible.” You held your face in your hands, trying to hide just how upset you were from him.

“Hey,” he said, pulling your hands away to cradle your face to his chest. “I’ll go all night if I have to.” It was a promise, determination flashed brightly in his eyes.

“You want me to finish her off for you?” Endeavor’s deep voice startled the two of you from the shadows. “I don’t want you to be here all night.” You reached for your costume to cover yourself, but it must have fallen behind the desk. Endeavor finally emerged from the darkness. His eyes raked across your flesh and you burned. Burned with embarrassment of getting caught and the shame of liking it. 

“Dad!” Shoto cried out, wiping his face on his sleeve and stepping in to shield you. Shoto processed his father’s words for a moment before realizing what he actually said. “What the fuck? No, I don’t want you to finish her.” 

“But I could teach you how.” Endeavor offered, his words ringing filthily in everyone’s ears. Shoto froze in place and remained silent for a moment. He couldn’t possibly be thinking about it, could he? You thought, a wicked sort of anticipation coursing through you. Shoto finally glanced back at your trembling form, his eyes conflicted. 

“If you mean that, if you swear you can make her cum, then go ahead.” Shoto conceded, never taking his eyes off yours. 

“What?” You chime in dumbly. “What is happening?” 

Endeavor approached you where you were still perched on the desk. “Open your legs for me.” It was a command, but his voice was softer than normal, almost tender even. It made you want to obey. With a shaky breath, you parted your thighs, revealing the most intimate parts of yourself to the number 1 hero. To your lover’s father. 

“I’m glad to know you’re doing something right, Shoto.” Endeavor chuckled, running a long finger between the throbbing soaked mess of your folds. “Or are you just that desperate for it, (Y/N)?” You choked out a gasp as he brought his thumb down roughly on your sore clit. “Answer me when I speak to you.” He reached his other hand to grasp under your chin, his fingers prodding painfully at your jaw. 

“O-okay.” You were beyond nervous. You had always been intimidated by Shoto’s father, even after you joined his hero agency. And the prospect of him making you cum…had you in shambles. 

“Are you a desperate little slut?” Endeavor asked again. 

“Don’t call her names.” Shoto warned from his spot beside the desk. Endeavor slipped the tip of his finger up to probe at your entrance, swirling it around your hole.

“I can’t help it, listen to how needy she’s being.” 

“Mhmmm-” Was the best response you could give while your pussy was being teased so ruthlessly. Endeavor chuckled darkly at your red hot face before kneeling down between your legs. His tongue took up Shoto’s work lapping around your clit as he slid his finger in deeper between your wet walls. “Aaahh.” You cried out, pulling your heels up onto the desk to give Endeavor better access. 

“What a good girl.” Endeavor praised between slow passes at your trembling bud. “Have you ever had an orgasm before?” You shook your head, embarrassed. “If you want me to make you cum, say my name.” He took an absolutely sinful amount of pleasure tasting you, waiting to hear his name fall from your lips. 

“En-endeavor.” You squeaked out pitifully through your heaving breaths. 

“No.” He ripped his mouth away and retracted his finger leaving you untouched and aching. “My name. Enji.” He corrected sternly. You glanced over at Shoto, seeking permission for something that felt so impossibly filthy, you would be shocked if he granted it to you. “Don’t look at him. Right now, you’re mine.”

“Okay…Enji.” With a satisfied smirk, Endeavor continued his tantalizing treatment of your puffy pussy, building up that pressure in your core slowly. He added a second finger to better caress your insides, pushing up on your front wall until he’d pinpointed your softest, spongiest spot. “Oh god.” You felt an odd sensation, like you were going to come undone. Be unmade by his too-big fingers in your tight cunt. Melt beneath his fiery lips until you were reduced to a puddle wetting every surface of the desk. 

Your legs shook uncontrollably, Endeavor used his free hand to keep you in place. Your walls contracted around his fingers and he pushed back against them, targeting that precious spot until you were babbling his name frantically. White hot liquid splashed out around his fingers and coated his face and beard as your lungs let out one last cry, your very first orgasm wracking through your entire body. You fell back against the desk, seeing stars and trying to remember how to breathe. 

“(Y/N).” You felt the hair being brushed back from your damp forehead. “(Y/N) did you finish?” Shoto asked quietly. 

“Of course she did.” Endeavor said, tasting your remaining sweetness on his lips. “And she’s not done. Come here.” He motioned for Shoto to join him between your legs. Shoto hesitated for a moment before giving into his desire to make you cum no matter what. “Slip your index finger into her.” Shoto did, moaning at how soft and pliant his dad had made you. 

“Wait-” You choked out. “I’m still coming down.” 

Endeavor ignored you and added his own finger under Shoto’s and guided his son’s finger to your g-spot. “Do you feel that? How it feels different?” He coaxed Shoto’s fingers into a soft stroking motion, earning a loud moan from you. 

“Yes.” Shoto’s voice grew excited as he took over the motion on his own. 

“Now take your thumb and put it here.” Your clit pulsed painfully from the overstimulation. “Use gentle pressure when you’re rubbing it. She doesn’t need a lot to turn into a sloppy little mess.”

You looked up to both sets of eyes fixated on you, watching you writhe beneath their fingers. They could see everything from that angle, the way your greedy pussy sucked them in, the way your face would contort when you came a second time. 

“Sho…I can’t. Not again. Not like this.” You reached out to stop their hands.

“Do I need to hold you down?” Endeavor threatened with a sharp little smack to your thigh. 

“N-no, Enji.” Shoto’s finger halted inside you, unsure of what to do.

“Keep going Shoto, we’ll have her cumming in no time.” They resumed, but Endeavor switched up his rhythm to be opposite of Shoto’s, scissoring your little hole open as lewd squelching sounds filled the office. True to Endeavor’s words, after just a few moments you felt yourself on the edge of your second orgasm. You keened wildly and your vision blurred until your hole finished pulsing around their sopping fingers.     

“She didn’t squirt.” Shoto said, disappointment clear in his voice.

“That’ll take some practice.” His father chuckled before shucking off his hero costume, standing fully naked. 

“What are you doing?” Shoto asked warily.

“She’s not done until she cums on my cock.” 

“Absolutely not. You don’t get to fuck her.” The wetness on Shoto’s fingers frosted over as his quirk activated. 

“Do you want my cock, (Y/N)?” You looked down at his massive dick, its pulsing red tip leaking a long string of precum down to the floor. It terrified you, you had never taken anything so big…but the sight also made your cunt spasm with need.

“I’m sorry Sho.” You whined out. “I want it. Can I please?” Shoto averted his eyes, he didn’t think he could watch, but he wasn’t in the habit of denying you things you wanted. 

“Get it wet for me.” Endeavor guided you to your knees in front of him, his length bobbing in front of your face. You flicked your tongue curiously over the saltiness of his slit before suctioning the head between your lips. He threw his head back with a groan. You couldn’t fit much more of his length down your throat, so you settled from licking up the shaft, messily coating it in saliva. 

“Such a good girl.” Endeavor murmured before hauling you back up into your position on the desk. “Do you want it like this?” He slid his tip up to your entrance, pushing it past the first ring of muscle. “Or do you want me to flip you over and take you from behind?” 

“Ummm…” You hummed out dumbly. The sight of Endeavor’s cock penetrating you was making you lust drunk. 

“Guess it’s my choice.” He said gruffly before spinning you around and pressing your tits to the cool metal of the desk. Your pussy strained against his veiny shaft as he pressed deeper into you. It was heavy and hotter than you imagined, flames licked up your insides, opening the path for his cock. 

Shoto approached you from the other side of the desk despite his better judgment. His fist pumped his cock agitatedly. “Will you open?” He asks you shyly. You oblige him, feeling his veins slide onto your tongue. You give him a few exhausted bobs before he knots his hands in your hair and takes control, fucking your face harder than he ever had before. Not to be outdone, Endeavor continued to split you open, setting a pace that would surely bruise your insides. 

“Show me what a good girl you are and take it all, ok?” Endeavor grunted as he stuffed your pussy so full you were screaming around Shoto’s cock. Your poor little walls fluttered weakly against him, trying to push him out. 

“Ennnjiiii. Can’t.” Your words were so muffled he either couldn’t hear you or didn’t care. And just like that you were snapping once more, creaminess coating the base of Endeavor’s cock and dripping down to soil the discarded documents on the floor. 

“There you go.” Endeavor stroked your back as you cried through the final few waves of pleasure. “Gonna fill you to the brim with my cum.” 

“The fuck you will.” Shoto growled, his thrusting was erratic as he hit the back of your throat wickedly. The head of his cock was nestled down to deposit his own semen deep into you. 

“Are you going to quit fucking her throat to stop me?” Endeavor’s pace turned animalistic, his hands crushing the delicate skin of your hips as he forced you back even farther until his cock was punching your cervix. All Shoto could do was groan in response as his dick twitched and released his load. His hot cum dripped down your sore throat as Endeavor pummeled you from behind once, twice, three times more and was spurting his fiery seed inside your womb.

You were burning at each end. They had used up all of you, you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. 

“Are you fucking breeding her?” Your lover’s angry voice brought you back down to reality and you realized his father hadn’t pulled out yet. 

“You relinquished this pretty pussy to me, I’ll do what I want with it.” Endeavor said finally, planting a messy kiss on the column of your spine.

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 7 - Only Human

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

A thin ribbon of carpet, stretching just as far into infinity as the narrow corridor itself, explored distant depths soaked in darkness. A never-ending chain of chandeliers spanned the ceiling, cracked bulbs flickering in and out as they pleased. The experience was disorienting, to say the least — cruel and unusual torture, to say a little bit more. 

There was but a single source of reliable light in the entire hallway: the unassuming windows staged on the eastern wall in neat little quintets. Each glass-paned portal hosted a pair of tattered curtains that fluttered carelessly with the rhythm of the wind. 

Assorted furniture was scattered along the periphery, breaking up the tiring monotony of it all. An odd, uncanny energy surrounded their existence. Nothing besides the occasional lamp was mounted upon the dust-caked tables, and only a handful of random knick-knacks found home on the bookshelves. Nothing seemed to be placed with any thought or purpose in mind, as if something non-human were desperately attempting to construct a convincing facsimile of a sprawling Edwardian mansion, but couldn’t quite get it right. It understood what to place, and where — but the why it couldn’t fully grasp. 

The subtle horror made Ragatha’s insides quiver — but, all told, it could have been worse. At the very least, she was here in Pomni’s arms, where the chilling bite of the unknown was soothed by the warm glow of her touch, where the steady rhythm of Pomni’s footfalls wrapped her up in a blanket of sameness and security. 

Step, step, step. 

Ragatha snuggled Pomni’s chest, her head positioned perfectly to hear the rhythm of the young woman’s heartbeat. It was racing. Pomni must have been so tired, so exhausted, so ready to collapse in a heap and call it quits. But instead, she persisted, pushing her body and mind to the absolute limit. All for Ragatha’s sake. 

The plain little ragdoll closed her eyes. She pulled deep, contented breaths from her core, pressing her forehead firmly against the jester’s chest. If only this adventure could go on forever. If only she and Pomni could remain just like this — a helpless princess and her dashing savior — until the day they finally escaped into the outside world, hand-in-hand.

Step, step, step.

Pomni passed by another quintet of windows. Ragatha shivered as a chilly draft snuck through a crack in the glass pane. Its whistling entrance, performing in duet with the tittering of bats, chipped the unbroken facade of silence. 

“Hey. Pomni…?” 

The jester kept on moving, but her stride was a touch closer to walking than it had been before. Her gaze flicked towards her chest — or rather, the big bundle of red yarn resting snugly against it. “Yeah? What’s up?” 

“I’ve just been thinking,” Ragatha’s finger teased little circles around Pomni’s back, “what are we going to get up to when this is all over?”

Pomni hesitated. “When we escape the Circus?”

“When this adventure is over.”

“Oh. W-Well, uh…” Pomni cleared her throat, “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, I happen to have a few ideas up my sleeve…” Ragatha smirked. It was difficult not to swoon, or snicker, or let out one of those satisfied sighs that relieved the pressure built up by a love-swollen heart. “Since we’re so…close now, why don’t I show you around my bedroom? We could have a sleepover, just you and me. Does that sound fun?”

“Um…!” Pomni’s whole body turned five degrees warmer. “S-Sure! Uh. Yeah! Okay! That could be, uh, f-f-fun…”

“You have those big letter blocks in your room, don’t you?”

“Uh. Yes…?”

“Do you use them for anything?”

“Huh? Well, no. Not really.” 

“Are they heavy?”

“Pretty heavy,” Pomni replied, squinting. She glanced down, meeting Ragatha’s flirtatious gaze, “Why are you asking me this?”

“Well, I was just thinking. Maybe you could lend me some?”

“For what?”

“Well, we’re going to need something to block the door, won’t we?”

Pomni squeaked, pale face flushing red. “Huh!? U-Um…!”

“In fact…” Ragatha grabbed Pomni’s tunic and leaned in closer. A distinct hunger roared within her, begging to be sated. “I never got to finish my lesson, did I? What if you got in a little more practice before that?”

“More…practice?”

“Mhm…”

“A-Are you serious…?”

Ragatha practically purred. “Deadly.” 

“Well, uh…” Pomni subtly leaned away, “...now doesn’t really seem like a good time, does it? We’re going to fail the mission if we don’t keep moving — and besides, we’ve got to keep our guard up for whatever it is that’s hiding in this hallway. Remember what that weird ghost lady told us?

“Hmm?” Ragatha pouted. “Oh, come on. Just one quick kiss?”

Pomni sighed. “No, Ragatha.”

Ragatha’s steady breathing lagged; the unflinching seriousness of Pomni’s tone slammed into her like a runaway train. Her plush heart shriveled, and her stitched-on eyebrows crinkled in confusion. Uh-oh. Oh, god. She didn’t mean to…!

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart,” Ragatha cocked her head, “I thought we were just playing around — I didn’t mean to pressure you. We’re not moving too fast, are we?”  

Pomni’s steady stride slowed to a halt. Her eyes brooded pensively at the floor, watching the hard sole of her boot rap softly against the carpet below. 

“No. It’s…fine,” Pomni eventually replied, “We can kiss if you want.”

“If I want to!? Do you want to?”

“I…” Pomni swallowed. “...Well, duh! You’re literally the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. What kind of idiot wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

“Pomni.” Ragatha deadpanned. The flattery tactic wasn’t going to work. “Be honest.”

“I am being honest!”

“Please. I can tell something’s bothering you—”

Out of nowhere, Pomni shoved her lips against Ragatha’s, decisively shutting the dolly up. She tore away the very next moment.

“There’s your kiss. Happy?” Pomni grit her teeth, glaring down the hallway. She sulked into the dark depths with aplomb.

“Pomni! What’s gotten into you?!”

“What’s gotten into me? We have less than an hour before this whole adventure falls apart with us stuck inside it! That’s what’s gotten into me!”  

Ragatha narrowed her eyes. She was the farthest thing from naive — not when it came to matters of the heart. Pomni had started acting noticeably off ever since they’d shared their first kiss, and Ragatha wasn’t going to just stand by without at least trying to get to the bottom of it, time limits be damned. 

“Pomni,” said Ragatha, “put me down.”

“What? You’re not serious, are you?!”

“We’re not in high school, Pomni — something’s going on, and we’re going to talk about it. Like adults.”

Pomni grumbled under her breath. Rolling her eyes, she started toward one of the many overzealous couches placed periodically along the walls — the tacky type with legs carved into the shape of animal paws. 

Gently, Pomni did as Ragatha asked, setting the ragdoll down on the silky cushions. Despite her less-than-peachy mood, she still took extra care to make sure Ragatha’s weight was well-centered, and that her shoulders were propped up nicely against the backrest — lest Ragatha end up sliding off and flopping helplessly to the ground. 

“That’s perfect, Sweetheart. Thank you.” Ragatha shifted around, settling into her seat. She looked Pomni in the eyes and patted the empty spot beside her. 

Pomni plopped down with a huff. Like a troublemaking kid stuck in the principal’s office, she crossed her arms tightly, flashing her boots a dirty look. 

“Now, if it’s alright with you…” Ragatha exhaled, hands politely nestled in the lap of her royal dress, “Tell me what’s bothering you. I’m here to listen.”

Pomni’s tightly-wound posture compressed even further. “I just…” she squirmed, making an indecisive sound that drifted back and forth between a guttural groan and a high-pitched whine. “You and me…!”

She shook her head. She flexed her soles against the carpet. She squeezed the century-old, crumbling stuffing out of the century-old, crumbling couch cushions, until…

“I just don’t get it!” Pomni snapped, “Why would someone like you want anything to do with someone like me?”

Ragatha sat up. “H-Huh!?” 

Pomni’s wilting eyes wandered about Ragatha’s body, settling on the freshest injury slashed across the ragdoll’s torso. “You’ve shown me so much kindness. You’ve protected me, you’ve made me smile, you’ve been a friend when I needed one,” Pomni sighed. Her glowering gaze retreated to the floor.  “Meanwhile, I can’t even keep a simple promise to keep you safe.”

“Keep me safe? What—” Ragatha swatted her hand over the winding tear, “—you’re talking about this? Oh, Pomni! So I tore myself up a little! It isn’t—”

“Isn’t my fault? Give me a break — I’m not stupid!” Pomni fanned her fingers across her chest, “You hurting yourself would never have happened if I hadn’t flipped my lid earlier! I don’t get it, Ragatha — why are you so afraid to stand up for yourself?”

“Pomni!” 

“Why would you forgive me after everything I’ve put you through? Why would you kiss me?” Pomni bared her teeth, eyes jumping from bad, to worse, to awful as she regarded the clumps of cotton bulging out of the broken ragdoll. “How do you not despise me?”

Stunned into silence, Ragatha placed her hand over her throat. She could feel it tightening, strangling her from the inside. 

All was quiet. 

For the longest time, Pomni just sat there, rocking back and forth, stewing in the dreadful silence. And when she finally did open her mouth to reply, she flinched as if the reedy sound of her own voice had caught her off-guard:

“Ragatha…?” she croaked, “Do you remember yesterday? When we stopped in that clearing, and that horrible tree monster attacked us?”

Ragatha’s face hardened. She nodded.

“When that…thing had me in its clutches, you didn’t run away. You fought for me. And you saved me.”

Ragatha stared at the shivering woman seated beside her. Now, it was her turn to bask in uncomfortable silence, racking her brain to think of something, anything she could possibly say. The uncertain silence stretched father, farther, farther, until she just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because. All this time,” Pomni wilted. “I’ve been wondering. Wondering why.”

“...Why I saved you?”

Pomni just barely eked out a nod. 

“I mean…do I really need a reason?” Ragatha couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “You didn’t expect me to just leave you behind, did you?”

White-hot shame simmered behind Pomni’s eyes. Head in her hands, she slumped closer to the floor, trembling voice peaking just above a whisper: “Did you expect me to…?” 

Ragatha snapped to attention, hand flattened against her chest. Pins and needles numbed the tips of her fingers.

So. This was it. 

Finally, they were talking about it.

Ragatha bastioned herself. She took a deep breath, and—

“You don’t have to make excuses for me,” Pomni croaked. She held her musketeer cap over her face, crumpling the wide brim beneath her fingers. “What I did to you…” her pupils retreated, “...it was awful. Just awful.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Ragatha shook her head. “For all of that crazy stuff to happen on your first day? Before you’d even had time to adjust? You were in shock. You were terrified.  It wouldn’t be fair to judge your actions based on—”

“How did you convince yourself that your feelings don’t matter?”

Ragatha’s face fell flat. “...Pardon?”

“I know you’re just trying to be kind. Because that’s the type of person you are,” Pomni said. “But…you need to stop.”

“St-Stop?”

“I hurt you. How do you expect to heal if all we do is dance around it?”

“I…” Ragatha’s mouth slowly shut. She felt utterly transparent — and in the span of a single second, the mental house of cards that she had so carefully constructed for years came crashing down in a big, fluttering heap. 

‘How did you convince yourself that your feelings don’t matter?’ Pomni’s blunt words ricocheted off the walls of her mind. ‘How do you expect to heal if all we do is dance around it?‘

Ragatha wilted. She didn’t know the answer.

She was so accustomed to being the first one to offer a supportive ear, the first one to provide a firm shoulder to cry on, that her own feelings had long ago been exiled to a dusty, long-forgotten corner of her mind. 

Like everyone else, she wanted nothing more than to escape the digital insanity ward she found herself trapped in — but she wasn’t naive enough to believe that desire was anything more than a pipe dream. For now, and maybe forever, her weird little found family of co-prisoners was all she had. And she knew it.

So she had to keep the peace. She had to be the neutral voice of reason, the rock solid foundation that kept everyone bound together — and that balancing act alone was taxing enough. Why in the world would she want to foil that precarious peace with her own petty problems?

But it was…fine. It was. Ragatha had always been good at regulating her own emotions. All she had to do was bury any bothersome thoughts beneath a heap of questionable excuses, paper-thin rationales, and half-baked half-truths until the pesky voices didn’t pester her so much anymore. And just look at her! She was fine. 

Totally fine. No problems here. Nope. 

Shakily, Ragatha swallowed. Her head slumped. Who was she kidding, lying to herself like this…? Why was it so difficult to just be honest about the burden she carried — the pain, the loneliness, the emotional isolation that weighed her down further each day? And why, after all these years, was she just now questioning all of this?

Her heart beat just a little bit faster. Her breathing picked up to match. Her eyes brimmed with tears as, out of nowhere, the obvious answer whisked through her mind:

No one had ever cared to ask. No one besides Pomni.

A cozy sense of safety embraced Ragatha’s heart. She didn’t care to turn away, or hide her face beneath her hands, or wipe away her rolling tears. It was okay to cry here. 

Her wandering, watery eyes heeded the disheveled nest of hat hair that adorned Pomni’s head. They admired the unrelenting dorkiness of the jester’s forced-on musketeer costume. They beheld, as if in a trance, a lovely pair of pinwheels bursting with one-thousand-and-one emotions at once. 

She smiled, warmly and earnestly. So this was what it felt like. To be cared for. 

“Okay then,” Ragatha spoke softly, forcing her mouth to take the shape of the words. She couldn’t help but squirm, tearing open the door on feelings that she’d already worked so hard to lock away. “I’m going to be very frank with you — because I trust you. And I know you trust me.”

Pomni cowered behind her crinkled cap, fingers carving crude lines across the rawhide brim. Her pupils retreated meekly toward the floor. 

Ragatha bit her lip. “Back on your first day, when you left me alone with Kaufmo? Yeah. That hurt. I was confused, and scared, and angry, and…” Ragatha swallowed, “...a-and…”

“And what…?

“And I came closer to losing myself than I ever had before.”

Pomni’s cap wrinkled beneath the jester’s tightened grip. “Wh-what!? You mean…?”

Every jumbled line of code that comprised Ragatha’s digital body shrieked at her to stop, to be a good girl, to shut her big mouth and stop causing drama. Nevertheless, she made her story heard. “I’m not that strong, Pomni,” she said, “I’m just good at hiding my weakness. Probably too good, to be honest…”

“But…but that doesn’t make sense! When I came back to you, your body was all glitchy and flickery — but you weren’t abstracting!”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it. All of us have vastly different digital forms, — so, naturally, they abstract in vastly different ways, too. Whenever I feel myself slipping…” Another tear raced down Ragatha’s face at the thought. She crossed her bulky, dollish hands over her chest, “...it starts on the inside.”

Pomni lowered her cap to her chin, exposing her drooping face. “In your heart?”

Glancing away, Ragatha nodded. She stroked the back of her hand in a self-soothing gesture. “I could feel the threads fraying as soon as we opened Kaufmo’s door. The seams of my heart began to tear open, and this awful coldness spread throughout my body.”

“And…” Pomni hesitated, “...then I left you. All alone. And y-you almost…”

“Yeah. But, you know…” Ragatha met Pomni’s crinkled, shame-stricken gaze, and a smile — a real, genuine smile — put an end to her tears. “...I’m still here. Do you know why?”

“Well, I…” Pomni glanced here and there. Her hat sank further down to cover her chest. “Um…”

“You said it yourself, Sunshine,” Ragatha’s smile made itself comfortable, stretching wider and shining brighter. “You came back.”

 Pomni’s eyes were wide, “I...what?”

“You came back for me, Pomni.” Ragatha pressed her hands against her mouth; her grin grew and grew until it almost looked like she was laughing. “When I heard you plodding down the hall, worried sick, calling after me with that nasally little voice of yours—

“Nasally!?”

“Gosh, you sounded worried sick…” Ragatha giggled, taking Pomni’s hands into hers. “Pomni, just in the handful of days I’ve known you, you’ve proven yourself to be one of the most caring, most courageous, most selfless people I’ve ever met,” Ragatha said. Her thumb glided lovingly against the back of Pomni’s hand, “One mistake doesn’t change that.”

Pomni wasn’t looking back. Her chin quivered slightly, and her hands wriggled stubbornly in Ragatha’s grip.

“Didn’t anybody tell you what happened after that? After I went to find Caine?” Pomni sniffed. “I found a door. I tried to leave. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else except myself, and—” 

“And I forgive you.” Ragatha said. She felt the jester’s shuddering grip tighten around her hands. 

“I’m trying to forgive myself, too.” Pomni glowered at the winding constellations of slices, holes, and cuts wrapped all around Ragatha’s body. She studied their shape closely, her face warping further with every newly-discovered fray. “I’m trying as hard as I can to make up for the way I treated you, but no matter how hard I try, you keep getting hurt. And I just…” she sighed. “...I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could have saved you.”

Ragatha sighed, looking over Pomni’s hands. The poor girl was being so hard on herself — it hurt just to listen to.

Letting go, Ragatha reached into her pocket and produced a round, palm sized box. The transparent lid revealed its contents: A needle, several spools of thread, and a worn-out, heart-shaped pincushion. 

“I…what…?” Pomni blanched. She fastened her cap back on her head. “What is this…?”

Ragatha pressed the container into Pomni’s hands. “You tell me,” she said.

“A…sewing kit?” Pomni held the box up to her ear and gave it a light shake. The contents rattled around inside. “Wait a minute — you just had this on you the whole time?!”

“Uh, well…” Ragatha forced out an awkward laugh, “...kind of?”

“So I did all that work for nothing?!”

“Trust me. It wasn’t for nothing.” Ragatha winked. It was cruel — all she wanted to do was reach over and smother Pomni in a great big hug, but she knew that doing so would only strain her stitches. Confined to her half of the couch, Ragatha gazed pleadingly into Pomni’s eyes, tugging the woman’s arms toward herself with a look that said ‘please, come closer.’

In no time at all, Pomni acquiesced, letting herself be swept into Ragatha’s embrace. Ragatha draped her arms over Pomni’s rigid backside, and rested her forehead against hers. 

“Pomni,” she said, “if you really want to give this a shot, you have to know that one of us is going to screw something up sooner or later. We’re only human, after all, and if there’s one thing every human is good at, it’s #%@$ing up.”

Pomni flinched at the rare curse word out of Ragatha’s mouth — and, for the slightest moment, she even cracked a wary smile. “Yeah,” she snickered, rolling her forehead against the dolly’s. “that’s true…”

Ragatha smiled brighter. “But I know we’ll be okay. We’ll learn from our mistakes, and come out stronger on the other side. Because I love you, and if there’s one thing adventuring with you has taught me…” Ragatha closed Pomni’s fingers around the sewing kit, “...it’s that no matter what happens, we’ll always be there to put each other back together again.”

The kit’s plastic casing whined in Pomni’s ever-tightening grip. Pomni sat in stunned silence — but her tepid breath pounded against Ragatha’s neck just as before. Butterflies swooped and swirled in Ragatha’s stomach as Pomni’s hand combed through the dolly’s cherry-red curls — pinching, petting, rolling frayed twists between her fingers. 

“Ragatha…?”

“Hm?”

Pomni swallowed. “D-Did you just say…” Pomni’s fingers traced a jagged line across the stitched surface of Ragatha's cheek, “...you love me…?”

Ragatha shrugged, casual as could be, “I did, didn’t I?”

A big, stupid smile brightened Pomni’s face. “I—” she stammered, resting her weary head upon the ragdoll’s soft shoulder. “I—” she stuttered still, her weak, wavering voice crumbling to pieces. “I love you, too...”

Ragatha’s heart sang with pure joy. 

She let out a mirthful laugh, squeezing her darling as hard as she could. Pomni squeezed back, and all at once, a wonderful feeling of belonging — of finally returning home after having been away for so long — warmed the ragdoll from her very core.  

“My beautiful little ray of sunshine…” Ragatha spoke through a shuddering smile, running her hands through Pomni’s chestnut hair, breathing in her breathtaking essence. “...I love you with all of my—”

Regrettably — or perhaps not, depending on who you asked — there wasn’t much room for that kind of sentiment between the lines of the Circus’s cold, uncompromising code. Whether or not its players were soulmates, shared the same star sign, or called each other cute little pet names hardly mattered. This heart-pounding adventure was falling apart, and fast. 

Another savage quake shook the mansion’s decrepit foundation. Bricks, metal fittings, and chunks of rotten wood fell like rain. Noxious plumes of who-knows-what poured down from the ceiling. 

Ragatha and Pomni yelped in tandem. And it only got worse from there. 

Instinctively, Ragatha pointed her triangular nose toward the rumbling ceiling — but she did so just in time for a sizeable chunk of falling drywall to clonk her directly on the snout. She cried out, suddenly and sharply, from the dizzying pain. 

The abrupt noise caused Pomni, who still clung to Ragatha, to flinch and lose her balance. She tumbled off the sofa and onto the dirty floor, dragging a wincing Ragatha down with her. They landed in a heap — Ragatha on top, and Pomni squished below. 

All around, rattling chandeliers swung to and fro like crystal pendulums. Antique bookshelves teetered and tottered, vomiting their dusty contents onto the floor. A cavernous fissure split the ceiling with a bloodcurdling crack, spraying forth needles of splintered wood like lethal confetti. 

“R-R-Ragatha!” Pomni ground her teeth, hugging her girlfriend tightly. The back of her head paddled violently against the vibrating floor. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” she cringed in pain…

…but then, just as suddenly as it had started, the rumbling ceased. 

Pomni groaned, opening her eyes again. She blinked in the newfound peace, gawking at the woman laying precariously on top of her. Assorted debris coated the floor around the pair like a blanket of dirtied snow. 

“Oh my gosh! A-Are you—” Pomni hacked up a cloud of grimy dust, “— are you okay?”

“Aww. Look at you, all concerned for little old me,” Ragatha pecked Pomni’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m made of cotton. I’ve walked away from way nastier falls than that.” 

“Oh! Yeah. Right,” Pomni blushed. “I keep forgetting we aren’t exactly human anymore...”

“You’re cute.” Ragatha said with a freehearted giggle. She admired her partner’s dorky little hat, the brim of which was entirely covered in grimy mansion-dust. To be fair, though, her own hair likely didn’t fare any better — a fact which Pomni would confirm a moment later:

“Uh…by the way,” Pomni pointed to the left side of her head. “You’ve got a little something here.” 

“Oh, really? A little something?”

“Yeah. And also…” Pomni’s finger jumped around her head, “...here. And here, and here…”

 “Gosh, that’s an awful lot of ‘little somethings’...” Ragatha giggled. “To tell you the truth, you’ve also got something here,” she pointed to one side of her head, “and here. And…”

Ragatha’s voice trailed off. Deliberately, she lowered her head, eyes narrowing. 

The bank of dust atop Pomni’s musketeer cap was…moving. Spinning. All on its own.  Around and around, the miniscule particles ran an endless circuit around the cured leather brim, slowly drifting upward with each completed lap. Before long, the spinning particles had formed an upside-down cone shape — a tiny tornado of dust. Atop Pomni’s head. 

What in the world…? 

Ragatha could only stare, her mouth ajar. She watched through squinting eyes as the vortex grew tighter and taller, bending with purpose the way a blooming flower reached for the sun. She knew she ought to be used to this sort of nonsense by now, but miraculously, the deranged parade of oddities she encountered every day still managed to confound her, even after all these years. At least Jax wasn’t around to chide her for the stupid look on her face. 

“Uh, hellooo? Are you even listening!?” Pomni waved her hand in front of Ragatha’s face, derailing the redhead’s racing train of thought. “What are you staring at?”

Snapped back into the real world — or, at least, a convincing facsimile thereof — Ragatha’s gaze settled on Pomni. Words failed her, and so, she simply pointed.  

With a bewildered blink, Pomni’s eyes followed the slight downward curve of Ragatha’s finger. The jester’s shuddering gaze inched down the corridor, following the length of the swirling vortex until, at last, the anomaly disappeared into the distant darkness. 

Pomni balked, rubbing her eyes. “The #@$% is that…?”

And it only got weirder from there. 

A second whirlwind — sourced from a pile of debris on a nearby bookshelf — formed in the same way. It stretched down the corridor, fading into the pitch black just like its predecessor. A third, made from the dust coating a palisade of pulverized paintings, came next. A fourth followed suit, then a fifth, a seventh, a tenth, a twentieth — until the vast network of swirling arteries was far too numerous to count. 

Though difficult to make out in the dark, the endpoint of each vortex intersected at a single, unified point. There, an amorphous, filthy cloud began to form. It swelled larger — and larger, and larger — inhaling each and every speck of filth that had accumulated in the hallway. Then, like a mound of clay molded by supernatural hands, the cloud’s shapeless form gradually began to define itself:

A snaking, trunk-like body, made up of dozens of interlocking segments. A pair of gaunt, twitching appendages flanked each of these sections, sprouting one after the next like an infestation of wriggling weeds. A final segment, sporting two nasty spikes, capped off the end. A set of peering eyes, gnashing pincers, and twitching antennae distinguished the head. 

Ragatha whimpered, shrinking away from her worst nightmares made manifest.

It was a centipede. Filth and disease incarnate. A grotesque, fetid creature from hell, standing one foot taller than her and extending longer than her eyes could even perceive. 

The dolly’s patchwork heart seized within her chest. Jittering, black spots infested her blurring vision, dancing without a care as the narrow walls of the haunted corridor closed in. 

The hall was spotless now; every last speck of dust and debris had been funneled into the beast’s frightening form. And so, with its formation complete, the creature came to life.

“P-Pomni…!” Ragatha gasped, roughly clutching her chest. Something had snapped. Something inside of her. No. No, no, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. 

The centipede turned. Snap. 

The centipede cocked its head. Snap. 

The centipede creeped closer, and closer, and closer still, its long, slender legs chattering loudly against the floor. Snap. Snap. Snap.

“Pomni! P-Please…!”

The fragile seams of Ragatha’s heart popped one-by one, stretched out to their absolute limit. A cold, barren sensation slithered out of the organ with every stuttering pump, numbing all that dared to touch its toxic essence.

///

My Ko-fi - Tips are very much appreciated! :)

[First Chapter] [Next Chapter - Coming soon!]

*dies of exhaustion on top of keyboard*

[zvdvdlvr]

— Odd

🧹 — Symopsis. Ominis decides to sit with you as you finish your breakfast. An odd- and flirtatios- conversation ensues.

🧹 — Warnings. Flirting. Weird situations. Someone’s finger ends up in someone’s mouth. Weird scenario. Mention of the One and Only Sebastian Sallow. Mention of crutiatus curse. No mention of reader’s gender or pronouns or house.

“Good morning,” a voice greeted beside you. Turning, you saw Ominis Gaunt’s milky grey eyes. He had a small smile on his face, his head cocked.

“Hello.” You greeted, voice raspy from dissuse. 

Ominis busied himself by preparing his plate. It consisted of figgy pudding (ew), toast with perfectly melted butter, and two medium sized waffles. What an odd combination, you thought.

“Why are you sitting next to me? Sebastian normally follows your every movement,” you asked, finishing up the last bite of your breakfast. You admit, Ominis arrived at an unsavory time, but you liked him enough to stay and converse with him.

Ominis stiffened. “He… has been his usual annoying and persistent self. I needed to speak to someone else for once.”

Your eyebrow raised; Sevastian himself had told you that Ominis didn’t really talk to other people. Unless there was a reason. He was perfectly polite, of course, but Ominis just wasn’t the person to strike up conversation with just anyone. Intriguing, you thought. “I see,” you replied casually. “Is there a reason I’m the person you chose to speak to?”

Ominis nodded. “There is, indeed.” Ominis placed his almost finished toast back on the plate. “I understand that you probably don’t have the best perception or impression of me after I… my rather rude outburst to you about lying about the Undercoft. And for me letting Sebastian crucio you without argument.”

You shrugged, knowing Ominis would understand your movement without the ability to see. “I’d… it’s… Someone crucio-ing me is bound to happen at the rate I’m investigating into Ranrok and Rookwood….” The sound of Rookwood’s ‘avada kedavra’ had rung through your mind. Poor Natty had brushed it off, but you felt bad for her: she hadn’t signed up to have grown men try to kill her. “I’m glad the first time was with people that weren’t doing it for malicious intent,” you finished hastily. You didn’t really know what to say. Ominis had set his boundaries and was upset about being in the scriptorium at all- and he had a good reason to be. Sebastian’s response to you volunteering for the curse was a little odd, but you know that’s just how he is. “I know we’ve already been over this, but I am truly sorry about making you go with us.”

Ominis looked incredulous. “We tortured you and you’re the one apologizing? Y/n, darling, you need to get out and meet new people.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re one to talk,” you  shot back, taking a sip from your goblet.

“I guess you’re right about that. Matter of fact, you’re right about almost everything.”

You shrugged. “I’ve been placed in a unique set of sitautions that not many others have experienced. I guess knowledge and a fast reaction time is necessary,” you rambler, hating how you sounded so preachy.

“An admirable trait, I must admit,” Ominis murmured. His face was turned to yours, close enough you could see some of the melted butter gathered by his lip.

“There’s butter on your mouth,” you mumbled carefully, treading carefully.

The blond only hummed. “Help a blind man out?” He asked, voice low. 

Had it been anyone else, you would have hit them upside the head and depulso’d them. An odd request, especially considering the fact that you hadn’t spoken to each other that much. But the way he had fretted over you as the pain of the cruciatus curse brought you to the ground was something that lingered in your mind. He had rushed over you after your poorly withheld screams had successfully pierced his eardrums for more than humanly necessary. Despite his blindness, he had slipped his arm under your shoulder and stood up. You shuddered and leaned into his arms, thankful for the feeling of human warmth. 

And then there was Ominis’s habit of looking for you in the Great Hall whenever he felt your aura (odd, but he had taken a liking to you, despite your limited encounters). You always felt his presence searching for yours, bit you assumed it aas to make sure you were still alive and kicking: after all, you were Sebastian’s friend.

You reached up and swiped your thumb on Ominis’s bottom lip, gathering the melted butter. “Open,” you whispered. 

The dull conversations taking place at tables all around the Great Hall were silenced. Ominis opened hs mouth and you slipped your thumb in his mouth. As bizarre and disgusting it was, Ominis enjoyed the feeling of you so close to him, even in this way. After Ominis’s tongue had swiped the butter off you pulled away and wiped the excess saliva on a napkin.

Ominis’s eyes were a touch darker now. He sighed shakily, thinking of how you had commanded him to open his mouth and how willing he was to follow your order. He cleared his throat. “Well.”

You smiled slightly, seeing the blush painting Ominis’s cheeks. “I’ll be out in the Pitch today. Come find me later and we can work on… spell practice.”

Ominis nodded. “Very well. I will.”

As you got up and walked away, Ominis rested his head in his hands. As he had expected, you flirted back with a talent that rivaled Sebastian Sallow himself. And the tent in his pants proved just how fond he had grown to you.

[entomjinx]

Luffy and his perception of love

Small thing from twitter because twitter is exploding and I realized I never posted it here. Inspired by my urge to subvert expectations and this post:

Luffy's perception of what it means to be loved may be warped by all he's been through. His own love is pretty much unconditional, and he cares so deeply for others. However, when it comes to being loved himself-

He thinks he has to earn it via fighting or persistance.

Before I delve into individual characters, I'd like to acknowledge that Luffy is probably the most emotionaly intelligent person in the manga, but also that trauma can affect how a person views themself, leading them to hold themselves to higher/different standards than others.

Let's start with Garp. Garp constantly puts him through training as a child and tells him he must be a marine. He uses his "fists of love" on him to try and make him obey. The one time we see Garp look even remotely affectionate is when he thinks Luffy will become a marine, only for him to get even angrier upon Luffy declaring he wants to be pirate king. He also left him alone in the jungle all the time, and even threw him down a ravine.

Dadan makes a point of loudly declaring she doesn't want them around, which is an obvious lie to the audience, but not as much to the kids. The "If you don't hunt, you don't eat," rule in the mountain bandit's hideout also helps reinforced that important things (food, love) must be earned.

Luffy followed Ace around for three months, being hit with attacks meant to seriously injure him so that he'd be forced to stop following. Many of those attacks may have killed him were he not made of rubber. When he caught up to Ace and met Sabo, they threatened to kill him for knowing about the treasure. Instead, they leave him behind for Porchemy to find.

They spent all that time moving their treasure because they expected Luffy to tell Porchemy it's location. Instead, Luffy went through several hours of torture and refused to speak. If not for this, Ace and Sabo wouldn't have let him be their friend, let alone call him brother and love him. (and while we, the audience, know that Luffy might have broken through to them another way, Luffy doesn't. He would think that not giving into the torture is the biggest part of why he was allowed to be their friend, and later brother.)

He had to blackmail Zoro into joining the crew at first, and Zoro threatened to make him commit hara kiri (suicide via disembowlment with a blade) should Luffy get in the way of his dream to be the greatest swordsman.

He had to free Nami from Arlong for her to join the crew for real.He argued with Sanji at every turn until he wore him down (I refuse your refusal). Robin didn't call him (or anyone) by name until post Enies Lobby, choosing to only refer to him as "Captain."

He saved the lives of most of them, or offered them a way to complete their dreams.

He fights tooth and nail to gain their trust and friendship, because he thinks that they love him the way he loves them if he doesn't. Which could be a major part of why the strawhat grand feet's willingness to follow him confuses him. We know he values freedom above all else, and that he wants them to do what they want, but he still doesn't understand why that choice was following him... because he hasn't done enough to earn that.

Yes, they were all involved in the chaos that was Dressrosa, but that doesn't equal loyaty to that degree.

If it did, Law would finally admit they were friends, and not just allies. Hence his continued insistance of friendship and even though Law says they'll be enimies in the future at the end of Wano, Luffy ignores it. He knows it'll just take so more persistance, because that's what's worked in the past. Growing up in the Gray Terminal would have taught Luffy that people who are nice right off the bat or who suddenly switch to being nice probably want something from you, and while he is canon attitude leads him to not care most of the time, he's definitely aware of it. So he expects people who will eventually care for real to be meaner at first. as if "Real love is always earned and never just given" is a true statement in his mind.

On top of all this, Luffy hates being alone. So of course he fights so hard for these friendships, for the love that he has for his crew and friends... because without them, he'd be alone. What other choice does he have?

[bestworstcase]

general question that is not ... That ... deep (i think). do you think it matters where characters or their families are from in terms of cultural differences or like world events, like cinder's backstory reveal making the atlas arc more personal for her but also stuff like "sun's from vacuo, so of course he's going to show up in vacuo during that arc of the show" (i must admit i'm asking this because i have a pet theory that summer is from either mistral or atlas and that this informs her role as a paragon and also because when you start counting so many people are from mistral and it adds to the worldbuilding for me)

character origin is absolutely something that narratively matters and in rwby’s case these decisions are being made with imo a lot of intention. for example,

argus was founded prior to the great war as a client city of mistral, having been conquered with help from mantle’s military—thus sealing the alliance between these two powers. this political arrangement persists into the present day with argus still being a mistrali territory but under the protection of the atlas military.

one of the key sources of international tension leading into the great war was vale’s criticism of the mistrali-mantelian reliance on slave labor. from this we may infer that argus was probably built on slave labor and, because it served as a hub for trade between pre-war mantle and mistral, with mistral “providing goods [that were] unavailable in the frozen tundra,” argus was a central hub of the mistrali-mantelian slave trade. the vytal accords ratified by the four kingdoms after the great war abolished slavery worldwide, one of ozma’s greatest achievements; decades later, ozpin lifted atlas into the sky to serve as a shining example of his ideals to the rest of the world.

cinder fall is trafficked into slavery from an orphanage on the outskirts of what appears to be argus, based on the terrain. what does this tell us about cinder and the world she grew up in? slavery was abolished on paper, but mantle (now atlas) and mistral never enforced these new laws in any meaningful way—the industry went underground, likely mutating into new forms (indentured servitude, prison labor, child trafficking fronting as legitimate orphanages), and argus is still the central hub of the international slave trade. this reveals the weaknesses in ozma’s approach to social change (doing and saying things that look and sound right, but failing to actually stand for his notional commitments and allowing problems to fester out of sight rather than risk confrontation / unrest / division) and the rot behind the façade that salem alludes to when she calls this his “so-called free world.”

and so, cinder is in many ways the crowning achievement of ozma’s efforts since the great war—his gilded idealistic utopia, atlas, could only exist through the societal choice to accept the enslavement and torture of a child (and cinder is certainly not the only one, so in this narrative she symbolically represents a multitude of other victims).

<- this is why rewrites / “fixes” that either have her originating in mantle or being enslaved in mistral for all her life tend to lose thematic punch; the underground continuation of the pre-war order is fundamental to what the story is doing with cinder.

similarly, sun is not just from vacuo, he’s a vacuan faunus who went to school in haven, which is in mistral, which is notoriously the most overtly racist kingdom out of the four—token faunus headmaster or not. (mistral has anti-faunus sundown towns and in the CFVY books velvet is terrified specifically of people from mistral because in her experience all of them are virulently bigoted—this is a girl who spent a lot of her childhood in atlas, so her lack of aversion to atlesians says a lot about how bad it is in mistral). so when sun in v1 says stuff like the white fang are a bunch of cultish freaks who use force to get whatever they want, that’s an opinion he formed while living in the racism capital of the world and should be taken with several handfuls of salt, in the same way that blake’s view of the white fang in earlier volumes is clearly colored by her experiences with adam.

<- but at the same time sun functions narratively as a herald for the repair of this cultural problem and healing of the divide between mistral and vacuo, because he’s a vacuan faunus who went to school in mistral, unlearned that bullshit, and went home to vacuo to strive toward a better future.

personally my money is on summer being from either

vacuo (malik the sunderer -> sundered rose, sword of destruction + summer maiden -> summer rose being vacuan), or

mountain glenn (yang and ruby are well-informed on the tragedy, v9 called back to v2’s mountain glenn arc, and signs look pretty strong for the vacuo arc to confront the history with mountain glenn via the destruction of vale)

…both of which follow a similar principle to cinder’s backstory being reserved until v8, when it emerged to inform our understanding of the narrative events happening in atlas. (i know it was originally planned for v5 and time/budget considerations factored into the decision to delay, but narratively it ended up being the stronger choice to wait anyway). basically summer enters the story properly in the arc when her history carries the most weight.

[merakiui]

I know this isn't super timely..... but the magic dildo from the twst asks........... with scaramouche........... ,,>﹏<,,

OOOOOOOOOO OTL but which version of mouchey???

Kabukimono who audibly yelps when he feels something warm and tight clench around his cock. He probably doubles over, too, holding himself up against the wall if he happens to be standing, or if he's sitting up he has to lie down because he is genuinely so overwhelmed and he only becomes so much more overstimulated the longer this feeling persists. Omg tears in his eyes and everything... he has his hands slapped over his mouth as he bucks his hips up into the air, sloppily thrusting in time with the hole that takes every inch of him. He's such a pretty mess as he chokes on his own little weepy moans and mumblings of how good it feels, how he loves it, how he never wants this to end. He's actually so heartbroken when the hole that once hugged his cock so snugly retreats and he's left feeling so cold and alone. He takes very long walks in search of any clues as to what that was. Either that, or he very innocently asks Niwa or Katsuragi about it and they're absolutely stunned wondering, there's no way Kabukimono got laid, right???????

Scaramouche who is most likely busy with Fatui missions. Maybe he's in the Abyss and the next thing he knows someone's riding him so good, and he has to hide somewhere to avoid detection by any of the monsters in the Abyss, biting into his arm to muffle his pleasured sounds. Or he's leading some troops and he has to force himself to remain composed so no one knows their high and mighty leader isn't about to succumb to carnal desires (i.e. make the most neediest babygirl sounds anyone will ever hear from the terrifying Lord Scaramouche) while some mysterious stranger is busy cock-warming him. Aaaa he's so frustrated! How dare someone be so sneaky with him? How dare someone curse him like this? You're lucky and bold to have succeeded once, but you must really have a death wish when you do it the following week and the week after that until it becomes something he actually looks forwards to with great anticipation. Scaramouche will dedicate any free time and Fatui resources he has to tracking you down, and when he finds you pray he's in a pleasant enough mood to spare you of a torturous end and punish you in other ways. :) and he will find you. That is a guarantee. Once he does, you'll have a very nice collar and leash waiting for you, unless you'd much rather he carve his name into your skin so everyone will know you belong to him now. They often say that if you play with fire you should expect the burns that will follow, and once you're Scaramouche's you won't know freedom again.

Wanderer claims hobbies are for "idle bodies who have the free time to think about such things," but his hobby is about to become sex because omg does it feel good to have your hole tightening around his dick. He's going to be thinking about you 24/7 after every instance it happens, and he'll also start to look forward to it (though he will adamantly deny anything if anyone asks why he seems so pleased and satisfied). Wanderer probably already knows you're the one behind it, but he's more than happy to feign ignorance just to make it fun. In return, he'll mess with you in lots of troublesome ways, using Anemo to send a few rough breezes your way so you're forced to hold your clothes down so they won't blow up and you won't give everyone an unprompted show. Or he'll choose to visit you at the absolute worst times (i.e. you just finished fucking yourself with the dildo and he's come to say hello with post-sex exhilaration clinging to his tone). Archons, he's obsessed with you. You think you're so sly, don't you? You think he's so oblivious, right? If you really wanted him so badly, you didn't have to enchant a sex toy. Wouldn't it feel much better to have his weight pressed against yours, pinning you to the bed so he can use you for his own pleasure, sly revenge for all those times you used him? Wouldn't it be so nice to feel his lips on every inch of you, every kiss searing your skin and marking you as his? :) and luckily for Wanderer he has no hobbies, so he has all the time in the world to spend fucking you against every surface, in every position, for however long you desire it. <3

[rainre]

about Willy/Findo. . . I simply rewrote what I wrote in Russian to couple of my friends.

DO NOT take it seriously. Please.

why does it exist? because Findo seems like an emotional person, very emotional. most likely, as a Middlewood resident, he is afraid of Willy Mack. terribly afraid. Willy didn’t choose him as a victim on purpose, the guy just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. . . But Willy will realize later that in a sense he has found a treasure, an ideal victim for his sadistic nature.

‼️TW? I'm not sure if this is necessary, but mention of suffocation, hint of cannibalism (that was an interesting theory or headcanon that Willy might be a cannibal and it fits this idea).

Kidnapping and maximum abuse. It’s fun with Findo, he’s terrified, almost fainting, cries, shys away, he seems to be trying to break free, but he is so afraid that he simply obeys. And absolutely seriously, he simply understands that anyway his life is in danger. And maybe if he resists, Willy will hurt him faster. Does he want pain? Not a bit, he's afraid of it. And what makes him even more afraid is undisguised sadism: if Willy star to hurt him, he is unlikely to stop.

This is how we begin. Willy regulary brings Findo almost to his limits on purpose, without actually doing anything. Because even a permanent violation of personal space will be enough. The guy is already in tension, he was fucking kidnapped by a serial killer known for his cruelty. An abundance of affectionate, but persistent hugs, touches on the arms, neck (it’ll be enough to strangle Findo a couple of times so that every time Willy’s fingers approach this area he will cause a plaintive, tearful “please. . .") definitely won't be pleasant, only more tension. Everything will result not in murder, but in torture and incomplete restriction of life.

And in the end, Findo will get used to it. Gradually he will completely stop twitching while being touched in any way. The brain is an interesting thing, amazing, and one of its wonderful properties is getting used to any conditions. It can really get used to anything (there was a terrible example of this in one film: Jews in a concentration camp had the opportunity to escape. Someone shout to them “run, you can escape!” and some of them really ran... But a considerable part of people were just standing. They're used to bullets, they're used to seeing death, they're used to it. They're so broken that they can't see the point in trying to save their life). Findo will sit humbly, he will already accept the hands on his neck, it doesn’t matter whether they gently stroke or strangle him until his mind becomes clouded, he will accept it without frightened pleading mumbling, as a matter of course, because this will become a must, it will be ordinary life.

And maybe someone will someday find out where all of Findo’s haters disappeared one after another, if anyone even finds such a connection (it’s unlikely, no one will know that on the day of their disappearance two will eat strange-tasting meat, and this, perhaps an important part of such a story).

[pringlemcbolt]

I love ultrakill. It's a serotonin generator. You get to do badass bullshit at basically every point in the game.

But it's also got a super interesting story hidden behind that badassery.

The story of mankind's sudden demise, at the hands of machines that they themselves created. The story of a dead god who abandoned their creations. The story of the dynamics of heaven and hell, the rebellions that started, the council, gabriel.

And, most importantly, the story and philosophy of the struggle to survive, despite all odds, the desire to persist despite the unyielding hell that one can be put through. V1 is doomed. They've been doomed from the start. No matter how far into the depths of the inferno they decend, their fuel supply will eventually run short. The other machines whom also delved into the depths of hell have already entirely cleared out 2 whole rings of hell by time v1 reaches the end of the 6th. And within the time span of less than 24 hours, no less. They won't stop until every tortured soul and demon has been wiped out, the blood runs dry, their fuel slowly depleting as they race towards their next target, battling eachother for what little scraps remain. V1 will come out on top, they always have thus far, as even god's strongest angel was no match. But top will only last so long when their fuel starts to fade, eventually leaving them nothing more but a lifeless machine once more.

But they'll be damned if they don't go out fighting.

The mirage that's fought in 2-S. The overwhelming sense of nihilism, that mentality of "we're born to die, so why try?" Life is worth living, even if it's a fleeting resource. We're born without purpose - so carve your own. V1 is a war machine created just before World Peace was achieved - as was V2. Their purpose was useless, and so only 1 of each was ever made. Yet they persist-they fight for their lives against the odds, against the pointlessness of it all.

They might just be mindless machines obeying their programming - again, they're war machines. Self preservation is probably hard baked into their very core. But should it not be that way for all of us? Shouldn't we also be fighting for our goddamn lives every second we must? Misery be damned! Get that shit out of my face! Look Misery in her cold dead eyes, and spit in her fucking grave!

Every moment you live is a defiance to the cosmos themselves. We live in an infinitely expanding universe which is utterly empty

Except for us. We are defiant. We exist. For as much as we know, we are the sole observers of this empty void, bigger than anything we can even comprehend!

So fight like an animal! Persist against the odds, scream in the face of god that you will not be brought down, no matter what hell you're put through. We were born to die anyway - so carve your own destiny, live life to the fullest, become the best you possible. Do what makes you happy - whether that be solving little puzzles, or fishing, or perfecting your own niche skills.

[disva]

Truly one of the most agonizing thing about dealing with chronic pain is the sheer capriciousness of it. It arrives when it's least wanted, and persists longer than it should. But worst of all, sometimes, it leaves, and it gives you the hope that whatever desperate attempt you'd made most recently must have pushed it back.

And then, when it returns, you try that again, only to find it doesn't leave, and you start rationalizing why it didn't work this time, unwilling to give up hope that you have a solution to the pain.

You go through cure after cure, with deep breathing, hot showers, cold showers, muscle stretches, drinking copious amounts of water, being in the dark, being in the light, brushing your skin red and raw with a hairbrush in a vain attempt to dull your nerves to the constant, ever-present pain.

And you just lay in bed, feeling the needles slide in, always in new places, always just different enough that you can't get used to it, and desperately hope that tonight, they'll go away, and let you sleep more than a few hours.

It's like playing games with a gleeful torturer who likes to always keep you guessing.

[hoffmansnightmare]

Keep Away From the Edge

Chapter 4

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Emmy Hodges

Trauma, hint of torture, hint of depression. Nothing too crazy in this one boys.

You can read part one here, part two here, and part 3 here

You can also read it here! Keep Away From The Edge

"You two are persistent." Emmy closed the door to her car, staring at the redhead and her cameraman. They were the only two left on her lawn, and they had been the only ones left for some time. The rest had given up, moved on to other stories. But not these two. They were still there every evening. The two of them at least seemed to give up on trying her in the morning. Emmy could finally leave for work in peace. 

"We just really want to talk to you." The woman said, her eyes lighting up. This was the first time Emmy had actually spoken to them.

"Aren't there other, more interesting stories?" Emmy asked, pulling her house key out.

"We focus on the Jigsaw cases. And you're the latest survivor." She said, daring to take a step closer.

Emmy huffed. She wasn't the only one though. "What about that other guy that just went missing? Henry something?"

"He's still missing." The camera guy finally spoke up, lowering his equipment from his shoulder. "So he's a dead end."

"Look, we're not big time or anything. We have a website and a series of videos we post. It would mean everything to us if you just spoke to us briefly." The redhead explained, clasping her hands in front of her. 

Emmy looked her up and down. The woman really did look desperate. And they had always been nicer than the other reporters. "Who are you guys?"

"I'm Nancy Howard." The redhead, Nancy, said, then pointed to her companion. "And this is Curtis."

Curtis gave Emmy a polite nod. He kept the camera lowered at his side.

Was she actually considering this? It looked like she was. It was possible that actually talking about her ordeal, saying it out loud, would be like getting it off of her chest. Maybe it would help her come to terms with what had happened to her. Or she should probably get a therapist.

This was more convenient. And cheaper. "Alright." Emmy said, unlocking her front door. "I'll talk to you for a bit." 

Nancy looked like she could have screamed with delight, her smile was so wide Emmy thought it must hurt. "Perfect! We won't overstay our welcome, we promise!"

"Hhhmm." Emmy hummed. She led them inside and gestured to her living room. "Make yourselves comfortable. I'll make some coffee." 

Emmy brought out a tray with 3 mugs, cream and sugar included, which she set down on the coffee table. Hopefully this coffee tasted better than what she had brewed when Detective Hoffman had visited. She hadn’t missed his wince at the taste, even if he was too polite to say anything. She felt more clear headed with each day. Sometimes it was still hard, she'd be sunk back into the memory of being trapped, and work was still stressful, but she didn’t feel as lost anymore. 

“So what are you wanting from me?” Emmy asked, taking one of the mugs and sitting on the recliner, across from the pair on the couch. 

“Well, just…anything you’d be willing to tell us really.” Nancy said. “There are so few jigsaw survivors. Right now you are one of…” Nancy leaned over to Curtis to confer with him. “Three?” She still didn’t sound sure. “Amanda Young is the only one to come forward, and the other is unnamed.” 

“I can do my best, I suppose.” Emmy said, her voice letting out her weariness.

“Do you mind if we record this?” Nancy asked. It was very polite of her, as Emmy just assumed that they would, or else why bother with the camera?

“Go ahead.”

Curtis set up the camera on a tripod, angling it so that it got both Emmy and Nancy in the shot. He stayed behind the camera, and gave a thumbs up once it was recording.

“I am here, in the home of Jigsaw survivor, Emmory Hodges, who has graciously let us in to ask her about her harrowing experience escaping the infamous killer’s test.” Nancy spoke clearly and confidently, facing the camera. Emmy found herself surprised the other woman wasn’t a professional news anchor.

Nancy turned to Emmy then, smiling at her. Emmy tried to smile back, but could feel it twitching around the corners. “When you’re ready, if you could tell us what happened. What it was like?” Her face grew serious as she asked and she picked up a notebook and pen out of her purse. She was poised, waiting patiently for Emmy to start. 

Emmy glanced up at the camera, then back to Nancy quickly. She just had to get the words out. She want to be a writer, perhaps this would be good story telling practice.

"As each day passes I remember less and less of what happened to me." Emmy said, looking down into her mug of coffee. She didn't know how to explain it. The first night at the hospital she was sure she would remember each sharp detail, but now all she could recall was how dark the room was around her, the only light being the grimy yellow lamps that illuminated the cage. She could recall the bars of the maze, but not the shape of it she had mapped out in her head while she crawled. "The first memory is pain. I ached and stung all over, and when I tried to get away from it, it only made it worse." She took a sip, really to just collect her thoughts.

"When I realized what was happening, I knew I just had to get through it. His traps are winnable, as long as you follow the rules. Panic is your worst enemy, so I didn't let myself feel it." Emmy described how she got herself out of there, how her only hope was to keep crawling around that metal maze. "The relief was so great, when I collapsed outside of that door. I know I will never feel such euphoria again. To be faced with death head on, only to meet it, and then conquer it." She shook her head. "There will be nothing like it."

Nancy leaned forward. She'd been writing furiously, even though they were filming. Now she asked; "They say he does this to test people's will to live. Do you feel like it has made you want to live more than you did before?"

Emmy shrugged her shoulders. "Honestly, having felt such great relief, only to be returned to my life just as it was before. It almost feels worse in a way. But I never wanted to die. Of course I wanted, and still want to live." She took another sip of her coffee. "I just wish I could find the vibrancy for life that he apparently wants me to feel. It's just hard sometimes." 

Nancy was back to scribbling, nodding along with Emmy's words. “And how have you been coping with what happened? I imagine it must be difficult.”

Emmy nodded. “It is. It felt strange to have to just get on with my life. Going back to work felt absurd. Something like this feels like it changes the world around you, but it really doesn't.” Emmy shrugged. “But continuing to live is what helps. Dwelling on it doesn't do me any good.” Did she really believe that? Emmy didn’t think so. Continuing to live felt strange, almost wrong, at least the way she was living. Just going on about her life as if it didn’t happen.

But she didn’t know how to live like it did happen. She had no idea how to be the woman that survived a Jigsaw test, so she just said what sounded right. 

Nancy smiled at her. It was genuine, not a show for the camera, and Emmy smiled back at her. “Well Emmy, you're very strong for having gone through something so terrible, and gone back to living your life. I hope you find meaning in all of this.” Nancy reached forward and put her hand over one of Emmy's.

“Thank you.” Was all she could say in return.

Leaning back Nancy made a cut motion with her hand. Curtis fiddled with the camera, then came to rejoin them on the sofa. The three of them finished their coffees, making idle chit chat, then Nancy slapped her knees and stood up.

“We won't keep you any longer.” She said, putting her notepad back into her bag. “Thank you so much for this, Ms. Hodges. We should have your interview up on our website within the next few days if you want to see it.”

Emmy smiled politely, but doubted she would. It was hard enough sitting there and recounting what had happened to her. “Happy to help.”

When they were gone she closed the door with a sigh, feeling suddenly boneless and exhausted.

The next morning her phone rang. Emmy stared at it for several minutes, not recognizing the caller ID. Who the hell was calling her? When she finally answered an unfamiliar female voice was on the other end. 

“Ms. Hodges?”

“Uh…yes?”

“Ms. Hodges, I'm Detective Kerry. I was hoping we could get you into the station to ask you a few questions. Just to check in with you.”

“Detective Kerry? I thought Detective Hoffman was taking care of my case?” Emmy asked, her brows furrowing up in confusion.

“Oh, well we're actually a task force who specialize on the Jigsaw cases.”

“Well…can it wait until this Saturday? I can't take time off of work right now.”

“Saturday would be just fine!” She sounded excited now. “Do you need a ride in?”

“No, I can drive myself.” Emmy said, jotting down a reminder.

“Great! I'll see you this Saturday.” And the detective hung up.

Emmy frowned at her phone for a moment, then dialed Hoffman's number.

“Hoffman.” Her heart leapt at the sound of his voice, making her swallow. Embarrassing.

“Detective Kerry called me.” Emmy said, not even bothering to introduce herself.

There was a clearly frustrated noise on the other end of the line, something like a growl. “Dammit. I knew I shouldn't have let her out of my sight this morning.”

“She wants to ask me questions, but I'm not sure I'll be any help. I don't remember anything new.” Emmy wondered where the detective was if not at the precinct. Surely he didn't answer phone calls at crime scenes.

“I know…just answer her questions as best you can and you'll be out of there in no time. When are you going in?”

“This Saturday.”

“I’ll make sure I’m there.” 

Emmy wasn’t sure why that suddenly reassured her. Maybe it was just because Mark already knew her story and what she had to say. 

“You haven’t come by again.” Emmy found herself saying. It just slipped out of its own volition. As soon as the words were out she wished she could suck them back in.

It was quiet on the other end of the line for so long Emmy considered hanging up and pretending this never happened. Hoffman would be weirded out and avoid her and she could go about her business. 

“I’ll stop by tomorrow night.” He whispered this for some reason. It was odd, but Emmy was flushed with relief. 

“Okay.” 

Mark hung up the phone, trying to think of an excuse to give John for walking away so briskly. A partial truth was probably the best policy, so when he made his way to the old man’s cluttered desk he said; “Sorry, Kerry called Emmory and Emmory called to let me know.” 

John looked up from the schematics he had been sketching at. The two of them were alone for once. John had sent Amanda on some errand, probably to check on some potential subject. John had been preparing one of his old properties, a run down old house. “She’s keeping you informed?” 

Mark shrugged, sitting across from John. “I think she was just confused. I had been the only detective she’s spoken with so far.” 

John nodded and Mark was relieved that it had been believable enough. The older man went back to the schematic he had been working on. “You haven't said much about her. You're still checking up on her?”

Mark's entire body stiffened. “Yes, there isn't anything to report. She goes about her business. Work then home.” That was true, but Mark left out that it was like she was a ghost, floating between her daily routines as if she had died in that test, yet hadn't realized it. She didn't go anywhere during the weekend. Her car never left the driveway. She did any shopping after work. On the nights she was late Mark made sure to check the bar. She was never there. The test seemed to have shocked her into sobriety, but where was that spark of life John was always going on about? She was on autopilot, A spirit reliving their days.

The silence was tense. Mark could practically feel that John had more he wanted to ask, but was examining Mark's reaction to talking about it. It set Mark on edge, his back stiff, movements robotic as he fiddled with the blades that were set in the openings of a glass box. 

“I think I would like to speak with her.” John said it casually, almost flippantly. As if it couldn't have severe consequences to them or Emmory if it didn't go well. 

Mark opened his mouth, his mind racing to find some excuse, some reason she wasn't ready to meet him. He was saved from this when the elevator started grinding down. Amanda had returned. John's eyes moved from Mark to directly behind him so that he could watch Amanda descend. 

She emerged from the cage of the elevator, a large box in her arms. It was deposited in a pile of similar boxes. When Mark was able to get a clear look at Amanda's face he saw that it was streaked with tear tracks that she wasn't able to swipe away when her arms laden with the box. As soon as she saw him looking she was quick to clear them from her face. Mark's eyes flicked to John to see what the older man might be thinking of the sight.

Concern deepened the lines around his mouth and his eyes followed Amanda's movements closely. “Is that the last of it?” He asked, his voice gentle. 

Amanda kicked the box she had just set down, causing the sound of delicate glass tinkling to erupt. “I hope so, there has To be thousands of syringes here. If it isn't enough we'll have to fill that pit with something else.” 

A snarky comment bubbled up the back of Hoffman's throat. Amanda was staring him down as if she expected it. However it was in Mark's best interest not to rock the boat, so he just turned back to his own project. 

John wouldn't let him be silent for long. “How about your fellow detective? How is Matthews doing?”

Mark scoffed, not wanting to show any relief at the change of subject Amanda had brought with her. “He's skulking about, drinking more than ever, chain smoking. His son keeps getting into more and more trouble. Eric is trying to keep his head down and himself behind the desk, with Internal Affairs breathing down his neck he can't do much else.”

John wheeled himself over, the wheelchair he was sitting in creaking. Amanda took the opportunity to escape to her makeshift room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. John either didn't notice or pretended not to as he inspected Mark's handy work, pushing at one of the blades fitted into the glass box. “Perfect. We're almost ready for our next game to begin. I think we need to put a little more strain on detective Matthews.” He reached across the desk to grab a file he'd prepared and handed it to Hoffman.

“This is a friend of his. I'm sure you're familiar with him.” 

Mark opened the file to see that it was a man named Michael. Mark was indeed familiar with him. He wasn't sure of Michael's last name, as Eric was closer with him, But he knew he was an informant that Eric used to work with quite a bit. Along with Michael's profile there were also schematics.

“A venus fly trap?” Mark asked, one of his brows raising. 

“I thought it was rather clever.” John had a small, very satisfied smirk on his face.

Mark huffed and closed the folder. “Sure.” 

Emmy quickly regretted inviting Hoffman over. She had no idea what to do with him. She thought briefly about making him dinner, but the image of the detective sitting at her kitchen island eating her sub par cooking made her want to laugh herself off of a bridge. She was being dramatic, but she had no idea how to entertain guests. She had thought about getting a six pack of beer, had even gone to the closest store, but as soon as her fingers had brushed one of the bottles she was flooded with the sound of the glass shards crunching beneath her knees. Sharp edges cut deep into her skin. The urge to drink was not stronger than the sickening memory. She'd whipped her hand away so quickly she'd nearly wacked some poor guy in the face. 

Now she was pacing around her living room fretting. Should she put on some music? She usually had the TV playing for some background noise, but maybe that would be too disruptive. 

She had the remote in her hand to turn it off, trying to think of what music to listen to, when her time was up and the dreaded knock was at her door. Shit she'd lost track of time. “Hold on!” She called, tossing the remote down into the couch. She took in a deep breath, tugging at her shirt nervously. 

Feeling like she had herself together she went to open the door. Hoffman stood there, a patient smile on his face. 

Emmy’s heart was so far up her throat she could barely get out a meek; “Hello, Detective.” and she stepped to the side to let him in. 

“Why don’t you call me Mark.” Hoffman said as he stepped into her home. “No need to be so formal.”

Emmy had quickly forgotten how deep his voice was until this very moment. Was that what had her chest buzzing? Or was it the nerves? “Okay, would you like something to drink? Water, coffee, tea?” She took his jacket from him after he shrugged it off and hung it on her coat rack, then gestured for him to make himself comfortable on the couch. 

“Tea would be nice.” Hoffman said, doing just as Emmy had directed him to, sitting down on the couch and turning his attention to the TV. Commercials were running at the moment. 

Emmy sang the ch-ch-ch-chia along with the television as she walked into the kitchen. By now she could probably recite the entire thing from memory. “You want lemon? Honey?” 

“Both. You ever have one of these things?” 

Emmy turned around to glance at the commercial. The horrid Scooby Chia Pet grew plant hair before her eyes. “Ah, no. They always seemed so gimmicky to me…and a little creepy.” She squinted at the TV, then turned back to her kettle. “What about you?” 

“Nah, don’t have much of a green thumb. Tried to keep plants before, but never had any success.” 

A memory came to her then, an infomercial with an older woman gasping about white sponges that you could paint with. Emmy had begged and begged her mother for them. She had never been artistically inclined before, but the woman's enthusiasm and joy at the simple techniques was infectious. Emmy simply had to experience that for herself. For Christmas one year her mother had finally relented and gotten them for her. Emmy had proceeded to fill up sketchbook after sketchbook. Little paintings were strewn all over the house. Emmy had painted with them until every sponge was a muddy brown color, not a speck of white to be seen, and the colors ran together, no longer vibrant. She had tried to beg her mom for more, but this time she had been firm, and Emmy was forced to move onto something new.

“I was a sucker for those rainbow sponges.”

“Really?” 

Emmy didn't turn to look at him, maybe a little nervous for what she would see in his face. “Yeah. I used them until they were useless.”

Placing the kettle onto a tray along with a couple of mugs and plenty of honey and lemon Emmy made her way back into the living room just in time for Wheel of Fortune to start. She poured them each a cup, letting Hoffman add to his as he liked. 

Hoffman leaned forward to spoon honey into his mug. “Oh, so you're a writer and an artist?” His smile at her was loose and lopsided. It was such an easy expression on him, one he used many times. 

She had to turn her face away from him. Looking directly into his face was suddenly too much. Thankfully the Wheel of Fortune theme drew Hoffman’s attention from her and back to the tv. 

“You any good at this game?” He asked, easing back into her couch as if it were the one in his own living room. Emmy felt herself relaxing back as well. She didn't know what it was about that moment, why she had been so on edge, and she wasn't exactly sure what it was she had been feeling. Her face was uncomfortably warm.

“I'm not sure…I think so? It's kind of easy once they start buying all the vowels.” 

Hoffman smiled at her. It was softer this time and made Emmy's shoulders relax. “Let's see who guesses first then. I bet you're better than you think.”

Emmy nodded, wondering if she would ever get over the way his voice sounded. It reverberated down to her core and bounced around the cavity of her chest. She felt like a freak for fixating on it, but she couldn't help it. She'd never heard anything like it before. Not in person anyway.

The first puzzle was up and the category was On The Map. Emmy let out an embarrassed giggle. “Uh oh. I was never very good at geography.”

“Sounds like this one is mine then.” Hoffman said with a grin. His arm was relaxed along the back of the couch. If Emmy just leaned over she'd be right against his side. 

Emmy swallowed, keeping her eyes on the tv. It was only a two word phrase, but sometimes those were harder for her. The first contestant spun the wheel and guessed T then immediately bought a vowel; O. The T went to the end of the first word and there were three O's. Emmy huffed. She was totally lost. “Maybe the first word is port?”

“Hmmmm. I think it's Fort Novosel.” Mark said, taking a sip of his tea. 

Mark turned out to be right. The contestants went through nearly all of the consonants until someone finally guessed V. 

“You are good at this.” Emmy smiled. She'd get the next one.

And she did. The next category was characters. A contestant guessed T again and bought U. Another guessed R then H and Emmy blurted out “King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.”

Mark slapped his thigh And laughed when a contestant solved it not long after. “So you were being modest earlier!

Emmy's heart beat hard in her chest and her face grew warm with pleasure at the praise. “I got lucky that time.” She said, hoping he didn't notice the color in her cheeks.

They ended Up being tied by the end of the show, both being stumped by the bonus puzzle at the end. Once it was over Emmy turned off the tv. Hoffman set down his empty cup, rolling his neck and shoulders with a yawn.

“Suppose I should get out of your hair.” He said. He moved to get up on his feet and Emmy stood with him. 

“I really appreciate you coming.” It was out of her before she could think about it. Hoffman kept his face neutral except for a small smile. “It's just…it feels weird being around anyone else.” She left out that she only had one friend anyway. Didn't need to embarrass herself further.

Hoffman got his jacket off of her coat rack and shrugged himself into it. “It's a bit unorthodox, but you survivors are so rare.” He turned to her. There was a smile on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was a strange look, like he had something on his mind that he didn't want to say out loud. “Making sure you're handling everything just seems right. It's unfortunate you don't have more of a support system but-” his eyes darkened and he looked lost within himself for a moment before continuing. “Jigsaw seems to choose them that way.”

Emmy wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess people who have them don't need to go through that.” 

That dark look was still in his eyes when he replied. “You would think.”

“Yeah.” She whispered, looking down at the floor. “You would.”

They stood there for a few more moments, mulling that over, the Hoffman shifted and Emmy looked up, rubbing Her upper arms and forcing a smile onto her face. “Sorry. I shouldn't keep you any longer.”

His face lightened, “I’d been meaning to ask.” He gestured toward Emmy’s bookshelf. “Could I borrow the first Misery book?” 

Emmy turned to look at her collection, then back at the detective with raised eyebrows. “You want to read a bodice ripper romance?” 

“I’d like to give it a try. You like it so much, it must be good.” 

Emmy’s cheeks grew warm at that, even though she got the impression he was just saying that and didn’t actually mean it. He had to know they were trashy fun books, nothing to take seriously. Still she went over to her bookshelf to pull out Misery. Hoffman smiled as she handed it to him “Take good care of it.” She warned. 

“Of course.” He said. A glint flashed through his eyes. “Next time I come over we can talk about it.” 

A giggle wanted out of Emmy’s throat, but she swallowed it down, forcing it back into her chest. It felt foolish, childish even. She wasn’t some teen in highschool, not to mention it felt out of place in someone who had gone through what she had. Looking at him, feeling what she was feeling as he looked back, had her out of sorts, misplaced, as if she wasn’t meant to be there. It was wrong somehow, to feel anything. 

“I’d like that.” Was what she could manage.

Hoffman looked her face over like he was trying to read her. Could he see through her? Did he hear what was going through her head? When Emmy looked back at him all she could see was his face, his blue eyes, dark hair carefully combed, a smile on his full lips that was nowhere close to crinkling the corner of his eyes. She would not begin to guess at what he could be thinking, and she didn’t want to.

Mark cracked that book as soon as he got home, laying across his couch and the tv on low in the background. It was junk food alright, nothing to be thought about, just enjoyed. Mark could tell that Paul Sheldon had known what he was doing when he’d written this. It was written to make money, not say something. Mark would have to try some of the man’s other books, see what he could really do. He wondered which one Emmory might recommend, which one she’d pull from her bookshelf and hand to him. He’d have to ask her when he saw her again. Or after he finished the Misery series. As trashy as it was he was still turning the pages.

[julietpricee]

Day 15 - Sharpuary (Ashwinder)

This one's a little dark so please take note of the trigger warnings! Also fancied doing something a little different with the format, so I hope you enjoy a peak into Aesop's journal 👀

TW - Torture, murder, death of a child.

Journal Entry #104

Today, our family grew by one… Let me explain.

“Evening dear,” Aesop called out as he closed the door to your quaint cottage behind him. 

“Evening.” You called out as you continued stirring a pot of gravy in the kitchen. 

Aesop removed his coat and made his way towards you, noticing the abundance of gardening tools laid out on the dining room table. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling his face into your neck to inhale your scent. 

“Someone’s been busy,” he whispers into your neck.

“Hmm?” You replied, turning to face him.

Aesop loosened his grip to gesture to the garden tools before turning to look out of the window towards your… still overgrown garden…

I should explain that neither of us typically enjoy gardening. It’s impossible for me to kneel down to tend to the plants for a prolonged amount of time, and as for my wife, she kills plants just by looking at them.

“Oh…” Aesop continued with confusion clear on his face as he continued staring out into the garden. He suddenly felt your hand crawl into his, pulling his attention back towards you.

“I need to tell you something,” you begin but get rudely interrupted by some muffled cries coming from the basement. Aesop’s head snaps towards the basement door.

“What did you do this time?” He questions you nervously.

I’ve only ever wanted a simple, normal life. I’m not sure why my wife is insistent on making that an impossibility.

“I got him.” You simply state, tears building up in your eyes alongside a wide grin. 

“Him?” He repeats, clearly not following. “Sweetheart, we’ve been over this, you can’t just kidnap people.”

After turning the heat down on your gravy, you head over to the dresser in the lounge and pull out a small black book. You rub your thumb over the leather and let out a nervous breath before passing it over to Aesop hesitantly. 

It felt like an eternity passed as you watched Aesop perch on the edge of the dining room table, flicking through the book. Eventually, he closed it, placed it next to him and looked at you with an impossible to read expression spread across his face. 

I would never admit it to her but she would almost definitely make a better Auror than I. There must have been months, maybe even years of work crammed into that tiny black book. I knew she was persistent and never gave in but I honestly thought we had both learned to live with it after such a long time. I felt so guilty flicking through that book, knowing I was clueless as to how much she was still hurting. 

“Are you sure it’s him?” He eventually asked.

You replied with an assured nod. “The evidence is all there. He’s the leader of those Ashwinders.”

Aesop pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts as he contemplates the gardening tools that were spread out beside him. “What are the tools for if you didn’t do any gardening today?” Aesop was nervous to hear your response, and the silence that lingered between you only heightened his nerves.

Aesop opened his mouth to speak again but you interrupted him. “I just wanted to scare him… I haven’t touched him…” You insist. “Yet anyway.”

Merlin knows why she always opts for the dramatic approach to things. She could just threaten him with her wand, but no, she just had to get the torture equipment out didn’t she? I think she watches too many movies…

Aesop pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stay calm. “You… We could get into a lot of trouble for this,” He grumbled, feeling the pressure of the situation in front of him. 

“You used to be an Auror. I know you can cover this up,” you respond dryly. 

“I’m not a dirty cop,” he bit back. “I made an oath.”

“Oh fuck the oath!” You shout at him. “He’s a murderer! We can’t let him get away with what he did to our son, Aesop.” 

The room falls bitterly silent as another loud cry comes from the basement. 

“Hurting that man, won’t bring him back,” Aesop eventually states rather defeatedly. 

“But it will feel good right?” You retorted. 

She was right. It did feel good. It felt like I was back in the force but this time I wasn’t just capturing an Ashwinder, I was torturing one. Not that it mattered how much information he gave me, nothing he could have said would have made me stop. 

At first, I felt bad but his screams spurred me on. No matter how unnecessarily painful that Ashwinder’s death was, he deserved it. He should have known better than to mess with me and my wife.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448181/chapters/136199746

[aline-the-cat]

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Wei Wuxian enters their meeting room with an innocent-looking smile on his lips and silver eyes shining with playfulness, which makes both Meng Yao and Wen Qing get on high alert, their past experience telling them that whatever the kid is thinking, is not good at all

"So!" The teen smiles with excessive mirth "I received an interesting wish today"

"Going by your standards, I must question what exactly you mean by 'interesting'" Meng Yao comments wryly, even if they have shared interests and multiple things in common, some of A-Xian's tastes have always been more... weird; courtesy of growing up in a mass grave and being raised by ghosts, he guesses

The teen shows them a smirk in response

"Qing-jie" he turns to the healer "What kind of person is Wen Ruohan?"

The question takes her by sorprise

"Wen Ruohan? Well... he is very powerful and ambitious, when we left he was starting to invade minor sects out of some delusion that everyone was too dumb to lead themselves so he has to conquer us and do it himself" Wen Qing scoffs with a frown. Honestly, moving to the burial mounds was the best decision she could've taken

"Huh..." Wei Wuxian contemplates it for about a second "Between us, who do you think is more powerful?" He wonders innocently

Both Meng Yao and Wen Qing feel shivers down their spine

"Wha-"

"What's this about, A-Xian?" Meng Yao looks at the one he considers a younger brother with trepidation, the teen clears he throat and starts reading the scroll in his hands

"'Great Yiling Patriarch, I've heard all about your amazing accomplishments, so I send this missive to you out of despair. As you must know by now, the cultivation world is going through a great war against the Wens. Because of this, my family is in danger, so I must ask... please kill Wen Ruohan'" both officers loudly inhale. Wei Wuxian continues "'... I can't ask you to kill the entire Qishan Wen sect, though if you did the reward would be just as big, so at least I implore you to take down Wen Ruohan, without him, the remaining Wens might surrounder and my family will be safe. With this request, I leave you the list of payment and a way of contact' so it says"

"Ho~ interesting indeed" Meng Yao says that but he looks like on the verge of qi deviation

"So? What's the reward?" Wen Qing questions with a frown

"Hmmm says that the ownership of several stores and locals here in Yiling, an entire cargo of silks, gold, silver, licor, rice, rare medicinal plants, and the ownership of a plot of land in Yingchuan" Wei Ying reads

"What?! Let me see that!" Wen Qing practically rips the letter from him and Meng Yao also hurry to peek at it next to her. Wei Wuxian looks at them fondly, they get along very well despite their usual bickering "Are you going to meet them?" The healer asks him with her 'suspicious scowl', as Wei Wuxian calls it, the teen shrugs

"Sure, the Yiling Patriarch never refuses a wish"

'He says that but whenever he doesn't want to grant a petition he makes the offender forget everything about it' Meng Yao thinks raising an eyebrow 'Well, if I were asked to kill and torture innocent people I'd do the same' he sighs, and turns to look at Wen Qing, he knows they share similar thoughts

"These plants that are listed..." Wen Qing seems conflicted "They could help Meng-furen with her breathing problem"

"For real?!" Wei Wuxian exclaims

"Its a very strong possibility, what she has is something chronic from her days in the city, bad weather, and a weak constitution, Wei Wuxian's treatment has been effective so far, but it only alleviates the symptoms and stalls them, the problem persists, which is why she still has such a hard time in winter, this-" Wen Qing points at a plant whose name Wei Wuxian doesn't recognize "is a root that could help her lungs expel all the mucus and make them stronger"

"Auntie..." Wei Ying beams at the news "Well, I was going to accept solely for the challenge but with this..."

"Wait a second A-Xian!" Meng Yao interjects "I understand how big this is, and I know how strong you are, but to fight Wen Ruohan..." he pauses, A-Xian is strong, he really is powerful but... "It's too risky, what if it's a trap?"

"Huh?" Wei Wuxian looks at him curiously, normally, he fully trusts his instincts, which were honed to perfection to avoid any type of danger by living inside the Burial Mounds, but after growing up with Yao-ge, he learned to trust his slyness and understanding of human plotting more

"The only city the Wens have been unable to obtain is Yiling, they've tried multiple times and you always send them flying, so what if it's a trap to lure you out?"

"Hmmm? The Wens also failed to take Yunmeng though," Wei Wuxian adds

"Thanks to you" Meng Yao crosses his arms "My point stands, also... if you enter the battle alone with your powers, the war council may have problems with it, remember what we talked about?"

"Hmmmm that I have to play nice with the other sects?" Wei Ying wonders innocently

"Exactly" his brother frows at him "If we want to grow as sect, to exchange goods and obtain things we don't have, we can't allow ourselves to make them think we are an enemy"

"Then what can we do?" the Yiling Patriarch frowns slightly "This is a wish that I really want to fulfill, because of the families that are suffering, because of Auntie Meng and..." there's a guilty, yet playful glint in his silver eyes "because it really sounds like fun"

There's a moment of silence while the two arms of the new Yiling Wei sect try to process what their patriarch just said

"I... see" Wen Qing facepalms "Well, if that's what you want we can't stop you" she sends him a long-suffering look "So? What's the plan? How do you intend to kill Ruohan and be friends with the other sects?"

After a moment, both Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian turn to see Meng Yao, expectation bright in their eyes, the strategist sweatdrops at their expressions and sighs, already used to this 'This kid, really...'

"Alright, let's see... why don't we start by..." Meng Yao takes out an old scroll that they received three months ago "entering the sunshot campaign as they ordered?"

Wei Wuxian might've been adopted by Meng Shi, but at that moment, they have the exact same maniacal grin on their faces. Wen Qing suppresses a shiver